“Is there a Beethoven Street anywhere in this area, Gary?”
“Why?”
“Anna has a teddy-bear with a secret.”
“Go on!”
“That’s really interesting.”
“I’ll send you photos of both sides. Can you call me back
when you’ve looked at them? I’m in the office,” said Cleo.
“Will do.”
“I’m sure the woman named Sybil was devastated that her
child had disappeared. She must have reported the child as missing.”
“I’ll see what I can do but I should warn you,” said Gary.
“Why?”
“Be careful how you talk to people. Beethoven street is red
light district and a popular haunt for all sorts of crooks.”
“I’m going to interview a Mrs Bone,” Cleo told him. “She
lives next door to the Singletons and she’s one of those kinds of neighbour who
doesn’t miss a thing. I was going to send Dorothy, but she went to the
Singletons and I don’t want anyone putting two and two together. I doubt
whether I’ll be in danger there.”
“There’s danger everywhere, my love,” said Gary. “I’d be
sceptical about what Mrs Bone has to say. You know what neighbours are like.
It’s gossip, not evidence. Take it with a pinch of salt!”
“I sure will.”
“How are you going to explain your curiosity?”
“If needs be, I’ll tell her about a friend being worried
about the next door dog.”
“That sounds feasible. You’re on safe ground talking about
household pets even if she recognizes you. If she wants to volunteer
information, that’s up to her!”
***
Mrs Bone answered her phone after the first ring and would
be delighted to have a visit from an American. Of course she knew who Miss
Hartley was and would love to hear about all her investigations. They arranged
for Cleo to go to her house for morning coffee.
Robert always laughed about Mrs Bone’s strange love of tiny
portions of meat or one chop at a time sometimes bought on an hourly basis. He
even joked about Mrs Bone dietary habits to Cleo. Gloria thought her orders were
a ruse to hear the latest gossip, but she also liked to air her own
observations and speculations, which were often absurd but for that reason
likely to be bandies about. Mrs Bones other known vice was exaggeration, but
she was a good customer if you added all the meat together. Robert thought she
had a husband, but he had never seen him. He liked to keep his customers happy,
so he threw in extra chops or sausages and Mrs Bone had never been heard to
complain about the charitable additions to her orders, despite the number of
chops or sausages she might buy in one day.
***
Cleo walked to Mrs Bone’s house for her health, swearing to
herself that she would refuse any cake offered. Less than a week to the wedding
and the new outfit fitted thanks to small adjustments made by the resourceful
Dorothy. Cleo’s self-indulgence on sugary cakes might raise its ugly head again
if given half a chance. Cleo was always full of good intentions, though she
told herself that sugar was good for nervous tension when she was confronted by
extra doses thereof, and marrying Robert was producing more than enough of
that. Surely I can’t grow out of an outfit in just a few days, she argued, and
increased her walking speed to use up a few more of those sinful calories in
advance of anything tempting being offered.
Not that Robert would even care? Would he not say that the
more of her there was the better? That was the question that pushed itself into
her mind whenever she thought about him, and not just in association with
weight loss or gain. Robert was possessive and thought he had won, making her a
trophy, as Gary had pointed out many times. Gary genuinely loved her and she
was flouting his wish for the sake of some kind of security that could almost
be described as imprisonment. Her footsteps beat out the rhythm ‘Don’t do it!’
and ’Yes, I must!’ alternately.
***
Mrs Bone was waiting at the front door. Cleo could not say
whether she was just there to greet her or had been there for some time. She
was as gaunt a figure as Gloria had once described her. Cleo wondered if Mr
Bone was as round as a barrel to make up for it. A sort of Jack Spratt
relationship with the roles switched. Cleo was invited into the sitting-room
and noted that Mrs Bone had a pair of binoculars on the window-ledge. She obviously
meant business with her observation of the neighbourhood.
“Do you go to the races, Mrs Bone?” Cleo asked, seeing that Mrs
Bone had noticed her eyes fixed on the binoculars.
“Not any more, Miss Hartley. I use them to identify
strangers too far off to see with the naked eye. One has to keep in control.”
“Sure. There are some ugly characters about.”
As if on cue, Mrs Bone said “Like them next door.”
“Nasty business, but corpses are too dead for my agency, Mrs
Bone. It’s a police matter.”
“But you were here the other night. Your car was parked opposite.”
Cleo realised that Mrs Bone either knew all there was to
know or would not stop until she did. On the other hand, the woman was probably
annoyed with herself for not observing what had gone on next door.
“My….Mr Jones’s daughter Julie is dating Gary Hurley. He’s a
police officer. They were having dinner with us when the corpse was detected in
the Singletons’ swimming-pool.”
“Aren’t you Mr Hurley best friend then? I got the
impression…”
“We often work together, Mrs Bone.”
“I wondered about that swimming-pool,” said Mrs Bone, who
seemed to have accepted Cleo’s explanation of her link to Gary. “Of course, I
can’t see round the back of their bungalow, so I only found out incidentally
about the corpse,” said Mrs Bone. “So Mr Jones is your friend, he? Not the
police inspector.”
Cleo decided to be blunt.
“I share a bed with Mr Jones, Mrs Bone, and next week we are
getting married.”
Mrs Bone looked puzzled.
“But I thought you and that cop were an item. You looked
like one.”
“What makes you think that? I’ve just explained how it is.”
“I saw him looking at you, Miss Hartley.”
“In the dark?”
“I know a lover when I see one.”
Cleo did not know how to react to that observation.
***
“Well, sit down anyway,” invited Mrs Bone a little stuffily.
Had she been hoping for a confession?
Then Mrs Bone qualified her reaction surprisingly.
The thing is that it’s better to get to know someone beforehand,”
she said. “I mean, that cop is probably good in bed, but Mr Jones has status.”
***
Cleo was obliged to swallow twice before nodding.
Did Mrs Bone also know the history of Gloria’s affair with
John Hartley? It was before her time, of course, but the look of satisfaction
on Mrs Bone’s face was gratifying. Mrs Bone was satisfied because she had been
wondering about the relationship between the butcher and the private
investigator for some time.
It occurred to Cleo if Mrs Bone knew about her forthcoming nuptials, Gloria
would find out as soon as Mrs Bone could get to Robert’s shop. Mrs Bone would
not assume that the equally garrulous Gloria had not been informed by her
daughter.
Now Cleo would have to tell her mother before the event and
Gloria would be furious that she had not been told in time to buy a new outfit.
There was now no way that Cleo could stop her attending. She realized that she
had been mean not to include her mother from the start. If only Gloria did not
insist on being the star of the show wherever she went. Cleo speculated on
which of her outfits her mother would choose to borrow.
***
Meanwhile, Mrs Bone’s voice had droned on about the
importance of knowing all about the neighbours.
“Aren’t you listening, Miss Hartley?”
“Oh, sorry, Mrs Bone. I was listening… Neighbours can be a
mystery. I once had….”
“But nothing like the Singletons. I think they are involved
in some kind of illegal trading. Exotic animals is my tip; snakes in wicker
baskets with lids.”
It was obvious that Mrs Bone had a big load to get off her
mind. Laudable, her concern for the putative exotic reptiles, but the wicker
baskets interested Cleo more. You could transport a baby in a wicker basket,
quite unobtrusively, as though it were a household pet or, in Mrs Bone’s
version, a snake. Cleo shuddered involuntarily.
“Shall I put the fire on, Miss Hartley?”
“No, I’m fine thank you. I just don’t like snakes.”
“But you will have a drink, won’t you?”
“That would be great.”
“Since we are going to be friends, you can call me Hilda.”
Although Hilda Bone was definitely jumping the guns as far
as friendship was concerned, to snub her request would have meant the end of
any informative chat.
“I’m Cleo, short for Cleopatra.”
“What a pretty name, Cleo!” Hilda Bone responded. “I think our
getting to know one another calls for a little something to celebrate.”
Hilda went across the room to a well-stocked cocktail
cabinet and poured them a generous amount of cassis into liqueur glasses after
holding up the bottle for Cleo’s approval.
“Here’s to us,” she said.
“Yes, here’s to us,” said Cleo, glad that Hilda Bone was not
the kiss and cuddle type. Gushing women like those society ladies who hired her
for various trivial reasons were not really her cup of tea. They all had
lounges instead of sitting-rooms. Dorothy had a parlour, which was quite
genteel but full of her grand piano. Cleo’s cottage only had a living-room with
a corner for relaxing. If you were talking about status, Cleo was at the end of
the queue.
“Anyway,” Hilda continued, as if nothing had interrupted her
train of thought, “although I haven’t actually seen what was in one of those
wicker baskets, I could swear it was something living.”
“How often did it happen, Hilda?”
“Once or twice a month. Mrs Singleton was always in a hurry
when she brought one of those baskets home. She would go into the house as
quick as lightning, and about an hour later a car would draw up and she would
hand the basket to the passenger.”
“Do you know where Mrs Singleton had come from on those
occasions?”
“She’s a midwife, you know, but I should think she’d be in
more of a hurry to get to where the baby was due, rather than rushing back. No,
she had collected a living creature and wanted to get it into the house
quickly.”
Cleo thought Hilda had pieced together a rather good story
and wondered why she had a fixation on the idea of exotic animals when she
could have speculated about it being babies.
“Was it always the same car that picked the basket up, Hilda?”
“Come to think if it, it was often one particular car. And
last time it was the passenger who held the basket. In fact, that was often the
case, and the passenger usually sat in the back. Brave, considering what was in
the basket.”
Hilda was clearly thinking of snakes. There was no doubt in
Cleo’s mind that this was the business in baby trading that she had suspected.
She would not tell Hilda, however.
“If I lent you a camera, would you take photos of the car
when one comes, Hilda?”
“No need for that, Cleo. I always take photos. My husband
has a brilliant camera that takes photos in the dark.”
“And I suppose these visits next door always happen after
dark?”
“Yes. I suppose that’s when the snakes are asleep. But that
way no one can see me with the camera, can they?”
“So how do you know when to look out for a car stopping next
door?”
“Well, the Singletons don’t often go out after dark. Now Mr
Singleton is a bit confused, I don’t think he does the driving, either. Mrs
Singleton only uses the car for her own errands or if they go somewhere shopping
together. They always have a lot of bags then and Mr Bone carries them in. I
know that a car stopping next door at dead of night won’t often be theirs.
Their car would be in the garage.”
“Except that the other night it was the Singletons coming
home late.”
“I haven’t had a chance to ask them where they’d been. I
watch the bungalow a lot, you should know. Things are often chaotic and there’s
a lot of screaming and shouting. They must be in the middle of a marriage
crisis.”
Or Mrs Singleton is hysterical about something else, Cleo
decided. She thought the Singleton must have known one or both Devonports. One
of them might have had news of an impending birth. Since Mrs Singleton was a
midwife, she might even have been called out to deliver a baby to a distraught
teenager, or - it had to be considered - a hooker, since they usually wanted
secrecy and were often thankful when an unwanted infant was removed. That would
also be a lucrative source of income, Cleo decided, even if Mrs Singleton had
to share the profit with someone.
“I’m impressed by your powers of observation, Hilda,” said
Cleo tongue in cheek. “You should be a detective.”
“Not me. Not anymore.”
“Do you mean that you were once an investigator?”
“Not officially, but I’ve had a few good catches in my
time.”
Cleo wondered how borderline Hilda’s activities had been.
What she was doing now – spying on the neighbours – was intrusive. If she had
spotted a burglar that would surely fit into her category of ‘catch’.”
“I know what you’re thinking, Cleo. No, I never broke the
law. I occasionally bent it a little to keep tabs on suspects, but on the whole
I think I served the community more than I would have done had I not made an
effort to observe suspicious people and events.”
“Would you repeat what you’ve told me about next door to the
police?”
“I’d rather not get involved. Why the police? Neighbours
sort things out without the police if possible.”
“The police are already involved because of the corpse,
Hilda, and would no doubt appreciate some reliable evidence.”
Hilda smiled modestly, but Cleo thought that the woman was
playing hard to get and maybe even hoped she was flirting with danger. She
would change tack.
“What about the photos, Hilda? Can you show me some?”
“I’ll have to get the latest film developed, Cleo. It isn’t
quite full so it’s still in the camera.”
“Could I have it now?”
“Well…”
“I can get it developed for you. I would like to know
something about the people who come to collect those wicker baskets.”
“So you are investigating the Singletons, are you?” said Hilda.
“I’m not sure I should have told you anything.”
“Of course you should, Hilda. I’m as concerned about trade
in exotic animals as you are, and the police are concerned about the corpse, so
we are all working hard.”
“Well, in that case…”
“I’ll talk to Mr Hurley first. If he thinks any of the
information is important, he can tell me and I’ll get in touch with you.”
Cleo extracted the precious film from the camera Hilda had
handed to her. The camera was old-fashioned with a detachable zoom lens. A digital
camera would be more convenient.
“I’m sure you could work with a digital camera, Hilda. Would
you like to try?”
“Yes please. This one is inconvenient, I admit.”
“Would you like to walk along to my office and take one of mine
with you now? We have no time to waste.”
“What a good idea. I must get some sausages from the shop. Mr
Jones makes such delicious ones. I hope he has not sold them all.”
They moved from the lounge to the hall and Hilda shouted up
the stairs that she was going to the butcher’s. A grunt confirmed that the
elusive Mr Bone had heard.
Walking along to Robert’s shop, Cleo wondered how she could
prevent Hilda from jumping the guns and engaging Gloria in a conversation about
the forthcoming wedding. It had been foolish of her to mention the wedding to
Hilda Bone. Fortunately the shop was crowded and Cleo was able to warn Robert
that she had inadvertently spilt the wedding beans. Robert reacted with great
presence of mind.
***
“Well, Mrs Bone. Just come for your usual order?”
Robert was of course making that up, but the mechanism
served to let Hilda jump the queue. With his usual charm and diplomacy, Robert
extracted the necessary information about how many sausages, doubled it and
added an extra one, wrapped them meticulously, accepted a begrudged coin or
two, and soon Hilda and Cleo were out of the shop with no damage done in the
form of tittle-tattle.
“He is a good man, that Mr Jones,” said Hilda. “He’s probably
a better choice than that cop.”
“I think he probably is,” said Cleo.
A few minutes later, after she had switched on the espresso
machine in her utility room behind the office, Cleo showed Hilda how the digital
camera worked. Hilda would let her know straightaway when she had taken photos
of any nocturnal activity next door. Cleo hoped Robert would tell Gloria about
the wedding before Hilda had a chance to pop back into the shop on her way
home, which she surely would since she had her meeting with Cleo to report.
At the shop, Robert did indeed find a moment when there were
no customers waiting to reveal to Gloria that he and Cleo had a date at the registry
office only just ahead of a second visitation by Mrs Bone.
“And you folks think I don’t know?” said Gloria.
Robert was perplexed. How could Gloria have found out? From
Julie? Gloria had a way of asking questions that would put any journalist to
shame.
“I know you want me to be there, even if you were subversive
about your plan, so I’ve organized a new outfit and will be there in good
time.”
“But how…?”
“Ah, Robert, you still have a lot to learn about the fairer
sex. One of my amateur line dancers is a clerk at the town hall and she told me
in confidence that a Miss Hartley was getting married. She wanted to know if we
were related.”
“So you knew all along, did you?”
Robert thought a defensive approach would be less abrasive
for him.
“And you didn’t tell us,” he rebuked. “Shame on you, Mrs
Hartley!”
“Sorry, Bobby, but why are you telling me now?”
Robert decided to tell the truth, since Gloria would find
out anyway.
“Because Cleo blurted out the news to gossipy Mrs Bone.”
Gloria burst out laughing and laughed until the tears rolled
down her cheeks.
“Oh her. The Washington Post on legs! Cleo will have to be
more careful about who gets to know her private business!”
“I expect it was all in a good cause,” said Robert.
“What good cause? The woman drowned in that swimming-pool?”
***
Robert was literally saved by the bell. Three customers
entered the shop simultaneously so he was spared the awkwardness of reacting
adequately to Gloria knowing what had happened at the Singleton bungalow.
Hilda Bone felt more important than she had for years. In
fact, her reaction to the request to do some official snooping was similar to
Dorothy’s. Cleo wondered if the two of them would get on together.
It was well into Saturday afternoon by the time Hilda Bone
had gone home and Cleo had time to type a quick report about the meeting. She
could now get round to ringing Gary to ask him if they could develop Hilda
Bone’s reel of film at Headquarters.
Gary was still at his desk and responded to Cleo’s request
by sending a messenger to collect it. The messenger proved to be a smart young
officer on a Harley Davidson that he propped up lovingly in front of the office
window.
Wow, thought Cleo. They are doing their patrol police proud.
The officer saw the look of awe on Cleo’s face.
“It’s mine,” he explained. “Bought on the never-never, but
at least they finance fuel and running costs. The motorbikes they provide at
the station are not nearly as nice.”
Cleo could believe that.
Minutes later, the officer roared off with the film securely
deposited in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. The results would be
emailed to Cleo a.s.a.p.
At last Cleo had the feeling that things were moving a
little in the baby-trading case. She hoped Hilda had taken photos showing car
registrations. That would make things a whole lot easier.
Cleo also hoped that solving the Devonport murder would lead
to an explanation of the death of the woman in the Bell Tower. Was Anna the
link between these incidents? Had she escaped abuse by chance? Or was it
possible that such a young child would defend herself by committing murder? Cleo
immediately rejected that theory.
It was more probable that something was put into the woman’s
drink at the bistro. By the mystery man who bought her a drink?
***
A phone call from Robert interrupted these considerations.
He was talking on his mobile, so he was probably still making the weekend
deliveries.
“What’s up, Robert? And where are you?”
“On the way home. I wanted warn you.”
“Is my mother screaming about not being told about the
wedding?”
“On the contrary, she knew all the time and has bought a new
outfit for the occasion, so with any luck you’ll be spared her wrath and
indignation.”
“How on earth did she find out?”
“Simple really. I’ll let her tell you.”
“At least she won’t want to borrow any of my clothes.”
“I’ve asked her to tea, Cleo. We need to get the air
cleared, don’t you agree?”
“Sure. Good idea.”
Hardly any time elapsed before Cleo got another phone-call,
this time from Gary.
“We’ve identified Sybil,” he said, not without a touch of
pride.
“Wow! You guys are awesome! Tell me more!”
“A Sybil Garnet reported her little daughter as missing.
There’s a photo of the child in the report. It’s definitely Anna. The officer
in charge was a zealous photographer. He even took photos of the photos in Sybil’s
apartment. And we now know her surname, of course. That should make it a whole
lot easier to find her.”
“I hope so.”
“It’s almost four years since the child disappeared. Sybil
Garnet was living in Beethoven Road.
“Not Beethoven Street?”
“She got it wrong, Cleo. Sybil Garnet moved away after it
became clear that her child was not coming back. The police filed the case in
the unsolved section.”
“How awful. Poor woman. What about her husband or partner?”
“None in evidence. Judging from her diary, which is also in
the folder, I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out that she was working as a
call-girl. A lot of men’s names crop up, some of them regularly.”
“And presumably she worked at home.”
“That high-rise block is home to quite a few women who live
on their wits. We’ll have to talk to any resident who knew her. Let’s hope we
don’t have to track them down, as well. Someone must know what went on in that
house a few years ago. Neighbours usually have long memories.”
“Unless they don’t want to remember. Do I detect an appeal
to the Hartley Agency?”
“Would you take it on?”
“Well, it’s certainly better for private detectives to go to
that sort of place than sending the police in. People tend to know when they
are dealing with the cops and close up like clams.”
“That is unfortunately the case even if it’s in their
interest to be forthcoming.”
“Some of the residents may have resented Sybil’s activities,”
Cleo suggested.
“Some also profited from them, Cleo. The child was farmed
out during ‘business hours’. One name crops up regularly in the report.”
“Whose?”
“A woman named Banu. No surname.”
“I expect neighbours knew someone named Banu. Where is Sybil
Garnet now?”
“We’re not magicians, Cleo. We can’t magic her out of a top
hat!”
“Sorry… Did Sybil herself have a theory about had happened
to the child?”
“In the report it says that the child – named Anna, by the
way – might have been abducted from a playground while in the care of a woman
by the name of Alice Crane. But there is no evidence that she was responsible.”
“So Anna can now go into the case record as having been
found.”
“Yes,” said Gary, “but it bothers me that Alice Crane was
probably negligent.”
“Was the mysterious Banu mentioned in the report?”
“No. she apparently only child-minded now and again.“
“Gary, that kid was 3 years old. You keep an eagle eye on
kids of that age. Crane must have been deliberately distracted.”
“Or left her alone for a bit and did not say so when questioned.”
“If someone was watching the child with the intention of making
off with it, a minute or two would be long enough. I wonder if Crane knew the
woman named Banu,” Cleo surmised.
“That’s a shot in the dark.”
“Sybil’s child Anna called the woman in the Bell Tower
‘Mummy’, so there could be a connection between them. Did I tell you that the
dead woman called herself Bunny, as well?”
“First we need to know who the dead woman is, Cleo.”
“Could the woman in the tower be Banu? It sounds the sort of
name a woman might have who looked like the one we found dead and it isn’t very
far from the name Bunny.”
“Your guess is as good as mine, Cleo.”
“Trading with small children has gone on forever, Gary. Kidnapping
a child and then selling it or passing it on is not a new twist. Children of call-girls
were probably targeted because they did not enjoy the protection of a family.”
“Anything is possible, Cleo. The whole case is a nasty black
hole.”
“This is the UK. Someone must know something.”
“Anyone is capable of duplicity if they profit from it.
There is a constant fear of reprisals among people who squeak on others. We get
a lot of that, Cleo. It will all be documented somewhere, but someone would
have to work full time to sort it all out.”
“Then find someone!”
“We’re looking.”
“One more request, Gary. Can you provide me with a photo of
the dead woman found in the Bell Tower that does not show that she’s dead?”
“That should be possible. I’ve got a number of photos I can
look through. Maybe I can do the necessary adjustments.”
***
Gary had issued an unveiled request for the Agency to tackle
the people in that high-rise block. Cleo would send Dorothy to have a look
around. Who knows? She might come up with something. The mysterious Banu might be
known or even live there.
Dorothy suggested that paying the flats a visit the
following morning might be a good idea. She would say she was looking for
somewhere to live, and was all the scandal about the goings on in some of the
flats really true? She would ask people if they knew Banu and where she could
be found.
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