A Fool and His Money

by Marina Pascoe

  Bartlett snorted. ‘Of course he does – it’s food.’

  Now everyone, including Boase, was laughing. Topper let out a sigh and rested his head on his paws, waiting for the first morsel to come his way.

  Caroline Bartlett piled the first plate high with lamb, roast potatoes and vegetables.

  ‘Well, I should thank you – I consider it an honour to see an empty plate. Here you are, Archie – tuck in. And Irene has made a lovely pudding, as usual.’

  By two o’clock, the lunch was finished. Both men felt that they had eaten too much and Boase was in the scullery with Irene, washing up. Caroline sat down with some mending.

  ‘Listen to those two, George. They seem so happy together. Do you think the wedding will be soon? Do you think it’ll be next Easter – that seems to be what they’d like?’

  ‘I have no idea, Princess. I hope they get their own place first – we don’t really want them living here with us, do we?’

  ‘I wouldn’t mind, dear.’

  ‘You forgotten what it was like living with your mother?’

  ‘Well, no – I hadn’t. I suppose it was rather trying.’

  ‘And what if they want children? We couldn’t cope with that at our age – anyway, there wouldn’t be enough room …’

  ‘George, I only asked about the wedding. Calm down. Here, have another drop of beer and be quiet.’

  Caroline topped up Bartlett’s glass and carried on with her sewing.

  ‘I saw that Mrs de Vere yesterday. She’s a funny woman. I was behind her in the queue at the butcher’s when I went in to pick up the lamb. She was complaining that her leg of lamb hadn’t been such good quality as the one she had at Christmas and what were they going to do about it. Poor Joe Pentecost – he only started there last Saturday, straight from school too. She really gave him the run-around. Oh, but it was funny, George. She only came in to complain about the lamb. Joe went and fetched Mr Body because he didn’t know how to deal with her. Mr Body refused to give her the money back, saying his lamb was the best in Cornwall and if she didn’t want anything else he had a long queue of customers to serve. She was furious.’

  ‘That’s unusual for Ernest Body – he wouldn’t say boo to a goose normally. It’s about time someone stood up to that woman. She seems to think that just because she’s got money she can do anything she likes.’

  ‘Well, yes – but she usually can. Anyhow, when he told her to buy something or leave the shop she asked Joe Pentecost for two ounces of tongue.’

  ‘Tongue? What was that for, the cat? I can’t imagine Mrs de Vere eating tongue, can you, Princess?’

  ‘Well, no, I can’t. But she had to have the last word. Joe weighed the meat and wrapped it and as he handed it over the counter she flounced out and told Mr Body to have it sent round.’

  ‘She’s got a cheek.’

  ‘Well, it then got worse because as she was flouncing, she didn’t see Joe’s bicycle leaning against the window as she left and tripped clean over it.’

  ‘Did she hurt herself?’

  ‘I’d say so – landed on her backside and they had to take her to the hospital.’

  Bartlett laughed and couldn’t stop laughing. As he continued, Boase and Irene came in from the scullery just in time to see Bartlett mopping his eyes with his handkerchief.

  ‘George, dear – it’s not that funny! Mr Body will never hear the last of this.’

  Bartlett carried on laughing, then, when everyone thought he’d stopped, he laughed again. Caroline too began to giggle as she thought of Mrs de Vere lying on the pavement.

  ‘What was everyone in the queue doing while all this was going on?’

  ‘They were laughing, dear.’

  Bartlett was now completely out of control and Topper sat up and put his paw on his master’s knee.

  ‘George, that’s enough now – you’re upsetting Topper.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Topper, old man – I really needed that laugh. Come with me into the kitchen – let’s see if we can find you a biscuit.’

  The two left the room, Bartlett still chuckling to himself.

  The Bank Holiday Monday passed uneventfully. Bartlett spent the day in his garden and tried to relax. Boase took a walk over to Maenporth with his pocket sketchbook in search of some seabirds. He took a canvas bag which his landlady, Mrs Curgenven, had filled with a flask of tea, two ham sandwiches, a pork pie and some saffron cake.

  Boase didn’t eat much and he didn’t paint much. He soon wandered over to the cave where Smith had held Irene. He thought over the case and couldn’t understand why he felt bad about the whole thing. He was missing Irene – yes, he had only seen her yesterday but he wanted to see her every day. He wanted to wake up next to her, to bring her breakfast in bed, to sit with her at their own table and to fall asleep next to her. He skimmed some stones across the water and thought that he’d need a lot more money to provide a home for a wife. With no sketching done and almost as much food left as he had brought, Boase returned to Melvill Road and went to bed early.

  ‘I didn’t know Penhaligon had an interest in guns, Boase.’

  ‘He did mention it to us before. You must have forgotten, sir. He was asking me before about what we used in the war – he’s actually quite knowledgeable on the subject. Why?’

  ‘Well, I just confiscated this.’

  Bartlett slid a catalogue across the desk. Boase picked it up and flicked through it.

  ‘Why did you take it off him?’

  ‘Because he’s supposed to be on duty – not reading unrelated material.’

  Boase grinned, as there was a knock at the door. Boase opened it to see Penhaligon with a tray of tea and some biscuits. Boase grinned all the more.

  ‘Biscuits too? You must be after something, Penhaligon?’

  ‘No, just thought you’d like some tea and a bit of something sweet, that’s all.’

  Boase held up the catalogue.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve come in for this?’

  ‘Well, I would like it back.’

  Bartlett looked up and over the top of his reading glasses.

  ‘Don’t let me catch you with that again, Penhaligon.’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.’

  Boase handed the offending article to Penhaligon.

  ‘Just a minute, before you go, Penhaligon. Tell me what you know about weapons that might be used in a circus – say, for a lion tamer.’

  ‘Well, what do you want to know?’

  ‘What sort of gun would lion tamers have used, say before the war? Any idea?’

  ‘They would have used any sort of pistol or revolver. Something small for ease of use, but something that could save their life with one shot if it had to.’

  ‘Have you got any pictures in that catalogue of what they might have used before the war?’

  ‘Yes, look, there’s a whole history section they show every month at the back. Here you are, look at these pictures – there are lots here.’

  Penhaligon flicked speedily through the catalogue.

  ‘Wait – go back.’

  Boase quickly leafed back through the pages. He snatched the catalogue from Penhaligon and looked hard at one picture in particular. The item that had caught his attention was a mahogany box. In a second picture the plush velvet interior was revealed showing two hand guns.

  ‘I’m such an idiot.’

  Bartlett looked up.

  ‘What are you on about, Boase?’

  ‘Me. I’m an idiot. Look at this – a pair of guns! Why didn’t I think about that? Thanks for the tea, Penhaligon. Here’s your catalogue.’

  ‘Two guns – what of it?’

  ‘Well, sir, what if Edward James’ gun was one of an identical pair? I never even considered that.’

  ‘Where would that leave us? I don’t understand what you’re getting at, Boase.’

  ‘What I’m getting at is this. What if the gun that killed Clicker was one of an identical pair? Someone else could have had the other of
the pair with the same bullets. Someone else could have killed the old man but laid the blame on James – or suspicion automatically fell on him.’

  ‘I don’t like this, Boase. I don’t like what you’re telling me. You’re saying that this could be more proof that Edward James may not have killed the old man?’

  ‘Well, you’ve doubted the verdict at turns, sir – you’ve been unsure in your mind that Greet did the right thing. In fact … you’re absolutely positive that James was innocent.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, I admit that. But this is a big thing you’re saying, Boase. Anyway, how could you prove it now?’

  ‘There’s only one way and that’s to find the other gun.’

  ‘How do you plan on doing that? Even if there was an identical one, even if you found it – none of that proves James’ innocence. And what good would it do anyway?’

  ‘It means that if we doubted it all before, yes, we can’t bring Edward James back, but the killer is still at large … which we’ve said to each other before. That’s a big worry, sir.’

  ‘Right – so who do you think this mystery person is then?’

  ‘I don’t know at the moment, obviously, sir.’

  ‘You’re going to rake up a lot of trouble with this.’

  ‘If you don’t want to be involved, I can do it on my own.’

  ‘No. I can’t give you the extra time to do that.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And anyway, we’re a team. So, where do we start?’

  ‘Are you convinced then, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know what I am. But if we pursue this, we have to do it discreetly, and if we find nothing in fairly short order then we abandon the whole thing. Not a word to Greet about this either. Understood?’

  ‘Understood, sir. Thank you, sir.’

  ‘Don’t thank me. I must be mad. If your theory is proved to be right, I don’t know what we’ll do about it.’

  ‘Cross that bridge when we come to it?’

  ‘Deal.’

  Archie Boase walked along Hunter’s Path. The moon was full and lit his way. He hadn’t been able to sleep and, as he often did when this happened, had got out of bed, dressed, raided the pantry for some ‘eatables’ as he called his snack foods and walked towards the sea front. He had already walked in the shadow of Pendennis Castle and passed the spot where Clicker had been found dead. For some reason, he now retraced his steps and visited that place again. Maybe there would be something else to see, something else to discover. He thought how stupid this was, here in the dark with only momentary and sporadic beams from the moon and with the death of Clicker weeks away and probably any evidence that might have been, gone with the time and the elements. In any case, they had searched and searched this site and found nothing of any use.

  As Boase stooped low and examined the ground with the aid of his torch, he heard something move quite close to him. He stood still and listened. There it was again. He turned quickly and shone the torch into the hedge just in time to see a feral cat staring at him, its eyes sparkling like jewels in the narrow beam of light. Boase smiled to himself and pulled a pork pie from his pocket. As he began to eat, looking up at the moon, he was aware that he was still being watched. He regarded the cat. It stared back. Boase pulled a piece of meat from the pie and threw it in the cat’s direction. The cat pushed it head through the brambles and gratefully took the morsel. It looked at Boase again, expectantly and Boase crumbled the last of the pie and lay it on the ground near to where the cat waited. He pushed the empty bag back into his pocket and walked away, looking back to see the cat taking the pie. He smiled and thought how he loved animals and nature and, well, this beautiful planet in general. Then he thought about the people that marred it with their nastiness and greed and cruelty. As he mused over this he reached the Falmouth Hotel and, slipping down a side road next to the imposing building, made his way back home.

  ‘I’ve just heard the circus is leaving tonight, Boase. If you’ve got anything you want to say to any of them you’d better do it today.’

  ‘Yes I have, sir. I’ve just got a couple of things to do and then I thought I’d go up there. Coming?’

  ‘I think I will – they’ve almost become a part of the furniture, they’ve been here so long. There are a couple of people I want to say goodbye to – particularly the Warner girls.’

  ‘I’ve got a feeling they won’t want to say goodbye to us though, sir.’

  ‘You may be right – but I’ll try. Anyway, look, Greet wants to see me – he’s getting right on my nerves, he is, straight. I won’t be long.’

  True to his word, Bartlett wasn’t very long. He came back into the office ten minutes later and sat behind his desk.

  ‘You all right, sir – what did he want?’

  ‘To tell me about Molly James. She’s been hanged. This morning.’

  Bartlett lit his pipe and looked out of the window onto the street below.

  ‘Well, we knew they’d do it, sir. There was no doubt about her at least, was there?’

  ‘No. No, there was no doubt. But even so, whether there is doubt or not, well …’

  ‘Say it, sir. Say what’s on your mind.’

  ‘Well, it’s not exactly civilised, is it? An eye for an eye. And then we’re taught two wrongs don’t make a right. I don’t know, Boase – I’m getting too old for this caper. When I was young, I thought the death penalty was a good thing, they got what they deserved.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘Now, I wonder how civilised we actually are. To murder someone legally – that’s what Irene calls it, “legalised murder”.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll ever stop doing it, sir?’

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that, my boy. Not in my lifetime, I’m sure. Maybe one day they’ll see sense and find a better way. Anyway, I can’t sit here all day gossiping. What’s done is done. Now, about this gun business – let’s talk more about that, have a cup of tea and get up to see off the circus.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  At half past four, Bartlett and Boase arrived at the recreation ground. The caravans had been made ready and most were lined up in preparation to leave. Arthur Wayland was soothing his lions, who were pacing back and forth anxiously. Bartlett walked over to him.

  ‘Good evening, Arthur. All ready?’

  ‘Hello, Mr Bartlett, sir. Yes, yes, I think we’re all ready to move off soon. The cats don’t like travelling so much – I’ve just given them a little something to calm them down a bit.’

  ‘Where’s your first stop?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Plymouth maybe.’

  ‘Well, I wish you a safe trip.’

  ‘Thanks, Mr Bartlett. This has all left a nasty taste in my mouth.’

  ‘And in mine, Arthur. Tell me – what’s happening to Clicker’s caravan?’

  ‘Well, I think it’s been cleared out and we’re just taking it along with us. Mr Martin will probably allocate it to someone else. It didn’t belong to Clicker – it’s circus property.’

  ‘I see. Do you know where the Warner girls are at the moment?’

  ‘I think they’re still in their caravan packing.’

  ‘Thanks – I just want to nip over and see them, to say goodbye.’

  ‘Righto, Mr Bartlett, sir. Thanks for everything.’

  ‘All the best, Arthur.’

  Bartlett and Boase walked across to the Warner caravan and Boase knocked at the door. Betty Warner opened it and stared hard at Boase.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. What do you want?’

  ‘Well, Miss Warner, we came to say goodbye and to offer our very sincere condolences.’

  Boase turned his hat over in his hands, expecting a stream of abuse to come hurtling his way, but it didn’t. Betty sighed.

  ‘Do you want to come in for a moment?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Boase followed by Bartlett walked up the small steps and entered the caravan. Joan Warner was packing a small bag on the kitchen table. She smiled at th
e two men. Betty indicated a bench seat under the window and Bartlett and Boase sat down.

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t offer you any tea – the kettle has been packed.’

  Bartlett loosened his collar.

  ‘That’s quite all right – we can’t stay. We just wanted to come and say sorry for all your trouble.’

  ‘That’s kind of you – thank you. We miss Anne so terribly. Life just won’t be the same again, Inspector Bartlett.’

  Betty’s voice cracked as she spoke.

  ‘Well, I’m very sorry we weren’t able to prevent what happened to her.’

  ‘And we’re sorry we blamed you. It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘I hope you can find some peace in your lives, both of you.’

  ‘Thanks. We’re going to carry on here for the next few weeks then we may return home – maybe try to find a normal job. Anne hated doing this – if we had tried to get out before then she might still be here.’

  ‘Well, you can’t really think like that – although I understand completely.’

  Bartlett stood up.

  ‘We should be going. We just wanted to see you before you left.’

  Betty offered her hand to Bartlett and then to Boase. Both shook it warmly. Joan smiled and carried on packing. Boase looked out of the small window.

  ‘Oh, looks like the first caravans are moving.’

  Betty looked outside.

  ‘Yes, ours will be going soon. Thank you both for coming. It was really very kind of you.’

  Bartlett and Boase stepped outside. Bartlett paused to light his pipe and Boase wandered over to watch the first few caravans being taken out to the road. He recognised Clicker’s and watched the empty caravan being pushed along by two young men in order to hitch it to a trailer. As the caravan was pulled further across the grass, Boase stared hard. Something didn’t look right. He stooped to the ground and stared again at the caravan from this angle. Suddenly he shouted out.

  ‘Hey, you! Stop – wait.’

  Boase ran across to the two men with Clicker’s caravan. Bartlett, astonished, followed him across the grass. He caught up with Boase at the caravan and watched as he crawled underneath. Pointing his pipe in Boase’s direction, he addressed the two young men.