Too Many Cooks

by Marina Pascoe

  ‘Well, the man, Donald, was telling Desmond about Egypt, I think. Yes, he was saying he’d come back early to England and had spent a few days in London.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, that’s all really. He seemed to be trying to persuade Desmond to go back again with him – to Egypt. Desmond said he couldn’t afford the ticket.’

  ‘Now, your husband says there was a man and a woman with them?’

  ‘Well, yes, well, not with them – they came over to the two young men halfway through the evening.’

  ‘Can you remember when the four of them left?’

  Doreen frowned.

  ‘Please, Doreen, it’s so important.’

  ‘Well, I told Desmond he had drunk too much and I gave him a glass of water. Then Donald said he was leaving and he would see Desmond the next day.’

  ‘What time did Donald leave?’

  ‘Quite late, for us. We had trouble getting everyone out – so he left at about eleven o’clock.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘The man and woman left a couple of minutes after that and then I sent Desmond on his way at about twenty past eleven.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, no.’

  ‘Well, thank you both so much for your help – and the beer. Please let me know if you hear anything else that you think might be important, Enrico?’

  ‘Yes, of course, Mr Bartlett, of course we will.’

  Bartlett and Boase left by the back entrance and down the small flight of steps. As they reached the bottom, Doreen Trewavas called after them.

  ‘Mr Bartlett, Mr Boase, there is something else … I don’t know if it’s important.’

  The two men returned back up the steps to the door.

  ‘What have you remembered, Mrs Trewavas?’ Boase really hoped something here would be helpful to them.

  ‘Donald had a ring …’

  ‘Go on, what about the ring?’

  ‘He was showing it to Desmond when he was telling him about Egypt. Desmond looked at it and handed it back. That’s all really.’

  ‘So, did Donald have the ring the last time you saw it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thanks, Doreen.’

  Chapter Six

  Sheila Parsons rubbed her eyes and yawned. Leaning across the pillow, she picked up her watch and squinted to see the time. Half past seven. She listened. She could hear birds singing in the garden and, downstairs, the sound of Jim Penfold cooking breakfast. Stephen and Angela were fighting in the garden. In different circumstances this would be heaven for Sheila Parsons – but no, this was more like hell. OK. She’d do it. She’d tell the police everything she knew. She couldn’t live like this, backwards and forwards, hiding away and, besides, she would be doing them a favour and perhaps they’d feel sorry for her and she’d be safe. Safe. That wasn’t something she felt at the moment. What she would give to feel safe right now.

  The bedroom door opened and Jim Penfold came in carrying a tray of kippers, toast and a pot of tea.

  ‘Ere you are my lovely, I brought you some breakfast and a nice drop of tea.‘

  ‘Thanks, Jim. What have I done to deserve this special treatment?’

  ‘I’m just very ʼappy to ʼave you ʼere, that’s all. Oh, and I’m ʼoping you’ll go into the garden when you’ve finished and sort out Stephen and Angela – they’re getting on me nerves. I told them they ʼad to share the bicycle but Angela’s been on it for nearly an hour …’

  ‘An hour? But it’s only ʼalf past seven now.’

  ‘They both got up early to try to get the bike first.’

  Jim smiled and lifted Sheila’s pillows so she could sit up and eat.

  ‘Right, I’m off to work now. I’ll see you later.’

  Jim patted Sheila’s hand and went out on to the landing, leaving the door ajar.

  ‘Jim … Jim.’ Sheila called out. Jim stuck his head back around the door.’

  ‘Yes, my lovely? What is it?’

  Sheila dismissed him with her hand.

  ‘Oh, it’s – it’s nothing. Don’t work too hard. Bye.’

  The man disappeared down the stairs and Sheila could soon hear three voices in the garden below the open window.

  ‘Yes, but Angela, you’ve been on it all the morning. You must let Stephen have a turn. Why don’t you go in and have some toast? Here you are, now, Stephen – you can have ʼalf an hour and don’t go on the road. Sheila will be down in a minute. You could ask if she’d like a walk on the beach, couldn’t you?’

  Sheila listened and soon heard the bicycle crash to the ground, its bell tinkling as it landed, accompanied by Angela’s sobs and hurried footsteps into the scullery. She lay back on her pillows and sipped some more tea.

  Alice Vyvyan stood on a small wooden table and peered through the open window of the Seven Stars. Inside, her father, Binny, was trying to have a quiet drink.

  ‘Please Dad, can I go – everyone else will be there. Please?’

  ‘No. I don’t know any of the people there and I don’t know the man you’re goin’ with. I’ve ʼeard stories about these so-called private parties and you’re not goin’. That’s my final word, Alice.’

  ‘Dad.’ The earlier voice of reason became a whine. ‘Daaaad. It’s a really big birthday party. Everyone else is goin’.

  ‘Alice, if I get up out of this chair and come outside, you’d better not still be standin’ there. I’ve said no and yer mother’s said no. So, no.’

  Alice Vyvyan jumped down, kicked the table, and, trying not to look like she’d hurt herself, stamped across the Moor to where she’d left Sam Jackett waiting.

  ‘It’s no good, Sam, Da says no.’

  ‘Well, maybe ask ʼim tomorrow – the party’s not till Friday.’

  George Bartlett lit his pipe. He looked at the clock and then at his watch – could it really be only three o’clock he thought. He looked across at Boase.

  ‘What do you make of this business about the Egyptian ring, Boase?’

  ‘Well, it’s a puzzle right enough, sir. How did Sheila Parsons get it?’

  ‘I can’t fathom it either.’

  ‘I can’t help thinking, sir, that the head we found is Donald Cook. Does that sound completely mad?’

  ‘Well, no, not mad. But it was in such a bad state that there’s not really any way of telling for sure … looks like it’d been burnt or something. – presumably to disguise the identity? I don’t know – if you believe that someone could wilfully do something like that then you have to believe anything. I suppose we’ll hear back soon enough – last I heard they were having real trouble making any sort of identification.’

  ‘Well, I can’t sit here all day – if you don’t mind, sir, I’m going back to Bar Terrace to see if Sheila Parsons has turned up. I’ve been up and down that road two or three times a day at various times but I haven’t spotted her yet. I think she must still be there but avoiding us. Is it worth calling in at Bendix and Hall to ask about her there … she may have brought the ring back?’

  ‘Why not – yes, you go, Boase – come straight back afterwards, Greet wants to see us both.’

  ‘Oh no.’

  Grabbing an apple from his desk drawer, Boase left the office and went out into the street.

  Approaching the parish church, Boase was delighted to see Irene on the other side of the road.

  ‘Irene … Irene.’

  He ran across the road just as Irene turned around.

  ‘Hello, Archie – how nice to see you. Aren’t you working?’

  ‘Yes, well, I’m just on an errand actually. How are you?’

  ‘I’m very well – in a bit of a hurry though … I’m on an errand too, I’ve got to take these groceries to Mrs Angove – do you remember her? She lives at the end of our terrace.’

  ‘Yes, I do – the old lady who always sits in the window?’

  ‘That’s her. She’s got very bad arthritis so I usually call in to see if she needs a
nything if I’m going past. Her son is visiting her today and she hasn’t seen him for almost a year – I think she said he lives in Dorset. She wanted me to get some fancy biscuits and some cake.’

  ‘That’s really very kind of you.’ Boase thought how considerate Irene always was to everyone; she was such a lovely person.

  ‘Well, if you’ll excuse me, Archie – I really must go.’

  ‘Of course, Irene, I’m so sorry to hold you up – but I’ll see you again soon I hope?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Boase awkwardly leaned forward to kiss Irene’s cheek just as she bent down to pick up her shopping basket. Their heads collided.

  ‘Oh, Irene, I’m so sorry – are you all right?’

  Boase retrieved the basket and put it into her hand. She giggled.

  ‘Of course I’m all right. Why don’t you just kiss me goodbye?’

  She looked at him and he quickly pressed his lips on hers.

  ‘Bye, Irene.’ And he was gone, blushing.

  Arriving at the Penfold place, Boase found no one to be at home. No Jim Penfold, no Sheila Parsons, no Stephen and no Angela. He walked around the back of the house – the back door was locked and all the windows were closed. Boase peered into the kitchen and the scullery. There was no one around. He resolved to keep returning or maybe send a junior policeman until he’d found her. He returned to the front of the house and left through the garden. Bendix and Hall might be worth a try – maybe Sheila Parsons had tried to sell the ring again.

  Just over an hour later, Boase returned to the office. Bartlett was refereeing an altercation between two men who had been brought in for brawling at Greenbank. Eventually, deciding that he was getting far too old to deal with this, he called Penhaligon and Coad, the latter only in the job for four weeks, and retreated to his own office.

  Boase was looking out of Bartlett’s window.

  ‘You could have lent a hand there, Boase.’

  ‘Well, I could see you had the matter in hand, sir – you were dealing with it admirably.’

  ‘Don’t get chippy with me – I had to leave before the volume increased any further.’

  ‘Sir, do you know that man down there?’

  ‘What man?’ Bartlett walked over to where Boase was standing at the window.

  ‘Look, that man across the road.’

  ‘Well, what’s wrong with him – he’s just waiting for someone probably.’

  ‘Loitering more like – looks a bit shifty to me.’

  ‘Haven’t you got anything to do, Boase – tell me about your walk to Bar Terrace and then we have to see Greet. Oh, there you are – look, he’s gone. Anyway, I haven’t had a chance to say to you that Irene looked in about twenty minutes ago – said something about a private birthday party that everyone is going to … I think she’s hoping you’ll take her.’

  Boase perked up.

  ‘Everyone, sir? That’s an awful lot of people.’

  ‘Her words, not mine. Anyway when you see her perhaps you could arrange it – if you want to go, that is. I don’t even know whose party it is but I know she’ll be in good hands with you.’

  Boase took this as a compliment and the two men went to the upstairs office to see Greet.

  The following day as Boase took the walk to the police station from Melvill Road, he resolved to call on Irene later that day to ask about the birthday party. He didn’t really care who would be there or what the occasion was – he just wanted every opportunity to be with Irene. As he turned onto Killigrew Street he stared ahead of him. There was a woman about a hundred yards in front of him – the bright red hair was unmistakable. That was Sheila Parsons all right. Boase ran at top speed, crossed the road and found himself at the corner of Clifton Place. He looked up and down the road. She had vanished. A grubby, short man stood at the entrance to Albany Road, watching the proceedings. Boase called to him.

  ‘Hey, you! Did you see a woman with red hair just come past here?’

  The man didn’t speak but shook his head and walked off up Albany Road.

  Boase continued on to the police station. He stopped at the entrance. That man – yes, he thought he recognised him. He was the one loitering across the street yesterday. Boase had never seen him before and now twice in quick succession. He carried on into the office where Bartlett was making some notes for Greet.

  ‘Sir, you’ll never believe this – I just saw Sheila Parsons in Killigrew Street. I ran after her but she’d gone and then I saw that odd man who we saw from your window.’

  ‘Right, Boase, don’t take off your coat – let’s try Bar Terrace again, she must go back there some time – she told us she had nowhere else to go.’

  As the two men left by the front door Boase tugged Bartlett’s sleeve.

  ‘Look, sir, it’s her – over there.’

  Sheila Parsons was walking quickly on the other side of the road.

  Bartlett called to her.

  ‘Miss Parsons, Miss Parsons.’

  The girl looked across and waved – not a casual or friendly wave, rather an indication for the men to wait for her. She ran across to them.

  ‘Blimey, I’m so pleased to see you – I was just on me way ʼere. I ʼoped you be in … looks like I almost missed you.’

  ‘Well, you’ve led us a merry dance, Miss Parsons, and no error. Boase has been looking for you everywhere.’

  ‘Well, now you’ve found me and I really need yer ʼelp.’

  The three went inside the police station and sat down in Bartlett’s office.

  ‘You’d better begin, Miss Parsons – what did you want to see us about?’

  Bartlett lit his pipe and sat back in his chair. Boase perched on the corner of the desk – he wanted to make sure he heard everything that this young woman had to say.

  Sheila Parsons looked nervous as she spoke.

  ‘I ʼaven’t really bin ʼonest with you.’

  Boase looked at her.

  ‘Well, yes, we guessed that. Go on. We need to know everything. What do you know about the two Cook boys? Start with them.’

  ‘Right, well, I knew Donald cos I was working on the ship to Egypt. ʼE was travelling back to England and ʼis was one of the cabins I ʼad to caretake. At first I thought ʼe was a bit of a toff but ʼe used to talk to me about all sorts of interesting things – like Egypt and Oxford … ʼe knew so much about everything. Well, anyway, when we got back to England ʼe wanted to meet some friends in London before ʼe came ʼere to Falmouth. So, since ʼe’d bin so nice and friendly to me, I offered for ʼim to stay at a place near me – in Bethnal Green.

  ‘But you could have told us all this before – you really should have said something. This is a very serious investigation, Sheila.’ Bartlett looked at the young woman.

  ‘I know. Well, I was scared you’d think I ʼad something to do with that ʼorrible murder and I didn’t know what to do – so I just kept ʼiding away. Jim’s bin so good to me – you won’t let anything ʼappen to ʼim, will you?’

  Both men ignored the question – how could they know what Jim Penfold’s involvement had been?

  Boase put his hand on Sheila’s shoulder.

  ‘Go on – what else?’

  ‘Well, I didn’t see Donald after we got to London ʼe just went off, I assumed to see his friends. ʼE’d told me so much about Falmouth when we were on board the ship and I’d ʼeard that there was a job going ʼere – which was what I told you before. So, I came down on the train for the interview – I didn’t really ʼave anything to keep me in London and I arrived ʼere on the Friday. The rest is as I told you. I didn’t get the job, I decided to stay for a few days and then I met Jim.’

  Bartlett tapped his pipe on an ashtray.

  ‘Tell us about the evening in the Star and Garter, Sheila.’

  Sheila fidgeted. She didn’t know that anyone had told of that evening.

  ‘Well, there’s not much to tell, really. I was ʼaving a drink in there and chatting to Donald – ʼe was surprised to
see me and ʼe bought me a couple of drinks and that’s when I met Desmond – quite a nice boy I thought.’

  ‘And what of the other man?’

  ‘Other man? There was no other man.’

  Bartlett was growing irritated. This woman had already interfered with this investigation and had been covert all along – and he was now having to bear the brunt of Greet’s irritation.

  ‘Sheila, we have more than one witness who says that you turned up with another man before you had even seen the Cooks. Who is he, Sheila?’

  ‘Well, there was a man – but I don’t know anything about ʼim. I was just sitting ʼaving a drink when ʼe turned up and started talking to me. I didn’t much like ʼim and that’s when I spotted Donald and I went over to ʼim.’

  ‘And what of the man?’

  ‘Well, ʼe followed me and pretended we were together.’

  ‘What was this man’s name?’

  ‘I’m not sure – I don’t think ʼe said and I wasn’t keen to make conversation so I didn’t ask – I just wanted ʼim to go away.’

  ‘We’ve been told that you left the pub with this man – you were seen together.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t … I think ʼe left the same time an’ ʼe started following me but I gave ʼim the slip and I didn’t see ʼim again.’

  ‘What do you know about a ring, Sheila?’

  ‘A ring? What do you mean – a ring?’

  Bartlett was growing more impatient.

  ‘Look, Sheila, I’ve got a feeling you’re not being straight with us at all – I’ll have to take you in if you keep this up … you’re being completely uncooperative and I don’t know what you’re hiding. You were seen in Bendix and Hall trying to sell an Egyptian ring. I want to know where you got it and where it is now.’

  Sheila Parsons opened her small bag and pulled out the gold ring.

  ‘OK, ʼere it is.’

  She handed the ring to Bartlett.

  ‘This is it? This is what all the fuss is about?’

  Bartlett looked at the seemingly unremarkable ring then handed it to Boase.

  ‘So?’

  So what?’

  ‘Come on, Sheila – how did you get this? Who gave it to you?’

  Sheila burst into tears. Boase offered her his handkerchief.