20. A USEFUL CONVERSATION

A couple of useful conversations seem to be helping Trayda find the truth

“How is he?” asked Trayda of inspector Richards apropos William Hampton, who had been rushed to hospital following a vicious knife attack outside the police station from which he’d been released the preceding afternoon.

“Bad, but he’ll live,” grunted Reuben, who was expecting a few choice critical comments from his old boss.

“You just let him out like that, with no thought of protection?” asked Trayda.

“You’d have done the same.”

“Would I”

“Look, Trayda, it’s easy to be wise after the event, but we had no idea that the old man was after Mr Hampton.”

“He was after news of his grandson.”

“His grandson? I didn’t know that!”

That’s the trouble when you get a civilian to do your dirty work for you, thought Trayda, the chain of communication gets broken and you go floating off at half measure.

“Well, you know now,” she replied, “but the fact that you jumped on your suspect with no real evidence doesn’t make you look so untarnished.”

“I had more than enough reasonable grounds for suspicion!” snapped Reuben defensively. “By his own admission he knew all about his wife’s little excursions into the male population, though why she couldn’t have been happy with one or two of their naked customers is beyond me.”

“Don’t be daft, Reuben. I’ve learned one thing the hard way, and that is you don’t drop stinky doo-doos on your own doorstep! The truth of the matter is you had then, and still don’t have, one scrap of evidence that puts William Hampton anywhere near the beach where poor Mr Stokesey’s head was battered to Kingdom Come. And talking of Kingdom Come, have you done what I suggested and taken a peek at the sweet old Reverend Candice who charges everywhere on that mobility machine of his?”

“He’s got nothing to do with this enquiry, Trayda. I don’t know what it is about you, but you seem to have a deep suspicion of people who by all accounts are good and decent and God-fearing.”

She glared at him. “Is that what you really think, Reuben? I used to think you were better than that! The fact of the matter is the murder was committed in a closed community. There are very few people who hang around that corner of creation except holiday makers, and yet two of the locals are mobile enough to go anywhere they choose without being noticed. One of them is the guy who found the body, the man who spends half his life walking his dog and perving at naked ladies playing tennis, and the other is the Reverend Arthur Candice. Everyone else seems to keep himself to himself.”

“Yes, but what possible motive could he have?” almost sneered Reuben.

“I don’t know. Have you asked him?” asked Trayda.

“Look, ex-boss, I haven’t got time to chase up ever Tom, Dick and Harriet who just might have had an opportunity to do the deed. My money’s still on Mr Hampton, and when I get my hands on some evidence I’ll have him.”

“Then would you mind if I had a little word with his Reverence? And maybe another chinwag with Mr Tiny and his charming dog? Oh, and if you release the grandfather I might like to ask him what he was doing on the night in question.”

“He’s surely in the clear? He’s too busy stabbing perverts who he reckons killed his grandson for me to believe he had anything to do with the murder.”

“Every window should be looked through and every door should be opened,” chided Trayda, “now if you’ll excuse me, Angela and I are popping into the pub for our lunch and to get an eyeful of a couple of lads that Angela wants to rescue from their world of Bingo widowhood and give them a taste of the good life.”

oo0oo

Tony Babbage and Denny Twist were sitting quietly in the bar of the Shell and Cockle when Trayda and Angela walked in, and much to their mutual surprise the elderly vicar was propping up the bar with a glass of something that looked suspiciously like brandy in front of him.

“Hello ladies!” exclaimed the two men whilst the vicar glanced their way and proceeded to finish his drink rather quickly as if he suddenly remembered he should be somewhere else.

“Been nice meeting you again,” he said to the two men, and then he made his way to the door. “See,” he grinned at Trayda, “I’ve not got my transport with me today. I can walk!”

And with that he vanished from their sight. They heard the door of the pub swing to, and watched him through the window as he walked swiftly towards the fairground.

“Did I hear him say he’d met you before?” asked Trayda, indicating the departing figure.

“Oh Candice? Yes, years ago,” nodded Tony Babbage, “when we were nippers we were choristers in his church choir. It wasn’t round here, of course. He wasn’t a bad egg back then. Almost had me convinced there must be a God after all!”

“You reckon he might be a bad egg these days?” asked Trayda, “if you point out that he wasn’t a bad egg back then,” she added by way of explanation.

“Nah, didn’t mean that at all. But he’s getting on a bit, isn’t he? He was kind of ancient when we were nippers, and that’s a fair few years ago.”

“He was a kind man,” put in Denny Twist, “and there was one kid, what was his name, Tone?”

“You mean the one whose mum died? Yes, I forget his name all right, but it was sad. Apparently she had a massive heart attack even though she wasn’t any older than I am now. Story was, he tried to save her because he was there. I don’t know why that was, but there were rumours that he was having an affair with her, him being a single vicar and she being on her own with a kid.”

“And she was one of his parishioners?” asked Angela.

“Must have been. The kid was in the choir with us. I forget his name, but it’ll come to me sooner or later. Apparently old Candice tried to resuscitate her. You know, pummelled her chest and tried the kiss of life. He was quite cut up about it, apparently, and the kid came along and caught him doing it and jumped to the wrong conclusion. Thought he was killing her rather than doing the opposite.”

“That’s right,” agreed Denny, “there was quite a lot of talk about it back then. But even so old Candice opened his home to the kid, gave him a proper home and everything was okay until he, the kid that is, was, what, about fifteen?”

“About that age,” agreed Tony.

“Then he brought it all back again. Started talking at school as how he’d seen the Reverend actually strangling his mum, and beating her to death. Apparently he’d been storing it up since it happened, and you know what it’s like when you store things up in your head? It becomes different, sort of Chinese whispers only all inside your head. Anyway, soon after that the kid, I wish I could remember his name, had an accident with a tea strainer and a current bun. I’ve always thought that was odd, but apparently he was trying something weird and the tea strainer got caught up with the current bun down his throat, and the poor sod choked to death.”

“That,” whispered Angela, “is the saddest story I’ve ever heard.”

“There was an enquiry and they wanted to know how come he was allowed to do something as weird as what he’d apparently been doing without being stopped, but Candice was exonerated. He couldn’t have done one thing to stop the stupidity because he was in the church with a mother’s group.”

“Discussing contraception,” added Tony, “though what a single vicar knows about contraception was always beyond me.”

“He was at it with the kid’s mother until she died,” pointed out Denny. “Can’t blame him, though, A man needs … you know.”

“To be a Bingo widower?” asked Trayda with a smile. “Tell me, what did the boy who died look like?”

“Oh, he was an ordinary sort of kid with ordinary hair and pretty much an ordinary face. He was white, if that helps.”

“Yes,” grinned Tony, “and he always wore United blue shorts and footie shirt. Always, winter and summer alike. He worshipped United, he did.”

“That was his only fault,” nodded Denny. “Another glass, ladies? On us?”

”Go on then,” grinned Angela, “what do Bingo widowers do when it all gets too much for them?”

“Now that would be telling,” laughed Tony.

© Peter Rogerson 07.04.19