by Jean Rowden
‘At least that long,’ Deepbriar agreed. ‘How about it, Oliver, have you seen him?’
‘I know the man you mean,’ Oliver said. ‘He wears lots of coats and a very old hat. Before I was ill, when we used to go black-berrying, he came and helped us sometimes.’
‘So he did!’ Mrs Rose exclaimed. ‘I’d forgotten. He’s a funny old chap, but harmless.’
‘Would you have written it in your book if you saw him, Oliver?’
Oliver tilted his head on one side, considering the question. ‘I might,’ he said, ‘I put down all sorts of things.’
‘See what you wrote about on the first and second of November. As well as Bronc, I’d be interested in anything that happened over at Wriggle’s yard.’ He stared out at the rain-drenched countryside. ‘You can’t see the entrance from here. That’s a shame.’
The boy studied his book, but once he’d turned back to the right page he suddenly seemed to lose interest. His head was bent as if he was reading, but when he looked up the animated look he’d worn since Deepbriar’s arrival had gone from his face. ‘I didn’t write much on those days,’ he said, his voice suddenly toneless and his pale face ashen. He let the book fall shut on his lap and was silent.
‘I was hoping you might have seen a black car,’ Deepbriar said. ‘A big one. We don’t think it belongs to anyone in Minecliff or Possington. Bronc told me about it, because it nearly knocked him into the ditch, but I can’t find anyone else who saw it.’
Oliver shook his head. He refused the tea his mother offered him, turning his face away. ‘I’ve got a headache. Mummy. Can I go back to bed?’
Deepbriar drained his cup and stood up. ‘I shouldn’t have stayed so long.’ He bent down to the boy, offering his hand. ‘Thanks, Oliver, you were very helpful.’
The youngster shook hands without meeting the constable’s eyes.
Deepbriar went downstairs with Mrs Rose at his heels. ‘I’m sorry, I over-tired him.’
‘Oh no, don’t worry.’ The woman handed Deepbriar his coat. ‘He has these funny turns sometimes.’ A little frown appeared on her brows. ‘I mentioned it to the doctor and he told me to keep a record of them, to see how often they happen. The last one …’ she turned to a calendar that hung on the kitchen wall. ‘That’s it, just over two weeks, the day of Mr Pattridge’s funeral. Jim and I went, and the nurse stayed a bit longer than usual to keep an eye on Oliver for us, she’s almost like one of the family, he’s very fond of her, but when we came home he’d gone all quiet and washed out, like he did just now. The one before that … Well, that is strange. It was the weekend you were asking him about, at the beginning of November.’
‘I’m sorry, sergeant, until I can start searching the aerodrome I’m at a dead end as far as Bronc’s concerned,’ Deepbriar said, unconscious of his apt but morbid pun.
‘Never mind, can you join me in Belston this afternoon?’ Jakes’s voice at the other end of the line sounded harassed. ‘I’ll be calling on Mrs Spraggs at about 3 p.m., you’d better meet me at the corner of West Street.’
‘If I’ve got to travel to Belston is it all right if I look into the whereabouts of Tony Pattridge first? I’ve been given the address of somebody who might know where he is.’
‘What have you got?’ Jakes asked.
‘His childhood sweetheart. Evidently they met up again, they were seen together about a year ago,’ Deepbriar told him. ‘If I catch the bus that leaves Minecliff in twenty minutes I should still be able to join you by 3.’
‘Go ahead,’ Jakes said. ‘I’ll wait for you outside the Swan Hotel. Anything you can do to get on the right side of the superintendent has got to be worth a try, all hell’s going to break loose if this Spraggs turns out to have been murdered. Sergeant Hubbard’s problem with missing persons could get the whole force into trouble. Try not to be late.’
Deepbriar had no intention of being late, not for his first official interview as part of the county CID, though he almost missed the bus, having taken time making up his mind what to wear. In the end Mary advised against the blazer with the silver buttons, suggesting that his blue serge suit was more suitable.
He jumped off the bus in the centre of Belston with the city map open and ready in his hand, negotiating his way swiftly to the little terrace house where he’d been told Barbara Blake still lived with her aged grandparents.
A woman in a brightly flowered pinafore answered his knock at the door, and for a moment he thought he must have come to the wrong address; she didn’t look old enough to be anybody’s granny. ‘Yes?’ She looked puzzled when he didn’t immediately state his business. ‘If you’re selling something …’
‘No,’ Deepbriar said hurriedly; he’d completely forgotten that he wasn’t in uniform. ‘I’m Constable Deepbriar, County Police. Have I got the right house? I’m looking for a Miss Barbara Blake.’
‘Whatever for?’ She demanded sharply. ‘I’m her grandmother,’ she added, ‘I’ll thank you to explain yourself, young man.’
‘We’re making enquiries into the whereabouts of an old school friend of Miss Blake,’ Deepbriar said, not sure whether to be amused, flattered or insulted at being addressed as a young man, especially as he’d assumed the woman was only a few years older than himself. ‘I need to ask her a few questions, that’s all.’
‘Then you’d better go and see her at the library. That’s where she works.’ The door was unceremoniously shut in his face, and Deepbriar stood nonplussed for a few seconds. Was that the sort of reception he could expect as a plain clothes policeman? Recovering his composure along with his wits, he turned and headed back towards the city centre.
As he pushed open the door of the library and stepped into the slightly stale-smelling hush, the clock on the town hall was reading two twenty; not a great deal of time if he was to meet Jakes at three. Unwilling to risk being mistaken for a travelling salesman again, he showed the young assistant his identification.
‘You’d better see Mr Falkener,’ she whispered, ushering him into a tiny room which contained a desk, a single hard wooden chair for a visitor and two filing cabinets.
Mr Falkener looked far older than Miss Blake’s granny, and nearly as forbidding, but once Deepbriar had explained his mission the librarian volunteered the use of his room, and invited the policemen to sit in his comfortable chair. He left, assuring the constable that Miss Blake would be with him shortly. Nearly ten minutes later she arrived, a thin girl with brown hair pulled back in a bun and a pair of dark rimmed spectacles slipping down her nose. Despite this attempt at severity she was exceptionally pretty.
‘I’m sorry,’ the young woman looked flustered, pushing her glasses back into place. ‘The deputy librarian had sent me to buy some more tea.’
‘Without telling the librarian?’ Deepbriar suggested, his eyes twinkling.
She sighed. ‘How did you guess? I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t make me work an extra half hour tonight. What did you want to see me about?’ She looked alarmed. ‘It’s not gran or gramps, is it? There hasn’t been an accident …’
‘No, nothing like that. It’s about an old friend of yours, a Mr Tony Pattridge.’
‘Tony?’ She was suddenly still. ‘You’re here to tell me something happened to him. I knew there had to be a reason …’
‘Nothing’s happened to him as far as we know,’ Deepbriar broke in. ‘On the contrary, there’s a firm of solicitors with news which may be of some advantage to him.’
‘His father.’ She nodded in understanding. ‘I saw it in the paper. But I’m afraid I can’t help you, I haven’t seen Tony for nearly a year.’ Unshed tears were threatening to spill from her eyes, and she dropped her gaze to stare at the worn lino on the floor.
‘That would be about the time Mrs Harris met you both in town,’ Deepbriar hazarded.
‘Yes.’ Barbara Blake looked surprised. ‘How did you know about that? I was allowed to leave two hours early because I’d had to work an extra evening, so we went shopping for Christ
mas presents. Then Tony bought us some fish and chips and we went to the pictures. We saw Sabrina Fair, you know, with Audrey Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart. It was lovely, we had such a nice time. Tony took me home, the same as he always did, but after that I never saw him again.’ She broke off, blinking rapidly to prevent more tears from falling.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said a moment later. ‘That’s all I can tell you.’
‘You don’t know where Mr Pattridge lives?’
‘I knew where he lived then,’ she said. ‘When he didn’t meet me from work on the following Saturday, like he’d promised, I went round to his lodgings, in case he’d been taken ill.’
Deepbriar took out his notebook and jotted down the address she gave him. ‘I gather he wasn’t there.’
‘No, but I didn’t find out then. His landlady refused to let me in. She wouldn’t even talk to me.’ The young woman took a handkerchief from the pocket of her overall and blew her nose. ‘I don’t want you to think I’m the kind of girl who’d normally do that sort of thing, but I was worried about him. I stood at the bus stop on the other side of the road for quite a while, watching people going in. Mrs Newman had other lodgers, and it was time for their evening meal, I could smell cooking when I went to the door. In the end a young man came out, and I plucked up courage to go and ask if Tony was there. He said he hadn’t seen him, not for a couple of days.’
‘Which day did you go to the pictures?’
‘That was on the Tuesday. I didn’t know what to do. The next time I went to Minecliff I walked over to Oldgate Farm, thinking I might ask his father if Tony was home, but when I got there I lost my nerve.’ She shrugged. ‘In the end I decided that Tony simply didn’t want to see me any more. A girl can’t go chasing around after a man, can she?’
‘I’m sure in your case there are plenty of young men prepared to do the chasing,’ Deepbriar said, uncharacteristically gallant. ‘Thank you Miss Blake, you’ve been very helpful.’
He was afraid he might be late for his appointment with Jakes, but Deepbriar hurried off in the opposite direction, seeking out number 5, Alma Villas. It was a large four storey house in the middle of a row. Outside, a privet hedge had been pruned to within an inch of its life. A glimmer of sun, peeping through the clouds that had shredded away since the rain stopped, reflected painfully off the polished brass door-knocker and beneath the knocker a sign forbade entry to gypsies and hawkers.
When he saw the woman who opened the door, Deepbriar was glad he had again taken the precaution of having his identification ready, he felt sure she would otherwise have directed him to the tradesman’s entrance at the back.
‘Well?’ She glared at him, sharp nose, sharp chin and sharp eyes all pointing ferociously in his direction.
‘I’d like a word with you, Mrs Newman. About one of your lodgers.’
‘My guests, you mean,’ she said, every word a reprimand. She gave the street behind him a disapproving glance. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’
The room she showed him into was as unwelcoming as its owner, with hard chairs pushed back against the walls and a tiny rug in the centre of the brown linoleum. A single shelf on one wall held a meagre selection of books, most of them apparently religious tracts. ‘This is the guests’ sitting-room,’ Mrs Newman said complacently. ‘I do like people to be comfortable when they stay with me. Now, what can I do for you?’
‘I’m looking for a man by the name of Tony Pattridge. I understand he used to lodge here.’
‘Yes.’ She snapped her mouth shut on the word and volunteered no more.
‘But he isn’t here now?’
‘No.’
Deepbriar was losing his patience. ‘So when did he leave?’
‘The Thursday before Christmas, last year.’ Again Mrs Newman snapped her lips shut to prevent any more words escaping.
‘Did he give notice?’
‘No.’
It was like drawing teeth. ‘So he packed up his belongings and left,’ Deepbriar persisted.
‘No. He didn’t take anything with him.’
The constable stared at her, his pulse quickening. Surely they hadn’t got another mysterious disappearance on their hands. ‘Didn’t you think that his sudden departure was strange?’
‘His behaviour struck me as very inconsiderate at the time,’ Mrs Newman said, ‘but then his friends came. They packed up his possessions and paid me two weeks rent, in lieu of notice. As far as I was concerned that was the end of the matter.’
‘His friends? Were they people you knew? Had they visited him while he lived here?’
‘I don’t encourage visitors.’
‘So you didn’t know them?’
She shook her head.
‘What day did they come?’ Deepbriar asked.
‘On the Saturday.’
Deepbriar scribbled hastily in his notebook. ‘And you’ve never seen them again?’
Mrs Newman shook her head again.
‘Then perhaps you could describe them to me,’ Deepbriar suggested.
‘One of them was quite tall. He was the younger man, about thirty perhaps. The other one had grey hair.’
‘There’s nothing else you can tell me about them?’
‘No.’
‘And they took all Mr Pattridge’s possessions with them.’
‘Not all.’ The answer came reluctantly, as if against her will.
‘And these things they left behind,’ Deepbriar said, ‘did Mr Pattridge ever come to claim them?’
‘He did not.’
‘Then you still have them?’
‘There is a small bag in the loft,’ Mrs Newman admitted. ‘The rest I disposed of. He owed me for his laundry. Then there was a broken tooth glass, and damage to the top of the dresser.’
Deepbriar stared down into the hard dark eyes, saying nothing. The Belston town hall would get up and dance the tango before this woman let a chance to make money slip past her. ‘You’ll have written receipts for the goods you sold, naturally,’ he said, glad to see her composure disturbed a little by the suggestion, ‘but we’ll leave that for the moment. I’d like to see his room, and the bag he left behind.’
At exactly three minutes past three Deepbriar arrived breathlessly at Sergeant Jakes’s side, a battered old carpet bag in his hand.
‘Off somewhere for the weekend?’ Jakes jested.
‘Evidence. Once the property of Tony Pattridge,’ Deepbriar puffed, following the detective up the road. ‘He left his lodgings unexpectedly on the Thursday before Christmas last year, and as far as I can make out he hasn’t been seen in Belston since.’
‘Did he leave without paying his bill?’
‘If you’d seen the landlady you wouldn’t ask that question. Rent in advance, I’d stake my life on it.’
Mrs Joseph Spraggs was waiting for them, the door opening a second after Jakes knocked. The make-up was back in place, immaculate, if rather thickly applied; Deepbriar found himself hoping she would keep control of herself this time. At least she had the comfort of knowing her husband’s disappearance was finally being investigated.
The constable sat in silence while Jakes questioned the woman, his pencil poised ready to take notes. Very little that was new emerged from the interview. Joseph Spraggs had left his home at eleven o’clock on Thursday 6th November and gone to Falbrough, for reasons unstated, and had simply failed to return. He had travelled by bus, telling his wife that he was expecting to ‘have a few’ with his lunch. Since he’d scraped the paintwork on his beloved car by misjudging the distance to a gatepost a couple of weeks before, he wouldn’t risk causing more damage to his pride and joy by driving when under the influence.
‘And you were home all that day? There’s no chance he might have returned without your knowledge?’
‘He could have done,’ Mrs Spraggs admitted. ‘I had my hair done. That was at four, and I got home about six.’
‘But you saw nothing to suggest he’d been in the house?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’d have known if he’d made himself a cup of tea.’
‘And none of his belongings had gone?’
Mrs Spraggs hesitated. ‘There was a small bag missing. And one or two things from the wardrobe.’
The two policemen exchanged glances. ‘Can you be more precise, please Mrs Spraggs? This bag …’
‘It was an old thing he used to take when he played cricket. He hadn’t been for at least ten years though. It wasn’t the sort of thing he’d use if he was going away.’
‘And what else was gone?’ Jakes asked.
‘A suit. And two shirts. But none of them fitted him.’
Jakes stared at her. ‘They didn’t fit?’
‘I’d been meaning to throw them away. He’d put on a bit of weight.’ Mrs Spraggs reached suddenly for her handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Two pairs of socks and some underwear had gone too, but I’m certain he would never have packed them himself.’
‘What makes you so sure?’
Deepbriar looked up from his note-taking, watching the woman’s reaction, half expecting her to be angry, but instead she looked sad.
‘Because the socks were green. He never wore green, he thought it was unlucky. As for the spare underwear, when we went away it never occurred to him to pack that sort of thing, I always had to remind him.’
‘Sergeant,’ Deepbriar put in, seeing that Jakes had run out of questions. ‘There’s something that occurs to me.’
‘Well?’ Jakes prompted.
‘Where was the bag kept? The one Mr Spraggs used for his cricket gear?’
‘It was in the cupboard under the stairs,’ Mrs Spraggs replied. ‘We keep the suitcases in the loft. They take up so much room.’
‘And you hadn’t started packing for your driving holiday.’
‘No.’ Mrs Spraggs gave a shrug. ‘I’m a bit of a last minute person when it comes to packing.’
The sergeant stood up. ‘I wonder if we might take a look at your husband’s car, Mrs Spraggs?’
‘It’s in the garage.’ She rose and led the way through the kitchen and out of the house, pausing to take a bunch of keys from a hook inside the larder. The garage was at the end of the garden, the entrance for the car being off a back alleyway.