Death At Willows End Page 17

  “How about now, and you can come back here when you have finished, and write me a report before you attack the filing.”

  Ten minutes later, her face beaming as if I had just given her the crown jewels she vanished through the door, and I settled back to read through the post and to catch up on one or two other things. As I busied myself in a desultory manner with the usual hum-drum routine matters that were my usual lot since I had started in the place, I found myself hoping that Danny might phone. She didn't of course, and I tried to console myself with the thought that in a way it was probably a good thing, because the only reason I could think of why she would bother to phone me was to say that she was cancelling our agreement and taking her business elsewhere. After the shabby way I'd treated her I couldn't say that I would blame her if she did. At about ten, having heard nothing to suggest that I had been fired, I put a phone call though to Julia on the number Danny had provided.

  “Yes?” enquired a quiet female voice after the phone had been ringing for a few minutes, and I was starting to think that maybe she was out.

  “Is that Mrs Johnson,” I asked in a polite voice. “Mrs Julia Johnson?”

  “Mrs Johnson speaking,” she acknowledged suspiciously.

  “Good morning Mrs Johnson, my name is Hammond, and please allow me to assure you straight away that I am not trying in some devious way to sell you something. I am a writer, and I am currently researching some events that took place in Willow's End about fourteen years ago to which I understand you were a witness. I would take it as a great favour if you would allow me to call later today to discuss what happened. I do appreciate, of course, that recalling these events may be painful for you, but as I am on a fairly tight schedule myself it would be so very helpful if you would agree? I fully understand, of course, that in this lawless day and age one cannot be too careful as to whom you invite into your home, so I shall expect you to have somebody such as your husband present.”

  “Willows End, you say?”

  “Yes, that's right.”

  “I've been doing my best to forget all about that, Mr Hammond.”

  “Quite understandable,” I agreed solicitously, “and you may rest assured that I will respect your reticence on any memories that are too painful for you, and nothing you may see fit to say to me will appear in print without your express permission. I want to present the facts to the public, and do away with all the fantastic theories and speculations I've already come across. As the only true witness to events that occurred on that tragic night I'm sure that you will be able to do that for me?”

  “If you don't mind me asking, how did you get to know my name and telephone number, Mr Hammond?”

  “I suppose you could say by recommend; I've spoken to quite a few people so far, and your name has been mentioned more than once in connection with the matter. Somebody, I can't remember just who, passed on your address and phone number to me. Probably an acquaintance of yours I should imagine. Tell me, Mrs Johnson, would three o'clock suit?”

  “Well,”

  “Naturally I shall not be able to stay long; you would be surprised at what busy lives we writers live, and I have to go to Yorkshire tomorrow to look into the background of yet another tragedy.” I was getting quite proficient at inventing outrageous lies.

  “Very well, then,” she agreed reluctantly, “three o'clock.”

  “That is extremely kind of you Mrs. Johnson; I shall look forward to meeting you. Now, I'm sure you are a very busy lady, and I mustn't detain you any longer. Until three o'clock then; good-bye.”

  “Er, good bye.”

  I hung up, satisfied that I had bulldozed my way in without giving away too much. If possible I wanted to keep from her, certainly for the time being, the fact that I knew Danny.

  I had only just put the phone back in its cradle when the office door swung open and a man breezed in.

  “Pete!” I exclaimed in astonishment as I recognised the flamboyant figure of my friend. “What the hell are you doing here? I thought you were off on honeymoon or something?”

  “Christ Neil, give us a chance,” Pete laughed, “the damned wedding's not until next month! No, I came down today to clear a few things out of my old place, and to drop these in for you.”

  He plonked a selection of files and envelopes on my desk as he spoke, and then parked himself in the chair opposite the desk. He looked just the same as ever, although perhaps just a trace more smug and self-satisfied. Pete was a great opportunist, and if he had been born a good century earlier he would probably have been a 'spiv' (Now there's a term you don't hear much of these days!) because he was always on the lookout for the angle whereby he would profit from something.

  “How's it going?” he asked. “I expected to see you prancing around in a deerstalker shouting out 'elementary my dear what's-is-name', or something similar by this time of day.”

  “I'm not much given to wearing funny hats, but apart from that, now that I'm getting over the shock of your entirely unexpected and extremely generous gift, not too bad,” I said, getting up and flipping the switch on the percolator, and rummaging round for some clean mugs. “I hope you haven't changed your mind?”

  “No chance,” he snorted, “it's all yours now; I'm off to better things, my old son!”

  I thought of what he had already told me about his latest stroke of good fortune, and I realised that the main difference between him and me is that he had seen wealth and beauty in one package and grabbed it, whereas in a broadly similar situation I had well and truly muffed my chances.

  “I'm pleased to hear it,” I commented wryly, “maybe I'll be that lucky one day?”

  “Life's what you make it, I always say,” he announced smugly. “You've got a nice little business here; now's your chance to make something of yourself.” He glanced at the desk and the office as I sorted out the coffee. “Looks like you've already had quite a tidy-up in here,” he observed. “New broom and all that, I suppose. Well, it won't last; you always were a sloppy bastard.”

  “Maybe not,” I agreed, “but it's a good deal better than the mess you kept the place in.”

  “Surprised you've even got the time for such things if you are out and about chasing up business,” he said, ignoring my dig. “All this spring-cleaning is detrimental to success; you'll wear yourself out even before you get started on any real detecting!”

  “Well, as it happens, I'm not actually doing the tidying; I've got myself a 'Girl Friday'!”

  He looked at me in surprise. “You sly old dog!” he exclaimed. “You certainly didn't waste much time in getting yourself a bit of crumpet in then; I guess there's hope for you yet!”

  “That I should be so lucky,” I countered as the percolator finally decided that it was ready to dispense hot coffee. “Just for the record, she's not much more than sixteen, and all spots and glasses. I've got her out chasing a lost cat at the moment.”

  “Frankly, I'm surprised you've bothered to employ anyone at the moment; I'd have thought you would want to get yourself well established before taking on staff?”

  “Well, as it happens, she's not actually my employee,” I explained, plonking a mug of coffee down in front of him. “She works for a new client I've picked up. She's here for a bit of work experience.”

  “There's more to this than meets the eye,” he observed in a tone reminiscent of a second-rate stage aside whilst taking a tentative swig at the coffee and grimacing. “In all my years I've never had a client offer to lend me staff! What are you not telling me, my old son?”

  “I suppose you'd call it luck really; the client is rolling in money, wants me to look into something that happened donkey's years ago, and even though I've told her there is nothing really to find, still insists on paying me to check, and then she dumps this gawky teenager on me because she hasn't got the right vacancy in her own business for her at the moment, and yet wants to keep her services for some unknown reason.”

  “Huh, that sounds awfully fishy to me, my old son
,” he commented sagely, “What's she like; this client of yours?”

  “A bit like someone I've always dreamed about,” I sighed, thinking of Danny in that negligee, and the prize idiot that had walked out on her. “Curved in all the right places, loaded with cash, and for some unaccountable reason appears to think that the sun shines out of my backside.”

  “I see, well, that explains one thing.”

  “What's that?”

  “Your 'loaned' office assistant is obviously here to keep tabs on you.”

  “How did you work that out?”

  “I'm a detective, remember?”

  “Ex,” I corrected.

  “Alright, common sense then. If the client's that keen on you, and she's loaded as you say, and suddenly offers you free staff, well, it sticks out like a sore thumb if you ask me.”

  “Good grief,” I exclaimed as I suddenly caught the drift of his remarks, “I never thought of that.”

  “If you want to be a successful private detective, my old son, you need to keep a really suspicious mind, and always expect the unexpected,” he admonished as if he was at least twice my age, “You mark my words; she's a spy!”

  I tried to imagine Tania as a spy, yet somehow I just couldn't. Still, there was no getting away from the fact that she was in Danny's employ, so it behove me to be a bit guarded in what I said and did in her presence. Even if she wasn't a spy, it wouldn't stop Danny pumping her for information if it suited her. Even so, why was I even bothered by the idea? I had no private life of my own, and I was never going to get anywhere with Danny anyway, so even if Tania was a spy, there was nothing for her to 'spy' on. I had a sudden image of Tania hovering somewhere within earshot, having secretly crept back into the building because she was convinced that I had deliberately sent her out on a wild goose-chase in order that I might conduct some sort of secret liaison in my office with a female client.

  “Spy or not, she makes better coffee than I do, and does the filing,” I said, finally dismissing the whole concept as utterly absurd, “and it leaves me free to wander forth to do my sleuthing.”

  “OK, so what's this case she's put you on?”

  I looked at him a bit quizzically. He was a great guy, but if I was honest (I am, sometimes!) I wouldn't trust him much farther than I could spit. I wouldn't have put it past him to try to muscle in on the act, (old habits die hard, and Pete never missed a chance in all the years I'd known him,) and I didn't much like the thought of his greedy paws reaching out for Danny.

  “Oh, come now,” I said with mock primness, “Client confidentiality and all that?”

  He snorted derisively. “Client confidentiality my arse,” he said rudely, and I thought that if Tania was outside the door listening she was probably going to give herself away by getting rather pink in the face at his usage of such a quaint old Anglo-Saxon expletive, “if you don't want the benefit of my many years invaluable experience, I can't force it on you, but on the other hand, the business isn't technically yours until all the papers are signed.”

  “You've changed your mind then?” I asked hopefully.

  “No way!”

  “Oh,” I said disappointedly. “Very well then, if you really want to know, this client lost a sister in an accident some years ago, and has got it into her head that there was something fishy about the whole business. Frankly, I think she's on a loser, but the money's good, and I've promised her nothing other than my best efforts.”

  “Hm, sounds like money for old rope to me; what sort of accident?”

  “It appears that her sister drowned in the river Sharbourne at Willows End.”

  His eyes flicked up in mild surprise. “Oh, when was this?”

  “About fourteen years ago, why, do you know something about it?”

  “Not really,” he shrugged non-committally. “It sort of rang a bell, if you know what I mean. I think I must have read something about it in the papers, or seen it on television or something like that.”

  “Yes, it was in the local paper all right; bit of a tragedy that a young girl should die like that. Frankly, I don't see any point in raking it all up again, but she's paying good money, so I'm going through the motions.”

  “Quite right too; I wonder why the sister has waited so long before starting to worry about it?”

  “She has total amnesia for the event, and she tells me that recently, something jogged a brief flash of memory, and that everything has started from there.”

  “I suppose it is natural for her to want to know more about what happened, particularly if she doesn't remember anything after the lightning struck her,” he agreed, “I wish you luck my old son; take my advice and string it out for as long as you can, might be worth a packet to you.”

  “Trust you to take a mercenary view.”

  He downed the rest of his coffee and smacked the mug down on the desk as he stood up. “Well, can't hang around here gossiping all day,” he announced cheerfully. “Things to do and people to see and all that. Thanks for the coffee.”

  “You're welcome, and thanks for dropping the paperwork in.”

  He waved a cheery hand as he left the office, and at that point the phone rang. I emitted an audible sigh of relief when I realised it wasn't Danny telling me to get lost!

  “It's my 'usband!” announced a trembling female voice as soon as I picked up the receiver, “‘e’s seeing a nuvver woman!”

  “Very distressing, madam,” I said politely, pulling a pad towards me and picking up a pen. “I take it that you wish to retain my services to get at the truth of the matter?”

  A good ten or twelve minutes later I finally managed to disengage myself from the phone after listening to a seemingly interminable litany of alleged sins supposedly perpetrated by the errant husband. Frankly, having listened to the wife droning endlessly on I developed a sneaking degree of sympathy for the man. Still, business was business.

  I looked through the papers that Pete had dropped in, and with nothing else to hold my attention I scribbled a note for Tania asking her to make use of the computer to download copies of any reports she could find from local and national press, or indeed any other source that might occur to her on the subject of the Fortescue tragedy at Willows End some fourteen years ago. I also asked her to 'surf the net' to see if there was a 'Reagan Owners' club, and to find out if they kept any sort of membership list going back fourteen years. Knowing how much youngsters loved playing with computers I thought such a project should keep her well occupied for much of the afternoon, and provide a welcome break from the monotonous task of filing. Leaving the note in a prominent place on the desk, along with details of the new client, I left the office and went along to the accountant’s office further down the street, and by the time I had finished there I decided that a bite of lunch was in order.

  I went into the pub at the end of the High Street, ordered a 'ploughman's' and half a shandy, (I didn't want to go to see Julia reeking of drink!) and settled at a table in a relatively secluded corner. I was alternately hoping and fearing that Danny might ring, and of course I was doomed to disappointment. I wondered how she was faring, and found myself looking forward to speaking with her later, even if she did finish up by giving me my marching orders. I spent most of that lunch hour mooning over her like a love-sick teenager, and as much as I kept telling myself that it was all an impossible dream, I couldn't keep my mind off her for more than a minute or so at a stretch, and even then only when chatting to the barmaid. Frankly, I'd never felt the way I did right there and then about any other female I had ever been lucky enough to meet. To be honest, I've lusted after quite a few, but most of these didn't even give me the time of day, and the rest hadn't lasted very long, and certainly I didn't yearn for any of them afterwards. Perhaps I really was falling in love, whatever that archaic term might signify? Eventually I woke up to the fact that rather a lot of time had flown by, and I left the pub and went back to the office. I poked my head round the office door to see if Tania had returned, and I found h
er deeply engrossed with the p.c.

  “How'd you make out?” I enquired as I breezed in.

  “I found 'Truffles' in the corner house of the next road,” Tania announced proudly, beaming all over her spotty visage as she jumped up from the computer. “The lady there thought she was a stray and had taken him in. When I explained what had happened she gave him to me, and I took him back to his home. Mrs Throgmorton was so pleased that she gave me a cheque, which I have placed on your desk, and she insisted that I take a bonus for being so prompt.”

  “Good for you!” I exclaimed, and looked at the cheque which was for a sum considerably in excess of the figure I had quoted her, “we'll make a detective out of you yet.”

  “And I have put the change from the bus-fares, along with the tickets on your desk.”

  “Excellent, and if you can get me those reports I want from the internet all printed out and on my desk by the morning you will get another bonus.”