Death At Willows End

by A. B. King

“I don't get you?”

  “It isn't going to be something that will be generally noised abroad,” she explained. “Now, as we are agreed, there are only a limited number of people who have been alerted to our interest in this business. Either one of them is 'Mr X', or one of our 'witnesses' has a direct link to him. Now, if we re-contact all of the people we have interviewed so far, and just allow it to crop-up casually in conversation that I am going to return to the scene of the tragedy on a certain evening when it is quiet, he is almost certain to take the bait.”

  “And if he does, you're dead!”

  “But not if you are there.”

  “Fat lot of good that would be; if he is armed, then we are both dead!”

  “You know,” she said with mock solicitude, “you really should try to get an early night once in a while Neil, your brain is definitely seizing up. Allow me to elaborate on what should already be obvious to you. On the night in question you will go to Willow's End much earlier than I have let it be known that I intend to be there, and you will find a place to hide where you can observe what is happening down by the bridge. With all the shrubbery about that shouldn't be too difficult even for some-one like you. I will come along later, and naturally I will be on my own. I may have to hang around for a while, so I shall pretend to be examining the 'scene of the crime' so-to-speak, but eventually I am sure the man will turn up. So, when 'Mr X' appears, well, you can do your stuff. Bingo, case solved!”

  “Bingo nothing!” I expostulated. (It isn't easy expostulating with your mouth full of breakfast, there can be quite unpleasant side-effects.) “Even if such a mad-cap scheme should work, which frankly I do not believe for a second it could, we still don't have any proof! With a hare-brained so-called plan like this, there is nothing to stop a casual passer-by on a public footpath being wrongly accused of something he knows nothing whatever about. Even if by some chance the right person does come along, he could simply pretend to be a casual passer-by until he is close enough to silence you for good! By the time I can see he is the murderer there will be nothing left for me to do but call the undertaker!”

  “Oh Neil,” she sighed, “you really are such a complete wet blanket! I've told you, I can look after myself. If our Mr X thinks I'm a push-over he will be very badly mistaken.”

  “Look Danny,” I said seriously. “I don't care how well versed you are in self defence, Karate, Kung-Fu, Judo or Hara-Kari, if he has a gun, you're dead!”

  “He won't have a gun.”

  “And what makes you so almighty sure about that?”

  “Simple logic; for his own security he will want to make my end look as near natural as possible. He will know that I'm going back to the scene in order to recover my memory, right?”

  “So?”

  “From his point of view, if I'm found floating in the water, it will look as if either I have been overcome by remorse, or I've just replicated my sister's accident. As far as he is concerned, I'm the twin that can't swim, remember?”

  “You are seriously asking me to believe that you would actually allow a man who has almost certainly killed once, if not twice, to push you into the water?” I asked incredulously.

  “Not until he has incriminated himself.”

  “And what good would that do? Even if he confessed in detail, there's no record!”

  “Aha, that is where you would be wrong.”

  “Oh, I get it; you will ask him to sign a full confession first?”

  “Don't try to be more stupid than you look. Do you not remember me telling you that one of the businesses I own is a security company?”

  “So?”

  “I shall be wired to a radio mike, you will be on the receiving end, and not only will you hear everything that is happening, your receiving unit will be making a recording. When I've heard enough I will call your name out loud, which will startle him, and you can then appear like a latter-day Sir Galahad, and do whatever is necessary.”

  “You,” I said with firm conviction, “really are insane!”

  “Possibly; the real question is, will you help me?”

  “And if I say 'no'?”

  “Well, I won't deny that I will be extremely disappointed. If you really are going to turn me down, well, I will just have to get somebody else to help, won't I?”

  “So you are determined to go through with this ludicrous scheme no matter what?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think you should at least tell the police!”

  “I don't.”

  “Why not?”

  “Firstly, because the police, being as stuffy as you they will most likely veto it. Secondly, because if they flood the area with hundreds of flat feet Mr X will not be so dumb as to make an appearance, lastly and most importantly, I want to personally wipe the smug expression off Grayson's face when he learns that I have done his job for him.”

  I knew when I was beaten. There was nothing I could say or do that would stop her doing what she planned. Logically I should have pulled out there and then, but as I have already mentioned, I would probably jump blindfold through burning hoops if I thought it would cause her to smile on me. “Ok, “I sighed in resignation. “I'm in this deep I might just as well drown now as later.”

  She put her knife and fork down, wiped her mouth daintily, pushed her chair back and stood up. I watched her, wondering what she was up to. She walked slowly round the table, and without thinking I dropped my own cutlery on the plate and sort of half turned to face her. She looked at me with an expressionless face for a moment, and then sat herself down on my lap with her face close to my somewhat astonished visage. Her eyes held mine for a second, and then her arms stole round my neck as she pulled my face down to her own. Our lips met, and once again I was transported into heaven. My arms stole round her tiny waist, and for those few blissful moments nothing else in the world mattered.

  “Thanks, Neil,” she said softly when we finally drew apart. “I didn't really think you'd let me down, but it's nice knowing I will have someone I can truly rely on when it comes to the crunch.”

  I have to confess that for the next few minutes I existed in a sort of euphoric daze. In the aftermath of such an assault upon my emotions the few remaining shreds of what little common sense as I still possessed decided to depart upon an extended vacation. I couldn't believe that I had just agreed to aid and abet the one person in the world who meant more to me than life itself to either engineer her own death or, hopefully, make a bit of a fool of herself. Either way I was probably on a loser, but in the wake of that kiss I simply didn't care!

  “And now,” she announced suddenly. “I think I will go and have a shower and get into something that will impress our friend Grayson.” and with that she slid off my lap and waltzed off in the direction of the bedroom.

  I was still in a state of semi-trance when she put her head out of the bedroom door again and called to me.

  “What's happened to my things?” she asked.

  “Ah!” I exclaimed, suddenly snapping back to reality with such violence I all but fell of the chair. “Yes, well, actually, yes, I was going to explain that to you?”

  “Explain what?”

  “Well,” I floundered, “I thought that if I cleared all your things out-”

  “You're not one of those pathetic men who likes to amuse himself playing with women's undies are you?” she interrupted suspiciously.

  “Only if there is a very attractive woman in them,” I snapped back. “As I was about to say-”

  I stopped suddenly in mid sentence as I suddenly realised that she was standing in the doorway of my bedroom clad only in the tiniest pair of pants and bra I have ever seen. (Not that I have seen that many in my life I have to admit.) She didn't seem to be in the least degree self conscious, but I had the distinct feeling that she would see the steam coming out of my ears.

  “You haven't been and sold them?”

  “Certainly not!” I almost shouted. “My tenancy agreement; 'The Hatchet', remember?
I didn't want any evidence of you ever being here, and knowing what she's like, well, I put them all into that suitcase by the door. I was going to give it back to you, but I never got around to it, and then you came back in, and-”

  “Oh, I see,” she said as understanding dawned, “I thought for a moment you had gone off me.”

  “Gone off you?” I croaked like a half-strangled chicken. “Good Grief, I-”

  “All right, don't get your bowels in an uproar, I was only teasing.”

  With that she seized the case and vanished again into the bedroom. I stood there, rooted to the spot torn between the desire to dash in after her, and a natural reluctance to finish up in A&E as had been previously promised would be my lot if I became a shade too amorous. I was still standing there in a lather of indecision when she emerged once again wearing a housecoat of some flimsy material, and carrying clothing and toiletries etc.

  “You might just as well wash up the breakfast things,” she said airily as she skipped into the bathroom. “We'll plan our campaign when I'm dressed.”

  I didn't have the stomach to tell her that my hastily abandoned 'plan of campaign' would have taken place before she was dressed.

  I'd finished the washing up, leaving the crockery etc. to drain when she finally reappeared looking very smart and professional in a neatly tailored business suit. By this time I more or less had my feelings under control, but I knew that things couldn't go on the way they had been. Either I had to make a move and risk the consequences, or I had to forcefully get rid of her. The state of manic indecision I was living in was fast threatening to destroy what remained of my sanity. I had just about screwed up my courage enough to broach the subject that was almost devouring me alive when I heard a sharp knock on the back door.

  “Now who the devil's that at this time of the morning?” I exclaimed irritably.

  “Sorry, left my crystal ball at home,” Danny said blithely. “Maybe you should open the door and find out?”

  I went across to the kitchen and flung the door open.

  “Pete!” I exclaimed, “What on earth are you doing here at this hour of the morning?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two.

  “Hi there, Neil my old son,” he announced breezily as he strode in. “Thought I'd catch you before you left for the office, knowing what a keen type you are! I've finished all I need to do round these parts, cleared the flat out, dropped the keys off with the agent, and just thought I'd drop in on my way to wish you all the best for the future before I embark upon the broad ocean of matrimonial bliss.”

  “Er, why don't you come in,” I said as he walked past me into the lounge. Frankly, Pete was the last person I expected to be knocking my door at that hour of the morning, not that I normally expect visitors at any sort of time. Delighted as I was to see him, I couldn't think of a worse time for him to appear. All thoughts of, shall we say, furthering my acquaintanceship with Danny vanished as soon as I saw who was there. With a feeling close to despair I closed the door and followed him as he strode through the kitchen into the lounge.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed, coming to a sudden halt. “Didn't realise you had company; you sly old dog, Neil!”

  “Pete, this is Danny,” I said by way of introduction. “Danny, this is Pete.”

  “And a very good morning to you, Danny,” he said with lascivious enthusiasm simply drooling out of him, and holding out his hand. “I'm jolly pleased to meet you, and I must say you look a whole lot more attractive than Neil does; not that that is any sort of compliment to pay such a beautiful vision at this hour of the morning!”

  “I should hope I did,” Danny returned giving the proffered hand a perfunctory shake. “You must be the 'Ace Detective', alias 'Piers Larsen' that Neil has been telling me about?”

  “That's me, or rather was; and judging by what I can see, you must be a leading 'Miss World' contender?”

  “Which deduction does not say a great deal about your sleuthing abilities,” she said sweetly.

  “Danny and I were in the middle of a business conference,” I explained sententiously, hoping against hope that he would take the hint and vanish as quickly as he had appeared.

  “Is that what you call it these days?” he laughed giving the pair of us a broad wink. “You wait until 'The Hatchet' finds out!”

  “The 'Hatchet' already knows,” I said, guessing correctly that my hopes of witnessing a swift diplomatic withdrawal on his part were doomed to failure. “Now that you're here, I don't suppose you want a coffee, I mean, I know what a busy man you are and all that?” I knew even before I asked that he wouldn't take the hint.

  “Well, just to be sociable,” he agreed readily as he parked himself in a chair and looked at Danny with an expression that appeared to be stripping every last vestige of clothing from her body. For a man who was allegedly on his way to get married to the most wonderful woman in the world he was taking what I considered to be a decidedly unhealthily keen interest in Danny. Frankly, I resented his lecherous appraisal of her undoubted charms, and I resented even more his assumption that Danny and I were an item. I didn't say as much, because he would have laughed like a drain, and I would probably have gone red in the face because 'being an item' with Danny would certainly be a most attractive situation, particularly if it was on a permanent basis.

  “So, Danny,” he said, leering up at my companion whilst studiously ignoring me, “what do you do with yourself when you are not dazzling every red-blooded man in England with your beauty?”

  “Oh, this and that,” she responded sweetly, “and what do you do when your schoolboy chat-up lines give a girl indigestion?”

  “Touché” he responded, not in the least abashed by her icy put down. “Not only are you breathtakingly beautiful, but brainy as well; what a lucky fellow Neil is!”

  “And what makes you think that Neil is a particularly 'lucky fellow'?” she asked sweetly.

  “Aha,” he exclaimed with yet another broad, knowing wink, “being an 'Ace Detective' I immediately noticed upon entering this decidedly humble abode the crockery for two people that has been recently washed up following a shared breakfast, and now reposing on the draining board. Elementary, my dear Watson!”

  “Oh, you are much too clever for me,” she cooed, “and I suppose that if I said that we were 'just good friends', you wouldn't believe me?”

  “On the contrary, I would assume that you were very good friends!”

  “And that we were having a business meeting?”

  “Whatever you chose to call it.”

  “For your information,” I butted in, “that is exactly what we are doing. Not that it is any business of yours, but just for the record, Danny is a client, she is on her way to another meeting, and she came in early by arrangement to discuss developments in a case.”

  “Of course,” he agreed happily, and obviously not in the least convinced. “I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise! Now do hurry up with that coffee Neil my old son, I don't have all day you know?”

  I returned to the kitchen and put the kettle on, leaving Danny to talk to Pete. Although I was annoyed that he chose that particular time to call in, and even more irritated that where Danny and I were concerned, he should put two-and-two together to make five, so-to-speak, never-the-less in a way it also amused me, because I knew without even thinking about it that his usual heavy-handed approach wouldn't cut any ice with her at all. I just hoped she wouldn't render him a candidate for A&E if he got too heavy handed. Within a couple of minutes I had the coffee brewed. I returned into the lounge bearing three mugs, and once they were distributed, I squatted down alongside Danny and facing Pete.

  “About time too,” he said, glancing at his watch as he took the mug from me, “it's all right for a man of leisure like you; I'm on a tight schedule.”

  “I understand that you are off to get married,” Danny said. “The lucky lady must be quite something?”

  “Absolutely,” Pete agreed. “She's every bit as beautiful as yourself, and so
sweet natured and loving you wouldn't believe it.”

  “And rich,” I added sotto-voce.

  “True,” he agreed readily. “But I do not regard that as a serious disadvantage in a wife I must admit.”

  He took a long pull at his coffee and settled back in his chair, still ogling Danny. In one sense I couldn't say that I blamed him, she was certainly worth 'ogling', yet in another I still resented him doing it. All highly illogical! It didn't take him long to finish his coffee, and throughout that time he kept up his usual silly banter, with Danny giving as good as she got, until finally he looked at his watch again.

  “Well, that's it, Neil my old son,” he said standing up again. “It but remains for me to wish you every success in the future; particularly with Miss-World-to-be Danny here! Maybe I'll give you a ring when I get back from honeymoon; perhaps by then you'll give me an invite to the wedding?”