Too Many Cooks

by Marina Pascoe

  ‘Sheila, look, I’m pleading with you now. This is all getting out of hand. We’re close to catching the man who carried out these terrible acts – yes, we know now that there were two … and I think you knew that all along too, Sheila. Your help now will only serve to help you in the future. And there’s something else … ’

  Sheila looked up, enquiringly, at Bartlett.

  ‘Jim Penfold is coming out of hospital tomorrow. He’s in a bad way but he needs to be around for Angela.’

  ‘How are they, Inspector Bartlett – really?’

  ‘Jim is badly burned and it’s affected his mind too – but I daresay he’ll get over that in time. Angela’s going to be all right too. But Jim is going to need your help in a way.’

  ‘What can I do?’

  ‘You can tell the truth. What you don’t know is that your acquaintance – we have yet to discover his real name, is holding Stephen Penfold as a hostage.’

  ‘What?’

  Sheila couldn’t understand how all this had happened – and now poor, dear Stephen was paying.

  ‘It’s true, I’m afraid. Listen to this.’

  Bartlett pulled out the latest note and Sheila and Boase sat very still as Bartlett read.

  If you want to see this boy alive again then I want the ring. He’s OK – for now. It’s a simple exchange. Bartlett, I want you to bring the ring to Snow’s Passage on Friday night. 11 o’clock. At the top of the lane is a derelict cottage. There is a hole in the side of the wall. Put the ring there. Turn round and you will see the boy. DO NOT BRING ANYONE WITH YOU.

  ‘Inspector, if ʼe’s with that man, then ʼe’s in very grave danger. You must get ʼim back.’

  ‘You know all about this man, don’t you, Sheila.’

  Sheila took a sip of the tea and nodded.

  ‘Yes, Inspector, I do. But I never in my worst nightmares could have imagined how terrible a man he is. ʼE’s a danger to everyone.’

  ‘That’s why you’ve been in here – he’s not only dangerous, but clever and scheming. Now, start at the beginning … and I want to know everything. All of it. Begin with his name and what he means to you.’

  ‘Well, ʼis name’s Bert Bull. I was seein’ ʼim in London. We was together for about twelve months but I’d known ʼim for years before that. I loved ʼim and really thought we would be married. But ʼe always ʼad some excuse – usually no money. I suppose you might say we was criminals together – nothing really bad, pickpocketing, shoplifting, and suchlike and I know ’e done some ’ousebreaking. Oh, yes – ’e could get in anywhere could Bert. I thought such a lot of ʼim – but I knew quite soon that ʼe ʼad problems, from the war like, you know – in ʼis mind. Well, I didn’t know ʼow bad ʼe really was – not really until we come ʼere. I ʼad no idea.’

  Sheila paused and sipped some more tea.

  ‘I feel terrible, just awful, ʼavin’ lied to you – and now ʼavin’ caused so much trouble too.’

  Bartlett pulled his chair closer to hers.

  ‘But you’ve got the chance to do the right thing now, Sheila. Tell us everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Like I said. Bert never ʼad no money. ʼE came back from the war – three times ʼe was injured and each time they sent ʼim back. There was no work for nobody let alone someone so bad. Every night, ʼidin’ under the bed, scared of ʼis own shadow ʼe was. Anyway, after ʼe’d bin back a while ʼe changed – for the worse. Getting violent over the slightest thing. We was still friends and eventually ʼe asked me to be ʼis girl. I said I didn’t mind and I thought I could ʼelp ʼim. Well, ʼe was hittin’ me nearly every day, but I stuck with ʼim. I spent a lot of time at sea so it worked out all right. Each time I came back I thought ʼe might be a bit better and that we’d get married. I really loved ʼim.’

  Boase was almost beginning to sympathise with Bert Bull – why, he himself knew the horrors of war and felt lucky that he had returned able-bodied, well in his mind – and alive.

  Sheila continued.

  ‘As you know, I met Donald Cook when he was sailing back from Egypt. I wouldn’t usually make such an acquaintance but ʼe was really lovely to me. I told you before that I arranged for ʼim to stay in London so that ʼe could meet some friends before ʼe came back ʼere. That’s when ʼe first showed me the ring.’

  ‘So what happened when you came to Falmouth, Sheila? Did you come here with Bert?’

  ‘I wanted to come on me own but Bert found me ticket and then ʼe said ʼe was coming with me. I told ʼim I ʼad an interview but ʼe insisted that ʼe was comin’ too.’

  ‘Did you both have lodgings, Sheila?’

  ‘Well, like I said before, I stayed behind the park until I moved in with Jim. That’s ʼow I got involved with Mr Hargreaves – oh, I do hope ʼe’s better again now. I love cats, Inspector Bartlett.’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure you do, Sheila. Do you know where Bert is staying now?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I don’t know where ʼe went when we arrived in Falmouth – ʼe wouldn’t tell me. An’ then ʼe just kept turnin’ up – followin’ me all over the place. No, I don’t know where ʼe’s stayin’ – if I did I’d tell you.’

  Sheila began to cry and Boase offered his handkerchief.

  ‘Come on Sheila, we might be getting somewhere now – you’ve got to tell us everything, at least for Stephen’s sake.’

  ‘Yes, I know. I’d do anything for those precious kids.’

  ‘So what happened the night Desmond was killed?’

  ‘I was in the Star and Garter – alone. Bert turned up asking me for money, ʼe must ʼave followed me. We ʼad a drink together and then Donald and Desmond turned up. That was about eight o’clock. Donald started talking to me and Bert and he introduced us to Desmond – ʼe seemed such a nice young man … bit keen on the rich ladies though but ʼe was very polite to me. Well, the pair of them started talking about Egypt. Donald really wanted Desmond to go back with ʼim on ʼis next trip but Desmond said ʼe couldn’t afford it. Donald had pots of money and even offered to pay the fare but I think Desmond said ʼe already owed loads of money and was even goin’ to ask ʼis father for a loan to pay off some of ʼis debts. Donald said if Desmond would go back with ʼim then ʼe would make sure ʼe became very rich. That’s when ʼe brought out the ring. The landlady came over and ʼe was showin’ it to ʼer too. Well, Bert saw it – Donald was telling everyone that it was priceless.’

  ‘So how did this all end up with two young men being murdered? You’re not telling us, Sheila.’

  ‘I’m coming to that. I thought if I could steal that ring from Donald then I’d wouldn’t ʼave to work again and Bert and me, well, we could afford to marry – I thought ‘e’d get well again and we’d be like we were before. I admit, I’ve stole little things before but something like that, well – it could ʼave changed me life. So, I decided to try to get it. I told Bert that ʼe’d ʼave to ʼelp me – sort of distract Donald to give me a chance. We’d done stuff like that before together an’ I thought that this would be just the same.’

  ‘So, what did you do?’ Bartlett could hardly believe that this girl had pulled the wool over his eyes for so long. She was in it up to her neck now though.

  ‘Donald and Desmond ʼad both ʼad quite a few drinks and Donald decided to leave – ʼe said ʼe was going to look in on ‘is uncle – sort of surprise ʼim as ʼe wasn’t due back so soon. Well, Bert nudged me and just as Donald left, we got up and followed. We saw ʼim outside. ʼe stopped to light a cigarette and ʼe started walking down the road. Bert ran up behind ʼim and asked ʼim outright for the ring. I said that ʼe should ʼand it over cos Bert could get very nasty – which wasn’t a lie, I should know. Donald said no and Bert started to push ʼim round a bit. I was getting’ worried … Bert was gettin’ nastier and nastier. I pleaded with Donald to ʼand it over – yes, I wanted the ring but I liked Donald an’ I didn’t want to see ʼim get ʼurt. Donald opened his bag where ʼe’d put the ring but ʼe said it was gone. Bert didn’t believe ʼim an’
pushed ʼim down that little alleyway – Barrack’s Ope I think they call it. Well, I waited – I could ʼear a scuffle and that upset me a bit but I was afraid to say anything. They was gone for ages. A while later Bert came out – ʼe said Donald ʼad collapsed but that was probably cos ʼe’d drunk so much and that ʼe’d searched ʼis pockets and the ring definitely wasn’t there. Apparently, Donald thought the only explanation was that Desmond had stolen it from ʼim. ʼE said ʼe knew Desmond needed money but ʼad only to ask ʼim and ʼe would give ʼim some. Bert asked ʼim where Desmond lived and Donald told ʼim; ʼe must ʼave bin terrified. Oh!’

  Sheila collapsed with her head in her hands and sobbed for all she was worth. Nothing Bartlett or Boase could say could console her.

  ‘All right, Sheila, we’ll have a little break for a minute or two – I can see how upsetting this all is. Here, let me open the window, it’s very warm in here.’

  Bartlett lifted the sash window and immediately a rush of warm and fresh air burst into the room. Boase fetched Sheila a glass of water and waited for the girl to continue. Bartlett looked at the clock – it was a quarter past five. If they were going to catch Bert Bull then they needed to have a plan in place. Stephen’s safety was paramount.

  ‘Oi! Want an apple?’

  Bert Bull threw the fruit at the boy, Stephen Penfold. The boy looked at it then set it down on the table.

  ‘Wot’s wrong wiv it?’

  ‘I want to go ʼome.’

  ‘Well, you can’t yet, see? That policeman ʼas to get me something – an’ give it to me tonight. If I don’t get it, you’re not goin’ anywhere.’

  ‘I want me Da and me sister. I want to go ʼome.’

  ‘I want doesn’t get.’

  Bert Bull lifted a dirty blind up over the small-paned window. The day’s light had almost gone.

  ‘Why are you doin’ this?’

  ‘Cos I want to be rich.’

  ‘Well, there’s nothing I can do – I ʼaven’t got no money.’

  ‘No – but you can ʼelp me. Now, we just ʼave to sit tight an’ then, if the policeman does as ʼe’s told, you can go ʼome. Well, if you’ve got an ʼome?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Bert Bull laughed.

  ‘You’ll see. Now, I’m off to collect me fortune. You be good and you’ll soon be out of here.’

  The wooden door slammed shut and Stephen was alone. He ran to the window and looked out. There was nothing familiar he recognised outside and no one around. He tried to lift the window but it was locked. He went to the door and turned the handle. The door opened. Stephen carefully pulled the door open further and looked out. There was a narrow corridor with another door at one end. A small oil lamp illuminated that area. Stephen was frightened but he didn’t want to stay in here. It was cold and the smell was horrible – like rotten fish and with the fumes from the lamp making him feel ill. Looking both ways in the corridor, Stephen walked towards the end door. Turning to look over his shoulder, he tried the handle. The door was locked. He pulled again on the handle. Nothing. He rattled and pulled and the sound echoed up and down the corridor but the door wouldn’t move. He looked up. Above and to one side of the wooden door was a small window and a ledge. Stephen, quite tall for nine years old, reached up to the ledge and pulled himself up. He got up further with the help of a large, rusty nail protruding from the wall and managed to slide along on to the ledge. As he looked through the small window he heard footsteps. He tried to slide further back into the ledge. Someone was coming this way. As the door, now beneath him, opened, the lamp was extinguished with the draught and the boy and the visitor were in darkness. Stephen didn’t move, fearing even to breathe. He heard the wooden door close beneath him and felt the vibration as it slammed shut. He felt his hand lose its grip on the ledge and as he regained his position, the footsteps stopped. Someone had heard him. There was only darkness and silence. No one moved. Then the footsteps started again and disappeared into the distance. Stephen waited. Would the man find him gone and come for him? He listened. There were the footsteps again, returning. The man coughed and Stephen recognised the cough as that of his captor – he had heard it often since he had been here. Well, this was it. The man would find him now. He didn’t move despite the cramp in his legs. Footsteps once more. Closer. Now they were underneath him. He could smell tobacco and alcohol. It reminded him of his father when he had been drinking. The wooden door opened once more, the man went through and it was slammed shut. Stephen breathed a full breath for the first time. He crawled along the ledge to the small window and pushed it. It opened. He couldn’t see what was on the other side but only knew he wanted to get through. He squeezed his body through, ripping his trousers on a hinge. He carried on, fearing he would get stuck. After about three minutes he was on the other side. He dropped down and found himself on what seemed to be sand. He walked along the side of a hedge, not knowing where he was going. He was frightened and lost but he was out of that place and away from that man.

  Bartlett loosened his collar – something which Boase had never seen him do before.

  ‘Did you know that Donald was dead, Sheila?’

  ‘No – Bert said ʼe’d collapsed and I thought that was that. I ʼad no idea.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘Well, Bert said we ʼad to find Desmond – ʼow it was all my idea and I couldn’t give up now. I wanted to stop. I didn’t want the ring no more if it meant ʼurting people. Well, Donald ʼad told Bert that Desmond usually walked ʼome through Kimberley Park. Bert said we was to follow ʼim. We caught up with ʼim just as ʼe reached the gates. They was locked so Desmond, and then we, went in through the ʼole in the fence. Bert walked up behind ʼim and asked ʼim for the ring. No, says Desmond, it’s mine now. Anyway, Bert took out this huge knife – almost like a sword, it was. I never knew ʼe ʼad that, Inspector Bartlett, ʼonest I never. I think it was down ʼis trouser leg. Desmond laughed at ʼim and that made Bert worse. You’ll never use that, says Desmond … but ʼe did. Oh, my God, ʼe did. Cut ʼis throat – it was so quick. I tried to run but Bert pulled me back. Check ʼis pockets ʼe says. I went through poor Desmond’s pockets an’ I found the ring. I told Bert it wasn’t there. ʼOld up yer open ʼands, he says. I did. What ʼe didn’t know was that I ʼad the ring on me little finger – I’ve done stuff like that ʼundreds of times before. Oh, yes – I used to be a neat little pickpocket all right. ‘Look again, ʼe says. As I bent down to pretend to look … that’s when ʼe did that … to poor Desmond’s ʼead. Well, I picked up Desmond’s coat which was on the ground and just threw it down on top of ʼim then I ran out of the park – I didn’t even know where I was going. I knew Bert knew where I was stayin’ be’ind the park – that’s another reason I moved to Bar Terrace, to keep away from ʼim.

  Boase sat all the while, amazed at this story unravelling before him. How could this young woman sit so calmly here and tell what had happened? Sheila continued.

  So, when your man saw me was when I went back to look for me glove. Bert’s bin followin’ me and saw me later the next day. I told ʼim I was goin’ back to London – ʼe said ʼe was comin’ with me cos ʼe knew I ʼad the ring and ʼe’d stop at nothin’ to get it. The following’ day I moved temporary into Jim’s – then ʼe asked me to stay. Bert saw me again – comin’ in ʼere. ʼE thought I’d grassed ʼim up and said that I ʼad to give ʼim the ring. ʼE’s bin following me ever since. Oh, what are you goin’ to do about poor Stephen?’

  Bartlett looked at the clock. It was twenty minutes to ten.

  ‘Well, whatever we do, it’ll have to be soon. You’ve got everything in place, Boase?’

  ‘Yes, sir. All ready.’

  ‘Right you are. Sheila, you’re to stay here until this is all finished. You’re not out of the woods by a long chalk but you’ll stay here for now.’

  ‘Please, Inspector Bartlett, can’t I come with you?’

  ‘Absolutely not. Right, I’ll take the ring, Boase. I’ll just put it i
n my pocket.’

  The two men had one final cup of tea before their planned trip over to Snow’s Passage. They left the police station at half past ten.

  Stephen Penfold had reached Ponsharden and the Dissenters Burying Ground; not that he knew that. Stopping at the entrance to the cemetery he sat down on a step. He thought he recognised the area but was a little unsure. His father would never let him come this far on his own and he didn’t ever remember being brought here. Something scurrying in the undergrowth startled him and he rose and went on his way in the direction of what he thought must be Falmouth. As he continued, rather worried to be alone in the dark and still more worried about what his father would say, he reached the top of Killigrew. Constable Johnny Bassett was checking the gates to the Recreation Ground. As he turned, his torch lit up the pale face of Stephen Penfold.

  ‘Hey – you’re a bit young to be out so late, aren’t you?’

  Stephen didn’t answer.

  ‘Where are you off to then? Are you lost? What’s your name?’

  The constable, used to resistance on questioning, bent down and put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

  ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

  Stephen nodded. He took the offering and ate it immediately.

  ‘My name’s Johnny – what’s yours?’

  ‘Stephen.’

  ‘Stephen what? I’m Johnny Bassett.’

  ‘Stephen Penfold.’

  ‘Well I never! Stephen Penfold. Do you know how many people have been worried about you?’

  Stephen shook his head and took another biscuit which was being offered.

  ‘Well, I’d say, about a million.’

  The boy giggled, knowing this to be impossible.

  ‘Well, you have to come along with me, Stephen Penfold. Would you like a lift? Climb aboard then.’

  Carrying the boy on his shoulders, Johnny made his way down Killigrew Street and headed for the police station.

  Chapter Fourteen