The Skeleton in the Closet Read online

  The phone rang and Fell jumped. “I’ll get it,” said Maggie. “We’d better get an extension cord tomorrow and move the phone in here.”

  Maggie went into the living room and picked up the receiver. It was Peter. “Can you talk?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “What about coming out for a drink?”

  “Not tonight.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes, all right. Where?”

  “The Red Lion, say about nine. I finish work then.”

  “Okay.”

  Maggie replaced the receiver and went back to Fell.

  “Who was it?” he asked.

  “Just Peter. I’m meeting him for a drink tomorrow night. Is that all right?”

  “Of course it is. Does he know we’re not really engaged?”

  “No, I haven’t told him.”

  “Might be a good idea not to tell him yet, Maggie.”

  “Why?”

  “You don’t really know him. Might be safer to hold back from telling him until you do.” He fished in his pocket and brought out the engagement ring. “You may as well put this back on, Maggie. People will wonder why you’re not wearing it.”

  Maggie longed to ask him to put it on her finger so that she could pretend for a moment that she really was engaged, but quietly took it from him and slipped it on her finger instead.

  Maggie said, “I’ve got the new door keys. We’ve a set each. You’d better come through and I’ll show you how the burglar alarm works.”

  They were standing at the front door, examining the control box, when the doorbell rang.

  Maggie opened the door. It was Detective Inspector Dun-widdy. “Just thought I’d drop by for another chat.”

  “Come in. We’ve just had a burglar alarm installed,” said Maggie, chattering brightly because the sight of the inspector unnerved her. “We’ve moved to the sitting room.”

  The inspector followed them to the sitting room. “Nice,” he said, looking round and unconsciously echoing Fell.

  “Sit down,” said Maggie effusively. “Whisky?”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Not too strong and lots of water.”

  The inspector settled back in his chair, cradling his glass in his large hands. “So,” he said, “this break-in interests me. I’m off duty but I thought I’d have a chat with you. I see you’ve cleared up. Find anything of value missing?”

  “No,” said Fell.

  Dunwiddy looked at Maggie’s hands. “I see you’ve got an expensive ring there. You weren’t wearing it when I last called. You’re lucky they didn’t take it.”

  “I take it off for work. I was working in Katy’s Kitchen when Fell called about the burglary.”

  “Well, it looks definitely like whoever it was thought you might have found out something. Or it could be someone thought your father was involved in the train robbery and had hidden the money somewhere. That would explain why even jars of coffee and flour had been tipped out.”

  “But the thief would surely be someone who was involved in the robbery and who would therefore know my father had no part in it.”

  “We’ve never really been sure about that. Or it could be someone who’d heard you’d come into money and was looking for some of it. I think there must have been more than one. Someone to watch and report when you left, someone to warn the thief when you were coming back.”

  He drank a great gulp of whisky. “It’s all very odd after all those years. Such a coincidence Andy Briggs coming back. Hadn’t a penny and signed on for the dole. There was something odd came up at the autopsy as well.”

  Fell and Maggie stared at him like rabbits caught in a headlights’ glare. “Oh, he died of knife wounds, that’s for sure. But he’d a great bump on his head. Just before he died, someone had hit him very hard over the head with something heavy.”

  “Maybe it happened during the fight,” suggested Maggie, amazed that her own voice sounded quite calm.

  “No. Too many witnesses to the fight. Mind you, he seemed to have a Way of getting folks riled up, particularly when he was drunk. Took after his old man. Did your father ever say anything about Tarry Briggs?”

  “I can’t remember anything at the moment,” said Fell. “He sometimes would talk to my mother about passengers. He was very impressed by what he called the nobs. But I never heard him discuss the railway workers.”

  The inspector drained his glass. He stood up. “Go carefully now. And if you remember anything or notice anything strange, let me know.”

  Fell saw him to the door. “Did you question the neighbours?” he asked nervously. “I mean, did any of them notice anyone in the street outside who might be suspicious?”

  “No one but the postman delivering a parcel.”

  “But there was no parcel,” said Fell excitedly. “It must have been someone masquerading as the postman. The post comes very early, about seven in the morning.”

  “Ah, well, now, that’s interesting. We’d better check the theatrical costumer’s down in the Foregate and ask at the main post office whether anyone’s missing a uniform.”

  After Dunwiddy had left, Fell returned to Maggie and told her about the postman.

  “Do you know,” said Maggie, “I don’t think anyone would need to go to the lengths of renting a costume to look like a postman. Any sort of peaked cap would do. And a blue shirt or sweater. The badge could be faked up from any of those plastic badges with funny slogans on them.”

  “That’s true,” said Fell.

  “You must be hungry.” Maggie headed for the kitchen, calling over her shoulder. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

  “No. Wait!”

  Maggie went back into the sitting room. “I feel like getting out of here.”

  “Where?”

  “Anywhere.”

  “It’s a bit late, but there’s that place on the motorway we went to before’. ‘That’ll do’. ‘Right. Let’s see if we can set the burglar alarm.”

  ♦

  Half an hour later, they were sitting eating chicken and chips. “I remember,” said Fell, “when chicken used to taste quite different. We always had chicken for Christmas when I was very small. Roast chicken. And it had such a flavour.”

  “It’s all the junk and hormones they put in things these days. It’s not very nice, is it? But it’s great to get out. And there’s air-conditioning here.”

  “I keep wondering if we should get air-conditioning,” said Fell.

  “Waste of money. We won’t see another summer like this for a long time.” Maggie sighed. “Dandelion summer. Are you feeling better, by the way?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “When you came back this morning, you looked shattered.”

  “Oh, it’s just because all this is getting on top of me,” lied Fell. He found he could not conjure up a picture of Melissa. He was so badly hurt that his mind shrank away from any image of her.

  “So do we go on?” asked Maggie.

  “With the investigation? Yes, I think we should.” Anything to keep his mind off health shops and Melissa, thought Fell.

  “Where should we start?”

  “Johnny Tremp, I think. We’ll try that address in the phone book tomorrow.”

  ♦

  As they set out the following morning, the news reader on Maggie’s car radio was warning of water shortages. There was a hosepipe ban. There had been more fires on the Malvern Hills. In the village of Broadway in Gloucestershire, a famous beauty spot, the river had sunk to an all-time low. Meanwhile Scotland was suffering from flash floods and torrential rain. “Isn’t it amazing,” said Maggie, “that such a small country as Britain should have such diverse climates? I wish they’d send some of their water down here.”

  “Turn left here,” said Fell, who was studying a street map. “Let me see. Right. That’s it. Go slowly. Yes, that’s the place right here.”

  It was a rundown-looking council house among other depressing-looking houses. In most of the housing
estates in Buss, the residents had bought their houses, put into new windows, painted the outside, planted pretty gardens, but here, there was a sad feeling of neglect all around.

  Fell and Maggie walked up to a chipped and scarred door. Fell knocked. After a few moments, the door was opened by a tired-looking girl. She was holding a baby on her hip and two toddlers were hanging on to her skirts. Her black hair was cropped close to her head and her figure looked too thin and emaciated to have borne three children.

  “We’re looking for Mr. Tremp,” he said.

  “He don’t live here no more, not for a couple of years.”

  “This address is still in the phone book.”

  “I ain’t got a phone and that’s his business.”

  “So do you know where I can find him?” asked Fell patiently.

  “Heard he’d gone to some village over in Gloucestershire. Funny name. Somethink about hedges.”

  “Had he any friends in this street, any family who might know where he’s gone?”

  From the interior of the house, the opening music of a soap could be heard.

  “Gotta go,” she said quickly and slammed the door on them.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Maggie as they walked to the car.

  “Try next door.”

  This time it was a surly man smelling of stale beer. Fell explained they were looking for Johnny Tremp. “Blessed if I know,” said the man. “He kept hisself to hisself, know what I mean?”

  “We heard he’d gone to some village, something like Hedges.”

  “That’d be Bramley-in-the-Hedges, t’other side o’ More-ton.” His eyes sharpened. “You the social?” he asked truculently. “Well, let me tell you, I never laid a hand on those kids.”

  “No, we’re not from the social security.”

  “So who are you?”

  Fell explained about the robbery.

  “Oh, you’re that pair. Saw a bit about you in the Courier. Hey, you think grumpy Tremp was in on that?”

  “No, no,” said Fell quickly. “Still just asking questions.”

  “Doubt if he had anything to do with it, mate. Had a dirty old car on its last legs. Never did anything to the house.”

  “Thanks,” said Fell, taking Maggie’s hand and backing away. Maggie could feel something like an electric shock running up her arm and was relieved when Fell released her hand at the garden gate.

  “Do you know where this Bramley-in-the-Hedges is?” asked Maggie, once they were in the car.

  “Wait; I’ve got the road map here.” Fell always had lots of maps. He loved maps. He used to pore over them when his parents were alive: all those roads leading away from Buss.

  “I’ve found it,” he said. “Go to Moreton-in-Marsh and make a right after the bridge and I’ll direct you from there.”

  ♦

  Bramley-in-the Hedges turned out to be one of those long villages mainly consisting of one main street, full of winding bends to enrage the motorist. Maggie suggested they stop at the village’s general store in the centre and ask for directions. The shop, like all converted village shops, was a sort of tiny supermarket. There were several people chatting and shopping.

  They went up to the counter. “Can I help you?” asked the woman behind the counter. She was round and plump with a friendly, cheerful face. Maggie smiled. “Can you direct us to where Mr. Johnny Tremp lives?”

  The woman’s eyes hardened. Behind them in the shop was a sudden silence.

  “Are you friends of his?”

  “Not exactly,” began Fell. “You see…”

  “Then don’t come in here asking for people’s private address. If you don’t want to buy anything, get along with you.”

  They made their way out, aware of hostile stares from the shoppers. Outside, Fell ran his long fingers through his thick grey hair in bewilderment. “What was all that about?”

  “I don’t know,” said Maggie. “We’ll take a look around. It seems a pretty small village. Can you remember what he looks like?”

  “It was years ago. He was a small man with black hair. Oh, I remember, he had very thick lips. They used to fascinate and repel me.”

  “Not much to go on. But let’s try to find him anyway.”

  “There’s a phone box,” said Fell. “We could try to get his number from directory enquiries.”

  “Good idea.”

  It was one of those old-fashioned red telephone boxes, hot and stifling on the inside. Fell dialled 192 and asked for the phone number of a Mr. J. Tremp, Bramley-in-the-Hedges.

  “That number is ex-directory,” said the operator.

  For the next hour, they walked up one side of the main street and down the other and then up several lanes which wound off from the main street on either side.

  “I’m so tired and hot and sticky,” mourned Maggie.

  “I wonder,” said Fell. “I just wonder.”

  “What?”

  “We’ve been assuming he would live in a modest house. But what if he was in on the train robbery and sat on the money for years? He would buy somewhere big.”

  “I can’t see any big houses.”

  “There are usually some just outside a village like this.”

  “Then we’ll take the car,” said Maggie. “I can’t walk any more.”

  They walked back to Maggie’s car and drove out of the village. “There’s a couple of gate posts,” said Fell. “Drive in there, Maggie.”

  “This would be too grand, surely,” said Maggie.

  “But someone grand might not be as close-mouthed as the people in the village,” said Fell. “In fact, the farther we get away from the village, the better chance we have of someone talking. There seems to be a sort of conspiracy of silence in the village itself.”

  “This is grand,” said Maggie as a large Cotswold manor house came into view. “And we’re trespassing.”

  “We’ve come this far,” said Fell. “You stay in the car if you like.”

  Maggie nodded.

  She saw Fell go up to the main door, which stood open. A man came round the corner of the house and shouted to Fell, “What do you want?”

  Fell went up to him. Maggie’s heart lifted as she saw the man begin to answer Fell’s question and then point to the west.

  Fell came back. “I’ve got it,” he said excitedly. “Johnny Tremp lives in a large bungalow on the other side of the village. It’s called Beechwood.”

  “Great,” said Maggie. “Although I am so tired and hot and hungry, I’ll be glad when we finally see him and then we can get a cold drink and some late lunch.”

  As they drove back through the village, some people were standing outside the village stores. They turned and stared at the car as it went past.

  Maggie giggled. “It’s like one of those American smalltown horror movies. All we need now is the corrupt sheriff.”

  “Maybe it’s like the Stepford Wives and they’ve all been taken over by aliens,” said Fell and began to laugh. Maggie laughed as well, delighted that Fell seemed to have risen out from whatever gloom had plagued him.

  On the other side of the road, Maggie drove slowly until they saw a large new bungalow up on a rise. It was surrounded by a high fence. Two large steel gates at the entrance to a short drive stood open, but Fell noticed with surprise that the gates were electronically operated. He pointed this fact out to Maggie and said, “We’re lucky they’re open.”

  “Should we park outside?” asked Maggie nervously. “And walk up?”

  “No, just drive in. I say, Maggie, it’s a big, very new building. Surely it must have taken a lot of money, and for those fences and electronic gates.”

  The car windows were open and Maggie could hear dogs barking. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” she said.

  “Then stay in the car.”

  “No, I think I should be with you on this one.”

  They parked and got out. The cold glass eye of a video camera over the door stared down at them.

  Befor
e they could ring the doorbell, it jerked open. The man facing them was old and squat and burly. He had very thick lips.

  “Mr. Tremp?” asked Fell.

  “Who’s asking?”

  “I’m Fell Dolphin. I believe you knew my father.”

  “So what?”

  “I wondered if we could have a talk.”

  “I’ve got no time for you. I was expecting a delivery. Get the hell out of here or I’ll set the dogs on you.”

  “But – ”

  He turned and walked back into the house. “Get to the car. Quick!” said Fell. “I think he really is going to set the dogs on us.”

  They jumped into the car and slammed the doors, just as two large Alsatians erupted from the house. Maggie sped off, the great dogs bounding on either side of the car. Only when they were out on the road and well clear of the house did the dogs fall back. Maggie drove on a little and then stopped the car and leaned her head on the steering wheel.

  “All right?” asked Fell anxiously.

  “I was frightened to death,” said Maggie, raising her head. “We’ll find a pub and have lunch.”

  “But don’t you see, we’re on to something at last!” said Fell excitedly. “How could he afford a set-up like that?”

  “Maybe we should tell Dunwiddy.”

  “That inspector? I don’t think so, Maggie. I didn’t like the way he asked about Andy Briggs. I tell you what, we’ll come after dark and watch the house and see who goes in and out.”

  “You forget, I’ve got a date.”

  “Oh, yes, him. Well, tomorrow.”

  “Maybe tomorrow, we could try to find that other one.”

  “You mean Fred Flint? There wasn’t a number for him in the phone book.”

  “Maybe we can look at the voters’ role in the library and find him. Or I’ll ask Peter.”

  “No, don’t,” said Fell sharply. “I don’t want that reporter to know anything we’re doing.”

  They had lunch at the White Hart Royal in Moreton and then drove back to Buss.

  Fell had fallen silent again. “I’ve got some housekeeping to do,” said Maggie. “What about you?”

  “I think I’ll go out for a bit,” said Fell.

  “Where?”

  “Just out,” said Fell crossly.