Episode 7 - Dorothy goes for a walk

Robert had been asleep when Cleo got back from the Singleton cottage, so Cleo and he talked about the previous night’s events at breakfast early on Wednesday morning, Cleo having made a special effort to get up at the crack of dawn. She phoned Dorothy and asked her if she could come for a quick coffee seven thirty, an hour Dorothy found unusual for Cleo who liked her mornings to start gently and late. Realizing that something must be afoot, she was standing on Cleo’s doorstep within fifteen minutes.

Dorothy never went anywhere empty-handed. This morning she had brought some fresh currant load and was carrying the morning paper, which already sported the headline ‘Fake social worker kidnaps kid’, followed by a story that was short on facts, but made good reading.

“Is this what it’s all about, Cleo? Here in Upper Grumpsfield? Whatever is the world coming to and why so early?”

“Gary’s coming to the office for nine thirty, Dorothy. We need a plan of action. Come in and calm down.”

“Is Anna in danger, Cleo?”

 “She’s OK. They are looking after her at the vicarage.”

“I know that. Edith phoned last night, Cleo. I’m so relieved. I phoned you but you were out all the time.”

“We went to the Singleton bungalow, Dorothy.”

“We?”

“We got a phone-call from Chris and we all went there, but actually I went a bit later as Robert seemed to want to watch an action film and I was curious,”

Dorothy was hurt that she had not been included.

“It was all too hectic to notify you, Dorothy, and there’s nothing you could have done.”

“I understand,” said Dorothy, who didn’t.

“Now at least two social workers are involved. One is the woman Gary ordered from Social Services and the other is the one found dead in Singleton’s swimming-pool last night. We don’t know if others were involved.”

“Do you mean that someone was impersonating someone else and getting killed for it with a possible third person in the shadows?”

“Mrs Courtney said something of the sort when I spoke to her at the care home yesterday, but I may have misunderstood.  The corpse seems to be the genuine Devonport, identified by Mrs Courtney and confirmed by a photo of them together.”

“So the other Miss Devonport that you met was definitely a fraud. Did Gary ask you to investigate some more?”

“We’re working on that basis. You know the Singletons, don’t you?”

“Slightly. They have an ostentatious sign on their house-wall and an ostentatiously oversized dog running around the front lawn. They keep themselves to themselves. I once tried to enlist them for church activities, but they wanted nothing to do with any of it. Donated ten quid and told me that was all I should expect.”

“Ten quid?” Dorothy’s terminology was often based on the gangster lingo she enjoyed in her late night cops and robbers movies.

“Ten pounds sterling, Cleo. Gangster terminology.”

“Do US cops deal in sterling, Dorothy?”

“I read books, too, Cleo.”

Cleo had been rather astonished. Dorothy was usually quite ladylike.

“I have heard the word, but not from your lips,” said Cleo, smiling.

“I often went past that bungalow with Minor, but he always growled at the dog in the garden. It was a Baskerville type one. I had no wish to get involved with its fangs.”

“There was no dog there last night, Dorothy,” said Cleo.

“Maybe whoever killed the woman also killed the dog,” Dorothy suggested.

“I’d better phone Gary about that immediately,” said Cleo. “They’ll have to search the woods behind the house.”

“As long as you don’t decide that we should, Cleo.”

“Since hitting someone on the head and then letting them drown is extreme violence, it’s possible that the dog was injured or killed because it was in the way,” said Cleo with a shudder.

***

Robert emerged ready to go to the shop.

“Stay out of it, whatever it is!” he ordered.

“I intend to. Are you home for lunch, Robert?” Cleo asked.

“After home deliveries. At about two o’clock. Have a nice morning.”

“I think Robert’s right,” said Dorothy. “It’s not in our league, Cleo.”

“I have to go to the office early, Dorothy,” said Cleo, getting up to show Dorothy out. ”Sorry it’s all a bit rushed this morning.”

“That’s fine. I’m going to get the bus into Middlethumpton, do some shopping and go to the video shop. I must change my DVDs. Can you come for a fitting later?”

”I forgot all about the wedding, Dorothy.”

“That’s Freudian, Cleo.”

“I can’t let Robert down,” said Cleo.

“So be it then.”

I’ll tell Gary about the dog, Dorothy.”

In the end the two sleuths left the cottage together. Cleo got to her office only minutes before Gary arrived. He was shocked to hear about the dog. A search would start immediately.

“They’ll phone back after their search,” said Gary.

The lovers made good use of the half hour they spent in the utility room.

A phone call on Gary’s mobile put an end to their love-making. The dog had been injured and lay a few yards from the Singleton’s garden. A vet was called and the injured animal was carried off to be treated. Whoever had dumped Mary Devonport’s body in the swimming-pool had probably entered the grounds by way of that gate and been held up by the dog. Was entering the Singleton property the luck of the draw rather than an intentional choice?

Gary hurried to the Singleton bungalow alone. Cleo wanted to go with him, but he did not think it was such a good idea. It was likely that the woman had been killed elsewhere and the dog had merely been in the way of disposing of the body. If so, the murder weapon might also have been disposed of in the undergrowth. There was no need for Cleo to be there. They could ask him about the dog. If they did not ask, it might show that they knew what had happened. Not going to the Singletons now left the agency freer to act.

Gary phoned Cleo a few minutes later to report what had transpired in the meantime. Cleo reminded Gary that Dorothy had been the first one to mention a dog. The Singletons had not referred to it, and it was their dog.

“Wasn’t that suspicious?” Cleo said. “If the Singletons were mixed up in the murder of Devonport and the woman had been attacked in their garden, it was possible that the dog had been noisy and disturbed what was going on. That would explain why the dog had to be silenced.”

“But that would mean someone carried the injured dog into the woods,” said Gary.

“Or it staggered to where it was found, Gary. Mrs Singleton may have conveniently forgotten about the poor animal.  She is or was a midwife. That’s a brutal profession. Or maybe she just hated the dog.”

 “Such a woman would also be capable of murder, I think you want to say,” said Gary. “I wanted to leave the Singletons in peace this morning, but they are involved, aren’t they?”

“I’ll ask Dorothy to find out more about the dog,” said Cleo. “She won’t arouse suspicion.”

“I would rather leave Dorothy out of this, Cleo.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

“No, so we’ll have to risk it. Call me if there’s progress. I’m going to HQ now.”

Cleo phoned Dorothy with instructions.

“I’ll borrow the Barkers’ dog,” she proposed. “There was a near-burglary a while back and the Barkers fetched a mongrel from the animal home. It has a fierce bark but apparently a clean biting record. But burglars don’t know that, do they? It gets round when people get themselves a dog. Burglars don’t like dogs.”

“What is a near burglary, Dorothy?” Cleo asked.

“I don’t really know. That’s what Mr Barker told me. I’ll just go and collect Mustafa, then I’ll take that stroll past the Singletons’ house.”

“Mustafa?”

“The Barkers’ dog.

“They should call him Barker.”

“He only answers to Mustafa.,” said Dorothy, who thought humour was misplaced in the circumstances. “I’ll introduce him to you on the way home.”

“Come to the office, Dorothy. I’ve piles of work waiting and Jenny needs a contract.”

“Jenny?”

“With all that’s going on I haven’t I told you, have I?”

“Told me what?”

“Jenny’s an ongoing forensic scientist. She’s joining the Agency.”

Dorothy was indignant. Was she about to be usurped?

“You haven’t even got a Bunsen burner, Dorothy. Jenny is a chemist.”

“What’s she going to do for us?”

“Some sleuthing. I thought you’d be glad of a little help.”

“Well…”

“Better get going on your outing, Dorothy.”

“You’re right. I’ll get my skates on!”

“You’ll what?”

“Get my skates on. Move my ass. Shift my butt!”

“OK, OK. Good luck!”

“Always useful!”

“Just keep it in mind that we have to answer the question of why the body of Devonport was dumped in the Singleton pool. If it was intentional, surely that was taking an unnecessary risk. Whoever it was could have been seen. There could be danger, Dorothy. Be careful and don’t look as if you are investigating.”

“What if the Singletons really were lying and they did it themselves?”

“What motive would they have had, Dorothy?”

“I don’t mean Mr Singleton. His brain is addled. But Mrs Singleton’s isn’t. She probably manipulates her husband into doing things for her or with her.”

“It’s a thought. But why would they draw attention to themselves by calling the police.”

“Because the corpse would have to be disposed of. What better bluff than getting the police to do it for you?” said Dorothy. “Mark my words, Cleo. Calling the police could be a clever ruse. Tell Gary! See you later.”

***

Reeling from the plausible argument Dorothy had put forward, Cleo felt she had to phone Gary rightaway and tell him what she had discussed with Dorothy. It sounded far-fetched and yet there could be something in it. Did one of the Singletons have a police record, for instance? Were they retired felons?

“Aren’t you digging too deep, Cleo?” Gary said.

“I don’t think so. We have to explore every avenue.”

“Let’s start with the dog, then.”

“It’s been found. You told me.”

“It was half dead, poor wretch. Would one of the Singletons do that to their dog?”

“I’ve no idea, Gary. Some people are evil enough to do anything if it serves their purpose. Where exactly was the dog found?”

“In the woods behind the Singleton property. And the dog had blood on its fangs. It must have bitten its attacker.”

“Unless the blood came from licking its own chest wound.”

“Chris is working on that. I’ll pass the result on to you. Maybe we’re in luck!”

“Anything new on Smith?” Cleo asked.

“Not yet.”

“Dorothy’s probably on her way to the Singletons now with a borrowed dog.”

“Stop her, Cleo. I’m not sure that’s a good idea, after all.”

“I don’t think I can, Gary, but she knows the ropes.”

“What do you know about the Singletons?”

“Singleton was a town clerk somewhere.”

“And Mrs Singleton was a midwife, so used to being around new-borns.”

“What are you getting at, Cleo?”

“I’m not sure yet.”

“The Singleton woman could be connected with one of the Devonport women or Social Services, I suppose,” said Gary.

“Or with that home run by the Courtneys. They have a baby hatch, too.”

“I don’t like the way this case is going even if we are only theorizing, Cleo.”

“Neither do I. Strange how one incident can lead to a whole range of criminal acts. For instance, Margot Smith might have used more than one identity depending what she was up to,” said Cleo.

“Nothing would surprise me anymore in this convoluted case, Cleo. I’ll move on in the identity problem as fast as possible. We’ve lost track of the woman, but we’ll find her. That’s a promise.”

“If the Singleton dog recognized its attacker and jumped up in delight, it would explain the wounds on the dog assuming the attacker was just defended himself,” said Cleo.

“But surely not Mrs Singleton.”

“Midwives do not normally have a delicate nature, Gary. They see life at its rawest...or is my imagination running riot?”

“I shouldn’t think so.”

A short e-mail from Chris to Gary confirmed that the blood on the dog’s fangs was its own. Gary relayed that news to Cleo.

“That makes it even more likely that the Singletons wanted to silence the dog,” said Cleo as she and Gary discussed the fresh news over the phone.

“The Singletons will have to be brought to HQ for questioning,” said Gary.

“Let’s hope Mustafa defends Dorothy.”

“I’m worried about her, Cleo.”

“Don’t worry. I expect she has her father’s old gun with her, loaded just in case.”

Gary’s reaction to that is not printable.

***

In the meantime Dorothy went to borrow Barkers’ dog. Jane Barker came to the door looking wary.

“Why, it’s Dorothy Price!” she said. “You’re the last person I thought would pay me a visit.”

She had presumably looked through the spy hole while Dorothy stood impatiently on the doorstep. Things had been rather cool between then since Jane had found out that Dorothy not only watched whodunits, but also indulged in a little sleuthing. She had a reason. She was black-marketing vegetables grown in their garden and thought Dorothy might find out and tell Mr Barker, who thought he was eating them all.

“I’m in a hurry Jane, but I’ve got a favour to ask of you.”

“Sugar, again?”

“No not sugar. It’s the dog.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“Nothing’s the matter, Jane. Can I take him for a walk?”

“I don’t see why not. It would save our legs. But why the hurry?”

“I’ve made a bet with a friend,” fibbed Dorothy.

“I suppose you mean Miss Hartley. What sort of a bet?”

“That no dog would answer to the name of Mustafa,” fibbed Dorothy.

Jane Barker believed her.

“You are silly, Dorothy,” she said. “But come in. I’ll call Mr Barker.”

“I don’t want to take your husband for a walk. Just the dog,” said Dorothy.

“Who’s that?” Jim Barker called from the kitchen, where he had been sent to do the vegetables.

“Only Dorothy, Jim.”

“Don’t let me disturb you, Mr Barker,” said Dorothy, who was not too fond of him, even though they had sort of buried the hatchet after the death of her dog Minor, who had been a genius at finding places to bury all the bones Robert Jones had given him at the shop. Mr Barker had always been insulting about Minor, saying that he would never have a dog since dogs buried things in gardens, especially his. Their recent near burglary had forced him to eat his words. He didn’t exactly like Mustafa, but he had to agree that the dog’s bark was off-putting to strangers.

“I just want to borrow Mustafa for a couple of hours.”

“You can have him forever,” shouted Mr Barker. “He chewed this morning’s paper up.”

“No he didn’t,” whispered Mrs Barker. “I ripped it pulling it out of the letterbox.”

“Here’s his good collar and lead, Dorothy. Hold on to it, please. It has such pretty diamond studs.”

Dorothy looked at the gaudy object disapprovingly. Fancy making a dog wear such a ridiculous contraption.

“I can’t keep the dog because of my cat, Mr Barker. I’ll be back in about two hours, but I’ll post you my newspaper before I go,” she promised, and was glad to be out on the road with Mustafa trotting along beside her. She thought the dog was probably glad, too.

***

It took only a couple of minutes to put her newspaper right through the letter flap onto the floor inside, and a further 20 minutes to get to Oakwood Road, holding on tightly to Mustafa, who had found a trail to follow.  It wasn’t far to the other end of Upper Grumpsfield. You passed the turn-off into Market Street and Station Road, St Peter’s church with its old graveyard, a row of little shops, most of them closed down, a hairdresser’s shop that Dorothy had no use for, and Delilah’s bistro. You crossed the road at the roundabout at the top of Thumpton Hill. Oakwood Road was a side street left off the main road to Lower Grumpsfield and parallel to it. The back gardens had once been part of Thumpton Wood. Dorothy was used to walking that way from her days walking Minor. A wave of nostalgia came over her.

At Number 9 no one was to be seen.

“I’ll have to ring their doorbell,” she told Mustafa, though at that moment she could not quite think of a reason for doing so. Then her eyes fell upon what looked like a bone, but on closer inspection it turned out to be one of those realistic-looking canine toys that squeak.

“That’ll do,” she told Mustafa. “Fetch!”

Then Dorothy rang the front door bell and Mrs Singleton came to the door.

“I expect your dog is missing his toy, Mrs Singleton,” Dorothy explained. Mustafa held on tightly to the rubber bone.

“I haven’t got a dog,” said Mrs Singleton sharply. “Where did you get it, Mrs Price?”

“Miss, and it was in your garden.”

“Then you should have left it there.”

“It belongs to your dog and Mustafa fetched it, Mrs Singleton. I just wanted to ask you where you bought it so that I can buy him one.”

“You can have that one, Miss Price.”

“Won’t your dog be looking for it?”

“I told you, I haven’t got a dog.”

“But I distinctly saw one last time I went past your house.”

“Ridiculous.”

“No, I definitely saw it.”

“Well, it isn’t here now.”

“It was your dog, wasn’t it? Don’t say I’m imagining things,” said Dorothy, persevering with her line of attack.

“It was my nephew’s dog,” said Mrs Singleton, deciding that saying something about a dog would satisfy this old woman and send her on her way.

“Oh, was it?”

“And now would you please go away! I’m busy.”

“Would that be the biggish black one with white markings?”

“Go away, Miss Price, before I set my…..”

Mrs Singleton stopped in her tracks. She had almost given herself away. Force of habit when unwanted visitors came to the door.

“I expect you mean your cat, don’t you Mrs Singleton? Good day and thanks for the bone.”

***

Dorothy made her way to Cleo’s office with Mustafa gripping his new toy between his fangs. The sleuths had a good laugh over Dorothy’s unconventional approach to detecting.  

“Joking apart, Cleo, that woman was nervous and denied having a dog except suddenly inventing her nephew’s now and again. I think she’s afraid of something. She might also have been canned.”

“Canned?”

“Drunk.”

“Let’s consult Gary. Maybe he has already found out something about the guys.”

He had. In his defence, since he was often less than forthcoming with information, even when Cleo had requested it, he said he was about to phone her.

His information left the two lady sleuths wide-eyed but gratified. Dorothy decided she would not join in the conversation, which was via loudspeaker. She needed a drink, so she went into the utility room and got the espresso machine going. But she was listening, of course. Mitch, Delilah’s boyfriend, had installed a speaker in the utility room so that phone conversations could be relayed and even dialogues heard through cleverly concealed microphones.

“Mr Singleton has a fairly clean slate.”

“Only fairly clean?”

“All trivial things, like riding a bike without lights and pinching apples from next door’s tree. No charges brought, but conscientious PCs make notes about everything.”

“And Mrs Singleton?”

“She’s quite a different kettle of fish.”

“Mixed metaphor, Gary, but go on…”

“She left a job in the north under a cloud. Something to do with mixing up two new-borns.”

“Wow! That is suspicious.”

“But she was cleared and later found a job at a private establishment down south, in Norfolk, I think. She also does home deliveries.”

“Sounds like a mailman on a roll.”

“There had already been talk about funny business at that private clinic, but there was nothing to tie her up with it. She left of her own free will.”

“Cutting her losses, Gary.”

“She later ran a clandestine baby hatch; somewhere young girls can leave their unwanted and usually secret offspring without reprisals of any sort, Dorothy.”

“How do you know I’m here?”

“Somebody rattled coffee cups.”

“A privately-run baby deposit box sounds criminal,” said Dorothy. “I suppose the unwanted babies were sold and baby-boxes are illegal, aren’t they?”

“Mrs Singleton was onto a good business coup. She had a fast turnover. The infants were gone from her premises within hours. She had a queue of childless couples willing to pay a lot for discretion and fast delivery, to coin a phrase.”

“How did she get away with it?” said Cleo.

“People who knew about it thought she was doing a good turn and did not betray her. People who bought a baby knew that was illegal so they are hardly likely to have admitted to it.”

“So she was never accused of anything.”

“No, Cleo. The whole racket only came to light when she had left the area and moved to Upper Grumpsfield for early retirement, as she called it. Very few people were prepared to say anything about their deals with her, let alone appear in court as prosecution witnesses, not least because those babies were not legally theirs. As usual, it was one courageous mother who set the ball rolling by trying to get her baby back from the baby-box and finding it had gone only hours after she had deposited it. The stricken girl’s grandparents called the police, but there was too little to go on. The child mothers who were traced had put their babies into a baby box and were frightened of being punished for abandoning them, so no one ever knew and some families did not even know that their daughter had given birth. Mrs Singleton was cunning. She had not put anything incriminating in writing.”

“But she must have made a lot of money from people prepared to buy babies. Could that be the reason she got nervous when Dorothy called?” said Cleo.

“I shouldn’t think she could connect Dorothy with any of that, Cleo. She probably just has a suspicious mind. Criminals often think everyone else must have an ulterior motive.”

“I did, Gary,” said Dorothy.

“I’m glad you survived,” said Gary. “Mrs Singleton was probably paid cash. She made a point of going to the races. Later the police investigating said she went there regularly to wash the illegal earnings clean by betting small amounts, which is of course a common way of disposing of ill-gotten gains. Those in on the deals will have profited from them and are not likely to turn Queen’s evidence.”

“Mind-boggling,” said Cleo.

“But I’m sure Mrs Singleton didn’t connect Dorothy’s visit with anything in her past if she turned up with a dog. However, it’s important that we don’t rule out the possibility that someone connected with Singleton’s ‘trade’ had to be disposed of.”

“In other words, Mrs Singleton had become involved in illicit baby trading again and those social workers might have been cooperative. There’s money in it, after all.”

“It’s the proverbial can of worms again. We hardly ever get a serious crime that does not drag others behind it like Mary’s little lamb.”

***

“OK,” said Cleo. “Let’s sum up, shall we?”

“Go ahead,” said Cary.

“Mrs Singleton would be a suspect, but probably not Mr Singleton,” said Cleo. “The man is suffering from early dementia and not always himself.”

“Very convenient. He looked normal to me. A bit of a crank, but not a nutcase,” said Gary.

“He was probably having a good day,” said Cleo.

“Or he knew what was at stake and was behaving the way he always did to protect his wife.”

“We need to find out if Mrs Singleton has concrete connections with Middlethumpton Social Services, Gary and if he really has dementia.”

“We need someone to spill the beans.”

“That would be convenient, but what if the whole child welfare department is involved in criminal activities.”

“I don’t for a minute expect anyone there to talk, whether they are involved or not,” said Gary.

“I wonder,” said Cleo.

“You sound as if you have an idea.”

“Give me a few hours. I need to discuss it with Dorothy.”

“OK. Call me back.”

***

Dorothy had of course heard Gary’s side of the phone-call through the loudspeaker, but not said anything more. However, an idea had already pushed itself into her head.

“What if a grandmother wanted to help her granddaughter to get rid of an unwanted baby or rescue it, Cleo? Would that do the trick?”

“Should I tell Gary beforehand?”

“He might not let me do it, Cleo.”

“But it’s a brilliant idea.”

Dorothy would try the ruse she had suggested. They had nothing to lose and might make progress if the social workers reacted or even if they didn’t.

***

Cleo spent the rest of the morning doing research into baby hatches and how they function in parts of the world where they are legal. In nineteenth century Ireland, unwanted babies were put in farms and their care was financed, presumably by relatives wanting to cover up the disgrace of illegitimate births, especially when the biological fathers were priests. Those children were often slaughtered. The whole tragedy of what had happened to countless unwanted babies sprang up before Cleo’s eyes.

Did the Singletons, Courtneys, Smiths and Devonports belong in the same category? It didn’t bear thinking about and baby boxes or hatches were basically a good idea, thought Cleo. At least babies were no longer being killed for profit or out of fear of discovery. Or were they? The discovery of an infant corpse in a litter bin on Upper Grumpsfield common had shocked everyone only a few months earlier. The child’s mother was never found. The baby had only been a few hours old. Was the child killed because the mother knew of no other way out of her dilemma? Had she not known about the secret baby hatch? Seen in that light, was the existence of baby hatches worse than the risk of even one baby being killed for fear of discovery?

Reading about the plight of babies through the ages was upsetting. Somehow Cleo got through the rest of her working day. She needed time to think – and time to grieve yet again over her own still-born child.