Mills gave a dry chuckle, sitting back down at his desk, running his hand through his hair, mussing up the usually very tidy do. I turned back to the sheets I flicked through, trying to find which deal they belonged to, and paused on one of them.
“Look here,” I said.
Mills got up and walked round to my desk. “Is that a plan?”
“Must be,” I said, reaching for the previous sheet he had found. “Dimensions match the plot.”
“The field on the other side,” he pointed to the faint name, “that’s it. Mrs Babbage’s land.”
The plot had been divided up into equal chunks, small lanes connecting them.
“Looks a bit like…” Mills began.
“Allotments,” I finished. “He wanted to build public allotments?”
“Would a village like that have much call for allotments?”
“Some of the small places won’t have very good gardens,” I told him, “and there’s always a call for them. People like to grow their own vegetables these days. It’s coming back into fashion if you can believe it.”
“Not a fan of growing your own vegetables?”
“My grandfather used to. Grew tomatoes in his greenhouse. That’s another thing,” I added, “people might use the allotments for greenhouses.”
“A nice idea.”
“Not his usual style,” I muttered. “I mean, look at it. It’s nothing revolutionary, nothing modern, or shiny and new. He wouldn’t be making much profit off of this, barely any.”
“So why do it?”
“Must have had another reason.”
“Goes with your theory, that does, sir,” Mills said, sitting back at his desk, “of Ms Renner not wanting to lose out on her income. If he was starting on projects like those, that would be inevitable. Unless it was a one-off.”
“I don’t think it was,” I answered, diving through more sheets. “He’d done a lot of research into it, similar sites across the country look, in Bristol and Manchester.”
“His interest in nature reserves?” Mills recalled sharpy.
“Hughes must have been branching out into a more eco-friendly world of business.”
“You’d think that if anything, that would make him more popular.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?”
“I wonder if Mrs Babbage knew that was what he had in mind for the site.”
“Only one way to find out.”
“Getting a bit late to head out there now, sir.”
I looked out the window. It was. Already the sky was darkening, the glowing light of sunset dawning from between buildings. Night came early at this time of year.
“Tomorrow,” I decided. “I’ll go tomorrow.”
“Would you like company?” Mills asked.
“Goes against my better self-preservation instincts against Sharp’s wrath, but no. If Wasco has more for us to look through, we need to be on top of that.”
Mills mulled it over for a moment. “I suppose during the day, in public, you should be alright.”
“You worry a lot, Mills.”
“I know, sir.”
“Are we blaming your mother for that as well?”
“I’d say so, sir, yes.”
We chuckled a moment before diving back into the papers.
“It’s a company,” I realised, after searching for similar allotments builds, “the sites all use the same people to arrange the allotments. Not for profit, surprise surprise.”
“So definitely a questionable business move.”
“Particularly when you have an employee who's very much reliant on your cold-hearted business ethic.” I thought for a moment. “What was it, she said? She kept him on track, always.”
“To what extent?”
I looked away from the site, the images of neat rows of beans and greenhouses. What extent indeed.
Twenty-Five
Thatcher
I got home that evening, after Sharp kicked us both out of the station, tails between our legs, to find Jeannie on my doorstep, her bag hauled over one arm. It was a good thing that I turned down that pint that Mills had offered. I shut the car door, hopping up the stairs. She stood up as I reached her, a tired smile on her face.
“Evening,” I stepped up to the door, pulling out my keys.
“I hope you don’t mind my just showing up,” she said. “I couldn’t stay at my sister’s much longer.”
“Get a bit strained, did it?”
“She and her husband, the two of them together are somewhat unbearable. She keeps trying to set me up.” She rolled her eyes and turned her face up to mine. “Sometimes, I get jealous of you being an only child.”
“Only sometimes?”
“Well, she does lend me her clothes occasionally. When she’s in a good mood.”
I smiled and opened the front door, letting her inside. “Sorry about your things,” I told her as she settled on the sofa, kicking her boots up and swinging her legs up underneath her.
“Just things,” she said with a shrug.
“The snow globe...” I trailed off as I went to busy myself in the kitchen, making tea.
“Just a snow globe.” She looked around the room, twirling a piece of hair around her finger. “I don’t need it to remember him. How’s the case going?” she asked abruptly.
“Getting there,” I told her as the kettle boiled. “I think we’re getting close. Enough of a trail to make an arrest, at least.”
“Sharp likes her evidence.”
“So does the court.” I handed her a cup of tea, sitting down beside her.
Jeannie shifted around, leaning against the arm, her head propped up on her fist. “You think it was her, don’t you?”
“Who?” I asked innocently, blowing on my tea.
“The assistant.”
I looked at her in surprise. “Why do you say that?”
She shrugged. “Professional journalistic impression,”
“Oh, really?”
“Woman’s instinct,” she mocked me. “Seems she has the most to gain from him being gone.”
“Such as?”
“She knows all of his business contacts, all of his deals, and how he made them. And being with him for twelve years?” Jeannie nodded slightly. “People will trust her. She can basically take his seat with not a lot of opposition.”
“She didn’t do it alone,” I muttered.
“Who’s your money on?”
“Johnson.” I tipped my head back, closing my eyes.
“What did you find on the laptop?”
I squinted at her. She was gazing at me, her face blank.
“Are you trying to dig out details for your new story?” I asked.
“No,” she poked my arm, “not really. Curious, mostly. I like hearing about your work.”
“You don’t mind hearing about it?” I acknowledged. “That makes a change.”
“From what? All the other girls you bring back here?”
“I don’t often bring girls back here,” I told her.
“So, I’m special?”
“You showed up on my doorstep like a bad penny.”
“Unkind.”
“Yes, Jeannie, you are special.”
“I knew it.” She looked away, grinning. “My mum always said as much, but I don’t think she meant it as nicely as you.”
I laughed and took a long sip of tea. “I’m leaving early in the morning,” I told her. “Got something to check with Sharp and then I’m heading to the village. Sooner I get going the sooner I can wrap this case up.”
She nodded. “Can I borrow your spare key then? I’ll have to head out too.”
I frowned. “Where to?”
“The station. Smith says I can go and collect some of my things back.”
I nodded. “How’s your case going?”
“They said they think that the robbers came in through the side door, the one down the alley.”
“I forgot there’s a door down there.” Not that I spent
much time skulking around the office.
“Same, honestly.” Jeannie shrugged. “Anyway, the boss is going to make it a little more secure. Get a security camera down there.”
“Why wasn’t there one already?” I asked, annoyed at that.
“People don’t often break into newspaper offices, Thatch.”
“This person might also be a murderer--”
“They are a murderer,” she interrupted seriously. “They killed my bird,” she added softly.
I laughed quietly. “Can it be saved?”
“I think so. Take him to my gran, see what she can do.”
I cocked my head to the side. “I didn’t know you were close to your gran.”
“Isn’t everyone close to their gran?” She drank the rest of her tea, “do you want to order pizza?”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“I’ll do it,” she patted my leg as she stood up, “then bed.”
I smirked at her, raising my eyebrows. “Bed?”
“Get a hold of yourself, Thatch. I’ve had a very trying day,” she said teasingly, “I’m shattered.”
“As you wish.”
She gave me a smug nod and walked into the kitchen, searching the drawers for the local pizza menu.
I watched her as she puttered about, grateful that she came here. With my being almost drowned in that sodding river and her office being pilfered, it relaxed me that she was here. Just enough that I could put the case aside long enough to eat and sleep. Tomorrow would be the day for making movements, starting with the village, and the little old lady in Oxeye Cottage.
“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you, sir?” Mills asked. We were in the office, I collected the documents we’d pieced together for Mrs Babbage, and he sat at his desk, looking unsure.
“I’m sure,” I told him. “Some of these still need going over, and Wasco might find something else. Better for at least one of us to be here.”
I shoved the files into a bag, slugging it over my shoulder.
“Any word from Crowe on those rocks?”
“She says they’re definitely from the river, might be some fingerprints but we’ll have to give her time for this.”
“And the laptop?”
“Hughes’s prints, and Ms Renner’s, but…”
“She was his assistant,” I finished, “probably handled it dozens of times.”
“Especially as we know that she often handled his packing.”
“Bear it in mind,” I told him, “the wheelbarrow?”
“Nothing yet.”
“I’m off to the village. Call me if anything changes.”
“Will do, Sir.”
I flipped my coat collar up, striding out from the office and down the hall. I passed Smith as she came running in from the street, holding the door open for her.
“Thank you, sir,” she called back breathlessly, jogging for the stairs. I stepped out into the street, heading for my car, hoping that this might be the last time I drove to this village.
I parked as close to the cottage as good as I could, determined to not have to do too much wandering about the village. Mrs Babbage was outside, making the most of the sudden dry spell, ambling around her front garden in a raincoat and one of those bonnets the Queen often sported. She looked up as I left the car, a garden trowel in her hand.
“Detective?” She raised a free hand to her face, squinting out at me.
“Morning, Mrs Babbage. A lovely garden,” I commented, walking along the path. It was quite extraordinary, and in the summer, I imagined there wouldn’t be space to move for all the flowers.
“Good to have a hobby,” she told me, dropping the trowel and peeling off the thick gloves, “what can I do for you?”
“Something’s come up in the case, regarding Mr Hughes’s plans for your land. I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind discussing them with me?”
Her wrinkled face betrayed nothing, only a slight quirk in the silver eyebrow before she jerked her head to the cottage door.
“Come in, then. My boys are all out working today. One of the bairns is asleep upstairs, so mind yourself.”
I nodded politely, following into the kitchen. She waved me over to the empty fireplace, and I took a seat as she removed her coat and bonnet, shuffling over and collapsing noisily in her chair.
“Well then, detective. Ready when you are.”
“We managed to find Mr Hughes’s laptop,” I began, “and found several of his documents intact. Including, some that we believe pertained to your land.”
I pulled the sheets from the bag, spreading them out over the coffee table between us. She leant forward, nose scrunching as she read the faded print.
“What are these?” she asked, pointing to the drawings.
“Plans for allotments. We think this was what he was planning, public allotments, greenhouses, that sort of thing. Did he mention any of this to you?”
“No.” Her unreadable face looked surprised. “No, made no mention. I’d not have minded that,” she said happily, “nice gardening space for the village.” She looked up at me, “I doubt he’d have made much profit from it though,”
“Barely any.”
She sat back with a huff. “Well. ‘Twould have been nice to know that was where his mind was at.”
“Some of these documents are dated recently. I think that he made up his mind about this after he came to see you that day.”
“Makes sense. I’m very inspiring.”
I smiled at her, “did you ever see a copy of the contract?”
“Early on. I sent back some of my thoughts and so on and so forth until we reached an agreement. Pushed back the signing though, he did. Till after he came to the village.”
“He wanted to meet you in person. He hadn’t done so before?”
“He hadn’t. I did most of the talking with that tight-lipped assistant of his. She’s got a grating voice over the phone.”
“It’s not too great in person either.”
“Ha! I don’t doubt that, my lad. Wonder why she made no mention.”
“No mention of what, Mrs Babbage?”
“These.” She lifted the corner of the plans. “She never told me this was what he wanted to do.”
I frowned. “When you were negotiating?”
“No. Just the other day I saw her,” she told me, “I was up at the hotel, my daughter-in-law works there, dropping off one of the little ones. She was in the lobby, stopped and chatted to me.”
“What did you chat about, if I may ask?”
“Oh, nothing much. Asked me if I was still going to sell, said she might be able to put me in touch with another buyer.”
I raised an eyebrow, did she indeed?
“Did she say who?”
“No. I said I wasn’t doing anything with it right now, certainly didn’t want to see it bulldozed and tarmacked.”
“And she didn’t bring up the plans?”
“Perhaps she didn’t know.”
“This woman worked for Samuel Hughes for twelve years, she packed his bags, I think she would have known about it.”
Knew and didn’t like it, not at all. I thought about what Jeannie said last night. About how Ms Cynthia Renner was in the perfect position to take over Hughes’s business, to take the contacts and the clients and keep it all running. But perhaps she wasn’t the sort to run a company, didn’t want to be the face of the organisation. Maybe she liked working behind the scenes, supporting the one in charge. And if she had a new buyer for Mrs Babbage on the cards, she might have already found herself someone else to support. Another king, another big cheese, with all the means to keep her income steady without having to take the reins herself. With Hughes out of the way, they’d both be winning.
I needed to talk to Mills, to see if there was any mention of Johnson in any of these documents. Perhaps pay the local businessman another visit, though I really didn’t want to.
“If she knew a buyer that was going to do this,” Mrs Babba
ge was saying, “I’d be interested. But no mention of it, I doubt they are.”
“I doubt it too. It is a company,” I told her, “I think Hughes was acting as the middleman, but you might be able to get in touch with them yourself. You won’t get as much money, but the place will keep going for several years.”
I made a note of the company’s name and pushed it over the table to her.
“Wouldn’t think that was part of your job description, Detective.”
“I grew up in a place like this,” I told her, gathering my things together again, “I know what it takes to keep them running.”
“Thank you. I’ll get my boys to have a look into it. Be nice, wouldn’t it? Seeing things growing over there.”
“It surely would, Mrs Babbage. Thank you for your time. It’s much appreciated.”
“Helpful?”
“Helpful,” I confirmed.
“Good. Looking forward to this village going back to normal,” she told me as she walked me to the front door, “haven’t had drama like this since the marrow growing competition in ‘98.”
“Bit of a rowdy one?”
“Oh, aye. Full-on brawl, lad. Very entertaining to watch, but a few squashed got trodden on. People were very upset.”
“Rightly so.”
“And things like that carry on, don’t they? Those families still don’t talk to each other,” she tutted, “and they’re neighbours.”
“No accounting for people.”
“Nowt so queer as folk, that’s for sure.”
“We’ll be out of your hair, soon,” I told her. “Just tying up loose ends if you like.”
She reached up, giving me a reassuring pat on the cheek before ushering me, feeling proud, over to my car.
I slid in, shutting the door and pulled out my phone as she vanished back into the cottage, ringing Mills.
“Sir,” he answered. “How is it going?”
“Interesting. Apparently, according to our Mrs Babbage, she saw Ms Renner recently in the hotel. She gave no mention about Hughes’s plans for the land and even told her she could put her in touch with another buyer.”
“Another buyer? So soon?”
“Either she’s a very fast worker and has got herself back in business, or she never left it.”
“Working with somebody else.”
DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3 Page 22