by Ford, P. F.
‘She must come along here in the dark,’ observed Jolly. ‘How on earth does she manage?’
‘I guess it’s what you get used to,’ said Norman. ‘Maybe she only comes into town when it’s a clear night and there’s a bit of moonlight to help her out.’
Norman looked Jolly up and down.
‘I know it should be ladies first,’ he said, ‘but I’m gonna pull rank. I’ll go first. Just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ asked Jolly.
‘Just in case there are lions or tigers,’ said Norman. ‘I don’t know. I just think it’s right I should go first.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with rank, has it?’ she said. ‘If it was, you’d send me in first. You’re just being gallant.’
‘Don’t kid yourself,’ said Norman, but his body had betrayed him and he felt his face turn bright red.
‘I didn’t know you cared,’ she teased.
He turned away from her to hide his embarrassment.
‘More than you know,’ he muttered to himself, then added, much louder, ‘Come on then, follow me.’
It was almost an hour before they finally reached the woods at the back of Hatton House. Norman was puffing hard, and his muscles ached from all the unusual activity, but he was pleasantly surprised. He had actually expected to feel much worse.
‘Okay, Jane,’ he said. ‘How do you think we should play this?’
‘If she’s really terrified of men,’ said Jolly, ‘you’d better keep well out of the way. I’ll go up there on my own and see what happens.’
‘Are you sure you’ll be alright? I’m supposed to be here to look after you.’
‘I honestly don’t think I’m in any danger,’ said Jolly. ‘I think it’s a pretty safe bet she’s more likely to run away than attack me. I’ll be fine.’
‘Remember, the log cabin’s hidden behind a conifer hedge, through these woods, in that direction,’ he said, pointing through the trees. ‘I’ll follow at a safe distance, but I’ll try to keep out of sight.’
‘Right,’ said Jolly, beaming at him. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
Jane Jolly headed off through the trees in the direction Norman had indicated, following a faint path that she presumed had been made by Florence. Creeping along as quietly as she could, Jolly made slow but steady progress and soon, up ahead, she was able to see what she presumed must be the conifer hedge hiding the log cabin. She could just make out a roof and a chimney through the tops of the conifers. A thin wisp of smoke curling lazily into the air from the chimney gave her some hope – surely Florence must be home, she thought.
But suddenly, without any warning, a small dog was barking furiously and snapping away at her ankles. She was forced to hop on one leg as the dog managed to sink his teeth into her jeans and began tugging furiously.
‘Let go, you little bugger,’ she hissed, but there was no way he was releasing his prize any time soon, and her curses just seemed to make him even more determined.
With one huge heave, he gave an almighty tug, and, caught by surprise and unbalanced by the unfamiliar rucksack on her back, Jolly fell heavily to the ground. Through it all, she heard the dull sound of footsteps from beyond the hedge, but they were receding, and Jolly knew it must be Florence running away. Completely unprepared for what was happening to her, and convinced this fearsome little terrier was about to start biting her, Jolly had no time to consider what Florence might, or might not be doing. She began to panic and covered her head with her arms.
The little dog clearly had other ideas, though. He promptly set about snuffling around her head and trying to lick her face. There was no way in for him, so he settled for plunging his tongue into her ear and then sticking his nose down the back of her neck. In spite of herself, and the seriousness of the situation, Jolly began to giggle as she realised the dog just wanted to play and be friends. She pulled her arms free of the rucksack, rolled over and sat up, the joyous dog climbing all over her in his excitement.
‘So you’re all bark and no bite,’ said Jolly, scratching the dog’s head. ‘Why didn’t you say so at the beginning?’
She climbed to her feet, lifting the dog, tail still wagging furiously, into her arms.
‘You’re the alarm system, aren’t you?’ she asked the dog. ‘You create a diversion while your mum does a runner. Why didn’t anyone warn me about you?’
She was annoyed to think she had probably blown their chances of getting through to Florence before she’d even started.
‘Oh well, I’ve come this far, there’s no point in turning back just yet,’ she said, more to herself than to the dog.
She put him back down on the ground.
‘Come on then,’ she said. ‘Let’s find the way in.’
The little dog disappeared back under the hedge and she was suddenly on her own again. She brushed herself off, collected the rucksack, and set off, following the hedge off to her right. After a few yards, the hedge made a left turn, and then after a few more yards, she found an arch had been clipped into the hedge, offering her a first glimpse of the log cabin.
She stopped and gazed in surprise. She had been told it was like a gingerbread house from a fairy story, but she hadn’t expected it to actually look like that. It really was made from logs, and it was quite small – probably no more than ten feet by twenty, with a door in the centre and windows either side. A small veranda at the front of the little house was home to a wooden rocking chair.
Jolly walked reluctantly towards the house. She felt rather uncomfortable, like an intruder who had no right to be there, and for a moment she was torn between doing her duty, and turning around and leaving this little old lady in peace. Then she remembered that Mr Winter had been murdered and Florence might just be able to help them unravel the story behind his death.
She peered in through one of the windows. The little house looked cosy inside, but it was obvious there was no electricity or any of the modern day luxuries that many people seemed to think they couldn’t live without. The room she was looking into had another window opposite, so it was surprisingly light inside. The end wall she could see had no window, but a huge print in an ornate frame hung in the centre. Jolly did a double take, but there was no doubt she had seen the exact same print before in Mr Winter’s house.
Having no idea where Florence had headed when she fled, Jolly put the rucksack down and perched on the rocking chair while she considered what to do next. The dog had re-appeared and jumped up onto her lap to renew their friendship.
‘Now what do I do, little dog?’ She sighed.
She had been sitting on the rocking chair for a couple of minutes, stroking the dog and enjoying the peace, when she became aware someone was watching her. She couldn’t see anyone, it was just a feeling, but then the dog pricked his ears and turned his head to confirm her feeling. Someone was behind her, yet she felt no threat. She knew instinctively that whoever was there was a gentle being. Slowly, and deliberately, she turned around in her chair.
The little old lady was standing just a few yards away, watching Jolly with a wistful expression on her face. She was less than five feet tall, her long white hair flowing over her shoulders, almost down to her elbows. Jolly smiled.
‘Florence?’ she asked.
The dog jumped down and ran to Florence’s side.
‘He’s a nice dog,’ said Jolly. ‘I think he likes me. What’s his name?’
Florence smiled uncertainly and looked down at the dog.
‘Dougie,’ she said in a quiet, almost childlike voice.
‘I’m in your chair,’ Jolly apologised. ‘I’m sorry.’
She went to stand up, and Florence started to back away.
‘I’m not going to hurt you,’ said Jolly, but Florence didn’t look convinced and fidgeted nervously from foot to foot.
‘I’ll stay here, then,’ said Jolly. ‘I just want to talk to you. Will that be alright?’
‘Suppose so,’ said Florence. ‘If Dougie likes you, I s
uppose so.’
‘Where did you get Dougie?’
‘Mine,’ said Florence, insistently. ‘He’s mine. Dylan gave him to me.’
‘Dylan? You mean Mr Winter?’
‘Dylan.’
‘You know what happened to him?’ asked Jolly. ‘You were at his funeral.’
‘Gone,’ said Florence. ‘Dead.’
‘How did you know Dylan?’
‘Nice man. Kind,’ said Florence. ‘Only ones. Dylan and Dougal. Only Dougal now. Have you seen Dougal?’
Jolly remembered the baker’s wife telling her Florence was always asking after Dougal.
‘Who’s Dougal?’ asked Jolly.
‘Dougal kind, too,’ said Florence. ‘Only Dougal and Dylan, but Dylan gone.’
‘Dougal and Dylan are the only kind men? Is that what you mean?’
Florence nodded.
‘Well I’m not a man,’ said Jolly. ‘And I’ve not come to do you any harm. I’m a friend of the baker’s wife. You know the bakery in Tinton, don’t you?’
‘Nice lady,’ said Florence, her smile confident this time. ‘Gives me bread.’
‘That’s her. She gave me a loaf for you, and I’ve brought you some other things too.’
Jolly reached for the rucksack, opened the neck, reached inside and removed a loaf of bread which she held out to Florence. The old lady looked uncertainly at the loaf and at Jolly, who was just beginning to realise this was going to be a long-term project. Before she could talk to Florence, she was first going to have to win her trust.
‘Look,’ said Jolly. ‘I understand. You’re not sure you can trust me, so here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to get up from the chair and I’m going to leave you in peace. I’ll leave the bread and the other stuff in the rucksack here. Is that alright?’
‘Alright,’ answered Florence, but it was obvious she wasn’t sure about any of this.
Jolly wasn’t sure Slater or Norman would approve of what she was doing, but her instincts were telling her she had to give Florence some space.
‘I’ll come back tomorrow morning,’ continued Jolly. ‘If you aren’t here, I’ll understand you don’t trust me and you don’t want to talk, but I think you can help me find out what happened to Dylan. You want to know what happened, don’t you?’
Florence looked desperately sad, but she nodded her agreement.
Before either of them could say anything else, the dog suddenly pricked his ears and made a rush for the hedge, disappearing underneath it. A look of alarm filled Florence’s face and she stared in dismay at Jolly. The sound of barking and cursing came from beyond the conifer hedge, followed by a loud thump as a heavy body hit the ground. Jolly looked towards the sound and then back at Florence, but all she saw was the old lady’s back as she showed a remarkable turn of speed in making her getaway.
When Jolly found Norman, he was laying on his back in an untidy heap on the floor, the dog still tugging away at his jeans even though he was on the ground. He reminded Jolly of a stranded tortoise as he struggled ineffectually, his arms waving uselessly.
‘You bloody idiot!’ she snapped. ‘You were supposed to keep out of the way. I was just starting to gain her trust and now you’ve frightened her away.’
‘I was just trying to help. I was getting worried about you,’ wheezed Norman from the ground. ‘I heard all that barking and then it went quiet.’
‘That was ages ago,’ said Jolly.
‘It’s rough going you know,’ he said. ‘I got here as quick as I could, then this vicious little rat took me by surprise.’
He kicked out ineffectively at the dog but missed and it only served to make it even more determined to chew through his jeans.
‘This little rat, as you call him,’ said Jolly, ‘is Dougie. He’s Mr Winter’s dog.’
‘Great,’ said Norman. ‘So now you can stop worrying about what happened to him. And do you think you could get him to stop eating my damned jeans.’
‘Dougie!’ said Jolly. ‘Come here.’
The little terrier obediently did as she asked, releasing his death grip on Norman’s jeans and coming to stand at her side.
‘Good boy,’ she said, stooping to pat his head.
‘Jeez,’ said Norman, puffing his way into a sitting position. ‘Rotten little shit, tripped me up.’
‘He was protecting Florence,’ explained Jolly.
As if to prove he would be equally happy to protect Jolly, Dougie gave Norman a warning growl and showed his teeth.
‘It’s alright,’ Norman addressed the dog. ‘I already know your teeth work okay, you don’t need to prove you still have them.’
A shrill whistle echoed through the trees and, using his ears to locate the correct direction, Dougie zoomed off like a small rocket. They watched him disappear under the hedge once again.
‘So how come he likes you so much?’ asked Norman, as he struggled to get to his feet.
‘He’s like Florence,’ said Jolly. ‘He seems to think women are more trustworthy than men. They’re certainly not as useless.’
‘Look, I’ve said I’m sorry,’ pleaded Norman. ‘How was I supposed to know you were alright?’
‘Because I told you I’d be alright,’ she said, still angry with him.
‘Yeah,’ said Norman. ‘And no one’s ever said that and been wrong, have they? What if you hadda been in trouble and I’d just sat back there on my backside? What would that say about me as a partner? You would have done the same, and you know it.’
She thought about this for a moment. He had a point.
‘I suppose you’re right.’ She sighed. ‘I’m sorry I snapped your head off.’
‘And I’m sorry I scared her away,’ said Norman, reaching out a hand. ‘But it’s done now and we can’t undo it. Now, could you please give me a hand?’
She grabbed his hand and finally, with her heaving for all she was worth, he managed to get to his feet.
‘Thank you,’ he puffed, beginning to brush himself down.
‘Here,’ said Jolly, brushing at his clothes with her hands. ‘Turn around.’
She began brushing away at his back.
‘There, you’ll do,’ she said, at last.
‘So how did you get on, anyway?’
‘You need to understand this isn’t going to be a simple case of sitting down and having a chat,’ she said. ‘This woman is wary, and doesn’t trust anyone easily. And she’s definitely scared stiff when it comes to men. According to Florence, there are only two kind men on the whole planet. One of those was Dylan Winter, and the other is someone called Dougal, whoever he is.’
‘He was the dog in the Magic Roundabout.’
‘This is a man, not a dog,’ said Jolly. ‘But he’s another one on the missing list. The baker’s wife told me Florence asks if she’s seen Dougal every time she sees her, and she asked me the same question.’
‘Well, you seem to have done well, considering you don’t think she trusts you,’ said Norman.
‘Another thing,’ said Jolly. ‘She has the missing print from Mr Winter’s house hanging up on the wall in her house.’
‘So she has his dog, and the missing picture,’ said Norman. ‘I could suggest that puts her in the frame for his murder. It could also suggest she broke in the second time.’
‘You wouldn’t say that if you’d met her, or spoken to her,’ said Jolly. ‘She’s a gentle soul. She’s not capable of murder.’
‘If her fingerprints are the female prints they found in his house, she’s going to need more than a character reference from you, Jane.’
‘There’s got to be an explanation. He was her brother. He was kind to her. Why would she murder him?’
‘We don’t know for sure that he is her brother, yet,’ said Norman. ‘Does she say he was her brother?’
‘No,’ admitted Jolly. ‘She just said he was called Dylan. So maybe he wasn’t her brother, or, for some reason, he didn’t tell her he was her brother.’
‘Why w
ouldn’t he tell her?’ Norman sounded incredulous. ‘That doesn’t make sense, does it?’
‘I don’t know, do I?’ said Jolly, exasperated at having to defend Florence. ‘I’ll ask her if you haven’t frightened her away for good.’
Norman stared at her for a long moment, as if he wanted to say something, but then clearly thought better of it.
‘Come on, let’s get out of here,’ he said.
They began the long walk through the trees to the towpath and back into town.
‘Did you agree to see her again?’ he asked as they walked.
‘Tomorrow morning,’ she said. ‘I left the food I brought as a goodwill gesture and told her she doesn’t have to talk to me if she doesn’t want to.’
‘You can’t come out here on your own,’ said Norman. ‘I’ll come with you. If she did kill him she could do the same to you.’
‘With respect,’ she said, ‘I don’t think she’s going to trust me if you’re tagging along.’
‘You can’t come on your own.’
‘Then you keep well out of the way,’ said Jolly. ‘I’ll use a radio and keep it switched on so you can hear me.’
‘Yeah, but-’
‘No arguing. That’s my final offer,’ said Jolly, striding off ahead so he couldn’t reply.
Chapter 18
While Norman and Jolly were ending their eventful morning over at Hatton House, Slater was fielding a telephone call from Rita Meyers at the Tinton Tribune offices.
‘I think you should get over to my office. I’ve got something you’ll definitely be interested in.’
‘Can you tell me what it’s about?’ asked Slater.
‘I’ve had a package delivered here from Mr Winter.’
‘But he’s dead.’
‘Nothing escapes you, does it?’ she said, not unkindly. ‘But, dead or not, I have a package from him, and I know you’re working on his case, so I think you probably need to see it.’
‘Of course,’ said Slater. ‘Thank you for calling. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’
He couldn’t quite see how Mr Winter could possibly have sent a package from the other side, but he could worry about that later.