Wednesday cont.
Cleo decided to find out more about the Fargo family herself
before regaling Gary with Dorothy’s advice. It was just possible that the tramp
had genuinely been mistaken for the deceased relative.
***
In contrast, the doss-house was relatively helpful. Yes, they
had missed one of their old male regulars, but since it was August, he was
probably sleeping rough and would return when it got chilly. When asked about
the tramp’s identity, the doss-house ‘manager’ said he did not know. When asked
if the man had left any possessions there, Cleo was informed that the missing
guy had possessed an old school satchel that he kept locked. It was now on a
high shelf in the office for safe-keeping and no, the doss-house manager had
not looked inside.
Tramps had treasures valuable only to themselves and usually
with no material value. He was glad the old man had not seen fit to wheel a
supermarket trolley around. The satchel probably contained junk, but the
doss-house manager was prepared to respect the wishes of the ‘guests’ who had
objects they regarded as precious, as long as he was getting money from the
authorities for providing a bed, food and a hot shower when the homeless wanted
it. Yes, Miss Hartley could look at the satchel if she wanted to.
“If it was so valuable to him, why didn’t the guy take it
with him?” Cleo felt bound to ask.
“Now you’re asking,” replied the manager. “He probably
thought he would be coming back.”
“You did not report him missing, did you?” said Cleo.
“They always come back if they’ve left something.”
Cleo decided she would not get any further by asking
questions. Doss-house managers were presumably glad to get any responsibility
taken from them, so being friendly and appearing to shoulder responsibility for
some old tramp or other was the best way forward.
She decided to take Gary along after lunch. She did not feel
in the need of personal protection, but if Gary were there, he could confiscate
the tramp’s satchel should the need arise. A photo of the guy would be
available; even if he had not been photographed and passed along to some other
office at some time in the past, he would have now since he had been found dead
and identified, wrongly, as it had proved when someone saw the tramp’s photo in
a special edition of the Gazette that Bertie Browne had seen fit to publish as
soon as he heard the news. He would not say who the HQ informer was, but and
declared that the dead man, whoever he was, had been a regular at meetings of
men living on the streets and sharing their plonk at venues including the
station and the nearby park.
The Fargo beneficiaries were due to be interviewed again,
but had so far been left to their own devices. Gary was worried that the
exposure of their fake identification might cause them to make a run for it, but
their stakes were high, so they would probably brazen out the situation. They
were genuinely related to Dr Fargo. They had too much to lose by absconding. It
should be added that Gary’s musings were on a purely practical level despite
the glaring possibility that the young Fargos were up to no good.
***
It was hard not to talk about the tramp to Gary, so in the
end Cleo did, suggesting that Gary should take the case seriously.
“I can’t send a team to dig up anyone’s garden if we don’t
have evidence of misconduct, Cleo.”
“Scruples again, Gary? Isn’t a fake identification enough
evidence?”
“Only if it was not a genuine mistake.”
“Wait a minute! How
respectable is it to identify a corpse to get at the inheritance?”
“I’d have to prove that they did that deliberately.”
“I can definitely smell a rat,” said Cleo.
“Find evidence of corruption and we’ll go on from there.”
“I will if there is any. Even that guy in charge of the
doss-house sounded suspicious,” said Cleo. “What if he provided the tramp as a
potential victim?”
“This is little quirky England, not big bad America, Cleo.
People don’t hire doss-house managers to deliver potential or real live corpses.”
“Are you sure?”
“I know that self-styled manager from dealing with the
characters he sends to HQ. We can’t follow up all the crackpots who choose to
live an outdoor life or even investigate the motives of a manager who has not
actually committed a crime we could pin him down on.”
“Now I’m even more curious. Do you have a photo of the guy
they said was Fargo?”
“Blast, Cleo. Do you have to get involved?”
“I think I do. You have a corpse who is not the person he
was identified as.”
“OK. There is a digital image on file, of course. I’ll
download it and then do me a favour: Get Nigel onto the case. He wants to be a detective.”
“Later. I’ll edit the photo first. It could be your great
uncle.”
“Listen, Cleo. I can’t go to that doss-house with a
cock-and-bull story. For a start, they’ll recognize me there, and they
definitely won’t believe a great uncle story.”
“OK. I’ll send Dorothy. It’s her long lost brother. That
manager guy will probably hand over the bag and be glad to be rid of it. And if
that doesn’t work out, Nigel can take over as the grandson.”
Cleo put a filter over the face on the photo Gary sent and
printed it out on matt photo paper to make it look like something old ladies
carried around in handbags, after which she treated the surface and the back to
a quick wipe with a ‘sepia’ teabag. Gary was impressed, but obliged to remind
Cleo that if the photo was old the face on it was probably young.
Another photo was edited: the face of a young guy chosen at
random on the internet and treated to the same photographic aging process. The photo
would not arouse suspicion in Dorothy’s handbag, Gary thought. Photos carried
around in handbags tended to be the worse for wear, and the face of the young
‘brother’ would make Dorothy’s story even more convincing and it could be
‘aged’ to match Dorothy’s generation. Even Gary thought that the doss-house
manager would fall for the trick.
“But I’d still like to know why all the fuss?” Gary asked.
“We can sort out the identity at HQ.”
“When?”
“Sometime soon. It’s all a wild goose chase, anyway, hunting
down someone on the basis is of a faked photo based on police shots taken of Dr
Fargo’s male relative.”
“I don’t think that investigating fraudulent
misappropriation of a family fortune is something to be put on the back burner,
Gary. Have you asked yourself why the old guy was wrongly identified? In novels
he would be about to leave his money to a charity and be murdered so that the
relatives could get the dough before he had time to change the will.”
“Come on, Cleo. Up till recently it was considered to be a
genuine identification.”
“OK. Now we know better, but where is the genuine old man?”
“He seems to have disappeared,” said Gary, wondering just
how near the truth Cleo was with her suspicions.
“The whole business stinks,” she said.
“OK, my love. You are starting to make me think differently
about those relatives, but we’ll have to tread carefully. We police can’t act
on tenuous theories or go on wild goose chases. You know that.”
“You don’t have a suspicious enough mind either, Gary.”
“I don’t suspect crime wherever I look.”
“You should. So the Hartley Agency will do the careful
treading and Nigel can help even if it does turn out to be a wild goose chase.
In that case he can practise chasing geese.”
That idea made them both laugh.
“I’ll tell him,” said Gary.
“And I’m going to phone Dorothy about another case that
seems to be escaping HQ notice.”
“I love it when you get into sleuthing, Cleo. It’s just like
old times.”
“Some of those old times were agonizing!”
“But memorable… And I know I’m better cut out to be a
houseman than a detective.”
“I could not use you here all the time, Gary. You are far
too strenuous.”
“I’ve never heard you complain before.”
“I’m not complaining. I’m simply stating fact.”
“And I’m going to wrap myself in our duvet while the going’s
good.”
“I’ll join you.”
“Not too strenuous?”
“For whom, Sweetheart?”
***
Dorothy was at home because the animal sanctuary was closed
until later in the day, so she could go to the doss-house first. Cleo said that
the animal sanctuary was important, but the tramp case took priority. Gary
would take her and the photo of the tramp to the doss-house, but he needed a
siesta first. Dorothy thought that was a good idea since it calmed the nerves
and refreshed the soul. She tactfully avoided any allusion to what she
suspected was the purpose of siestas taken by Gary and Cleo in the early
afternoon while the kiddies were resting.
***
“What’s all that about the animal sanctuary?” Gary asked,
having overheard the phone call.
“I thought Dorothy needed another pet, but now we might,”
said Cleo.
“I thought we were going to adopt Dog.”
“Joe’s adopting Dog.”
“So the last of Mr Barker is to go to the former lodger,”
said Gary. “Which bit of me or mine would you keep the longest?”
“I’ll have to think about that. Dog upsets Mrs Barker’s
budgies,” said Cleo.
“If the Barker’s house were for sale, I’d make an offer.”
“Ask Dorothy if there’s any chance of that, but do you
really want to live next door to Dorothy?”
“I quite like Beethoven. Nice tunes to sing along to,” said
Gary.
“Your caterwauling could awaken the neighbourhood, Gary. Can
we just build more bits onto the cottage, please?”
“When you’ve substantiated your theories about the Fargo
family and dabbled in animal welfare to your satisfaction, I’ll agree to that.”
“I’ll go to the library,” said Cleo. “Your mother will be
happy to baby-sit and those library shelves are packed with old local
publications.”
“Records are best found at HQ. I can help you if you would
reveal what you are really looking for.”
“I’ll try the library first.”
“Siesta first before Grit collects PeggySue and one of those
babies stirs.”
“Aren’t you needed at HQ?”
“I need a snooze more urgently these days.”
“Put like that, old man...You used to say you needed me, Mr
Hurley.”
“That still applies…”
***
After that siesta in which sleep did not figure as much as
it might have done had not Cleo and Gary been lovers as well as parents and
colleagues, Gary parted reluctantly from his family and collected Dorothy in
the family hatchback, intending to drop her off wherever she wanted to go. Cleo
and Grit drank coffee before Grit took over the lively Hurley brood and Cleo
drove the red cabriole to Middlethumpton library.
“The au pair is coming tomorrow, Grit. Things won’t be so
hectic then.”
“I’m not complaining, Cleo, but a little assistance would
not come amiss if you are going to work at your office. One set of twins was
delightful. Two sets means feeding hungry mouths and changing used nappies in a
rhythm akin to painting the Tower of London!”
You’re right and I can’t thank you enough, Grit.”
“I love them, Cleo. It isn’t a problem really, and the little
boys can go to nursery soon.“
“That’s a very good idea. I’ll get them registered, Grit. I
did not think I would go back to being Miss Hartley, but strange cases need
special attention and I’m sure that Gary needs private investigators he can
trust. Delving into family histories is not something the cops do terribly well
or even willingly.”
***
It would be an exaggeration to claim that the Hartley Agency
was back in business, but that’s what it seemed like to Cleo, who could not
help being glad to do her own thing. She hoped that Dorothy could cope.
***
The doss-house looked seedy and Gary wondered if he should
let Dorothy go in, but she was out of the car in a flash and marching to the
door, so he moved the car to round the corner and waited. Cleo would have
wanted him to.
The doss-house door was opened cautiously.
“I’m looking for my brother,” Dorothy announced.
“Who are you?” the man wanted to know. Was he nervous, or
did he always have that little twitch? He seemed unsteady on his feet and his
manner was unwelcoming.
“Price,” said Dorothy.
“There’s no one named Price here.”
“He may be using a different name, Mr….”
“Granger.”
“Mr Granger. I can show you a photo if you like.”
“You’d better come in, Mrs Price.”
“It’s Miss.”
Granger checked that no one had accompanied Dorothy before
leading the way into a small cubbyhole he evidently used as an office. It was
strewn with piles of paper and was a mess. The desk was piled high with
takeaway meal packaging, cigarette ends, an overflowing ashtray and banana
skins. There was no filing system, no computer, and no sign of anything else
remotely connected with management. An array of hard liquor bottles at various
stages of emptiness perched on a small camping table revealed that Mr Granger
enjoyed his drink and had probably been imbibing extensively from getting up
time, judging from his gait and untidy speech. He grabbed a pile of papers and
started sifting through them for no apparent reason.
“Recent events,” he explained.
“Haven’t you got a secretary, Mr Granger?”
“No need. It’s all in my head, you see.”
“Then I’m sure you can recognize the person in this photo,”
said Dorothy, handing Granger the photo of the dead tramp.
Granger dropped all the papers he was holding onto the floor
and studied the photo.
“It was in the Gazette,” Granger said. “Ask Bertie Browne
where he got it?”
“I told you. It’s my brother.”
“Well, he’s dead. Don’t you read the Gazette, Mrs Price?”
“Miss. “
“Wait a minute. That isn’t the same photo.”
“This is one I carry around with me.”
“I thought your brother was missing.”
“We met once a couple of years ago and took photos.”
“The police got him. Why don’t you ask them where he is?”
“Who told you the police got him?”
“I took him there weeks ago, Mrs Price.”
“Miss,” Dorothy corrected yet again. “What had he done?”
“How should I know? They’re all criminals, those vagabonds.
Are you sure he’s your cousin?”
“Brother, Mr Granger. What name did he give himself here?”
“If you want information about him, why don’t you go to the police?”
“He’s my brother, Mr Granger. You can tell me.”
Granger was anxious to see the back of Dorothy, which
explains why he divulged the name.
“Bates, called himself Toby.”
“Typical,” said Dorothy. All she needed to do now was get
out of that dreadful place. “Tobias always was an odd bod.”
“You can say that again,” said Granger.
“I don’t suppose he left anything here, did he?” said
Dorothy, aiming at the satchel, of course.
Since Granger wanted nothing to do with any of the tramps
who had passed through and certainly not with one who had made it to Bertie
Browne’s Gazette, he decided to hand over the satchel. He pulled it down from a
shelf above his head and swung by its shoulder strap in Dorothy’s direction.
The woman was now becoming an irritation, Granger muttered to himself. Dorothy
caught the satchel deftly.
“Good riddance,” said Granger. “I expect Toby would have
wanted his relatives to have his possessions. That’s all he had.”
“Why didn’t he take it with him?”
“He usually came back. But that day he didn’t. I kept it in
case.”
“In case what?”
Granger shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s in it?” asked Dorothy.
“How should I know? It’s locked.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t look inside,” Dorothy risked
commenting.
“Too busy,” retorted the man.
Too drunk, thought Dorothy.
“Thank you anyway,” said Dorothy, wiping away a crocodile
tear as she hugged the satchel to her breast.
“Good riddance,” said Granger as he escorted Dorothy out of
the building.
To Dorothy’s surprise she spotted Gary’s car waiting for her
from where the car could not be seen from the doss-house.
“Everything OK, Dorothy?” he asked, getting out.
“I did not ask you to wait for me.”
“But I did. I can’t have you wandering off into disreputable
places without at least thinking about your safety, Dorothy.”
“I’ve been to worse places.”
Gary opened the passenger door for Dorothy to climb in, then
went round the car, got in and started the engine.
“So did you find out anything worth knowing?”
“Yes.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I’m not sure Cleo would want me to do that before I tell
her.”
“Don’t be secretive, Dorothy. Tell me anyway.”
It occurred to Dorothy that she could not very well keep the
information a secret when Gary and was anxious about her welfare.
“The dead tramp was named Toby Bates according to Mr Granger,
and this is the only possession he seems to have had,” she said, patting the
satchel she was still nursing.
“Good work. What’s in it?”
“It’s padlocked.”
“I’ll drive you to HQ, shall I? We can get it open there and
take a look at the contents.”
It was clear to Dorothy that Gary was now determined to get
involved, so she acquiesced. Within a few minutes, Nigel had been given the
task of getting the satchel open and Gary had put his espresso machine into
action.
Nigel commented that Toby Bates had given his name as Roy
Rogers when he was brought alive to HQ. There was no guarantee that his name
actually was Toby Bates.
“The Rogers name was followed up at the time,” said Gary.
“Toby Bates sounds less like a Hollywood alias. He made fools of us.”
“That manager did not even offer me a drink,” said Dorothy.
“I expect he wanted to get rid of you.”
“I would have refused, anyway. He was half drunk and stank.
In fact, the whole place stank.”
“It would. It’s hardly a 5 star hotel,” said Nigel. ”You wouldn’t
catch me there.”
“That manager is a drunkard and I’m sure he’s a crook,” said
Dorothy.
“He probably is, but we can’t pin anything on him,” said
Gary. “Sugar?”
“Two please. Have you tried?”
“Now and again,” said Gary. “To be truthful, we are glad the
tramps go there first. They’ve usually had a wash before coming here.”
Mr Granger could try washing himself,” said Dorothy.
“You are a card, Miss Price,” said Nigel, laughing at
Dorothy’s sharp repartee. “You remind me of my Auntie Blod.”
“Auntie Blood?”
“You could put it like that. Full name Blodwen. On the Welsh
side,” said Nigel. ”She’s a bit of a sleuth, too. But she only spies on the
neighbours over the garden fence. They know she does it. She pretends to be
weeding. I think they make things up to scandalize her.”
Nigel handed Dorothy the now open satchel for closer
inspection. Dorothy spread the contents onto Gary’s desk. It consisted mostly
of old newspapers.
“We can throw them out for a start,” said Gary.
“No we can’t. Not before we know why he kept them under lock
and key, Gary,” said Dorothy. “I’ll read them first, shall I?”
“I’ll help you,” said Nigel.
“OK you two. Get going. I’ll look at the other stuff and I
won’t throw anything away.”
Nigel and Dorothy took the old papers to Nigel’s table at
the back of the room. They sat down to browse through what Toby Bates had
decided was too significant or valuable to throw away. Some of the newspapers
were over thirty years old and had been read many times, judging from the
condition of the paper. Some sections were marked with a pencil. The two
readers exchanged glances many times. Gary opened up his computer, but was
aware of the activity at the back of his office, and curious. Dorothy was conferring
with Nigel and they seemed to agree that they were onto something out of the
ordinary.
The satchel revealed a small tin box containing a few pieces
of women’s jewellery, including a wedding ring, which was probably the most
valuable object Bates had still possessed and was too cherished to be pawned.
Gary mused that it was all a bit mysterious. Right up Cleo’s
street, actually, but these days he was just as fascinated by what made people
tick. When Dorothy asked if the tramp was wearing a wedding ring, he phoned
down to Chris in the pathology lab to ask if that tramp, now labelled Toby
Bates, was wearing or in possession of a wedding ring.
“I’ve removed it,” said Chris. “Normal procedure. The killer
probably forgot it.”
“Killer?”
“He did not just die. His demise was assisted, Gary.”
“How?”
“Poison, but a deft blow on the skull might have helped him
on his journey.”
“Poison? Never.”
“Have I ever made a mistake?”
“OK. Poison. But how, I wonder. And why?”
“Cheap plonk laced with something, judging from the contents
of the stomach.”
“The sort of drink nice people might concoct to give to a
tramp?” Gary asked intuitively. He had learnt a lot from his two favourite
amateur sleuths.
“It’s thinkable. I have his prints, Gary. He seems to have
been at HQ for a day or two saying he was Roy Rogers.”
“He hadn’t done anything. We let him go. He was wandering
around harmlessly. Someone poisoned him for kicks and then plonked him on the
head.”
“The blow might have been before the poison,” said Chris.
“But it’s unlikely. I think we can assume that whoever gave him the laced
alcohol waited until he started to get the effects of a strong dose of what I
suspect is an amatoxin. He might then have been knocked over. The blow was a
bruise, not a breakage.”
“What the hell is an amatoxin?”
“Toadstool poison. A good reason for not eating them.”
“Why would anyone kill a harmless old tramp, Chris?”
“Ask Cleo, Gary. You are too keen on facts. There is
probably a neat story to his dismal end. Do you need the ring now?”
“Nigel can collect it, Chris. I’m on my way home now. I
can’t leave my mother with all those kids all day. Cleo has gone out”
“Give her my love,” said Chris. “She’s the brightest spark
around here.”
***
Gary phoned Cleo, who had drawn a blank at the library and was
also on her way home. They had plenty to talk about.
***
“So the tramp was given a bottle of wine fortified with wild
mushroom poison. Did he go back to the doss-house with it? What did Dorothy
find out?”
“The doss-house guy was drunk rather than dead, which might
have been if he’d had some of the poisoned plonk,” said Gary. “I think Bates
must have been roaming around. That’s how tramps spend their days and they
usually have old haunts. We found a pile of old paper cut-outs in the guy’s
satchel. Nigel and Dorothy are looking through them at HQ.”
“Anything else in that bag, Gary?”
“A box of trinkets including a gold wedding-ring.”
“If he was wearing one it might have been his wife’s.”
“He was. I wondered why he kept the rings. Tramps usually
sell everything to buy liquor.”
“Our tramp seems to have been a bit special, Gary. Phone the
office and invite Nigel and Dorothy to supper. Ask Nigel to bring the cut-outs
along.”
“He can photocopy them. I don’t think he should remove the
evidence, if that’s what it is.”
“No doubt Dorothy will have interpreted them by she gets
here,” said Cleo.
“She’s doing
my job, Cleo. I should be angry with myself about that, but I did not think they
were important and she did.”
“Just be glad
of any help you can get, Sweetheart. Your five minutes of fame will come soon
enough.”
“I was afraid of that,” said Gary. “What’s for dinner?”
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