Bury in Haste

by Jean Rowden

  ‘You want me to go and set him straight?’ Deepbriar asked.

  ‘Well, yes, but since he’s had such a bad morning, maybe we should leave him in peace for a while.’ He glanced up at the clock. ‘Let’s be civilised and offer him some lunch at twelve thirty, shall we?’

  ‘I’ll take it to him myself,’ Deepbriar promised.

  Jakes sighed. ‘I wish our other case could be as easily dealt with. We’re no nearer finding old Bronc than we were the first day we started looking.’

  ‘It’s strange the way Bert mentioned that. He can’t resist any chance to rub our noses in our mistakes, but I couldn’t help thinking he knows something.’

  ‘It’s possible,’ Jakes agreed. ‘Perhaps you’d better ask him. Before you let him in on our little joke.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’ Deepbriar reached into his pocket and pulled out some papers. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got another matter I need to talk to you about. I was going to see Inspector Stubbs, but I gather he’s not likely to get back today.’

  ‘No, nor tomorrow. It seems these burglaries have been linked to a gang working up north.’ Jakes sighed again. ‘So, if you want to talk to CID, then I’m your man.’

  ‘It’s about Joseph Spraggs.’

  ‘Oh, not that again. Somebody looked into it, and there’s nothing suspicious about the man’s disappearance. He left his wife.’

  ‘I don’t think so. If you’d just take a look at these statements I think you’ll agree that there’s cause for concern. There’s one from Mrs Spraggs, and another from her husband’s friend, a man called Halliwell. I spoke to him before I came here this morning. He met Spraggs at the Queen’s Head in Falbrough on Wednesday the 5th, which is the day before his wife last saw him. Spraggs was boasting about his new car, and mapping out the route he and Mrs Spraggs were planning to take that weekend when they drove up north to see one of her relations.

  ‘Halliwell has known Spraggs pretty much all his life. He’s convinced that the man had no intention of deserting his wife, and even if he had, he agrees with her that Spraggs wouldn’t have left his car behind.’ He leafed through the papers and extracted another. ‘I thought I’d better check as much as I could of his story before I brought this report in. The barman at the Queen’s Head has confirmed that the two men were there, and he says he heard enough of their conversation to confirm what Halliwell told me.’

  Deepbriar put the documents down on the desk. ‘Add this to the abduction of Joe Spraggs, of Honeysuckle Cottage, Minecliff, just a few days before Joseph Spraggs went missing, and at the very least I think we are looking at a case of kidnapping. Joe was dumped back at the yard where he works the next day. His statement is there too. I’ve added my own notes on the evidence that a car, almost certainly the same one that knocked Bronc into the ditch on the evening of the 1st, was driven in and out of Wriggle’s yard shortly before Joe Spraggs was returned there. It was because I wanted to question Bronc further about this matter that I was trying to locate him. Something which, as you know, I was unable to do, until we found some of his clothes and an awful lot of blood.’

  Jakes was silent for almost ten minutes as he read through the documents, his face growing increasingly sombre. At last he looked up at Deepbriar and sighed. ‘That’s a rare mess you’ve landed us all in, constable. It’s too hot for me to handle without authority, with Inspector Stubbs away I’ll have to talk to Inspector Martindale. We haven’t managed to locate one corpse and if you’re right we’re probably looking for two. How on earth are we going to explain that it’s taken us three weeks to investigate what could very well be murder?’

  ‘You believe Mrs Spraggs then? You think her husband was kidnapped?’

  ‘Put it this way. I don’t think he walked out on her.’ He tapped a finger on the woman’s statement. ‘People do sometimes go missing with only the clothes they stand up in, but you’re right, there’s something very wrong here.’

  ‘All right, Bert?’ Deepbriar asked, going sideways into the cell with a tray in his hands. ‘You’re lucky today, boiled beef and carrots, it’s one of the things the canteen does best, and for pudding I fancied you’re more of a plum duff man than fruit and custard. I put three spoons of sugar in the tea, hope that’s right.’

  ‘When do I get out of ’ere?’ Bunyard said, looking nervously past the constable into the empty corridor. ‘Are them cops from London still on their way? I thought they’d be ’ere by now.’

  ‘They must have got held up. Don’t worry, Sergeant Jakes will do his best to convince them you’re not part of the gang they’re after. Here, tuck in.’ Deepbriar handed him the tray and leant back against the wall as the man began his meal.

  ‘Reckon you had a good laugh, watching us chasing our tails when we were looking for Bronc,’ the constable said after a while.

  ‘An’ what if I did?’ Bert spoke round a mouthful of beef.

  ‘Oh, nothing. We don’t hold grudges. Only bear in mind that you’ll be up in front of the magistrate tomorrow. You’ll probably be let out on bail, so long as you go on co-operating. Talking of which, Bert, there’s a couple of questions we didn’t ask.’

  ‘I already told you what I done,’ Bunyard said, forking meat into his mouth and chewing vigorously. ‘If this is your idea of a good dinner then I dunno what the bad ones are like.’

  ‘Looks all right to me,’ Deepbriar replied. ‘Come on, Bert, you can help us.’ Even as he said the words he knew he’d made a mistake; Bunyard had never helped anyone but himself in his entire life. He hurried on, hoping the man wouldn’t have noticed the appeal to his non-existent better nature. ‘Nearly a month ago, a few days before you stole Quinn’s pig, somebody saw you going up the lane off the Gadwell road.’

  ‘So what?’ Bunyard’s belligerent manner was returning, along with his confidence.

  ‘Well, if you want us to forget we ever found you up at the aerodrome, then you’d best tell me what happened that day. We need to know if you met up with Bronc. And we’ve got an idea there was a car parked up the lane, a red sports car. You might have seen who left it there.’

  ‘Mebbe I did, an’ mebbe I didn’t,’ Bunyard replied, shovelling up the last mouthful of beef from the tin plate. ‘I will tell you somethin’ though, seein’ you’re askin’. It’s a wonder you coppers can find your ’eads to put your ’ats on, an’ that’s a fact. There’s more folk than me know about that ’ole in the fence, an’ there’s others what don’t need to use it. Any more than that I ain’t sayin’.’

  ‘You don’t want Sergeant Jakes changing his mind,’ Deepbriar warned. ‘Be sensible, Bert, you know something about Bronc. Why do you want to keep it to yourself? What good’s it doing you?’

  Bunyard pulled the pudding to him and spooned up a mouthful of plum duff. ‘This ain’t bad,’ he said, spraying custard. He ate in silence for a while, then looked up at Deepbriar, his small eyes suddenly mean. ‘You fooled me. You an’ that young fancy pants detective. There wasn’t no missin’ bombs, an’ there ain’t no Scotland Yard men comin’ from London. It was all a trick.’

  Deepbriar shook his head. ‘It’s a serious business trespassing on government land.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but I say there weren’t no stolen bombs.’ He glared at the constable. ‘An’ that bein’ the case, you ain’t gettin’ no more outa me.’

  ‘We can still make things hot for you, Bert, by the time we add up all the charges I reckon you might get six months, or even a year. You don’t want to leave that boy of yours on his own all through the winter, do you now?’

  ‘What I want or don’t want is my business.’ He dropped the spoon into the empty bowl with a clatter, then drained the mug at one go. ‘How about another cup?’

  Deepbriar retreated, bitterly disappointed. Outside the cell he stopped and took out his notebook, writing down what Bert had said, as close as he could recall. More people than him knew the way into the aerodrome. And there were some who didn’t need to use the gap in the fence. But what
did that mean?

  ‘We’ll take another look at the aerodrome,’ Jakes said, once Deepbriar had reported Bunyard’s words. ‘But we can’t keep creeping in like we did to fetch Bunyard and the pig, we’ll have to go through the proper channels this time. That means approaching the Air Ministry, and heaven alone knows how long it will take.’

  ‘It sounds as if somebody with a key uses it now and then,’ Deepbriar said, looking at the notes he’d made when he spoke to Bert. ‘Unless there’s some other entrance we haven’t found.’

  ‘Only other way in I can think of is by air,’ Jakes said. ‘Most of those old runways are still fit to use in an emergency, but surely somebody in the village would notice if there were planes coming and going.’

  ‘You don’t think all that rubbish we invented about a gang using the airbase could turn out to be true?’ Deepbriar asked.

  Jakes groaned. ‘I hope not, we’re in enough trouble already. I’ll try to get Inspector Stubbs on the telephone, and see if he’ll help us get hold of the key.’

  ‘There’s one more thing we could try,’ Deepbriar mused.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Get some lad with a sharp suit and a posh accent to act as a Scotland Yard man and put the fear of God into Bert Bunyard.’

  Jakes shook his head, grinning. ‘Tempting I admit, but it wouldn’t work, not now he’s got wise to us. We’ll just have to manage without his information. That’s if he’s got any, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s having us on.’

  ‘That’s possible,’ Deepbriar agreed gloomily, ‘Bert’s a great one for getting his own back. He’s still paying off Ferdy Quinn for something that happened twenty years and more ago; nobody else can even remember what it was.’

  ‘What we need is a new plan of attack,’ Jakes said. ‘If you’re right then Bronc was killed because of what he saw when Joe Spraggs was abducted, and Joe was abducted by mistake, instead of his second cousin once removed or whatever this other man is. Since we’ve drawn a blank with Bronc maybe we’d better start talking to Joseph’s friends, and see if we can turn anything up that way.’

  ‘I know where I’d start,’ Deepbriar offered. ‘Sylvester Rudge.’

  Jakes looked back at him doubtfully. ‘Mr Rudge is a slippery character. We have to be careful or he’ll be writing nasty letters to the chief constable. It’s no job for a lowly detective sergeant, anyway. No, I’ll start by having a word with Mrs Spraggs and this man Halliwell, and see where that gets us.’

  ‘This isn’t really anything to do with me,’ Deepbriar reminded him. ‘I was only supposed to be helping you look for Bronc because he vanished on my patch. Shouldn’t I get back to my own beat?’

  Jakes looked a little flustered. ‘Sorry, that was something I meant to talk to you about. With Constable Tidyman helping Inspector Stubbs I’m all on my own here. While you were taking Bunyard his lunch I had a word with the inspector and he agreed to open a file on Spraggs. When I pointed out there was nobody to give me a hand he spoke to Martindale. You’ve been officially seconded to the CID for the duration of this case.’

  Deepbriar stared at him, saying nothing. It had always been his secret dream, to be involved in the detection of a serious crime, but his requests for transfer to the plain clothes branch had always been turned down. After eighteen years in the service he had given up hope.

  ‘Well?’ Jakes looked up at him. ‘I hope you don’t mind working with me, constable?’

  ‘No sir,’ Deepbriar said quickly. ‘As long as you and the inspector have squared it with Sergeant Hubbard.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that, even Hubbard doesn’t argue when Stubbs and Martindale form an alliance. Like it or not, we’ve got a missing person’s case, and he’ll just have to grin and bear it. Which reminds me, the superintendent asked if you’ve made any progress in locating Tony Pattridge. He must have had lunch with his old friend Childs last night.’

  ‘I haven’t given it a thought,’ Deepbriar admitted, ‘but as it happens there is somebody who might be able to help.’

  ‘Finding Bronc has priority,’ Jakes said, ‘until I’ve had a chance to work through this properly.’ He tapped the statements Deepbriar had given him. ‘Finding that young lad who saw the car was a good start, it’s about the only lead we’ve got. Isn’t there anyone else who might have been close by on that Monday?’

  ‘Not close by,’ Deepbriar said thoughtfully, ‘but thinking about young Kenny Pratt has given me an idea.’

  A knock on the door interrupted him, and a young uniformed constable came in. ‘Urgent message for you, sergeant,’ he said, handing over a piece of paper.

  Jakes read quickly, his mouth compressing into a narrow line.

  ‘Well?’ Deepbriar prompted.

  ‘It looks like we’ve got a murder weapon,’ he said. ‘There were traces of blood on that pruning knife, identical to what was found on the ground behind the bothy and on Bronc’s clothes.’

  Chapter Fifteen

  * * *

  Alone cyclist coasted down the hill from Falbrough. Thanks to the heavy rain the road was otherwise deserted, and there was nobody to see Thorny Deepbriar heading homeward, his feet precariously balanced on the handlebars and his mouth open in joyous song. His rumbling bass, improbably attempting the flower duet from Madame Butterfly, echoed off the bare trees.

  Approaching the crossroads he recovered his decorum, but he was still in a cheerful mood, as, soaked to the skin, he made a sudden detour and pedalled up the slope to a solitary farmhouse occupying an elevated site just outside the village.

  ‘Constable Deepbriar!’ Mrs Rose welcomed him with a smile. ‘Oh my goodness, you’re drenched! Take that coat off and hang it by the fire, while I put the kettle on.’

  ‘I don’t want to drip all over your floor,’ the constable protested, hovering on the doorstep. ‘But I did hope to have a quick word with young Oliver.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to come in, because he’s up in his room. He hardly ever sits in the parlour, even when he’s got a visitor, but I don’t like to force him if he’s comfortable where he is. I’ll make some tea and bring it up. It’s a good job I don’t mind the stairs, I’ve only just come down.’ Her smile broadened. ‘He told me a minute ago he’d seen you coming.’

  Deepbriar was suddenly very busy wiping his boots vigorously on the doormat, removing his bicycle clips and shaking the rain off his coat, hiding his blushes as he recalled his unorthodox ride down the hill.

  ‘You know the way,’ Mrs Rose said, once he was inside. ‘There’s a fire in Oliver’s room, he does love sitting up there with that little spyglass of his.’

  ‘It’s lucky the lad’s so good at keeping himself occupied,’ Deepbriar said. ‘How’s he getting on?’

  ‘The doctor was quite pleased with him last week, though there are times when the poor boy finds some of the exercises hard.’ The smile faltered a little. ‘He’s off to hospital to get callipers fitted next month. They say he might be walking in a year, but we’ll have to wait and see. It seems it’s hard to tell with polio, some of them do better than others.’ She turned away, busying herself with the kettle. ‘Go on up,’ she ordered, her habitually cheerful voice a little muffled. ‘Tea won’t be long.’

  At the top of the stairs a door stood open and the warm glow of firelight illuminated the landing.

  ‘Hello, Mr Deepbriar.’ Oliver Rose sat in an armchair by the window, his wasted legs covered by a colourful knitted blanket, his pale pinched face beaming as brightly as his mother’s. ‘I’m going to ride a bike like that one day. I bet it’s fun.’ The boy laughed as Deepbriar pulled a comically rueful face. ‘It’s all right, I don’t think anyone else saw you.’

  ‘Then make sure you don’t go telling tales,’ Deepbriar said, ‘I’d be in trouble wouldn’t I, playing tricks like that when I’m on duty.’

  ‘Are you on duty now?’ Oliver asked, his eyes sparkling. ‘Really?’

  Deepbriar nodded. ‘I’m looking for a witness,’ he sa
id, ‘for an important case I’m working on. With the CID,’ he added portentously. ‘That makes me a detective, just for the time being. And there’s a chance that a certain young man might be able to help me with my enquiries.’

  ‘Me?’ the boy’s voice rose to an excited squeak. ‘Honest?’

  ‘Do you still keep a list of all the cars you see? I know how good you are at spotting number plates through that spyglass of yours.’

  By way of answer the youngster picked up an exercise book from the table by his side, opening it to show pages of writing, surprisingly neat for a boy of eight. ‘I put the date down when I get up in the morning,’ he said, ‘so I don’t make any mistakes. Mummy doesn’t always know what day it is,’ he added conspiratorially.

  Deepbriar took out his notebook and consulted it. ‘Let’s start with Monday 3rd,’ he said. For the next few minutes the two heads, one blond, the other with dark hair showing the first signs of grey, were bent together over the boy’s notebook. The Austin Healey that Kenny Pratt claimed to have noticed did indeed appear, on the Monday when Bronc was last seen, but Oliver hadn’t been able to get the number.

  Mrs Rose came in then, carrying a loaded tray. ‘You look busy,’ she said.

  ‘I’m helping the police with their enquiries,’ Oliver said importantly.

  ‘Are you indeed.’ She sat down and poured the tea. ‘And what about me, can I help too?’

  ‘You might,’ Deepbriar replied, ‘if you remember seeing a tramp called Bronc around the village, nearly four weeks ago?’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I heard you were looking for him.’ She handed Deepbriar a cup of tea. ‘He’s been around a long time, hasn’t he? I remember he used to sit on that seat by the school gate sometimes when I was a child, he must have been tramping the roads for thirty years.’