A Fool and His Money

by Marina Pascoe

  Bartlett went out into the lobby and slammed the door behind him. Boase didn’t want to fall out with him and he knew Bartlett was right. He resolved there and then to put his promise to the back of his mind and to concentrate on the case, and on Irene.

  Bartlett returned after five minutes and sat back down in his chair.

  ‘I’ve just been up to see Greet. The verdict is back.’

  Boase put down his ham sandwich and looked at Bartlett enquiringly.’

  ‘Guilty – no plea for mercy.’

  ‘Can’t they review it, sir?’

  ‘No they can’t. Really, why should they? She’s guilty of murdering that young girl, I know it, you know it. Maybe we never fully understood the motive but she did it. Why would they show her mercy?’

  ‘Do you think she killed her father, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think – if she did, then she’s a double murderer and, worse, Edward James has been executed for nothing.’

  ‘But we can’t afford to think like that, can we?’

  ‘No, my boy. No we can’t. But it’s an interesting idea.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘That she killed her father because the money had dried up and then pinned it on her husband. She would probably know where he kept the gun.’

  ‘Is that all likely, sir?’

  ‘At my age I’m beginning to think anything is likely, Boase. When I think about what I’ve seen over the years in this job, I think I can believe almost anything. Now, I wonder …’

  ‘Wonder what, sir?’

  ‘Well, if it was her who killed the old man, whether she tipped off Smith to give evidence against Edward. I’ve still got bad feelings about this and I think Greet was too hasty. It was all a bit too easy and too convenient, don’t you think, Boase?’

  ‘Why do you say that, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m just rambling now. I just wonder if they had some involvement in this whole thing together.’

  ‘I think that’s a bit far-fetched, sir. Smith confessed his reasons for what he did to Edward James.’

  ‘Yes, he did – and that’s why I’m going to get him and make him pay. Talking of that, have Coad and Eddy seen him turn up at the caravan yet?’

  ‘No, we would have heard. They’re taking it in turns with Rabone. Nothing so far. He won’t go in daylight hours, will he?’

  ‘Not if he’s got any sense at all. Did he say to you what his plans were?’

  ‘No, just that he wanted to get out of Falmouth – and to be left alone to do it.’

  ‘Well, that’s not going to happen. We’ll be ready for him when he comes.’

  Boase finished his sandwich and went in search of more tea.

  Heavy rain was lashing down as darkness fell. Arthur Wayland couldn’t sleep. He sat up in bed and looked at the little clock on the table. Half past two. He leaned across to his wife and tapped her shoulder.

  ‘Pearl. Pearl!’

  ‘Oh, what is it? What do you want?’

  ‘Can you hear that rain?’

  ‘Well, yes I can, now you’ve woken me up. What time is it?’

  ‘It’s half past two. Do you want a cup of tea?’

  ‘No. I just want to go back to sleep.’

  ‘Be a good girl, make me a cuppa, will you?’

  ‘Bleeding cheek – why should I make it when you just offered?’

  ‘Because I just heard thunder. I’m going to check on the cats – you know they get agitated during a storm. I won’t be long. Come on now, be a good girl, get up. Put the kettle on.’

  ‘You shouldn’t be going out in the middle of the night. You know Inspector Bartlett said that lunatic Smith might come back at any time and that we were to be on the lookout.’

  ‘Yes, dear, I know but he’s not likely to come out in this downpour, is he?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m sure. If he really is a madman, who’s to say what he might or might not do?’

  ‘Yeah, well, if I see him, he’ll get a piece of my mind – what a filthy trick. Inspector Bartlett told me all about it. I really liked that young man Edward. Fair enough, he could get a bit nasty – bit like me in my younger days …’

  ‘What d’you mean “in your younger days”?’

  ‘You know I’m not like that any more, Pearl. Anyway, I was just saying, that was a damned vindictive thing to do – such a terrible business. Revenge and hate are awful things.’

  Arthur Wayland pulled on his dressing gown and a pair of boots and went out of the caravan. The rain was falling even heavier now and lightning had just lit the sky. Arthur walked across to the compound. He could hear the lions pacing. He didn’t like them to be upset; they were like friends to him. He unlocked the first door and entered, securing it behind him before he opened the second. He definitely didn’t want any escapees. The four lions recognised their master and came over to the bars.

  ‘It’s all right. Come on now, calm down. It’ll all be over in a minute. Here you are – here’s a little treat.’

  Arthur threw some morsels into the cage and continued to speak reassuringly – the lions seemed more settled now. Arthur, satisfied with this, retraced his steps to the first door. As he fumbled for the key, he looked through the small window which gave light into the compound. As the lightning flashed, Arthur clearly saw the figure of Howard Smith lit up in the momentary brightness. Unlocking both doors, Arthur ran outside shouting.

  ‘Smith! Howard Smith!’

  Smith saw Arthur and, rather than running away as one might expect, he ran towards the compound.

  ‘You’ve got a nerve coming back here, Smith. After what you did to Edward James. You know the police are looking for you?’

  ‘No, you’re wrong, old man – I can come and go as I please.’

  ‘The place is crawling with them – you’ll never get away.’

  ‘That’s just where you’re wrong.’

  Smith stepped further towards Arthur Wayland and was now within a couple of feet of him. Arthur stepped back and as he did so, he heard a shout.

  ‘Stop! Police! Stop and get down on the ground.’

  Arthur could see Constables Eddy and Rabone running towards them. Howard Smith turned and as he too saw them, spun back around and, drawing a knife from his pocket, grabbed Arthur Wayland around his neck. Now behind the man, Smith was retreating towards the compound.

  ‘Stand back or the old man will get hurt. Stand away!’

  The two policemen advanced. Smith’s grip on Arthur grew tighter.

  ‘Right, open this door. Quickly!’

  Arthur fumbled for the key and opened the door. Smith dragged him inside. Arthur gasped almost silently as he realised that, in his haste to challenge Smith moments earlier, he hadn’t shut the inner door. In over thirty years he had never left a door unlocked. As Smith continued to drag the lion tamer further inside, the two policemen pulled open the first door. Smith had his back to the inner door of the cage and the lions drew near. Arthur Wayland shouted out.

  ‘Please. Let me go!’

  All at once the biggest and oldest lion, hearing Wayland shout for his release, pounced upon Smith’s back, ripping into his shoulders. The man was dragged back into the cage and as Arthur realised he was free, he turned towards the lions. He quickly shut his eyes but not before he had seen the remaining lions descend upon Howard Smith. As the two policemen moved forward, Smith’s body was already lifeless on the floor.

  Constable Eddy addressed Arthur.

  ‘Quickly, shut that gate, sir. We can’t help him now but we can save ourselves.’

  Arthur obeyed and, locking the door, slumped to the floor, his head in his hands.

  ‘They’ve never hurt anyone. They’re not like that. They’ve never hurt anyone.’

  ‘Greet wants to see me, Boase – about Smith. What can I tell him? That he got what he deserved last night? That he was a nasty piece of work?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir. I just don’t know.’

  �
�Well, I’ve got to go up at nine. I’m just stepping outside for a smoke and a think.’

  ‘Righto, sir.’

  Boase returned to some papers on his desk but he couldn’t concentrate. Something just didn’t add up in all of this. He drew a notepad from his drawer and made some notes:

  • Clicker killed

  • Anne Warner killed

  • Edward James hanged

  • Molly James to be hanged

  • One gun impounded

  • Howard Smith mauled and killed by lions

  He re-read his list. No wonder Greet was furious. This didn’t look good at all. As he closed the notepad, Bartlett returned.

  ‘Right, I’m going up – I expect you’ll hear him shouting from here. Anything you want me to ask?’

  ‘Don’t think so, sir. He’s got to know that Smith had that coming last night – I think he was quite happy to make good his escape even if it meant killing Arthur Wayland.’

  ‘Quite. You couldn’t check up on his boy, could you? Maybe send someone round to see him – he must have an aunt or someone to help out. Or, what about the Trevarthens? I almost forgot them – he’s their nephew. Sort something out, will you, Boase?’

  ‘Of course I will – don’t worry about that. Good luck!’

  Bartlett had been right about the shouting. Boase could hear raised voices above his head and footsteps pacing the floor of Greet’s office. He was worried that all this was getting too much for Bartlett. He made a pot of tea in preparation for the older man’s return.

  ‘I told him straight, Boase. I told him he was too hasty – he just carried on blaming me. He even had the blasted cheek to imply that I’m past it and maybe I should be thinking about retiring. He’s been trying to get rid of me for a long time now. Well, he’s not going to get the better of me.’

  ‘So, what now, sir?’

  ‘Well, he says we have to think about letting the circus move out now, that’s it’s a bad image for them and for the town. I can’t say I disagree with that. We’ll need to go up and see Chester Martin – let him know they can go soon.’

  ‘Well, I won’t be sorry to see the back of them, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Me neither, Boase. Me neither.’

  ‘And it’s about time too. Have you got any idea how much money I’ve lost hanging around this godforsaken place? How many shows I’ve had to cancel around the country? How many people I’ve let down?’

  ‘Well, none of that is my fault, Mr Martin – I’ve merely come to tell you that now you’re all free to leave. Has Clicker’s caravan been emptied?’

  ‘Yes – why?’

  ‘What happened to his personal effects?’

  ‘There wasn’t much there. Mostly junk. Why – has he got any other relatives?’

  ‘I’m afraid to say not for much longer. Unless there’s anyone besides Molly that you know of?’

  ‘No. The old man didn’t have a lot to say. Kept himself to himself really. What actually happened, Mr Bartlett? Do you even know?’

  ‘Only what we’ve already stated. That, as far as we know, and in accordance with evidence given in a court of law, Edward James murdered his father-in-law, Molly James killed Anne Warner and Howard Smith was mauled to death by lions.’

  ‘That was a bad business – I’ve never had any trouble with lions in my show – never. I don’t believe it was Wayland’s fault neither. Mind you, he should have been more careful over the double doors. Will there be an inquiry into that?’

  ‘Well, yes, there will have to be, but I don’t think that will affect you or your business –just the Waylands.’

  ‘What about the boy? I can’t take him with me now – he says he doesn’t want to stay anyway.’

  ‘Don’t worry – we’ve been in touch with his uncle; he’s going to take care of him for the time being.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Bartlett shook the ringmaster’s hand. He took his pipe from his pocket and turned to leave. Boase looked at Chester Martin.

  ‘Can I ask you a question, sir?’

  ‘If you like.’

  ‘How long did you know Clicker?’

  ‘Oh, for many years.’

  ‘Since he was with Margaret Field?’

  ‘Yes. I even tried to warn them about their carryings on. I told them no good would come of it. Clicker was heartbroken when she left. Yes, we went back a long way – we were the only two left from the old brigade.’

  Boase sat back down on a chair. Bartlett looked at him and wondered what was on his mind.

  ‘So, if he was a clown and you a ringmaster – well, how did you get together? Were you always in this circus?’

  ‘Actually, no.’

  Chester Martin began to look thoughtful.

  ‘We were in another circus in Paris when we were young. We were very good friends – that was long before Clicker met Margaret. We were a team together – in fact, we were lion tamers.’

  ‘Lion tamers?’

  Bartlett came back and looked at Chester Martin.

  ‘You never told us that before.’

  ‘Why would I – it’s practically ancient history.’

  ‘Did you have guns?’

  ‘Yes … but … now, look here, Mr Bartlett. I don’t like what you’re implying. I hope you don’t think I killed the old man just because I owned a gun years ago.’

  ‘I didn’t say that, did I?’

  ‘Well, I haven’t got a gun now. In fact, we sold the act to Arthur and Pearl Wayland. Clicker felt he was getting too old and it was too risky – I think he just didn’t want the worry of it all any longer. Arthur has a way with lions, always has had. And, no, before you even ask – he doesn’t have a gun. He treats those lions like pet kittens and they’re completely docile with him too.’

  ‘Just not with anyone else. Right, thanks, Mr Martin – let me know when you’re ready to leave the town. I’m guessing it’ll take a day or two for you to get everything ready?’

  ‘Yes, probably.’

  ‘Right, cheerio then.’

  Bartlett and Boase left the ringmaster and walked back down to the police station.

  Chapter Twelve

  At midday on Sunday, Archibald Boase was knocking on the Bartletts’ front door. He had been invited by Irene for lunch. He waited on the step as Topper barked inside. Irene came running through the hall and, grabbing Topper’s collar, pulled open the door.

  ‘Hello, Archie, I’ve been looking forward to seeing you – come in.’

  Boase wiped his feet on the mat and patted Topper. He kissed Irene’s cheek. Caroline Bartlett came out of the kitchen wiping her hands on her apron.

  ‘Hello, Archie. What beautiful blooms.’

  Boase handed Caroline the bunch of flowers he had been carrying.

  ‘Yes, they’re for you – thanks for inviting me.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t – Irene did, but I’ll take the flowers anyway.’

  Caroline smiled as she looked at the bright yellow flowers.

  ‘I love dahlias – look, Irene, they’re just like a big bunch of sunshine.’

  ‘They’re lovely, Mum. Dad’s in the parlour, Archie – go in, I’m just helping Mum.’

  Bartlett was sitting in his armchair smoking his pipe. He looked round as Boase knocked on the open door and walked into the room.

  ‘Good afternoon, sir.’

  ‘Hello, my boy – how are you?’

  ‘I’m fine thanks.’

  ‘Drink?’

  ‘That’d be lovely – I’m parched.’

  Boase sat in the other armchair and sipped a pint of Leonard’s.

  ‘I don’t want to talk shop with the girls around, Boase, but just before they come in, what were you thinking about Martin and Clicker being lion tamers?’

  ‘Well, I don’t know that I was thinking anything really – but it is strange, all this gun business. I mean, they’re all packing up and leaving now but I still don’t feel right about the whole thing.’

  ‘So,
say what’s on your mind.’

  ‘I’m not sure – but I’m beginning to wonder just how many guns there are around. We know lion tamers always keep one …’

  ‘But we don’t, do we? Martin says Arthur Wayland doesn’t feel the need for one – mind you, he must be mad.’

  ‘And unusual – I don’t imagine many tamers wouldn’t have a gun for protection.’

  ‘Quite, but that wouldn’t have helped Smith by all accounts, because he had a firm grip on Wayland and his back to the lions – what a fool. I agree, it’s all a puzzle – especially now you’re doubting the number of guns around.’

  ‘Well, I’m probably wrong. I just don’t know what is the truth of the matter. I suppose if you look at the whole thing from the outside, it’s all over – Edward James dead, Molly almost so, and Smith – when you look at it like that, well, it’s not much of a puzzle at all really, is it?’

  ‘But, I don’t think you’re satisfied, are you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Nor me – and I think Greet has a lot of questions to answer.’

  ‘But that’ll never happen – he’s so watertight he’s practically squeaking.’

  ‘But I can’t let this go.’

  ‘Is this just about getting back at Greet, or do you really doubt the outcome of this?’

  Bartlett tapped his pipe on the fender.

  ‘If I’m being honest? Bit of both probably. Seriously though, like you, I can’t put my finger on it …’

  At that, Caroline and Irene called from the dining room that food was ready and Bartlett, Boase, and Topper trooped to the table. Boase sat in his usual place next to Irene.

  ‘This looks lovely, Mrs Bartlett – sorry, I mean Caroline. I keep forgetting.’

  Irene laughed and Boase looked at her, thinking again how beautiful she was.

  Caroline took a dinner plate and looked at Boase.

  ‘Hungry, Archie?’

  Bartlett stared at his wife.

  ‘Princess, is that really a question you need to ask? I have never known this boy not to be hungry.’

  ‘All right, sir.’

  Boase fidgeted and Irene laughed again.

  ‘Archie loves roast lamb, Mum – don’t you, Archie?’