Vivian Conroy - Deadly Treasures

The constable shook his head. ‘He is being questioned right now. You cannot see him.’

‘I will see him now.’ She put her hands on the desk to underline her point. ‘You have no right to question him without an attorney.’

‘He doesn’t want one. We did ask. He says it is all a silly misunderstanding that can be set straight in no time.’

Alkmene sighed. It seemed Simon Peartree had been right about Duncan’s pig-headedness. He would keep thinking nothing was wrong until it was too late. She had to change tack, fast. ‘Can I use your phone, please?’

The man nodded and put it on the desk for her. He retreated to his own desk and rearranged the notes he had been working on. Were they about the murder? She needed some details. Where the body had been found, how it had lain there, traces around it – footprints, a cigarette butt, anything that could shed light on the presence of people on the murder scene.

But she was pretty certain this hostile constable wouldn’t tell her a thing.

With a sigh she asked the operator to connect her with the number in Plymouth that Jake had given her. She hoped he was in.

A hotel clerk answered and had to send a bellboy to look for Mr Dubois. ‘He has just been seen leaving with another gentleman.’

Alkmene kept her fingers crossed the bellboy would catch the two of them outside before they vanished.

The hubbub of a busy lobby buzzed over the line. The sound of voices, laughter, and the distant ding of an elevator bell.

Then a rustle and a short, ‘Dubois.’

Excitement flooded through her that they were connecting again about a murder. Not one Jake was writing about, and graciously sharing with her, like the poison case, but one she had hit upon herself. He would be surprised to hear it. ‘Alkmene here. I can barely hear you. Can you hear me?’

‘If I concentrate.’ There was a hint of laughter in his voice. ‘What is it?’

Just hearing his voice made Alkmene feel better. Jake would have some idea of what they could do to prove Duncan’s innocence. She turned away from the desk with the inquisitive policeman and spoke into the receiver. ‘I’m in Cornwall looking in on an old friend of mine. As it so happens, he is being questioned in relation to a dead body found on his dig.’

‘On his what?’

‘His dig. He’s an archaeologist.’

‘Interesting friends you have.’

‘Not as interesting as yours,’ she retorted, meaning the cat burglar who had set off their earlier case of the diamonds of death. ‘I need some information about certain people. Can you dig it up for me? I’ll call you again tomorrow from a different phone.’ Maybe the inn had one, or the village store? She had not seen a telephone box anywhere. Yet. ‘Let’s say around noon?’

‘That won’t be necessary. Where did you say you were? Cornwall? Maybe I can arrange something with Seaton.’

‘What?’

‘Buck Seaton. He is here to discuss the idea for a race. A boating race that will end in Plymouth. The yachting club could host the reception when the boats come in. I’m supposed to write about it, but I could ask Seaton to give me all the details later when we're both back in London. I could get myself a car for a few days and come out to you. Where exactly are you? How far from Plymouth do you think it is?’

‘I’m staying in Blackcastle. Must be less than forty miles. But I really don’t need you here. Just get me the information I want and I can manage finding the culprit on my own.’

Jake sounded very far away as he said something in reply.

She pressed the receiver closer to her ear. ‘What? I can’t hear you.’

‘Sorry. I was getting a notepad and pen. What people do you want information on? I can ring a contact or two before I find myself a car to come out to you.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ Alkmene insisted. ‘Just get me the information, will you? The suspect is Duncan Woolsbury, my friend. I want to know how he got in with this expedition. Check out his tutor and patron Trevor Price.’

‘The Trevor Price?’ Jake whistled. ‘This could get interesting. He is a master in his field. What exactly is your friend Duncan digging up?’

‘Uh, a medieval village, I heard.’

Jake huffed. ‘Seems like small stuff for Price to be involved in. Nothing big and exciting lost in that area?’

‘I have no idea. I did hear there used to be a castle here. There is just one tower left of it. The excavation site is quite close to it. It was called the Black Castle. The village where I’m staying takes its name from it.’

She was moving around a bit while talking and caught the constable’s glance. Like he had perked up. At her mention of the castle?

She lowered her voice as she continued, ‘Also find out if Duncan is in any financial trouble. And female friends, if you can dig up some.’

If Peartree had been right in his observations about ‘casual girlfriends’, there had to be plenty. She only had to glance out of the window to see Simon Peartree talking to the girl with the basket, who had apparently come back from her grocery shopping. Little Sarah, as Peartree had referred to her earlier. There were several wrapped parcels in the twine basket, as well as the green heads of leek.

Upon closer examination Sarah didn’t seem quite as young as she had earlier. She could be twenty. Suitable for Duncan anyway?

Just then the girl burst into tears and ran off into the building on the corner of the village square. Not into the right half of it in front of which she had been brushing the horse, but the left half, with a sign over the door depicting a net full of fish. ‘The Catch’ was written underneath in chipped golden letters.

That was the inn Alkmene was staying at. Wonderful. It would give her a chance to connect with this Sarah and find out more about her relationship with Duncan.

She refocused on the phone call and said to Jake, ‘Besides all you can find about Duncan, I also want everything on the victim. His name was Reiner Goodman.’

‘German?’ Jake asked.

‘Could be.’

For a moment it struck Alkmene as possibly significant that the Woolsbury driver was also German. The enigmatic Kramer, who had been so tight-lipped all during their journey, but who had readily confided in her that Duncan had a love interest here that he was keeping hidden from his family. She didn’t suppose the driver had told her because he felt sorry for her, turning up where she was not wanted. What could have been his purpose with that revelation?

Shaking her head to concentrate, she pushed on. ‘You should find out if Goodman was German. And if he was a connection of Duncan Woolsbury’s patron, the famous Trevor Price. Also find out what Price was working on before his health trouble sent him on a long holiday. After all, his ill health got Duncan the job here. I also want to know why this dig is so important. I mean, I do understand digs in Egypt, but here… Like you said, there must be more than a medieval village to unearth.’

‘All the more reason for me to come out as soon as I can. See you later.’ And Jake disconnected.

With a huff Alkmene put down the receiver. Jake believed he could gather some information, drive down here and solve the crime. But in Plymouth he was cut off from his main source of information: his London street informers. He could not call them and he could not meet with them in person. He had to rely on other contacts who were reachable by phone. Maybe a newspaper colleague or someone at a club? It could get him background information, but not the details of the murder and the possible suspects. That information was right here in Blackcastle. At her fingertips.

Alkmene smiled. In their first investigation Jake had dismissed her offer to trade information because he had been sure he held much more than she did. This time their trade would be even. When he came in, she would have something substantial to share.