Temple drove them both to Exeter. The road ran parallel to the river for much of the way. Cantwell noticed that the pasture and fields were still flooded, in places, and the livestock was grazing closer to the road than usual.
The city was not as busy as Temple had expected and he parked the car just off South Street. They walked to the Cathedral Close. Temple surveyed the area carefully:
"You go into the Royal Clarence and wait for her in the lobby."
"Why? What are you going to do?"
"I'm going to see if she's being tailed. Can't be too careful. I'll go to the bus station and follow her to here. Then I'll wait for about ten minutes after she's gone in. If all goes well, I'll come in and join you. If, however, I don't surface, you'll need to make another rendezvous with her somewhere else, not too far away though. Tell her what I'm up to, otherwise she'll be suspicious."
Feeling rather anxious, Cantwell headed off to the hotel. He sat down where he could see the entrance and picked up a newspaper. In a rather unconvincing way, he held the paper in front of him, pretending to read.
Temple walked quickly to the bus station. The Starmouth bus arrived on time and Brenda Ellacott was one of the first to get off. She was wearing a very distinctive red dress and with her shoulder length blonde hair, she made quite a striking appearance.
He frowned, 'why did she have to be so conspicuous', he thought. Temple watched her disappear up Southernhay in the direction of the Cathedral. Four others got off behind her. Then, just as he was convinced she was in the clear, he caught sight of Charlie Davey. His stocky frame jumped off the bus platform and hurried in the same direction as the disappearing figure of Brenda Ellacott.
Temple cursed, under his breath, this was what he had feared. At a distance, he followed behind Davey. Instead of going straight to the Cathedral Square, Brenda Ellacott headed towards one of the large department stores. She went in. Temple was puzzled. He crossed to the other side of the road and watched. Davey, looking bewildered and anxious, rushed into the store realising that inside it would be difficult to keep track of her.
Some twenty minutes later, a woman came through the door and headed towards the Cathedral. If Temple had not been on the lookout, he would never have recognised Brenda Ellacott. But it was her, right enough. The red dress had gone. Instead this woman was wearing a plain black dress and had a brown beret covering her hair, The only giveaway was the rather over-sized handbag that he had seen her carrying when she got off the bus. Now, he guessed why she had brought it instead of a neat shoulder-bag.
He waited for over fifteen minutes. It was 11:45, just fifteen minutes till the scheduled meeting time. Some two minutes later, Charlie Davey emerged. He was red faced and peered up and down the street. Then, his shoulders dropped and he leaned against the department store window looking utterly dejected. He began walking back towards the bus station.
Waiting outside the Royal Clarence for five minutes, Temple assured himself that the way was clear. Cantwell and Brenda Ellacott were sitting next to each other. A small sherry glass in front of each of them. The look of relief on both their faces when they saw him, amused him.
"Oh am I glad to see you, Gov, we were getting a bit jumpy."
"No need. We have here a very able CID agent in the making with our Mrs Ellacott."
Cantwell looked puzzled. Brenda Ellacott laughed, the sort of deep throaty laugh that Temple liked; not a simpering giggle.
"So, Inspector, you saw me!"
"I did, indeed. I saw an apparition in a vivid red dress get off the bus. One that could not be missed in a crowd. Then I saw an inconspicuous lady in a plain black dress just merge with the crowds. Where did you learn that trick?"
"I'm a sucker for Bogart and Cagney films. You learn a thing or two about deception from them."
"Well, wherever you learnt it, I'm glad you did. One of Redbourne's men followed you off the bus and into the store. He came out a long time after you had left. He was angry and upset. He's gone back to the bus station. I guess he's waiting for you to catch the bus back to Starmouth."
"Then, I'll have to put my red dress back on again. I wouldn't want to disappoint him."
"We ought to be off. I suggest that you and Cantwell go ahead of me to wherever it is you've both decided to go. I'll follow you then join you."
"We're not going far, Gov. There's a Tudor style building on the corner of the cathedral close. It's called 'Tinley's'. We can have a light lunch there and keep well out of sight. I didn't think we wanted to march around the city centre."
"Sounds an excellent idea. I'll see you both in there in about five minutes."
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Friday, February 19, 2010
The gamblers' fallacy!
While Brenda had been having her encounter with Redbourne, Temple and Cantwell spent the entire day at the police station.
The papers they had found in Eager's tin of spam were only just decipherable. Cantwell was convinced he had written in code.
"Listen to this, Gov." He proceeded to read out a string of numbers:
'Halfway 20/09/51 1= T4 2=T6 3=T4 4=T5 5=T1
27/09/51 1= T2 2=T3 3=T5 4=T6 5=T2
County Ground 06/10/51 1= T5 2= T1 3= T6 4=T4 5= T6 13/10/51 1= T2 2= T3 3= T1 4= T2 5= T4 '
"Doesn't make sense to me. Typical of old Eager. He always thought he'd find a pot of gold hidden behind a hedge. If you ask me, he was just playing around with numbers. Trying to work out some sort of winning ploy."
"Most gamblers do that. Have you heard of the Monte Carlo Fallacy?"
"No! What is it?"
"Well, in about 1913 at the Monte Carlo casino, there were a large number of players at one of the roulette tables. In an amazing sequence of events, red came up 26 times in a row. After about the thirteenth or fifteenth time, players became frenzied being convinced that black must come up next. They started gambling recklessly convinced that they should double or treble their stakes . The casino made a fortune! Some players were ruined. But the fallacy still continues. The belief is that if an event has occurred several times in a row, then it cannot go on occurring. Take for instance if I toss this penny coin." He took out a penny and tossed it. "Heads or tails?"
"Heads."
"No, it happens to be tails. But if I go on tossing the coin, what's the likelihood of heads or tails coming up?"
"Dunno, Gov, never thought about it."
"The probability of getting heads in a single toss is 1 in 2. The chances of getting two heads in two throws in sequence is 1 in 4. The chance of getting three heads in a row is 1 in 8. But gamblers don't all realise that each toss is completely independent of the one before and the one coming after. They see some sort of pattern - like the blokes at Monte Carlo. It's not like that."
"Do you think that's what Eager was doing? Looking for a pattern?"
"No. I think he was more canny than that. I think he was checking the race winners against Redbourne's odds. I think he saw what you saw at the trackside. He saw the odds being changed dramatically, just before the start of the race. He put two and two together. But instead of placing his own bets according to the pattern, he'd already lost so much that all he could do was barter with Redbourne. A dangerous thing to do."
"On your piece of paper, he gives the odds, does he?"
"Yep. He wrote down initials then one set of odds then another and the same T4 T6 numbers that you've got. Also, it's the same two dates that you read out. So four meetings in all. I'd guess by then, he was almost broke and just went to the races out of habit. It was then he spotted the goings on with Redbourne's dodgy dogs."
Cantwell scratched his chin and looked at Eager's tiny writing. Then, he glanced at the clock, noticing it was half twelve. Though from the empty feeling in his stomach, he knew it was lunchtime anyway. Temple saw the direction of his thoughts and knew that it was hopeless getting any real work out of Cantwell, if he was hungry. They both went to the canteen.
Canteen food was quite good, Temple thought. At least, it was a square meal for him. In the evenings, a tin of heinz spaghetti on toast was his staple diet. Sometimes, he varied it and had baked beans instead of the spaghetti. He often wondered if his stomach lining had turned the bright orange of the food colouring.
Just as they were eating their meal, Superintendent Baker came in. Not to eat, but to see who was there. His lunches were taken in his own office. He spotted Temple immediately. His eyes narrowed as he looked from him to Cantwell and then back to Temple again. Then he turned on his heels and left.
"Satisfied we're not living it up at the Blandford!" Temple remarked.
"Why is he so worried that we must not upset the Jacksons?"
"When I show you the Met files on Redbourne, this afternoon, you'll understand things a bit better."
They returned to the office and Temple placed a pile of files on Cantwell's desk. Sam Walters had been as good as his word. A large parcel of files had been sent from London. Temple had read them the previous evening. He was curious to see Cantwell's reaction to them.
It took Cantwell some hours to understand and then digest what he had read. At the end of a long period of taking it all in, he looked at Temple:
"My God, Gov, he's had his fingers into every mucky pie going. Blackmail, extortion, race fixing, drugs dealing! It goes on and on! Yet you never nailed him!"
"No - don't rub it in! He was more slippery than an eel and as I told you before, his men never snitched, not once. Too damn scared."
"I see why you think he was involved with Ellacott's disappearance and Eager's death."
"I doubt he actually did it with his own hands. But those thugs of his, Steele and Davey - that's another matter."
"So why doesn't Baker want us to investigate too closely. You'd think he'd be pleased. It'd be a real feather in his cap to catch Redbourne."
"If you read between the lines of the Met files, you'll note that Redbourne always had and still has friends in high places. How they became his 'friends', I'll leave to your imagination. But he has them. You and I Cantwell are plebs! But this time, the plebs will make damn sure we get him. If the Devon County set come tumbling down with him I, for one, won't weep."
"They won't come 'tumbling down, Gov. Their sort never do."
"Just one thing, Cantwell, I don't want anyone - and I mean anyone to get wind of our meeting tomorrow with Brenda Ellacott. Even these walls might have ears! Where Redbourne is concerned, anything's possible."
The papers they had found in Eager's tin of spam were only just decipherable. Cantwell was convinced he had written in code.
"Listen to this, Gov." He proceeded to read out a string of numbers:
'Halfway 20/09/51 1= T4 2=T6 3=T4 4=T5 5=T1
27/09/51 1= T2 2=T3 3=T5 4=T6 5=T2
County Ground 06/10/51 1= T5 2= T1 3= T6 4=T4 5= T6 13/10/51 1= T2 2= T3 3= T1 4= T2 5= T4 '
"Doesn't make sense to me. Typical of old Eager. He always thought he'd find a pot of gold hidden behind a hedge. If you ask me, he was just playing around with numbers. Trying to work out some sort of winning ploy."
"Most gamblers do that. Have you heard of the Monte Carlo Fallacy?"
"No! What is it?"
"Well, in about 1913 at the Monte Carlo casino, there were a large number of players at one of the roulette tables. In an amazing sequence of events, red came up 26 times in a row. After about the thirteenth or fifteenth time, players became frenzied being convinced that black must come up next. They started gambling recklessly convinced that they should double or treble their stakes . The casino made a fortune! Some players were ruined. But the fallacy still continues. The belief is that if an event has occurred several times in a row, then it cannot go on occurring. Take for instance if I toss this penny coin." He took out a penny and tossed it. "Heads or tails?"
"Heads."
"No, it happens to be tails. But if I go on tossing the coin, what's the likelihood of heads or tails coming up?"
"Dunno, Gov, never thought about it."
"The probability of getting heads in a single toss is 1 in 2. The chances of getting two heads in two throws in sequence is 1 in 4. The chance of getting three heads in a row is 1 in 8. But gamblers don't all realise that each toss is completely independent of the one before and the one coming after. They see some sort of pattern - like the blokes at Monte Carlo. It's not like that."
"Do you think that's what Eager was doing? Looking for a pattern?"
"No. I think he was more canny than that. I think he was checking the race winners against Redbourne's odds. I think he saw what you saw at the trackside. He saw the odds being changed dramatically, just before the start of the race. He put two and two together. But instead of placing his own bets according to the pattern, he'd already lost so much that all he could do was barter with Redbourne. A dangerous thing to do."
"On your piece of paper, he gives the odds, does he?"
"Yep. He wrote down initials then one set of odds then another and the same T4 T6 numbers that you've got. Also, it's the same two dates that you read out. So four meetings in all. I'd guess by then, he was almost broke and just went to the races out of habit. It was then he spotted the goings on with Redbourne's dodgy dogs."
Cantwell scratched his chin and looked at Eager's tiny writing. Then, he glanced at the clock, noticing it was half twelve. Though from the empty feeling in his stomach, he knew it was lunchtime anyway. Temple saw the direction of his thoughts and knew that it was hopeless getting any real work out of Cantwell, if he was hungry. They both went to the canteen.
Canteen food was quite good, Temple thought. At least, it was a square meal for him. In the evenings, a tin of heinz spaghetti on toast was his staple diet. Sometimes, he varied it and had baked beans instead of the spaghetti. He often wondered if his stomach lining had turned the bright orange of the food colouring.
Just as they were eating their meal, Superintendent Baker came in. Not to eat, but to see who was there. His lunches were taken in his own office. He spotted Temple immediately. His eyes narrowed as he looked from him to Cantwell and then back to Temple again. Then he turned on his heels and left.
"Satisfied we're not living it up at the Blandford!" Temple remarked.
"Why is he so worried that we must not upset the Jacksons?"
"When I show you the Met files on Redbourne, this afternoon, you'll understand things a bit better."
They returned to the office and Temple placed a pile of files on Cantwell's desk. Sam Walters had been as good as his word. A large parcel of files had been sent from London. Temple had read them the previous evening. He was curious to see Cantwell's reaction to them.
It took Cantwell some hours to understand and then digest what he had read. At the end of a long period of taking it all in, he looked at Temple:
"My God, Gov, he's had his fingers into every mucky pie going. Blackmail, extortion, race fixing, drugs dealing! It goes on and on! Yet you never nailed him!"
"No - don't rub it in! He was more slippery than an eel and as I told you before, his men never snitched, not once. Too damn scared."
"I see why you think he was involved with Ellacott's disappearance and Eager's death."
"I doubt he actually did it with his own hands. But those thugs of his, Steele and Davey - that's another matter."
"So why doesn't Baker want us to investigate too closely. You'd think he'd be pleased. It'd be a real feather in his cap to catch Redbourne."
"If you read between the lines of the Met files, you'll note that Redbourne always had and still has friends in high places. How they became his 'friends', I'll leave to your imagination. But he has them. You and I Cantwell are plebs! But this time, the plebs will make damn sure we get him. If the Devon County set come tumbling down with him I, for one, won't weep."
"They won't come 'tumbling down, Gov. Their sort never do."
"Just one thing, Cantwell, I don't want anyone - and I mean anyone to get wind of our meeting tomorrow with Brenda Ellacott. Even these walls might have ears! Where Redbourne is concerned, anything's possible."
Thursday, February 18, 2010
An Offer! Can Brenda refuse?
"Brenda!" Redbourne's greeting was effusive, "This is a pleasant surprise!" He got up from behind the desk and, taking her by the arm, ushered her to a chair. "Ben's death was a terrible shock to us all. I intended to contact you but thought you'd want time to be alone. Then, I heard about the break-in at your flat. Dreadful! You can't trust no one, these days."
Brenda clutched her handbag to control her trembling hands. Now she was actually in front of Redbourne, her trip did not seem such a bright idea. In fact, she wanted to run out of the room.
"So, Brenda, what can I do for you?" He sat behind his large oak desk looking every inch the successful businessman. His dark brown hair was slicked back with brylcreem. His yellow waistcoat was striking against the hounds-tooth check of his suit. Across his grey tie was a gold tiepin in the shape of a horse's head against a horseshoe.
Brenda took in every inch of Rex Redbourne. She had never scrutinised him before. Now she realised he would be quite a formidable opponent, indeed he could be very dangerous.
"Come on, Brenda, you must know why you came to see me." He was getting impatient now.
"I didn't know that ..." she cleared her throat, "that Ben was doing things behind my back. But since he disappeared and that man beat me up and then first Dr McBride and then WingCo Jackson talked to me. Well ... I realised things were going on, Mr Redbourne."
Redbourne sat back and smiled benevolently at her:
"Darlin', you call me Rex. This, 'Mr Redbourne', don't sound too good coming from you. Anyway, what's these 'things' you keep talking about? What exactly do you mean?" He leaned forward again.
Brenda decided to play the part of the naive little woman. She looked down demurely at her handbag before answering him. It would be fatal to be either cocky or challenging, which was exactly how she wanted to be.
"I don't really know. But I get the impression it was something to do with Ben's work as a pharmacist." She looked up trying hard to act the right part. "I've got no one now, Mr ... er Rex. I really wanted to ask if you can give me a job. I've no money of my own. Can I work for you?"
Redbourne was taken aback. He had prepared himself to answer questions about Ellacott and his connections with the business he ran as a bookie. He had not expected to be asked to employ her:
"Doing what exactly?"
"I can type. I do shorthand, book-keeping. I could keep your records for you. I'd do anything like that. I need a job, Mr ... Rex."
Redbourne sucked his teeth. He already had Tracey as his receptionist and typist. She was young, stupid and a good looker. She didn't know much, asked no questions. But more important than all of this, she was the daughter of a Devon County Councillor who played golf with him and with Superintendent Baker. Tracey was a useful pawn in his game plan. Brenda, on the other hand, could be a pain in the arse nosing round where she had no business.
"Tell you what, Brenda, I like you, I liked Ben. I'll see what I can do." He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a large notebook. He appeared to read it for a few minutes. "As it happens, I might just have an opening for you. It's not the type of work you suggested. It would mean you'd be spending several days and nights away from Starmouth, each week." He snapped the book shut. "But I'm a soft-hearted man, Brenda, I'd see you earned some good money."
Brenda gave what she hoped was a wan smile and looked timidly hopeful:
"Just what work would I be doing?"
"Well, darlin', I have a business interest in a farm, not far from here. Got some clients who own dogs. Right?"
"Dogs?"
"Yeah, dogs - greyhounds. That sort of dog. The chap who runs the farm, he's a mate of mine. He's taken on the training of these dogs. He needs a bit of help."
Brenda looked alarmed, despite her vow to be calm. She knew nothing about farms and even less about greyhounds. Whatever did he have in mind. She took in a deep breath and was about to speak. Redbourne held up his hand to silence her.
"Don't interrupt, I don't like being interrupted." He paused and gave her a cold stare. "Like I said, you could stay part of the week at the farm, watch the training, take down the details of running times. You'd need to keep general notes on the dogs' health etc. You'd help out with the dogs as and when. But my bloke does all the heavy work." He paused again and looked at her. "It's not heavy work - your old man even helped out. You look surprised. Well, Ben did very well out of it. And if you behave yourself, darlin', you'll do well."
Brenda was completely thrown by everything Redbourne had said. She had gone along there with very much her own ideas and they had been totally blown out of the water. She had to think on her feet now:
"Can I think about it. It's rather a surprise."
Redbourne nodded,
"Cos you can. Only," he tapped his desk, "don't take too long about it. Chances like this don't come every day and when they're gone, they're gone."
"Thank you, Rex," She got up from the chair. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow or the day after."
"Day after tomorrow is Saturday. I have a lot on. So make sure you let me know by early Saturday morning. Oh! Brenda, don't go talking about this to anyone. Understand? I don't like blabbing women." He smiled, "It's not too healthy for women round me to go blabbing. Now off you go and make up your mind."
Outside, in the reception area, she leaned against the wall. For a moment, the pounding in her heart echoed through her ears and head. She thought she might faint.
Tracey looked up in alarm seeing Brenda's pale face and the way she seemed to need support from the wall.
"Are you okay? Can I get you something?"
Brenda took in two deep breaths and pulled herself upright:
"No, no, I'm fine thank you. Should've had breakfast this morning."
Tracey smiled:
"Know the feeling. I'm always rushing too." She nodded towards Redbourne's office. "He expects a lot from me."
Brenda looked at her and thought to herself: 'I just bet he does!'
Brenda clutched her handbag to control her trembling hands. Now she was actually in front of Redbourne, her trip did not seem such a bright idea. In fact, she wanted to run out of the room.
"So, Brenda, what can I do for you?" He sat behind his large oak desk looking every inch the successful businessman. His dark brown hair was slicked back with brylcreem. His yellow waistcoat was striking against the hounds-tooth check of his suit. Across his grey tie was a gold tiepin in the shape of a horse's head against a horseshoe.
Brenda took in every inch of Rex Redbourne. She had never scrutinised him before. Now she realised he would be quite a formidable opponent, indeed he could be very dangerous.
"Come on, Brenda, you must know why you came to see me." He was getting impatient now.
"I didn't know that ..." she cleared her throat, "that Ben was doing things behind my back. But since he disappeared and that man beat me up and then first Dr McBride and then WingCo Jackson talked to me. Well ... I realised things were going on, Mr Redbourne."
Redbourne sat back and smiled benevolently at her:
"Darlin', you call me Rex. This, 'Mr Redbourne', don't sound too good coming from you. Anyway, what's these 'things' you keep talking about? What exactly do you mean?" He leaned forward again.
Brenda decided to play the part of the naive little woman. She looked down demurely at her handbag before answering him. It would be fatal to be either cocky or challenging, which was exactly how she wanted to be.
"I don't really know. But I get the impression it was something to do with Ben's work as a pharmacist." She looked up trying hard to act the right part. "I've got no one now, Mr ... er Rex. I really wanted to ask if you can give me a job. I've no money of my own. Can I work for you?"
Redbourne was taken aback. He had prepared himself to answer questions about Ellacott and his connections with the business he ran as a bookie. He had not expected to be asked to employ her:
"Doing what exactly?"
"I can type. I do shorthand, book-keeping. I could keep your records for you. I'd do anything like that. I need a job, Mr ... Rex."
Redbourne sucked his teeth. He already had Tracey as his receptionist and typist. She was young, stupid and a good looker. She didn't know much, asked no questions. But more important than all of this, she was the daughter of a Devon County Councillor who played golf with him and with Superintendent Baker. Tracey was a useful pawn in his game plan. Brenda, on the other hand, could be a pain in the arse nosing round where she had no business.
"Tell you what, Brenda, I like you, I liked Ben. I'll see what I can do." He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a large notebook. He appeared to read it for a few minutes. "As it happens, I might just have an opening for you. It's not the type of work you suggested. It would mean you'd be spending several days and nights away from Starmouth, each week." He snapped the book shut. "But I'm a soft-hearted man, Brenda, I'd see you earned some good money."
Brenda gave what she hoped was a wan smile and looked timidly hopeful:
"Just what work would I be doing?"
"Well, darlin', I have a business interest in a farm, not far from here. Got some clients who own dogs. Right?"
"Dogs?"
"Yeah, dogs - greyhounds. That sort of dog. The chap who runs the farm, he's a mate of mine. He's taken on the training of these dogs. He needs a bit of help."
Brenda looked alarmed, despite her vow to be calm. She knew nothing about farms and even less about greyhounds. Whatever did he have in mind. She took in a deep breath and was about to speak. Redbourne held up his hand to silence her.
"Don't interrupt, I don't like being interrupted." He paused and gave her a cold stare. "Like I said, you could stay part of the week at the farm, watch the training, take down the details of running times. You'd need to keep general notes on the dogs' health etc. You'd help out with the dogs as and when. But my bloke does all the heavy work." He paused again and looked at her. "It's not heavy work - your old man even helped out. You look surprised. Well, Ben did very well out of it. And if you behave yourself, darlin', you'll do well."
Brenda was completely thrown by everything Redbourne had said. She had gone along there with very much her own ideas and they had been totally blown out of the water. She had to think on her feet now:
"Can I think about it. It's rather a surprise."
Redbourne nodded,
"Cos you can. Only," he tapped his desk, "don't take too long about it. Chances like this don't come every day and when they're gone, they're gone."
"Thank you, Rex," She got up from the chair. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow or the day after."
"Day after tomorrow is Saturday. I have a lot on. So make sure you let me know by early Saturday morning. Oh! Brenda, don't go talking about this to anyone. Understand? I don't like blabbing women." He smiled, "It's not too healthy for women round me to go blabbing. Now off you go and make up your mind."
Outside, in the reception area, she leaned against the wall. For a moment, the pounding in her heart echoed through her ears and head. She thought she might faint.
Tracey looked up in alarm seeing Brenda's pale face and the way she seemed to need support from the wall.
"Are you okay? Can I get you something?"
Brenda took in two deep breaths and pulled herself upright:
"No, no, I'm fine thank you. Should've had breakfast this morning."
Tracey smiled:
"Know the feeling. I'm always rushing too." She nodded towards Redbourne's office. "He expects a lot from me."
Brenda looked at her and thought to herself: 'I just bet he does!'
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Brenda makes her mind up
Brenda Ellacott heard the post drop onto the doormat. She was still in her dressing gown having slept badly the previous night. She ran down the stairs and saw the letter. At once, she knew it was from Temple. She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Then she settled down to read it.
Yours faithfully
James Temple
Detective Inspector
Devon Constabulary
She smiled to herself over the very formal style of his writing. The phrase 'always here to help you' was like something out of a government information film. So far, in her experience, the police had done very little to 'help' her or anyone in her family. However, the act of kindness at the time of leaving hospital had given her a ray of hope. Anyway, what other options did she have. There was no one else to turn to. All her family had been killed by the bombs that hit Plymouth during the war. She had been away on Salisbury Plain, during the fatal air raid, learning how to drive ambulances.
She and Ben just had each other and now he was gone. Other than driving ambulances during the war, she had few skills. She had basic Pitman typing and shorthand and before her marriage she had worked as a typist. After marriage, she had typed up Ben's records for the pharmacy. Now, she realised, she had not known the half of what went on at the pharmacy.
Sighing, she made another cup of coffee. At first she had been angry with Ben. Now she thought that he had probably not told her what he was up to to protect her. During the last couple of days, she had made up her mind to get even with Redbourne, McBride and WingCo and his smarmy wife. At one time, she had been rather afraid of Redbourne, but not any more. This bloke, Temple, would be her way of getting even.
She washed, dressed and put on her make-up. Then she chose a dark red beret and a warm jacket and her new high heeled shoes. She surveyed herself in the wardrobe mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. The bruising had faded and under the make-up were hardly visible.
She left the flat and headed down the hill. She walked purposefully, head held high and shoulders back. Certain things needed to be done before the Friday meeting with Temple and his sergeant.
Redbourne was surprised to be told that a Mrs Ellacott was waiting to see him. He'd always quite fancied Brenda Ellacott, neat little figure, pretty face, lovely blonde hair. He grinned, 'I'll see her alright.' he thought. Even if WingCo and McBride said she was being difficult, he would soon settle her. She'd either be eating out of his hand or her pretty face wouldn't be quite so pretty anymore. 'It's up to you, darlin', it's up to you!'
"Show her in, Tracey." Redbourne barked down the intercom.
Dear Mrs Ellacott
The police are always here to help you. If we can assist by
discussing matters with you, of course we will.
We suggest that we meet at the Royal Clarence Hotel in
Exeter, opposite the Cathedral. We will aim to be there
at 12 noon on Friday.
My sergeant and I will wait for you in the reception
area. If you are late, please do not worry. We will wait
there for as long as necessary. We look forward to the
discussion.
discussing matters with you, of course we will.
We suggest that we meet at the Royal Clarence Hotel in
Exeter, opposite the Cathedral. We will aim to be there
at 12 noon on Friday.
My sergeant and I will wait for you in the reception
area. If you are late, please do not worry. We will wait
there for as long as necessary. We look forward to the
discussion.
Yours faithfully
James Temple
Detective Inspector
Devon Constabulary
She smiled to herself over the very formal style of his writing. The phrase 'always here to help you' was like something out of a government information film. So far, in her experience, the police had done very little to 'help' her or anyone in her family. However, the act of kindness at the time of leaving hospital had given her a ray of hope. Anyway, what other options did she have. There was no one else to turn to. All her family had been killed by the bombs that hit Plymouth during the war. She had been away on Salisbury Plain, during the fatal air raid, learning how to drive ambulances.
She and Ben just had each other and now he was gone. Other than driving ambulances during the war, she had few skills. She had basic Pitman typing and shorthand and before her marriage she had worked as a typist. After marriage, she had typed up Ben's records for the pharmacy. Now, she realised, she had not known the half of what went on at the pharmacy.
Sighing, she made another cup of coffee. At first she had been angry with Ben. Now she thought that he had probably not told her what he was up to to protect her. During the last couple of days, she had made up her mind to get even with Redbourne, McBride and WingCo and his smarmy wife. At one time, she had been rather afraid of Redbourne, but not any more. This bloke, Temple, would be her way of getting even.
She washed, dressed and put on her make-up. Then she chose a dark red beret and a warm jacket and her new high heeled shoes. She surveyed herself in the wardrobe mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. The bruising had faded and under the make-up were hardly visible.
She left the flat and headed down the hill. She walked purposefully, head held high and shoulders back. Certain things needed to be done before the Friday meeting with Temple and his sergeant.
Redbourne was surprised to be told that a Mrs Ellacott was waiting to see him. He'd always quite fancied Brenda Ellacott, neat little figure, pretty face, lovely blonde hair. He grinned, 'I'll see her alright.' he thought. Even if WingCo and McBride said she was being difficult, he would soon settle her. She'd either be eating out of his hand or her pretty face wouldn't be quite so pretty anymore. 'It's up to you, darlin', it's up to you!'
"Show her in, Tracey." Redbourne barked down the intercom.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Grange Farm
As they headed back to Starmouth, Cantwell spotted the signpost to Woodbury Common.
"That's near where Soppy Soper works, Gov, Grange Farm is close by Woodbury Common."
Temple braked hard and reversed back to the junction. He peered up the narrow road that was enclosed on either side by tall overgrown hedges:
"Let's take a drive passed. I'd be interested to see what it's like. We can go through the village too."
The village itself was small but well kempt. An old church dominated the skyline. A white-washed pub stood at right angles to the church. There were few villagers to be seen.
"Let's have a pint and a pasty." Temple said glancing at his watch. "I'd guess some of the locals will be doing just that themselves. Be useful to hear what the current gossip is about."
The entrance to the old inn was low and they both stooped to get inside. The bar itself was also low ceilinged with heavy oak beams running lengthwise. Years of use had embedded a smell of cider, beer and pipe-smoke into the walls. When they entered, a silence fell upon three of the older men sitting on stools at the bar. The three turned and stared at them. One of them stopped chewing his tobacco, his cheek bulging with the plug.
"Two halves of bitter and two pasties, please." temple ordered.
The barman eyed them closely, nodded and called out the pasty order through the kitchen hatch:
"Pasty's be 'bout fifteen minutes."
"Fine, we'll take our drinks over there." Temple pointed to a corner table. The three men stared long and hard at him. One of them puffed strongly on his pipe, sending clouds of smoke across the bar. The other two just stared.
"Nice day, gentlemen." Temple said. For response, two of the men nodded.
When they had sat down at the small table, Temple glanced around. The only other people there were two couples sitting together obviously deep in conversation:
"Cantwell, in a couple of minutes, before the pasty is ready, why don't you go to the bar and get some crisps. Get talking to the old boys. Find out what you can about Grange Farm. They'll not be as suspicious of you as of me, especially if you load your Devon burr."
"Devon burr!" Cantwell exclaimed loudly. "I don't have a Devon burr! Debbie says how nice I talk!"
"There's nothing wrong with a Devon burr," Cantwell grinned, "yours is very slight. What I was trying to say was that I am sure you know how to make it broader. You're a good mimic! Try to fall into the old boys' speech patterns. They looked at me as if I was another species of being." He paused. "Besides, it's good training for a budding young detective to try to melt into his surroundings."
Slightly appeased by this, Cantwell nodded. He went over and leaned against the bar, ordering a packet of crisps and grinning at the old men.
"Nice place, this."
Two of the old men listened, then one of them said:
"Yep, it be. You visitin'?"
"Me and my pal just passin' through."
"Where be 'e from?"
"Starmouth."
"Oh!" The third old man said, chewing his tobacco again, "Thought you bain't from these parts."
Cantwell was surprised. Starmouth was no more than half a dozen miles away. But from the last comment, he might as well have said that he came from London.
"Tis only a few mile away. Not that far!"
"Far enough. Starmouth be for 'olidays, this place be for proper work."
"Know Grange Farm, do 'e?" Cantwell tried to sound nonchalant. The three men peered at him closely, as if he had asked something outlandish. "I met old Harry Soper t'other day. Told me 'e worked at Grange Farm."
"Soppy - you means!" The old man wearing a greasy tweed cap exclaimed.
"Yep!"
"Poor bloke, 'e should never 'ave got in with the new man. 'im nor Mrs 'annaford neither. It'll not end well, you mark my words." He took off his cap and scratched his sparse grey hair.
"What won't end well?" Cantwell asked.
"New man don't know nothin' 'bout farmwork. Soppy does it all! Now 'es got these new fangled 'ounds to look after. 'es run off 'is feet."
" 'ounds?" Cantwell tried to sound surprised.
"Yep, those dogs that run round after some old electric 'are. They got some sort of track up on the 'igh pasture." The old man replaced the cap back on his head. "Think of it! Usin' good farmland for dogs!"
"Damn things, they'm barkin' all day and all night." One of the others said.
"Soppy's a cowman not a dog man. 'es too soft is Soppy. 'e don't know what 'es gone and got 'imself into." He touched the end of his nose and shook his head sagely.
"What's he got into?" Cantwell forgot his accent, in his excitement.
"City men come 'ere in big posh jalopies. They don't know bee from a bull's foot 'bout farms."
"City men?"
"Yep. City men."
"One of 'em is a big man. Nasty lookin' cuss. 'es driven in a big black car by some skinny chap. Came in 'ere once and pushed us out of the way." He looked at the other two who nodded their agreement. "Treated us like we was no better than scum."
"Yep." The oldest of the three said. "They shouted at poor old Soppy. 'e, like a bloody fool, ran 'ither and thither for 'em."
At that moment, the barman placed two plates of pasty and chips on the counter. They were large pasties with a rich brown crust and the steam was still rising from them. Cantwell sniffed the air hungrily. The three old men winked at each other, recognising the signs of a hungry man.
"Looks proper good." Cantwell said. The barman grinned in appreciation.
"Go on and get stuck in, lad." One old man said.
Cantwell needed no further prompting and he carried the plates over to the corner table.
Temple had been observing the various exchanges with a growing respect for Cantwell's abilities. He had managed to wheedle his way into their confidence very easily.
"Go and buy them a pint each of whatever it is they're drinking. They're well worth cultivating."
Reluctantly, Cantwell put the plates down and returned to the bar.
"What're you drinkin', boys?" The three grinned with delight. A free pint was not to be sniffed at.
"We all drink draught cider, lad."
"Well, barman," Cantwell said, "make it four then, three for my friends 'ere and one for your good self." When he'd settled up he returned to Temple.
"I've made a note of the cost of all this." Temple said, " I'll take it out of the kitty, when we get back to the station. Can't have you out of pocket."
After they had eaten, Cantwell mused with Temple over what the men had told him:
"Looks like Redbourne comes in here. Not too popular with the locals."
"He wouldn't be. Stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. More used to the seedier pubs of south east London.
After getting directioons from one of the old men, they left the inn and drove towards Grange Farm. It was about a mile beyond the village, in a steep valley, below what passed for the main road. They parked the car in a lay-by and together they walked across the top field. They kept close to the tall hedge, so that they were relatively invisible from the farm and the lower pasture. A few Devon Red cattle grazed peacefully just below them. Beyond them, the field sloped away steeply. There was a collection of large barns and outhouses, several in need of repair. Two, however, looked as though they had recently been re-roofed.
The farmhouse itself was old, its thatched roof badly needed re-thatching and its walls which had once been whitewashed were now stained with red mud. Two tractors were parked in the yard together with a Morris Minor shooting brake and a landrover. There was no one to be seen.
"Good enough for a first recce, I think we've seen enough. We'll be back again, soon enough, to take a look at this track the old blokes told you about. But for the rest of today, we need to take a closer look at those notes of Eager's." He glanced at his watch. "You'll be able to get off duty early tonight. That'll please your Debbie."
"She won't be too keen next Saturday when I take her to the dogs. She reckons that only common people go dog racing. Now if it was horse racing, that'd be totally different. Still, having her with me will make it look more natural. Agree, Gov?"
"I do indeed, Cantwell, and as long as you don't get hooked on betting on those dodgy dogs, we'll all be happy! You just remember why you're going. You got far too excited with the bets you won last time. Just keep telling yourself, the only reason you won is because the races were fixed - the dogs were dodgy!"
Cantwell grinned:
"I'll try to remember that, Gov!"
"That's near where Soppy Soper works, Gov, Grange Farm is close by Woodbury Common."
Temple braked hard and reversed back to the junction. He peered up the narrow road that was enclosed on either side by tall overgrown hedges:
"Let's take a drive passed. I'd be interested to see what it's like. We can go through the village too."
The village itself was small but well kempt. An old church dominated the skyline. A white-washed pub stood at right angles to the church. There were few villagers to be seen.
"Let's have a pint and a pasty." Temple said glancing at his watch. "I'd guess some of the locals will be doing just that themselves. Be useful to hear what the current gossip is about."
The entrance to the old inn was low and they both stooped to get inside. The bar itself was also low ceilinged with heavy oak beams running lengthwise. Years of use had embedded a smell of cider, beer and pipe-smoke into the walls. When they entered, a silence fell upon three of the older men sitting on stools at the bar. The three turned and stared at them. One of them stopped chewing his tobacco, his cheek bulging with the plug.
"Two halves of bitter and two pasties, please." temple ordered.
The barman eyed them closely, nodded and called out the pasty order through the kitchen hatch:
"Pasty's be 'bout fifteen minutes."
"Fine, we'll take our drinks over there." Temple pointed to a corner table. The three men stared long and hard at him. One of them puffed strongly on his pipe, sending clouds of smoke across the bar. The other two just stared.
"Nice day, gentlemen." Temple said. For response, two of the men nodded.
When they had sat down at the small table, Temple glanced around. The only other people there were two couples sitting together obviously deep in conversation:
"Cantwell, in a couple of minutes, before the pasty is ready, why don't you go to the bar and get some crisps. Get talking to the old boys. Find out what you can about Grange Farm. They'll not be as suspicious of you as of me, especially if you load your Devon burr."
"Devon burr!" Cantwell exclaimed loudly. "I don't have a Devon burr! Debbie says how nice I talk!"
"There's nothing wrong with a Devon burr," Cantwell grinned, "yours is very slight. What I was trying to say was that I am sure you know how to make it broader. You're a good mimic! Try to fall into the old boys' speech patterns. They looked at me as if I was another species of being." He paused. "Besides, it's good training for a budding young detective to try to melt into his surroundings."
Slightly appeased by this, Cantwell nodded. He went over and leaned against the bar, ordering a packet of crisps and grinning at the old men.
"Nice place, this."
Two of the old men listened, then one of them said:
"Yep, it be. You visitin'?"
"Me and my pal just passin' through."
"Where be 'e from?"
"Starmouth."
"Oh!" The third old man said, chewing his tobacco again, "Thought you bain't from these parts."
Cantwell was surprised. Starmouth was no more than half a dozen miles away. But from the last comment, he might as well have said that he came from London.
"Tis only a few mile away. Not that far!"
"Far enough. Starmouth be for 'olidays, this place be for proper work."
"Know Grange Farm, do 'e?" Cantwell tried to sound nonchalant. The three men peered at him closely, as if he had asked something outlandish. "I met old Harry Soper t'other day. Told me 'e worked at Grange Farm."
"Soppy - you means!" The old man wearing a greasy tweed cap exclaimed.
"Yep!"
"Poor bloke, 'e should never 'ave got in with the new man. 'im nor Mrs 'annaford neither. It'll not end well, you mark my words." He took off his cap and scratched his sparse grey hair.
"What won't end well?" Cantwell asked.
"New man don't know nothin' 'bout farmwork. Soppy does it all! Now 'es got these new fangled 'ounds to look after. 'es run off 'is feet."
" 'ounds?" Cantwell tried to sound surprised.
"Yep, those dogs that run round after some old electric 'are. They got some sort of track up on the 'igh pasture." The old man replaced the cap back on his head. "Think of it! Usin' good farmland for dogs!"
"Damn things, they'm barkin' all day and all night." One of the others said.
"Soppy's a cowman not a dog man. 'es too soft is Soppy. 'e don't know what 'es gone and got 'imself into." He touched the end of his nose and shook his head sagely.
"What's he got into?" Cantwell forgot his accent, in his excitement.
"City men come 'ere in big posh jalopies. They don't know bee from a bull's foot 'bout farms."
"City men?"
"Yep. City men."
"One of 'em is a big man. Nasty lookin' cuss. 'es driven in a big black car by some skinny chap. Came in 'ere once and pushed us out of the way." He looked at the other two who nodded their agreement. "Treated us like we was no better than scum."
"Yep." The oldest of the three said. "They shouted at poor old Soppy. 'e, like a bloody fool, ran 'ither and thither for 'em."
At that moment, the barman placed two plates of pasty and chips on the counter. They were large pasties with a rich brown crust and the steam was still rising from them. Cantwell sniffed the air hungrily. The three old men winked at each other, recognising the signs of a hungry man.
"Looks proper good." Cantwell said. The barman grinned in appreciation.
"Go on and get stuck in, lad." One old man said.
Cantwell needed no further prompting and he carried the plates over to the corner table.
Temple had been observing the various exchanges with a growing respect for Cantwell's abilities. He had managed to wheedle his way into their confidence very easily.
"Go and buy them a pint each of whatever it is they're drinking. They're well worth cultivating."
Reluctantly, Cantwell put the plates down and returned to the bar.
"What're you drinkin', boys?" The three grinned with delight. A free pint was not to be sniffed at.
"We all drink draught cider, lad."
"Well, barman," Cantwell said, "make it four then, three for my friends 'ere and one for your good self." When he'd settled up he returned to Temple.
"I've made a note of the cost of all this." Temple said, " I'll take it out of the kitty, when we get back to the station. Can't have you out of pocket."
After they had eaten, Cantwell mused with Temple over what the men had told him:
"Looks like Redbourne comes in here. Not too popular with the locals."
"He wouldn't be. Stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. More used to the seedier pubs of south east London.
After getting directioons from one of the old men, they left the inn and drove towards Grange Farm. It was about a mile beyond the village, in a steep valley, below what passed for the main road. They parked the car in a lay-by and together they walked across the top field. They kept close to the tall hedge, so that they were relatively invisible from the farm and the lower pasture. A few Devon Red cattle grazed peacefully just below them. Beyond them, the field sloped away steeply. There was a collection of large barns and outhouses, several in need of repair. Two, however, looked as though they had recently been re-roofed.
The farmhouse itself was old, its thatched roof badly needed re-thatching and its walls which had once been whitewashed were now stained with red mud. Two tractors were parked in the yard together with a Morris Minor shooting brake and a landrover. There was no one to be seen.
"Good enough for a first recce, I think we've seen enough. We'll be back again, soon enough, to take a look at this track the old blokes told you about. But for the rest of today, we need to take a closer look at those notes of Eager's." He glanced at his watch. "You'll be able to get off duty early tonight. That'll please your Debbie."
"She won't be too keen next Saturday when I take her to the dogs. She reckons that only common people go dog racing. Now if it was horse racing, that'd be totally different. Still, having her with me will make it look more natural. Agree, Gov?"
"I do indeed, Cantwell, and as long as you don't get hooked on betting on those dodgy dogs, we'll all be happy! You just remember why you're going. You got far too excited with the bets you won last time. Just keep telling yourself, the only reason you won is because the races were fixed - the dogs were dodgy!"
Cantwell grinned:
"I'll try to remember that, Gov!"
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Back on Eager's boat.
Returning from the Post Office, Cantwell was confronted by Temple waving a set of car keys at him.
"We need to go back to Eager Beaver's boat. Now would be a good time. In all the kerfuffle of finding his body, we never really examined the boat properly."
"I thought the forensic team went over it."
"Maybe. But they didn't report back."
They drove to Topsham in an unmarked police car. The weather was chilly and a low penetrating drizzle covered the surrounding countryside in dampness. The river level was high and Eager's boat was bobbing about on the incoming tide.
This time, they had brought two powerful torches. Below deck, even with the portholes now fully exposed, it was dark and gloomy with a pungent smell of petrol and general mustiness.
The blood had congealed into a dark crusting on the bare boards. The bunk bed had been left in disarray. The upturned chair had been righted and the cupboards and drawers were closed. But it was a dismal place to be.
"You take the bunk apart, rip open the mattress and lift up the boards. It's even worth ripping open the pillow. I'm going to take a closer look at the galley."
Temple got down on his hands and knees and began pulling at the bases of the cupboards.
After a quarter of an hour, Cantwell, covered in dust, began coughing. Rather breathlessly, he called out:
"There's nothing here, Gov."
"Nor here either. But keep going."
"What are we looking for?"
"I'm not sure - but I guess that, from the beating Eager took, someone was trying to get information out of him. It wasn't a punishment beating, it was systematic. Remember what he told you in the pub that night. He seemed very sure of his facts. I wouldn't put it past him, in a rash moment, to drop the hint to Redbourne or Steele, that he knew what was going on."
"Blackmail, you mean?"
"No! Nothing as blatant as that, he didn't have it in him. I'd guess he was trying a trade off against his own gambling debts. You let me off what I owe you and I'll keep quiet about what I know. More that kind of thing"
"So, we're looking for a record or statement?"
"I'll know what, when we find it. If, we find it."
Temple opened the food cupboards. The same tins of beans and spaghetti were piled up higgledy-piggledy. He took each one down carefully. Then at the very back, there was a tin of spam. It had been opened but the tin base had been peeled back by its key so that it stood apparently unopened. Lifting it up, Temple knew it was empty of meat. He pulled the key back and out fell two pieces of paper folded into small squares to fit the tin.
"Bingo!" Temple called out. "Come over here!"
"How on earth did you find it in that spam tin?" Cantwell examined the tin and saw how carefully the base cover had been peeled back and then re-placed.
"My old mother used to hide the housekeeping money in just such a tin!" Temple laughed. "But I knew just where it was! Anyway, let's take a look at these."
He carefully unfolded the papers. In tiny writing, there were dates of meetings, times of races and results. The figures were meaningless to both Temple and Cantwell.
"They don't make sense to us. But I'll bet you that if Eager showed these to Redbourne, Steele or Davey, they'd know exactly what they meant." He leaned against the shelf. "Poor old bugger, Eager should have kept his trap shut."
"Do you think we'll be able to use these figures against Redbourne?"
"Not on their own. But if we ever get to charging him, then they'll come in more than useful. For now, though, not a word about any of this. Old Baker has tried to warn me off the Blandford, next time it'll be off the case altogether. So, keep quiet about this."
"We need to go back to Eager Beaver's boat. Now would be a good time. In all the kerfuffle of finding his body, we never really examined the boat properly."
"I thought the forensic team went over it."
"Maybe. But they didn't report back."
They drove to Topsham in an unmarked police car. The weather was chilly and a low penetrating drizzle covered the surrounding countryside in dampness. The river level was high and Eager's boat was bobbing about on the incoming tide.
This time, they had brought two powerful torches. Below deck, even with the portholes now fully exposed, it was dark and gloomy with a pungent smell of petrol and general mustiness.
The blood had congealed into a dark crusting on the bare boards. The bunk bed had been left in disarray. The upturned chair had been righted and the cupboards and drawers were closed. But it was a dismal place to be.
"You take the bunk apart, rip open the mattress and lift up the boards. It's even worth ripping open the pillow. I'm going to take a closer look at the galley."
Temple got down on his hands and knees and began pulling at the bases of the cupboards.
After a quarter of an hour, Cantwell, covered in dust, began coughing. Rather breathlessly, he called out:
"There's nothing here, Gov."
"Nor here either. But keep going."
"What are we looking for?"
"I'm not sure - but I guess that, from the beating Eager took, someone was trying to get information out of him. It wasn't a punishment beating, it was systematic. Remember what he told you in the pub that night. He seemed very sure of his facts. I wouldn't put it past him, in a rash moment, to drop the hint to Redbourne or Steele, that he knew what was going on."
"Blackmail, you mean?"
"No! Nothing as blatant as that, he didn't have it in him. I'd guess he was trying a trade off against his own gambling debts. You let me off what I owe you and I'll keep quiet about what I know. More that kind of thing"
"So, we're looking for a record or statement?"
"I'll know what, when we find it. If, we find it."
Temple opened the food cupboards. The same tins of beans and spaghetti were piled up higgledy-piggledy. He took each one down carefully. Then at the very back, there was a tin of spam. It had been opened but the tin base had been peeled back by its key so that it stood apparently unopened. Lifting it up, Temple knew it was empty of meat. He pulled the key back and out fell two pieces of paper folded into small squares to fit the tin.
"Bingo!" Temple called out. "Come over here!"
"How on earth did you find it in that spam tin?" Cantwell examined the tin and saw how carefully the base cover had been peeled back and then re-placed.
"My old mother used to hide the housekeeping money in just such a tin!" Temple laughed. "But I knew just where it was! Anyway, let's take a look at these."
He carefully unfolded the papers. In tiny writing, there were dates of meetings, times of races and results. The figures were meaningless to both Temple and Cantwell.
"They don't make sense to us. But I'll bet you that if Eager showed these to Redbourne, Steele or Davey, they'd know exactly what they meant." He leaned against the shelf. "Poor old bugger, Eager should have kept his trap shut."
"Do you think we'll be able to use these figures against Redbourne?"
"Not on their own. But if we ever get to charging him, then they'll come in more than useful. For now, though, not a word about any of this. Old Baker has tried to warn me off the Blandford, next time it'll be off the case altogether. So, keep quiet about this."
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