Death At Willows End Read online

  “So?”

  “So if my body was shielding hers how come I get dumped on the grass, but she gets blown into the river; it doesn't make sense.”

  “Even if what you are saying is true, it still doesn't prove anything.” I said stubbornly.

  “Maybe not, but I know that I'm not going to get any rest from this until I find out exactly what did happen. I'm convinced in my own mind that what actually happened to her was never the accident I and my parents were always led to believe. I also know that in having such a conviction I can scarcely be called unbiased. I need to find out exactly what took place, and I need someone who can do this with an objective outlook, someone who is not intimately associated with the whole business, but mostly, someone I genuinely trust. I've ruled the police out for obvious reasons, and I've certainly considered using a private detective agency, although I doubt if an established agency would take the matter seriously enough. Then you came along, and suddenly I wondered if you were the person to help sort this out for me? Like I've said, I can weigh a person up pretty quickly, and I soon decided that you were ideal for the job. You have the agency, you're certainly sceptical, and I suspect that when you undertake to do something, you will do it, and not find reasons to avoid it. That's why I made the straight proposition to you. All I ask is that you investigate the whole business to the best of your ability, and no matter what the outcome, you get the money. Even if you can prove that I'm imagining the whole thing, you still get the money, because even knowing that this suspicion about my sister's death is all in my mind will enable me to sleep properly once again.” She paused, and then added in a slightly softer tone, “So, what's it to be?”

  She sat back and looked at me with that sort of expression that clearly announced she had said her piece, and now expected a reasoned response. Frankly, I found her tale very nearly incredible, and perhaps emanating from anyone else I would have dismissed it out of hand as just an elaborate leg pull. Only Danny wasn’t ‘anyone else’, and there was something in her expression that suggested that she was being deadly serious.

  “I think,” I said after some moments deliberation, “that what I need is a fresh cup of coffee.”

  I rose up from where I had been sitting and went out into the kitchenette where I went through the motions of brewing up. Danny obviously divined that I needed a few extra minutes to think things through, because she stayed where she was. As I pottered about I ruminated on all she had said, and at the same time tried to take objective stock of my own situation. Firstly, I had to acknowledge that I only had her unsupported word for it that anything at all had happened. I knew nothing whatever about her for certain. If I was going to get involved in doing what she asked, I would need to verify the facts for myself. Assuming that she was telling the truth, and I didn't seriously doubt that she was, I still had to face the strong possibility that almost certainly she was imagining the whole thing. I certainly couldn't see the police overlooking the possibility of foul play, particularly when investigating the sudden death of a young girl. But supposing they had?

  There was also the financial consideration. My own resources were best described as limited, and what she was proposing might well replenish the Hammond coffers a little, and that certainly wouldn't go amiss. From the way she had been splashing money about replacing her wardrobe she wasn't exactly short of the readies, whereas I was in the situation of having to watch every penny. If she was prepared to foot the bill with regard to travelling expenses and so forth, I really didn't have that much to lose, apart from my liberty and my good name. Not that that mattered a great deal; I had precious little of the former, and not a lot more of the latter. By the time the coffee was made I'd come to my decision; the desire of furthering my acquaintance with Danny finally over-riding all my practical and sensible reservations. I returned into the lounge, passed her a hot coffee and sat myself down again.

  “Ok,” I said at last, (my command of English can be truly astonishing at times) “subject to certain qualifications I'll do my best to carry out the job you have asked.”

  I was trying to sound efficient and independent, although I seriously doubt my performance would have convinced anyone; certainly not Danny.

  “I don't know that I much like the sound of 'qualifications',” she observed quietly. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

  “Well, firstly, I'm not prepared to do anything until all this paperwork that Pete said is 'en-route' actually gets here, and has been verified as genuine. If the agency really is mine, then I can please myself who I take on, and where I re-locate to. I hope you understand my point?”

  “Fair enough; I don't suppose another day or so is going to make a lot of difference; it will give me time to sort the new premises out. What else?”

  “Secondly, I want some sort of agreement in writing that you will defray all the expenses. As you can see from my humble abode, I don't have unlimited resources, and I certainly don't intend going into debt.”

  “I don't see any problem with that, and if we are partners it will all come out of the business which I am financing anyway.”

  “Depending on how long it takes for the legal eagles to sort out the details of the partnership.” I temporised.

  “Oh, I see; well, I'll get along to the bank in the morning, and as a sign of good faith I'll draw out five grand in cash for you to make use of. Will that do?”

  “Fine,” I said, trying not to let my jaw drop too far in the process.

  “Anything else?”

  I'd been saving the most difficult one to last; I just hoped she wouldn't blow her stack. “Well, as it happens, yes there is. With all due respects, I don't really know you from Adam, well, from Eve anyway. All of this could be an elaborate 'con' for reasons I can't imagine. I really need some proof of who you are, just as I need some sort of proof that what you say happened, actually did happen. I need to know where you live, and most of all, forgetting all the sales-pitch, why me?”

  She didn't explode, she just drank her coffee, replacing the cup and saucer on a small table adjacent to the chair before settling back to look at me. I found myself desperately hoping that I hadn't gone too far, because this enigmatic female was starting to really get through to me, and the last thing I needed was to see her get up and vanish through the door, because if she did, I knew that I would never see her again, and right there and then that was something I fervently hoped wouldn't happen.

  “You are so right,” she announced suddenly, flashing those wonderful eyes of hers at me. “Why should you take anything on trust; I certainly wouldn't. When I told you that I'm pretty good at weighing people up, I meant it, and you have just vindicated my assessment. I need someone who is intelligent without being bumptious or over-ambitious; I need someone who is instinctively honest, and someone who will perhaps bend a little where necessary, but not yield when it becomes important. When I casually mentioned giving you five grand you could so easily have said 'great, you name it, I'll do it', but you didn't. You are still cautious, and I like that. I hope that answers the last part of your question about 'why you'?”

  I shrugged non-committally, unsure if she was speaking the absolute truth or just flannelling me.

  “As to proving who I am,” she continued, “well, I can go home and get my passport to show you; that has a photo in it that looks about as like me as most passport photos. I have a driving licence, and credit cards with me, and although I obviously don't carry it about, I can even find my birth certificate if it helps? As regards the case itself, well, I have a dog-eared press-cutting concerning the event here in my purse which luckily wasn't too badly damaged in the ducking, and no doubt you can look up the incident for yourself on the internet if you wish. Where do I live? Well, you will see when you kindly offer to drive me home once all the paperwork has been sorted out to your satisfaction. Will all that do?”

  As far as I could tell there didn't seem to be any way that she could be making all this up, indeed, why of earth should she? I ju
st had to accept that what she was telling me was the truth. Maybe not the whole truth perhaps; just truthful as far as it went. What did I have to lose? The answer to that was nothing of value, and in any case, after one glance from those eyes I would happily have gone out and robbed a bank for her!

  “Then it's a deal,” I heard myself say, “and you know what; I think I'm actually going to quite enjoy this challenge. How about sealing it with a drink?”

  “Why not?” she echoed. “What do you have?”

  Like I said, I'm a great one for opening mouth and engaging brain some time after the event.

  “Er, there's a choice of sherry and, er, sherry, and er, well, sherry. Oh, and I might have a bottle of beer in the fridge?”

  “Sherry will be fine.”

  I went over to the cabinet in the corner where I knew that I had a part-used bottle of sherry left over from last Christmas. It was cheap supermarket plonk, but I hoped she couldn't see the label on the bottle from where she was sitting. I had two reasonably clean glasses there, and after pouring out a couple of rather generous libations I turned and passed one back to her.

  “Here's to our new partnership,” I said, raising my glass, “and a successful outcome to our first case.”

  “To the partnership and success,” she echoed, and we clinked glasses.

  Chapter Six

  Frankly, I didn't have a ghost of a clue how I was going to set about things, but the offer of five grand in my hand meant that meant putting my thinking cap on to come up with something, even if only to keep Danny smiling in my direction, always assuming that she actually meant it when she said it. She reckoned she was a good judge of people; well maybe she was, although where I was concerned I was pretty much convinced that she had had an off-day. Whether she was right or not, for purely selfish reasons I wanted her to continue in the illusion that I was someone special for as long as possible. However, maintaining said illusion was much easier hoped for than to accomplish; I was several stages lower than a rank amateur in the private detective business, and I simply hadn't the foggiest idea of how to go about things. I mean, it was one thing to skulk around with a camera and catch some straying husband canoodling with his fancy piece, but trying to figure out what had happened when a youngster had fallen in a river a good fourteen years ago was quite a different kettle of fish. Maybe my first job would be to go out and buy a deerstalker hat, meerschaum pipe, and an outsize magnifying glass? Such acquisitions might boost my ego a fraction, yet something seemed to tell me that they wouldn't actually help a great deal in the long run.

  “Good, I'm glad that's all settled,” Danny said, taking a sip of the sherry whilst managing not to grimace as she did so, “That means that tomorrow we can get down to some real work.”

  “Oh, like what?”

  “If I'm going to be your partner, I shall need to make certain arrangements. As soon as you become the legal owner of the business I shall need to look at the books. I have to sort out the small matter of premises, hiring staff, organising a decent advertising programme, producing a compelling web-site, as well as advancing you the cash as we have agreed.”

  “Do I get any time to breathe?” I muttered under my breath.

  “You can do that in your own time.”

  And that more or less set the tone for the rest of the evening; she was full of plans and ideas, and I soon gave up trying to keep pace with her. I didn't doubt that she was highly successful in business; certainly she was a live wire with no intention of allowing the grass to grow under her feet. Between us we saw off the bottle of sherry, although to be fair I think I drank a good deal more of it than she did. It made me feel quite pleasantly relaxed, and as the evening wore on I paid less and less attention to what she was saying as I became lost in daydreams about what she would be like in bed. When midnight struck I even thought for one fleeting moment that my outrageously erotic fantasies were about to turn into a reality.

  “Right, I think it’s time we hit the sack, don't you?” she announced.

  “I think that's a great idea,” I responded immediately, my eyes lighting up at the prospect. “I'm all for it!”

  She obviously caught the look in my eyes, because she added; “I just hope you will be able to sleep on that couch of yours.”

  Maybe if I had had the forethought to have bought a decent quality sherry? Oh well, so much for dreams.

  Danny had first use of the bathroom, finally emerging in a very fetching dressing gown. I say very fetching, because it would have fetched me into the bedroom quicker than you can say 'Geronimo', but as I tentatively made to follow her a couple of pillows came sailing out through the open doorway to hit me squarely in the face, followed closely by a duvet.

  “Good night,” she called out sweetly, and then the door was firmly closed.

  The couch was extremely uncomfortable, and it took me an awful long time just to doze off. More than once I looked up at the bedroom door, but beyond wishful thinking nothing happened. Like I said, I'm not actually the James Bond type. I lay there in the darkness thinking over the events of the day, wondering just what I'd got myself into. It is one thing to promise that you will investigate a fourteen year old tragedy, quite another to figure out how to do it. I still had no idea of how I would go about anything, not even where to make a start. I mean, in all the sleuthing dramas on TV there is always a crime scene, witness's, alibis, highly suspicious characters, and in all too many of them there were entirely fortuitous events that gave the game away so that the intrepid hero or heroine could solve the case. Unfortunately this wasn't a cleverly scripted television drama, so where the hell could I start? The use of common sense, Danny had said, sadly in my case that seemed to be in short supply. Very well, then assuming that there had been a tragedy fourteen years ago when a young girl had lost her life in the River Sharbourne, all I needed to do was to establish that the death really was due to an unfortunate accident and nothing else. As Danny had already seen, or claimed to have seen, the pathologist's report, it would appear that nothing in the official domain was going to convince her, so I would have to start from the other end, so-to-speak. Now as far as I knew there was only one witness to what actually happened, and no doubt she had been pretty thoroughly grilled about events at the time, but I had to start somewhere. I was of course thinking of the oldest of the three girls I had been told were at the camp-site, Julia Gordon.

  By my calculations, Julia Gordon would be somewhere in her early thirties by now and quite possibly married or paired off with someone. Hopefully Danny would know where to find her, but how would I deal with her? I knew I couldn't go up and announce that I was a private investigator trying to establish whether a certain Dian Fortescue had been murdered; if she had known or suspected anything like that she would have told the police fourteen years ago without waiting for an amateur Inspector Clueless to come along and ask her. Danny had already said that the poor woman had felt guilty about what had happened, and the chances were that if I went and put my size nines in, it would only make her feel worse.

  Maybe it would be better to 'investigate' the scene of the alleged crime? It was more than a tad past the 'golden hour' so beloved of small screen detectives, and no doubt the site would look totally different now to what it did then. Not much chance of finding footprints, mysterious cigar-ends trodden into the ground, or anxious murderers hanging round hoping that they haven't given themselves away. Still, it might enable me to get some sort of picture in my mind of what it might have been like at the time that things were said to have happened, and at least I would not be actively upsetting anyone with my blundering methods. I was still wrestling with all this and other equally nebulous ideas when I finally managed to drift off.

  “Bathroom's free!” a loud voice announced in my ear.

  I muttered something completely unintelligible as I opened my eyes and looked up blearily to see Danny beaming down at me. The sun was streaming in through the window, and I caught a faint whiff of a cooking breakfast. For a f
leeting moment I couldn't remember anything about anything, all I was aware of was the beautiful face of an extremely attractive young woman hovering a matter of inches away from my own. For just the briefest flicker of an instant I thought that either I was dreaming or already in heaven!

  “You have just about enough time to go and make yourself look vaguely decent, and then breakfast will be ready,” she announced with a happy smile, “You can shave afterwards.”

  As she turned and vanished back into the kitchenette I couldn't help but notice that she was fully dressed in a thin white blouse that was all but transparent, and a very short black skirt that accentuated the perfect shape of her legs. The ensemble was completed with matching high-heel shoes, all of which produced in my mind a very pleasing picture of feminine perfection. As memory of the preceding night returned, I did my best to look bright and intelligent, no doubt failing dismally on both counts. Clutching my old dressing gown round my unkempt bleary form I did as she bid and staggered into the bathroom, fervently wishing I hadn’t swigged so much of the cheap sherry before retiring. When I duly emerged I felt a little more human and noticed that she was in the act of serving a 'Full English Breakfast', the contents of which she must have purchased the preceding day. As far as I was concerned, looking as good as she did, and serving me meals like that, she could stay forever and it wouldn't be long enough! Throughout the meal she kept up a light conversation on an amazing range of topics, but there was no reference at all to what we had been discussing the previous night, at least, not until I broached the subject myself, and even then she refused to be drawn into any details. Following several mugs of coffee I was no longer befuddled by too many glasses of sherry, and I instinctively felt that it was time that I finally put the brakes on a bit.