8.THE VCOTTAGE IN THE WOODS Part 8

Inspector Greengage has ideas of his own

THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS

8. Where did she get the Gun?

By the time that Enid and Anthony were actually in the police station, they were invited to wait for a senior policeman in an interview room, which all seemed to be very serious and because of the sterile nature of the room, almost Dickensian. Neither of them had any idea how anything they’d seen could anyway help the police with their enquiries.

They didn’t have long to wait before Inspector Greengage made his way in.

He was a serious man who had probably never told a joke to anyone, ever. His mouth told them that. It may have been because he was the senior investigating policeman and therefore had seen some dreadful things in his many years in the police force and, being close to retirement himself, had long since lost the optimism that had marked his youth. Now he sat opposite them at a table that bore signs of what must have been a century of wear, and tried to smile. But such facial aberrations were alien to him and the overall impression was a scowl.

“I am in charge of this case,” he said in a voice that was prone to squeaking.

Unsure as to what he treally meant the two teenagers remained silent before Anthony braved the question that was on both of their minds.

“What case?” he asked.

That miserable distortion of his features in lieu of a smile once again, and, “the murder of an unknown person in Huckleberry Cottage in Brumpton Woods,” he replied with sufficient gravity to freeze their hearts.

After what seemed a dangerously long pause, Enid ventured, “I didn’t know that was what it was called.”

“It’s on the deeds,” Inspector Greengage told them.

“Oh,” muttered Enid, not really sure what he meant by deeds.

“The owner of the property, Miss Ada Winterbotham was murdered there and I wanted o ask you a couple of questions as you’re witnesses.”

“What? To a murder that might have happened ten years before we were born?” asked Anthony.

“That’s rather silly,” added Enid in support of the boy, “we can’t possibly have witnessed what happened, so how come we’re witnesses?”

“You didn’t,” confirmed Inspector Greengage unnecessarily, “it would take a very stupid person to suggest that you did.”

“But you called us witnesses,” protested Enid.

He nodded slowly. The logic of what she was saying made him take an instant dislike to the two of them. In his mind if he called someone or something by a particular name, then that is what that person or thing was for perpetuity. It made life easier and he had long ago worked out that if you remove awkward unnecessary complexities from things they immediately become considerably more simple. So these teenagers, to his mind, were witnesses even thought they couldn’t have witnessed events gthat occuured before their lifetimes, so witnesses they would remain.

“Do you think that Miss Winifred Winterbotham shot her mother dead?” he asked.

“No,” replied Enid, but Anthony gave the question a little more consideration.

“It’s possible. We didn’t see what happened. Our parents hadn’t yet mated,” he said, making use of a recent lesson at school in which human reproduction was the main topic, combined with advice as how to avoid it. This was a topic he planned to discuss with his parents who already had a large family and he rather suspected that his mother might be pregnant again.

“Meaning?” asked Inspector Greengage of Anthony.

“The sperm hadn’t yet met the egg, so I hadn’t been conceived,” he said, thoughtfully, though Enid found it amusing and had to stop herself from giggling.

“Very erudite of you,” replied the Inspector who decided that if it was at all possible he’d fit this mouthy boy up for the murder and see how he liked the prospect of spending the better part of his life behind bars.

“We can’t possibly know anything,” Enid pointed out to him.

“But you were close friends with the younger lady, Winifred Winterbotham?” said the Inspector, as if it was a proven fact and almost suggesting that friendship per se must involve them in being part of physical deeds that occurred anywhen in the past.

“Not exactly friends,” said Enid, defensively, “we only saw her twice, once and then when we went with Constable Pierce the next day.”

“And what was the nature of that friendship?” he asked as if what Enid had said meant nothing.

“It was her telling us to leave her alone and then threatening us with a gun,” Anthony said.

“And telling us she was scared of Nazis,” added Enid.

“She seemed to think the second world war was still raging and that just about everyone was in cahoots with the enemy,” explained Anthony.

“Oh dear. That’s impossible,” announced Inspector Greegage, “there’s no way she lived almost eighty years without knowing that the war had ended. There’s radio and television… she must have seen or heard a lot about it. And when she went to school. Don’t they still teach modern history in schools any more?”

“There’s no radio or television in, what did you say it was called? Huckleberry Cottage? And she said she never went to school,” explained Enid with a trace of impatience in her voice, “it was as if she and her mother dropped out of all records years and years ago. Anyway, we’ve told you all we know.”

“Not quite, young lady, not quite indeed! I believe a weapon was discharged? One that sent a missile into the kitfhen sink and shattered it? One that might have hurt or even killed anyone within range of it?”

“But she didn’t mean to!” protested Anthony, “she was always pulling that trigger and all it did was click. And then, that once, it went off with the loudest bang I’ve ever heard. But she didn’t know that would happen. She didn’t mean to fire it. You must have seen her and noticed what she’s like.”

“Some vicious killers can put on quite an innocent face if they want to get away with murder,” growled the Inspector, “I’m not fooled by their antics. Playing the innocent doesn’t help them when they’re facing me, you can be quite sure of that.”

“I think that’s horrible,” murmured Enid.

“But it’s what keeps you safe on the streets, young lady! But I have one more question that you may be able to help me with. Assuming she shot her mother, years ago when she still knew what she was doing, where did she get the gun from?”

© Peter Rogerson, 19.01.23

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