Ann Purser - The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

“You’re quiet, Augustus,” said Ivy. “Do you see what this means, if Roy’s recollection is correct?”

“Of course,” said Gus, snapping to attention. “It means our Beattie Beatty Bentall has got a brother. I wonder what he called himself? Maybe he kept his real name, and there’s a mysterious Joe Bentall lurking in the shadows somewhere?”

“Miss Beasley has an idea for what we should do next,” Roy said, and Gus looked enquiringly at Ivy, who said that she thought it was probably time for one of them to go to Oakham and do some asking around.

“Oakbridge,” Roy corrected her. “I’ll go, if you like?” he offered.

There was an embarrassed pause, and then Deirdre said gently that she thought perhaps one of the younger members of the agency should take on this particular assignment.

“On the other hand,” Gus said, “Roy does know that area well.”

“So do I,” said Deirdre. For goodness sake, what was the silly man thinking of? Roy Goodman was very old, and totally unlikely to be able to trudge round a town, possibly in the rain, ferreting out snippets of information-or not, as was quite likely.

Ivy shifted in her chair. “If you ask me,” she said, “Roy and me should stay here and keep our eyes open for what’s happening here. Miss Pinkney had a chat with me this morning, and she was full of a story going round village about Mr. Roussel. He’s been seen in the pub, apparently, and then out and about with young Budd. The gossips are having a fine time, as you can imagine.”

“Well I never,” said Deirdre, looking smug. “Amazing how people can change, isn’t it?”

“Yes, well,” Ivy said, frowning at her, “let’s just get back to how you’re going to start when you get to Oakbridge. Tomorrow, d’you think, Augustus?”

“Yes, certainly,” said Gus. “Which brings me to an announcement.” He smiled at Ivy, and reached across to pat her hand. “Much as I appreciate your offer to support me in my convalescence here,” he said, “I am so much better now, really restored, and have told Mrs. Spurling that I shall be going back home tomorrow. Then Katya can have her room back. Whippy will be so pleased to see me. I’ve missed her a lot, and I get the impression that Mrs. Spurling will not be too sorry to see me go!” he added, but did not elaborate.

Deirdre said that was fine, and she would pick him up tomorrow morning, take him and his things back to his cottage, and then they could set off for Oakbridge straightaway.

“Good,” said Ivy. “That’s that, then. Now, I must be going.”

“Where?” said Deirdre.

“To the shop,” Ivy said. “I don’t really need anything, but I make sure I have a short walk every day.”

Roy Goodman cleared his throat. He said sadly, “So no more pontoon, then, Gus?”

Ivy looked at him. All the light had gone out of his eyes, and she realised he saw himself back in the lounge, staring at the telly with the others, this wonderful interlude finished.

“ We shall play pontoon together, you and me, and Gus will be visitor, as Katya says,” she said. “And you and I shall play cribbage, too. Must keep our wits about us, Roy,” she added, “for what might happen next.”

GUS LOOKED ABOUT him at his neat and tidy sitting room. “I didn’t leave it like this!” he said.

Dierdre shook her head. “No, you didn’t. But the fairies have been in and cleaned it up for you.”

“It was you, I suppose,” Gus said, and he leaned forward to give her a peck on the cheek. “Thanks a lot. Now, can I offer you a coffee before we start?”

Deirdre said she thought they should be off straightaway. “If we sit down now with coffee, you can bet someone will arrive or the telephone will ring, and we shall be delayed. Come on, lad. Best foot forward.”

Gus wondered whether to tell her about his scalded ankle, but it was much better today and he decided not. He had to reclaim his status as senior partner. A scalded ankle should be nothing to invincible Augustus, scourge of the criminal fraternity!

As they went back to the car, which Deirdre had parked outside the cottage, Gus turned and looked along the terrace. A curtain twitched in the window of his next-door neighbour, and he saw Miriam’s face peering out. On an impulse he waved, and to his amusement the face disappeared. Now she had seen he was back, he must expect a visit sooner or later.

Oakbridge was about thirty miles from Barrington, and in the big limousine they seemed to be there in no time. “I could get used to one of these,” Gus said to Deirdre. “It’s like riding in a feather bed.”

“That dates you,” said Deirdre. “How many feather beds have you slept in?”

“In this country, none,” he said severely, “but overseas, I have slept in every kind of bed you can imagine. Feathers, straw, rough blankets on concrete, you name it, I’ve slept in it or on it.”

Deirdre looked at him closely. “D’you know, Gus, I’m never really sure whether to believe you or not. What exactly was your work?” Gus gazed into the distance, as if to a far-off land where things were very different. “I’m afraid I am not able to say. You will just have to take me on trust, Deirdre. So let’s look for somewhere to park and get on with our search.”

“Duly snubbed! I get the message,” Deirdre said. “What are we searching for, by the way? And have you any idea where we should start?” They parked the car in the municipal park, and started walking into the town centre.

“Newspaper office, for a start,” said Gus. “Then the library, and then start accosting old ladies and gents in the street to see if any of them remember Caroline Bentall.”

“That newspaper closed down years ago,” Deirdre objected. “No point in going in the offices of the present Blixton Advertiser , is there?”

“Oh yes,” Gus said. “This is the old newspaper building, and there’ll be an archive of the old papers, as we know from the Internet. But they’ll have a lot more in a dusty back room than came up on your computer screen. Come on, girl, in we go.”

After half an hour trawling through well-organised old newspapers, they came across the one they’d already seen. “Let’s see the next week. There might be a follow-up story,” Deirdre suggested. They were rewarded by a couple of paragraphs on an inside page, stating that the missing Caroline Bentall had not been found, though the police were following up leads. The two children-again no names-were settling well with temporary foster parents in the town. There appeared to be no other relations who could look after the two girls. Police were appealing for anyone who had information to come forward.

“Right, well, let’s look at the next week,” said Deirdre. But unfortunately an explosion in a carpet factory on the edge of town, resulting in a huge fire that had darkened the sky, took up several pages, and the rest of the news was squeezed into a diminished space. There was nothing more about Caroline Bentall.

Deirdre looked at her watch. “Time to go, if we’re to look elsewhere,” she said. “It’s like the proverbial needle in the haystack in here.”

They walked down the High Street and followed the signs to the library. “I think we should say we’re looking for a long-lost relative,” Deirdre said. “They’ll probably be more helpful that way. Shall I say she was my aunt?”

Gus shook his head. “No, not worth risking ramifications,” he said. “Don’t forget the unfriendly character who knocked me on the head.”

“You mean you might be followed, bugged, all that?” Deirdre asked excitedly.