Inspector Crothers stooped over her as she leaned forward again.
“I’ll be fine, Inspector. I only have to get back to my car.
“Can I help you get there?”
“Well, I left it in town near the shopping centre. Not far from your station. If you could give me a lift…” Diane left the sentence unfinished and sucked in air through her teeth as she rubbed her leg.
“Of course, of course,” he said without hesitation. “I will be right back and I’ll get you back to your car.”
Crothers left the room and passed out of the front door, leaving it ajar. He found Sergeant Webster resting against the wall of the next door house. Beckoning him over, Crothers led the Sergeant inside and introduced him to Mr. Briggs.
“Mr. Briggs has a key and will let you into the house. Get Sergeant Barnes and I want the pair of you to go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Anything at all and you call me. I am going to head back to the station to call a few places that might know a location.”
Sergeant Webster acknowledged the orders and followed Jake into the kitchen where the Inspector heard a drawer rattle open.
“Let’s get you home, Diane,” said the Inspector as he stepped into the living room.
“Nothing a bit of rest won’t fix up,” said Diane as the Inspector reached an arm around her and braced her as she pushed up out of the chair.
They hobbled out of the house and across the road to the car where Crothers opened the passenger door, helping to lower Diane into the seat. She slowly manoeuvred her injured leg into the well as the Inspector climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine gave a rumble, and they slowly drifted down the street.
Diane flipped through her phone as the Inspector watched for oncoming traffic. Silence lingered for a couple of minutes while the car negotiated the array of parked cars. The flow of traffic on the main road was light with an hour remaining before the workers would head home. The Inspector pulled out of the maze of streets, and the hum of the engine rose as he picked up speed.
“Does he seem to be a person that would chop off a finger?” asked Diane as lone trees flashed by.
“Why do you say that?” he replied, reticent to let Diane into his thought processes. He didn’t have far to go to drop her at her car, and saying less about the case might convince her to remove herself from it.
“Well, Jake didn’t have a bad word to say about him. In fact, he told me that he doted on the cat to the point of being a little over the top. That doesn’t seem like someone that would go around committing peculiar crimes.”
“You think the cat is evidence?” Inspector Crothers took his eyes off the road for a moment to throw a quizzical look at Diane. “I can assure you that cat people can do some very bizarre things.”
“This is true. I knew a Miss Gladys Thurogood several years ago. She worked at the school as a relief once in a while, and she always had a collection of photographs of her cats in pullovers and hats. Knitted most of them herself she said. It was only after she died that they found she had been knitting them with her own hair.”
“Exactly. A pet isn’t always a sign of a sound mind.”
“But to take such care to ensure Mr. Briggs took care of the cat with no mention of finding a new home for it. Even Gladys had money set aside in her will for care of the animals.”
“He may not have planned to do it. It might have been a spur-of-the-moment act if the young lady rejected his proposal.”
“And of course, this would lead him to mail the finger to a woman in a different town. Marriage rejection can lead to that too, I suppose.”
The Inspector didn’t respond immediately. He had been sucked into a discussion that he had deliberately tried to avoid. He had not had the time to sit down and think through the new information and was making rash statements.
“You might want to turn here, Inspector. The Wolcott Inn is only a minute down that road. I’m sure you would find it easier than driving all the way back to town before calling them. Best not to waste time, Inspector.”
He glanced from the corner of his eye at his bespectacled passenger and for the first time wondered if he had been played for a fool. She looked so harmless with the thick glasses and slight frame. Like a kindly grandmother, he thought. Surely she hadn’t intended this, though her statement had been made with little room for argument, her tone that of a teacher instructing a pupil.
Whether from an obedience ingrained since a young schoolboy or from his own best inclination, he entered the roundabout, the indicator signalling in the opposite direction from the town centre.
The road was deserted. Thick hedges lined either side with dense copses of trees peering over the top. It gradually grew darker as the trees loomed larger, towering over the road, branches entwining overhead. A small sign for Wolcott Inn appeared suddenly from behind the caress of a hawthorn bush; an arrow vaguely glimpsed through the leaves pointed to a narrow gravel lane.
The overhanging trees separated as the car passed down the lane, tires popping across the loose stones. Glimpses of sky through the canopy of leaves and branches became irregular patches of blue, which evolved into broad slashes as if a heavenly machete was becoming increasingly vigorous.
A slight curve in the lane preceded the arrival at the inn, glimpses of the stonework rapidly developing into a looming brick and granite façade. Windows tall enough to walk through were in deep darkness, the white frames stark and skeletal. The roadway curved back upon itself after passing the weathered stone stairway to the double doors of the front entrance. A parking area of lines spray-painted upon the gravel fanned out around the driveway.
Inspector Crothers pulled the car before the main entrance, pulling the handbrake up with a grinding crunch that put Diane’s teeth on edge. She had broken Albert of the laziness, but it had taken repetition and time, something she did not have with the Inspector. “Futile to mention,” she thought.
“Stay in the car,” said Inspector Crothers as he stepped out of the idling car.
The car door shut before she could give any response. She did not intend to leave the vehicle; she could do everything while seated.
As the Inspector disappeared through the main doorway, Diane pulled out her phone. Scrolling to the search bar she pulled up information for the Sharkesley Hotel in Weston-super-Mare. The phone number appeared highlighted, inviting the reader to click it. Diane happily obliged, and the number sprang up to dominate the screen and the phone started to dial. After two short bursts of sound, a male voice said, “Sharkesley Hotel. How may I be of assistance?”
The voice sounded light and young and had the faint hint of a lisp.
Diane paused for a moment, setting her mind to the appropriate tone.
“Oh hello,” she began. “Yes, hello,” she dithered. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, madam. You are quite clear.” The voice became a little lighter, and the words were spoken slightly more slowly. Diane assumed he had to deal with many elderly people who were still mystified by phones in general.
“Thank you. I never know with these mobile phones, you know.”
“I understand, madam. How may I help you today?”
“Help me, yes. I’m trying to reach my son. Could you get him for me?”
“Your son? What is his room number?”
“His name is Gary,” said Diane after a pause. “Gary Sandrake.”
“Do you have the room number?” asked the receptionist again.
“Gary,” she replied a little slower and a little louder as if she could not hear him or thought he was confused.
“I will try to get him for you.” He was humouring the confused old woman, who may not even be sure what year it is. She knew that he should not be giving out information about clients over the phone, but Diane had convinced him that she seemed old and harmless.
“Thank you, young man. Thank you so much.”
“Please hold the line.” The phone clunked softly as it was placed on the desk and Diane coul
d hear keys tapping swiftly in the background. A banging came through the phone as the handset was collected again.
“Ma’am?”
“Yes, hello? Did you get him for me?””
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but your son isn’t here.”
“He what?”
“He is not here.”
“Oh dear. Did I get the wrong hotel? I can’t read his writing. Maybe it says Shacklesley. Or Shackleston.”
“No, you have the correct hotel. Your son was supposed to check in yesterday and did not arrive.”
“Well that is peculiar,” said Diane, who did not have to pretend to be a little confused. “I wonder where he has gotten to.”
“Maybe he…” the receptionist hesitated. “Maybe he stopped off at another hotel?”
“I suppose he could have. He’s usually so good about keeping in touch.”
“He will probably call today and let you know where he is,” said the receptionist with a consoling tone.
“Yes, probably. Well, thank you for your help, young man. I will go and wait for his call.”
The receptionist thanked her for the call, and Diane cut the line. She was slipping the phone back into her pocket as Inspector Crothers opened the car door and climbed back in.
“They were definitely here.” He reached around to buckle his seatbelt. “The hostess remembered because he pre-ordered an expensive bottle of champagne.”
“Oh dear,” replied Diane. The Inspector looked over at her, staring for a moment, not quite grasping what she had said.
“I’m sorry?”
“If they ate dinner here but did not make it to the hotel, then this has become bleak.”
“How do you know they didn’t… what did you do?”
Diane recounted her conversation with the hotel receptionist and without another word, but with a definite scowl, the Inspector pulled the car around the driveway and back onto the gravel road.
“I was trying to help, Inspector. They may not have been so forthcoming to a police officer.”
“You need to leave this to us. We can’t have civilians tampering in an investigation.”
“But we are left with one option,” said Diane, her face turning sallow.
“I know,” said the Inspector. “Priorslee Lake.”
♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠ ♠
The short drive to the lake was taken in silence.
Diane looked out of the windscreen, the colour drained from her face, her mind flicking through possibilities, eventualities, none of which gave her cause to smile.
Inspector Crothers gripped the wheel of the car roughly; his knuckles matched Diane’s complexion. His annoyance at Diane’s interference was overshadowed by preparations for what was to come. Gary Sandrake was in the wind, and he only hoped that there might be a clue at the lakeside.
The pop of gravel ended as the wheels of the car rolled onto the tarmac, the surface changing at the entrance to Priorslee Lake’s parking area. He guided the car through two wooden fence posts that stood sentry at the opening and entered an empty car park. The earlier rain and breezy day had kept visitors away, deciding on other pastimes that were dryer and warmer.
The parking area was an elongated circle with space for around ten vehicles. A narrow path led off to the side through overgrown bushes to a more secluded spot. Inspector Crothers knew the location fairly well from its reputation as a spot for “adventurous” individuals to enjoy themselves. Several times people had been stumbled upon in the throes of lewd acts that had led to the police being called.
Branches scratched at the doors and leaves buffeted against the windows as the car rumbled along the path. There were splashes and jolts from rain-filled trenches dug into the uneven road, harmless booby traps that made Inspector Crothers grind his teeth. He knew his worry about the noise that they were making was baseless as Gary Sandrake would be long gone by now, but every crunch of tire and groan of the suspension concerned him that their approach would be given away.
An open patch of grass sprang from the lashing branches, the lane continuing as two rutted tracks, all of which was dappled with sunlight that poked through the overhanging trees. The space was larger than the lane would have suggested. Several cars could have parked there easily and given each other adequate privacy.
The ruts led to the far side of the clearing and into another lane. Cutting across this was a stretch of unkempt grass that sloped gently down to the lakeside where reeds poked brushes out several feet into the water. On either side, trees dipped lank branches down as if frozen mid-sip of the lake waters.
Inspector Crothers turned from the tire grooves and bobbled the vehicle to a stop facing towards the water’s edge.
“Diane,” said the Inspector roughly. “You need to stay…”
“Inspector,” she interrupted. “There appear to be patches of wax in the grass to my side of the car.”
“Stay in the car.”
The slam of the driver’s door was probably harder than necessary, and Diane watched as the Inspector stepped carefully around the car to observe the wax spots.
“Candles?” Diane had rolled her window down and addressed the stooping Inspector. He grunted affirmation as he ran a plastic gloved finger over the patches.
A breeze ruffled the branches overhead and the spotted sunlight flicked across the scene. A glint, faint and fleeting, caught the Inspector’s eye. A glint in the trees past the clearing. He turned his head to Diane and with a harsh stare reminded her of her place. Then, in a crouch, he made for the place where the ruts left the clearing, his eyes intent upon the location he had seen the gleam.
Diane rested back in her seat, letting her head swivel to take in the surroundings. She would have enjoyed this spot, she thought, had it not been for the circumstances. Secluded and private. Perfect for a quiet picnic with Albert. Maybe a blanket down by the water, a bottle of wine and a nicely packed lunch. Maybe down within the semicircle made by the candles.
As she scanned the grass, she spotted a darkened spot, an absence of grass near to the centre of the half-ring where she would have set her picnic. The door was open, and she was stepping lightly around the wax stains before she realized what she was doing. A glance over her shoulder convinced her that the Inspector had not seen her transgression. The flattened grass that she had seen as a dark spot came slowly towards her.
Rounding each of the tangled bushes, Inspector Crothers stepped lightly over a puddle filling the tire track and walked along the central grass ridge. The ruts curved sharply, blocking his view with hawthorns and brambles. Still crouching, he made his way along the narrow pathway, ears alert for stray sounds, eyes looking for the extraordinary.
Diane reached the crushed spot in the grass and, leaning forward, stared down onto a small black box. It was a velvet-covered box with a clasp that held the lid in place. Using a pen that she pulled from her pocket, she snapped the latch back and levered the lid open. White satin poked out, a slit pushed into it where a ring should have been. Golden lettering inside the lid proclaimed, “Dazzling Jewels”.
The car had been pushed roughly off the track and was wedged among some low bushes. The front end dipped as the wheels rested in a slight depression in the ground. The Inspector looked at the boot of the maroon hatchback, the license plate matching exactly that of the car Gary Sandrake was driving. Approaching slowly, the Inspector ran an expert eye over the surroundings for any evidence of ripped clothing from someone clambering from the driver’s seat, but found nothing. He turned his gaze back to the rear of the vehicle and saw darkened patches along the bumper and lip to the hatchback. He touched one of the spots lightly with his finger, and it came away sticky and deep dark red.
Diane rose from her stoop and made to call for the Inspector, but her voice caught in her throat. As she had turned, she saw a bush that seemed to be worse for wear. Several branches bent crookedly, and the ground beneath showed the unmistakable signs of torn grass. Her eyes followed the disturbances and her legs
did so too.
The hatchback was unlocked and, standing several paces back, the Inspector pushed the release button. The hatch rose accompanied with the dry hiss of hydraulic hinges. The parcel shelf that hid the contents of the boot from outside view was dragged upward as well. The Inspector tensed, ready for a fight or fright, and was greeted with the latter. Gary Sandrake lay curled within, his head a splattered mess of blood.
The bush gave way to the water’s edge, and reeds danced slightly in the breeze across the water. Diane moved to the water’s edge and, stepping into mud, her shoe gave way, and she fell heavily to the ground, rolling towards the reeds. She stretched out a hand swiftly and stopped her roll down the slope. She looked at the guilty shoe and saw a darkness in the mud, darker than the mud should have been. She gulped in a breath and looked away, out through the reeds that obscured the lake beyond. As she gathered herself to rise, a smudge of white pulled her eyes to her right, a smudge that quickly became more solid and less white. Her gaze fell upon a hand, bloated and tinged with blue and with only four fingers, a jagged stump where a fifth should have been.
Chapter 5
The traffic was still relatively light as Diane started her drive home. The police car had dropped her off at the shopping centre at just after four and quickly returned to the lakeside crime scene.
Inspector Crothers had been calling in an ambulance and scene of crime officers when he had heard Diane yell. He had then called in everyone that the station could spare and some from a couple of neighbouring stations. Within minutes, the small clearing was cordoned off, and officers in white plastic suits were wandering around collecting samples and evidence. Two ambulances blocked both sides of the clearing where the track penetrated.
Gary Sandrake was alive but unconscious. He had taken a severe blow to the head, was suffering from exposure, shock, dehydration, and numerous other issues from being tied-up with zip tie cuffs and locked in the boot. The Inspector had been reticent to give Diane more details other than no one seemed sure if or when Gary would wake up.
The Diane Dimbleby Murder Collection Volume 2 Page 11