by Ford,P. F.
‘I wonder why she’s hiding?’ said Slater, to no one in particular.
‘I’ve worked on stuff like this before,’ said Rippon. ‘That’s why Mr Winter came to me in the first place, I think. I’ve done two or three stories about old orphanages and how they were used as places to abuse kids. My suspicion is that this was one of those places, and it’s possible his sister, your bag lady, is one of those abused kids. Maybe she knows something someone would rather she didn’t know.’
‘You’re making a lot of assumptions, don’t you think?’ asked Norman.
‘Maybe,’ conceded Rippon, looking pointedly at Slater. ‘But perhaps that’s better than asking lots of stupid questions, don’t you think?
‘Whether I’m right or wrong, I’ll tell you this much – when that woman saw me she was bloody terrified. Now, I know I’m not blessed with good looks, but I don’t usually frighten people just by looking at them. I think she was frightened because I’m a man. I’ve seen it before, and I’d put money on it. If you’re thinking you might like to speak to her, and I can see why you need to, I’d suggest you send a woman.’
‘I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to get Jane to talk to the old dear, would it?’ Slater asked Norman as they headed back. ‘Or would it be wrong to let someone like Rippon tell us how to do our jobs?’
‘He didn’t exactly tell us what to do,’ said Norman. ‘He just made a suggestion. And frankly, if he’s right about her being frightened of men, we’d just be wasting our time.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ agreed Slater. ‘But I think you should go with her.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because someone has to go with her, and you have a much better bedside manner than me. You can keep out of the way when she tries talking to the old girl, but if you do have to get involved you can do the “gentle approach” without thinking.’
‘Well, I do have a lot more patience than you, that’s for sure,’ agreed Norman. ‘And I quite like wearing this gear.’ He indicated his clothes. ‘It’s much more comfortable than a suit.’
‘Maybe you should work for the parks department,’ suggested Slater. ‘Then you could wear jeans all the time.’
Norman was clearly so used to Slater taking a dig at his dress sense that he was oblivious to it. The insult sailed harmlessly over his head, seemingly unnoticed.
‘Oh, and go in by the towpath,’ added Slater. ‘I don’t think she ever uses the front way, and I reckon she can probably see anyone coming from the front of the house long before they get anywhere near her hideout.’
They drove on for a couple of minutes in silence before Slater spoke again.
‘Do I really ask a lot of stupid questions?’
‘I think you sometimes speak your thought process out loud,’ said Norman.
‘So I do ask a lot of stupid questions, is that what you’re saying?’
‘No, that’s not what I’m saying. The way you think things through is by working your way through a series of questions, and sometimes those questions are obvious. There’s nothing wrong with that. The thing is you sometimes say them out loud, in front of people who don’t know how you think.’
‘And I come across as stupid,’ finished Slater.
‘You’re just vocalising your thoughts,’ explained Norman, clearly struggling to get his point across. ‘And the thinking you’re vocalising isn’t stupid thinking, it’s thorough thinking. You’re not frightened to ask the obvious, and you prove again and again that you’re anything but stupid. Trust me, if people think you’re stupid they’re making a big mistake.
‘Look at me. People think I’m stupid because I’m fat, and because I don’t seem to care what I look like. That’s fine by me, because I know I’m not stupid and I don’t give a shit what people think. I use it to my advantage to catch crooks. It doesn’t matter if people sometimes think you’re stupid, all that matters is that you know you’re not stupid.’
‘Wow,’ said Slater after a few moments thought. ‘There you go again with your positive thinking stuff.’
‘Dolly Parton once said she doesn’t mind if people think she’s a dumb blonde,’ finished Norman, ‘because she knows she ain’t dumb, and she knows she ain’t blonde. You could do a lot worse than think that way. You know you’re good at what you do, and that’s all that matters. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Right?’
He looked across at Slater.
‘Right, I’ve got it.’ Slater grinned back at him. ‘I ain’t dumb, and I ain’t blonde.’
‘What does this little old woman look like?’ asked Jolly, when they told her what she and Norman would be doing next morning.
‘Looks like a little old bag lady,’ said Slater, picturing her at the church. ‘Quite small, long white hair and a dirty off-white coat tied up with string.’
‘That sounds like Florence,’ said Jolly.
‘You know her?’ exclaimed Slater.
‘Everyone knows Florence, don’t they?’ asked Jolly, looking expectantly at the two detectives.
Slater’s mouth was agape.
‘Or perhaps not,’ she said. ‘But then you two don’t pound the beat, do you?’
‘No one pounds the beat these days, Jane,’ said Slater.
‘You know what I mean,’ she said. ‘Those of us who patrol the streets on early shift probably see Florence once or twice a month. She tends to walk through the town in the early morning, before everyone else is up and about.’
‘Where does she come from and where does she go?’ asked Norman.
‘I don’t think anyone knows. She just seems to walk the streets.’
‘Hasn’t anyone ever asked her?’
‘I’m afraid she doesn’t like the uniform,’ said Jolly. ‘So if you do stop she won’t talk.’
‘Do you know why?’ asked Slater.
‘Afraid not,’ Jolly said, smiling. ‘And I can’t ask-’
‘Because she won’t talk to the uniform,’ finished Norman.
‘Exactly. She doesn’t do any harm, so we leave her alone. The only person who seems to be able to communicate with her is the baker’s wife. She sometimes gives her a loaf of bread.’
‘But she must be eighty if she’s a day,’ she added after a pause. ‘She’s too old to be Mr Winter’s little sister.’
‘I dunno,’ said Slater. ‘I thought he looked twenty years older than he actually was. Maybe it’s in the genes. Talk to that baker’s wife and see what she can tell you about her.’
‘As luck would have it, I’m going to be escorting you tomorrow, Jane.’ Norman grinned at her when Slater had finished talking. ‘But I want you to promise you won’t take advantage of me.’
‘That’s a promise I shall find very easy to keep.’ She smiled sweetly.
‘Oh, and don’t bring your best clothes,’ said Norman. ‘Dress for the great outdoors.’
‘Well obviously I’m not going to wear uniform if I want to get her to talk, am I?’ said Jolly. Then she rolled her eyes in mock horror. ‘You know I never thought I’d be taking fashion advice from you.’
‘Just pin your ears back,’ Norman said, grinning. ‘Watch and learn. Why d’you think they used to call me Joe Cool?’
‘Oh come on, Norm,’ Slater said chuckling and shaking his head. ‘No one could possibly ever have had any reason to call you Joe Cool.’
Chapter Seventeen
It was a pleasant enough walk along the old towpath at the Canal Street end, and Norman thought it was easy to see why the spot had become so popular since it had been cleaned up. There were even a few ducks paddling up and down in anticipation of a bread handout. Norman and Jolly were both carrying rucksacks with food and one or two goodies that they were hoping would win Florence over, but they didn’t have time to stop and feed the ducks or enjoy the views.
‘So what did the baker’s wife tell you about the bag lady?’ asked Norman, as they walked along.
‘Florence,’ corrected Jolly. ‘She’s a real person. Her name’s Florence.’
>
‘Okay, sorry. What did the baker’s wife tell you about Florence?’ said Norman, contritely.
‘Not much really. She said Florence comes into town once or twice a week, always in the early hours, which she thinks she does to avoid other people. She started giving her a little food parcel a couple of years ago, but in all that time she’s never actually managed to befriend her. And Florence always retreats if her husband appears.’
‘That confirms what Geoff Rippon said. He reckons she’s terrified of men.’
‘Apparently all Florence ever says is “have you seen Dougal?”’ added Jolly.
‘Who’s Dougal?’ asked Norman.
‘She has no idea. It could be a person, or a lost dog. Who knows?’
‘Have you ever heard of The Magic Roundabout?’
‘Wasn’t that a children’s TV series?’ asked Jolly. ‘A bit before my time I’m afraid. Why do you ask?’
‘It was late 60s and early 70s,’ said Norman. ‘It was intended for kids really, but it became something of a cult. I’m pretty sure Dougal, Dylan, and Florence were characters. It just seems a bit of a weird coincidence, that’s all.’
‘Were they all people?’
‘If I remember right,’ said Norman, thinking hard, ‘Dylan was a sort of hippie rabbit, Florence was a little girl, and Dougal was a dog. They all finished up on the roundabout at the end of every episode I think.’
‘Wow. Sounds amazing,’ said Jolly, derisively.
‘You had to be there,’ Norman said, smiling nostalgically.
‘But how does it fit in here?’
‘It probably doesn’t. It just seems a bit of a coincidence.’
They stopped as they reached the point where the path clearing had stopped. From here on, it was going to be a matter of working their way through weeds and brambles.
‘This trail must be the route Florence follows in and out of town,’ said Norman, indicating a faint trail that seemed to wind its way through the undergrowth. ‘It’s going to have to be single file from here on.’
‘She must come along here in the dark,’ observed Jolly. ‘How on earth does she manage?’
‘I guess it’s what you get used to,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe she only comes into town when it’s a clear night and there’s a bit of moonlight to help her out.’
Norman looked Jolly up and down.
‘I know it should be ladies first,’ he said, ‘but I’m gonna pull rank. I’ll go first. Just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ asked Jolly.
‘Just in case there are lions or tigers,’ said Norman. ‘I don’t know. I just think it’s right I should go first.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with rank, has it?’ she said. ‘If it was, you’d send me in first. You’re just being gallant.’
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ said Norman, but his body had betrayed him and he felt his face turn bright red.
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ she teased.
He turned away from her to hide his embarrassment.
‘More than you know,’ he muttered to himself, then added, much louder, ‘Come on then, follow me.’
It was almost an hour before they finally reached the woods at the back of Hatton House. Norman was puffing hard, and his muscles ached from all the unusual activity, but he was pleasantly surprised. He had actually expected to feel much worse.
‘Okay, Jane,’ he said. ‘How do you think we should play this?’
‘If she’s really terrified of men,’ said Jolly, ‘you’d better keep well out of the way. I’ll go up there on my own and see what happens.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be alright? I’m supposed to be here to look after you.’
‘I honestly don’t think I’m in any danger,’ said Jolly. ‘I think it’s a pretty safe bet she’s more likely to run away than attack me. I’ll be fine.’
‘Remember, the log cabin’s hidden behind a conifer hedge, through these woods, in that direction,’ he said, pointing through the trees. ‘I’ll follow at a safe distance, but I’ll try to keep out of sight.’
‘Right,’ said Jolly, beaming at him. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
Jane Jolly headed off through the trees in the direction Norman had indicated, following a faint path that she presumed had been made by Florence. Creeping along as quietly as she could, Jolly made slow but steady progress and soon, up ahead, she was able to see what she presumed must be the conifer hedge hiding the log cabin. She could just make out a roof and a chimney through the tops of the conifers. A thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air from the chimney gave her some hope – surely Florence must be home, she thought.
But suddenly, without any warning, a small dog was barking furiously and snapping away at her ankles. She was forced to hop on one leg as the dog managed to sink his teeth into her jeans and began tugging furiously.
‘Let go, you little bugger,’ she hissed, but there was no way he was releasing his prize any time soon, and her curses just seemed to make him even more determined.
With one huge heave, he gave an almighty tug, and, caught by surprise and unbalanced by the unfamiliar rucksack on her back, Jolly fell heavily to the ground. Through it all, she heard the dull sound of footsteps from beyond the hedge, but they were receding, and Jolly knew it must be Florence running away. Completely unprepared for what was happening to her, and convinced this fearsome little terrier was about to start biting her, Jolly had no time to consider what Florence might, or might not be doing. She began to panic and covered her head with her arms.
The little dog clearly had other ideas, though. He promptly set about snuffling around her head and trying to lick her face. There was no way in for him, so he settled for plunging his tongue into her ear and then sticking his nose down the back of her neck. In spite of herself, and the seriousness of the situation, Jolly began to giggle as she realised the dog just wanted to play and be friends. She pulled her arms free of the rucksack, rolled over and sat up, the joyous dog climbing all over her in his excitement.
‘So you’re all bark and no bite,’ said Jolly, scratching the dog’s head. ‘Why didn’t you say so at the beginning?’
She climbed to her feet, lifting the dog, tail still wagging furiously, into her arms.
‘You’re the alarm system, aren’t you?’ she asked the dog. ‘You create a diversion while your mum does a runner. Why didn’t anyone warn me about you?’
She was annoyed to think she had probably blown their chances of getting through to Florence before she’d even started.
‘Oh well, I’ve come this far, there’s no point in turning back just yet,’ she said, more to herself than to the dog.
She put him back down on the ground.
‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s find the way in.’
The little dog disappeared back under the hedge and she was suddenly on her own again. She brushed herself off, collected the rucksack, and set off, following the hedge off to her right. After a few yards, the hedge made a left turn, and then after a few more yards, she found an arch had been clipped into the hedge, offering her a first glimpse of the log cabin.
She stopped and gazed in surprise. She had been told it was like a gingerbread house from a fairy story, but she hadn’t expected it to actually look like that. It really was made from logs, and it was quite small – probably no more than ten feet by twenty, with a door in the centre and windows either side. A small veranda at the front of the little house was home to a wooden rocking chair.
Jolly walked reluctantly towards the house. She felt rather uncomfortable, like an intruder who had no right to be there, and for a moment she was torn between doing her duty, and turning around and leaving this little old lady in peace. Then she remembered that Mr Winter had been murdered and Florence might just be able to help them unravel the story behind his death.
She peered in through one of the windows. The little house looked cosy inside, but it was obvious there was no electricity or any of the modern d
ay luxuries that many people seemed to think they couldn’t live without. The room she was looking into had another window opposite, so it was surprisingly light inside. The end wall she could see had no window, but a huge print in an ornate frame hung in the centre. Jolly did a double take, but there was no doubt she had seen the exact same print before in Mr Winter’s house.
Having no idea where Florence had headed when she fled, Jolly put the rucksack down and perched on the rocking chair while she considered what to do next. The dog had re-appeared and jumped up onto her lap to renew their friendship.
‘Now what do I do, little dog?’ She sighed.
She had been sitting on the rocking chair for a couple of minutes, stroking the dog and enjoying the peace, when she became aware someone was watching her. She couldn’t see anyone, it was just a feeling, but then the dog pricked his ears and turned his head to confirm her feeling. Someone was behind her, yet she felt no threat. She knew instinctively that whoever was there was a gentle being. Slowly, and deliberately, she turned around in her chair.
The little old lady was standing just a few yards away, watching Jolly with a wistful expression on her face. She was less than five feet tall, her long white hair flowing over her shoulders, almost down to her elbows. Jolly smiled.
‘Florence?’ she asked.
The dog jumped down and ran to Florence’s side.
‘He’s a nice dog,’ said Jolly. ‘I think he likes me. What’s his name?’
Florence smiled uncertainly and looked down at the dog.
‘Dougie,’ she said in a quiet, almost childlike voice.
‘I’m in your chair,’ Jolly apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’
She went to stand up, and Florence started to back away.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ said Jolly, but Florence didn’t look convinced and fidgeted nervously from foot to foot.
‘I’ll stay here, then,’ said Jolly. ‘I just want to talk to you. Will that be alright?’