9. TH COTTAGE IN THE WOODS Part 9

discovery is made about the bullet in the skeletonA

 THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS

9. The Bullet.

“I don’t use the sort of language I’d like to use when I think about him,” almost exploded Enid to Anthony when they were back on the street and on their way home.

“I’d say he was a bit of a swine,” agreed Anthony, “and I agree with you. He’s the sort of man who jumps to conclusions too easily.”

“As if old Winifred shot her mother!” exploded Enid, “when it looked like she didn’t even know she was dead!”

“Maybe she had her suspicions,” suggested Anthony nervously, “after all, that lousy inspector got one thing right: she did know how to pull the trigger on a gun!”

“But the way I saw it she had no idea what a gun is,” sighed Enid, “it was no more than a toy in her hands.”.

“Yet she almost shot one of us with it and if by accident the bullet had hurt or even killed you I’d willingly hang her from the nearest tree until she was as dead as that skeleton in the second bedroom.”

“Would you?” grinned Enid, “you are… I don’t know what to say… but you are!”

“What, I’m unspeakable?” he asked.

“Lovely,” she said, blushing, “if you’d do that for me, I mean.”

“This is getting embarrassing,” he whispered, “but you must know that I like you.”

“And I like you, quite a lot,” she smiled’

“Quite a lot,” he agreed.

“Ame,” she sighed, and she planet a tiny kiss on his cheek.

Then she became serious. “But the question Big Head Inspector left us with is where did she get the gun from? I mean, if I wanted a gun, which I don’t, but if I wanted one I wouldn’t have a clue where to get one from, not a real one anyway.”

He nodded. “I had a cap gun when I was a nipper, but no way could that do anything more scary than make a noise. And not a noise anything like a real gun makes.”

“She was always on about her mother and an enemy that scared the life out of her,” reminded Enid, “what about this for a theory/ Theycahaned tore cornered in their little cottage by a vicious Nazi and somehow they wheedled his gun from him. That might explain her fear of Nazis as well as the presence of a gun.”

“Could be” acknowledged Anthony, “except enemy soldiers were said to be really well trained and back then and it would be unlikely that the old woman, on her own, would have been able to put up a fight when she had a baby to look after. Because, if you think about it, our old lady, Winifred Winterbotham, would have been a tiny baby if a stormtrooper came this way.”

Meanwhile, back in the police station Winifred Winterbotham had been taken to the interview room and sat in a chair. When asked if she wanted the help of a solicitor she hadn’t the remotest idea what the question meant and moaned, shaking her head.

Inspector Greengage was quite happy that the old women meant that she didn’t want legal help, but PC Felicia Ruby, fresh from the horrors of the cottage in the woods, was sitting next to the Inspector.

“A word, Inspector,” she asked.

“What is it, Constable?” he barked.

“I’m sorry, sir, but she didn’t mean she didn’t want a solicitor,” she said, “because she has no idea what a solicitor is.”

“Rubbish Constable!” snapped Inspector Greengage, “I Know that she knows perfectly well what a solicitor is because everyone knows. So stop interfering. You’re only here because you’re female and not because you know a murderer when you see one.”

“I know a pathetic old woman who’s lived on isolated life for seventy or more years and the only conversation she ever had over all that time was with a deceased mother,” said Felicity tactfully.

“Who she shot!” snapped Inspector Greengage, aware that this interruption to what he intended to be a triumphant questioning leading to a tearful confession was being recorded.

“Sir, we don’t know that,” sighed the Constable, nervously aware that she was being a tad too brave bearing in mind the reputation that Inspector Greengage had accumulated over a long career, and “we’re here to establish that,” she added.

“You will leave this room now, Constable!” he barked, “I am right and you are wrong and that’s the way it’s going to be!”

Constable Felicia Ruby couldn’t believe the attitude of her superior officer, but did as he said with the kind of expression on her face that illustrated her disbelief and that Inspector Greengae took as dumb insolence and decided to report it to the Superintendent as soon as he could. Whether Superintendent Partridge would take any real notice is a moot point: his entire attitude was based on a need to keep his seat at whatever cost to others and prevent any unnecessary boat-rocking.

There was to be good news for both the prisoner Winifred Winterbotham and Constable Ruby so sooner had the latter cast a scowl back at her superior and stomped towards the Incident room.

“Felicia,” called a voice.

It was Doctor Henry Grimm, the pathologist, who was making his way to report a curious find to the Inspector. He knew tha Constable largely because, despite not being the most handsome man in the Universe, he thought of his admittedly dumpy self he as a desirable object so far as the female gender ought to be concerned, and had taken a liking to Felicia whenever their paths crossed, whch asn’t often enough for him.

“Sir?” she asked.

“Henry, as I keep telling you,” he childed, “like that king who lopped off the heads of an inordinate number of wives.”

“Sir?” she repeated.

“Any idea where Inspector Greengage might be hiding?” he asked.

“He’s in the interview room stitching up an old woman,” replied Felicia.

“Then what I have discovered might interest him and possibly her more,” grinned Dr. Grimm, “will you tell him, or shall I?”

“I’m not flavour of the month, so you choose, Henry, she said.

“I’ll tell you first, and you can pass it on to him if it does you any good,” smiled the doctor, “you might choose to tell him that the bullet we found with the skeleton remains of Ada Winterbotham can’t have killed her because, and here’s the thing, it had never been fired! At a guess, and it’s only guesswork from now on because of the deterioration of the lady’s remains, probably because a loving daughter sat too close to her when they were debating the afterlife together, but the bullet I dug out of the shattered bones was just a harmless piece of metal. It had never been fired and therefore couldn’t have done her any harm.”

“I’ll tell him,” smiled Felicia, happy at the idea she might spoil the Inspector’s day.

“Enjoy!” winked the doctor, wondering if he should invite her for a drink and a cosy after work, and deciding to leave it for the time being. Let the girl have her moment first!

Felicia knocked the door to the Interview room and without waiting to be invited in opened the door just as she heard the Inspector tell the unhappy woman sitting opposite him that he knew she had shot her mother, it was the worst thing a daughter could possibly do, worse even than swearing in church, and what’s more it carried a heavy jail sentence.

“Sir,” hissed Felitia.

“What now?” barked the Inspector darkly, hating the obvious good looks of the wretched constable.

“Doctor Grimm wanted me to tell you that the bullet in the skeletal remains of Ada Winterbotham has never been fired so it can’t have been the cause of her death.”

Inspector Greengage stared with disbelief at the Constable.

“Go away!” he barked, “and you never told me that!”

“Yes sir,” smiled Felitia, knowing he might not have wanted to hear it but his prisoner certainly had. She had noticed out of the corner of her eyes the little smile that appeared for a moment on the old woman’s face when she said it.

© Peter Rogerson 21.01.23

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