5. THE CONSTABLE CALLS

Christie’s Detective Agency Part 5

“Well, what did you make that all that?” asked Jennifer as she slouched back in her chair with a styrofoam cup of coffee in front of her.

“Interesting,” replied Horace, thoughtfully.

“What do you mean?” frowned his employer.

“Well, if we’re looking for a motive for murder, I’d say jealousy isn’t enough,” he said thoughtfully. “I know I’ve not exactly had experience of such things, being a bit on the young side,” he added, “but when I was a nipper in my second year at secondary school I had a crush on Penny Oldfoot before she became known as the school bike. It was my first ever crush on anyone and I’d have done anything for her. Then along came a third form Romeo and she went off me and onto him. I might have thumped him if he’d not been twice my size, but I had some brains and ran away. Yet I wouldn’t have killed him even though my soul was mortally wounded and I even shed a few tears.”

“I bet you were an ardent lover in your short pants!” she laughed.

He grinned at her. “It wasn’t the nineteen sixties,” he said, “we did wear proper trousers, you know!”

“Of course I know,” she smiled, “and I agree with you. But to me it seems a strange set-up, a choirmaster having to leave his home just because he thinks his wife is having a ding-dong with the window cleaner! Surely he’d sort his domestic problems out without doing anything as drastic as uprooting himself. No, I rather suspect there’s more to that story than we’ve been told, but as it probably has nothing to do with Mr Stubbs falling off a ladder I think we’d better leave it at that.”

“When I was at Sunday School Mr Saint Maurice played the organ when we sung,” mused Horace. “I didn’t like Sunday School much, but I did like singing! Anyway, even back then it struck me that he acted as if he didn’t have a home to go to. He’d hang around afterwards talking to anyone who’d listen to him, mostly parents who’d come to meet their kids, and he was always the last off the street.”

“Yet his wife seemed quite charming,” murmured Jennifer.

“And some might say pretty,” nodded Horace.

“So she got to your hormones, did she?”

“Hey, just a minute! She’s probably older than my mum!”

There was a lull in their conversation during which there came the sound of heavy feet on the stairs, and then after a cursory knock the door was pushed open.

“Why, hello Bob!” exclaimed Jennifer.

P.C. Bob Grungeworthy breathed quite heavily as he recovered from climbing the stairs.

“I told your dad these stairs’d be the death of me one day,” he said as he lowered himself into a chair without being invited to.

“They keep us fit,” Jennifer told him, “but Bob, let me introduce you to my new side-kick, Horace. He’s proving a useful addition to our team here at Christies.”

“I’ve hardly started!” protested Horace.

“Stars shine all the brighter when they’re new stars,” smiled Jennifer, “but I’m sure Bob hasn’t come to add to the Horace Sorsse Praising chorus. So what can we do for you, Bob?”

“It’s the vicar,” the constable began hesitantly, “he’s been on to me to check you out! Seems you’ve been asking unwanted questions about the Stubbs accident.”

“It hasn’t taken him long to put his roof fund collection tin to one side and scratch his head over a dead window cleaner,” Jennifer said quietly, “but we’ve every right to ask questions, Bob. It seems the late lamented’s good lady isn’t convinced it was an accident.”

“Well, we looked at it and decided that’s exactly what it was grunted the officer. “Pu it like this, the ladder was unsafe, probably illegal, and the man fell off it. End of story.”

“Now that’s what worries us,” replied Jennifer, “it seems most unlikely that a man with his experience is going to actually fall to his death from a ladder he knows like you know the back of your hand. And his widow has the idea that someone’s covering something up. Not you. Bob, I’m sure, but someone.”

“Well, I was first on the scene after the vicar,” the constable told her, “and what I saw was a man who’d fallen quite accidentally off his ladder from a great height and landed on concrete, head first. And the pathologist agreed, said everything was consistent with a fall off a ladder from the second floor window. The coroner ruled accidental death, and everyone’s happy.”

“Except for Beryl Stubbs,” put in Horace, “she isn’t happy at all and she’d like a full explanation how the lover of her life came to such an end. That’s all. Calling it an accident is all right and probably the proper thing to call it, but accidents often have a cause, and Mrs Stubbs wants to know exactly what caused her husband’s. And I reckon she’s got every right to ask the question and its up to the rest of us to give her the answer.”

“Oh, she’s nothing!” snapped Bob, turning in his chair to face Horace, “a daft woman, that’s alls he ever was.”

Jennifer intervened. “You see, Bob, I’ve got Horace with me here, and he’s quite right.Let’s imagine for a moment that your Hilda came to an unexpected end, what would you do if you weren’t given a satisfactory explanation?”

Bob Grungeworthy nodded slowly. “I do get you,” he replied after a lengthy pause for thought, “and I know that you’re right. The woman’s heart-broken, as I’d be if anything happened to Hilda”

“So we’re going to do what we can to answer her questions,” continued Jennifer, “it’s why we’re here. We can take more time to weight things up than you down at the overworked and understaffed station can. And in the end we’ll probably come to exactly the same answer, but Beryl will know we’ve looked at it every way we can and asked more questions than the local bobby can think of.”

“Like why is there a tin of axle grease by the wall next to where the ladder was placed,” put in Horace.

“Er … yes,” muttered Jennifer, who’d forgotten there had been any sort of tin anywhere near.

“I didn’t notice it,” grunted Bob, “but then I wouldn’t, would I?”

“Of course not,” soothed Jennifer.

“He was a good man, was old Bill,” sighed Bob, “He’d got an eye for the ladies, but there was no harm in him.”

“So I believe,” nodded Jennifer.

“So if there’s anything I can say or do, any little bit of info seeing as I was first on the scene, then I’d be happy…” offered the elderly police constable.

“There is one thing,” put in Horace, “what would be really useful is if we could get an eye on the official reports of the accident. You know, pathologist’s report, police investigation, that sort of thing.”

Bob nodded slowly. “I tell you what, seeing as it’s harmless and all done and dusted. I’ll see if I can slip a few bits of paper into the photo copier when nobody’s looking.” He winked, and added, “the Super’s doing it all the time!”

“That would be a real help,” exclaimed Jennifer, “I always said you were a diamond, Bob!”

The constable, helmet in hand, stood up. “I’ll tell the vicar that you’re just earning a few coppers to put the old lady’s mind at rest,” he said. “Well, I must be off. Duty calls. And I’ll drop a few bits of paper in here some time soon.”

“Your reward will come in heaven,” Jennifer assured him.

© Peter Rogerson 14.09.21

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