The Wild Wood Enquiry (8 page)

Whippy rubbed her head against Miriam’s leg, and she responded with a biscuit from the cache she kept out of sight
of Gus. He was strict with his dog’s diet and would not have approved. Miriam stroked her velvety back and reflected that if she couldn’t have Gus to stroke, at least she could borrow his dog. She liked Whippy but was hurt by the dog’s reaction when on her own territory. Then she would bare her teeth and behave as if Miriam was a dangerous trespasser.

She looked at the kitchen clock and took off her apron. Time to go to Tawny Wings for the meeting with Enquire Within. She asked Rose if she would like to come, too, not expecting her to say yes, and she had refused, saying that David did not want her to be involved unless it was absolutely necessary. They had to think about the little boys and did not want them unduly alarmed.

Miriam had very little hope of police interest and squared her shoulders. It was to be a one-woman campaign, then. All the more reason for employing Enquire Within to take on the donkey work. And she intended to help. She knew she should not be excited about something as frightening as a murder but was quite convinced that this was what the half-hidden hand had meant, and she relished the challenge. The added bonus, she admitted to herself, was that Gus would see how clever she could be, and following on his bad experience with his ex-wife, he would be only too pleased to allow Miriam to look after him on a permanent basis.

She gently pushed Whippy out into the garden and locked her back door. Then, collecting the notebook in which she had detailed the discovery and disappearance of the hand, she set off for Tawny Wings.

THE FOUR TEAM members were settled in Deirdre’s upstairs office, and Ivy ran through once more what Miriam
had told her and Roy. “If you ask me, it’ll all turn out to be a storm in a teacup,” she said. “Probably a fallen branch with a twiggy bit showing.”

“A
twiggy
bit?” said Roy. “You couldn’t mistake twigs for a hand, surely?”

“Depends what the light was like,” Gus said. “It is surprising how deceiving things can be in a poor light. Rose saw it first, did you say? She’s a lovely girl but a little on the nervous side.”

“Well, we shall be able to ask Miriam,” Roy said. “I must say I was convinced by her story. There was the ring of truth about it.”

“Oh yes,” said Ivy, “she undoubtedly thought she was telling the truth. It’s not in Miriam Blake’s nature to be willing to shell out money unless she really believes in what she’s doing. But that doesn’t mean it was a real hand, severed or otherwise.”

Roy patted her arm, mildly reproving. “Perhaps best not to use that word, dearest, until we’ve talked to Miriam again.”

On cue, there was a firm knock at the front door, and Deirdre went off to admit their client.

“I’ve never been in your house before,” Miriam said chattily as she followed Deirdre upstairs. “It’s ever so nice. I know it’s not really old, but it looks like it, with all those beams and wood and stuff. You’ve got the best of both worlds, haven’t you?” She laughed. “Olde worlde and all mod con as well!”

Deirdre opened the office door, and said, “Here’s Miriam, everybody. You know all these people here, don’t you,” she added, as Miriam was suddenly struck down with a momentary shyness.

“Oh yes, of course I do,” she said.

“Why don’t you sit yourself down,” Ivy said, “and then Augustus and Deirdre can hear what you have to say. Roy and me have filled them in, but they’d like to hear it in your own words.”

“There’s more to tell since I saw you, Miss Beasley. Shall I begin at the beginning?”

Ivy looked at Gus and saw miserable apprehension in his face. Worrying about what she’s going to say about his ex-wife’s confidences, she thought. She decided to forestall Miriam and said would she please start at the point where she and Rose were going for a walk in the woods.

There were inevitable embellishments, and Ivy had more than once to interrupt and guide Miriam back on track. But on the whole, she gave a good, if dramatised, account of what had happened.

“And then, after I came to see you and Mr. Goodman,” she addressed Ivy, sensing that she was the boss, “I went in to the Budds, and Rose phoned the police. She was very clear an’ that, but it sounded a bit like we’d rehearsed it together, which we hadn’t. I always think it’s best if evidence is given spontaneously,” she said knowledgeably.

“Let’s get back to what the police said to Rose,” Ivy said.

“Not a lot,” Miriam answered. “Just thanked her and said if she saw anything more untoward in the woods, she was to telephone them. In other words,” she added, her voice rising to a crescendo, “they ain’t going to do nothing!” She sat back in her chair, folded her hands and looked expectantly at the others.

“You can understand their reaction,” said Gus quietly. “After all, if there was no trace of a hand, or anything attached to it, there was not a lot more they could do.”

“Except,” said Miriam, with emphasis, “it
had
been there! You can say what you like about joke hands and silly
games, but it was a real hand, a human hand, and that person was dead or I’m a banana.”

“Which you clearly are not,” said Roy soothingly.

“One thing,” said Deirdre. “I know you are certain, Miriam, but can you remember what the light was like in the woods? It was a sunny afternoon, but those big trees can shut out a lot of light.”

Miriam frowned. “I couldn’t swear to it, but when we were walking along, I remember Rose saying how pretty it all was, with the sun coming through the trees. Dappled sunshine, she said. But it wasn’t a shadow, I’m sure of that. We wouldn’t both have noticed a hand if it was a shadow, would we?”

“Did you see a wedding ring or anything particular on the hand?” Gus said.

“No, not really. I did look, because I always look to see if people are married,” Miriam said uncomfortably. “Not being married myself, an’ so on…”

“Of course. Naturally,” said Roy. “Very well considered, if I may say so.”

She looked gratefully at him. “I think that’s about all I can tell you. Except for one more thing,” she added, as if she had been saving the best until last. They all looked hopefully at her. At this stage, not one of them had a constructive thought how they could begin to investigate.

“On Friday night, around about eleven o’clock, I heard footsteps outside in the lane. I looked out of my bedroom window, and I saw a man. Tallish, with a lot of hair. He was going up towards the woods. Probably nothing, but I thought it was a bit odd. Hangman’s Lane is usually deserted after dark.”

“This tallish man with lots of hair,” said Deirdre, suddenly very interested, “did you see his face?”

“Not really,” Miriam said. “It was too dark. But there was moonlight, and I could see what looked like a bright white shirt under a black coat. Made me think it might have been somebody who’d been at the ball.”

“Was he carrying anything?” Deirdre asked. “Like a musical instrument or similar.”

“He was carrying plastic bags—you know, like supermarket carriers. I couldn’t see all that well. The moon went behind a cloud, and as you know, we’ve got no streetlights in the lane.”

Ivy sighed. “Well, that might be of some help,” she said, and looked around the others. “Any more questions for Miriam? Or shall we arrange to meet again, when we have considered what steps to take?”

“I can be available more or less any time,” Miriam said.

“Not you, not yet,” said Ivy firmly. “We have work to do now. We’ll be in touch.”

“And thank you so much for coming along,” said Roy, with a friendly smile. “I’m sure we shall be able to clear things up for you in due course. Good morning, my dear.”

After Deirdre had shown her out and come back up to join the team, Ivy said that if anybody asked her, she would say they might as well give up before they started.

“Oh no,” said Deirdre. “I think we’ve something very interesting to investigate. Just listen, Ivy, while I tell you about a man I met at the ball.”

AFTER ROY AND Ivy had gone back to Springfields, Gus stayed behind with Deirdre, and they talked some more. “Do you think they really saw a hand, Gus?” Deirdre said. “I reckon they convinced themselves, like people do, after they’ve had a fright. It could have been anything, perhaps an old rubber glove that had been left behind at blackberry time. I always wear gloves when I go blackberrying. Saves having purple fingers.”

Gus thought for a moment, and then said, “That does seem quite likely, sweetie, which is why I asked about a ring on the finger.”

“That would have made all the difference,” Deirdre answered. “Given us something to get our teeth into.”

“Mm,” said Gus. “Even so, she was so sure about it being a human hand, and Rose Budd, too. And, knowing Miriam as I know her, it just isn’t in character for her to offer to pay fees for us to investigate, if she isn’t sure of her
facts. The puzzle, as far as I can see, is
why
she is so keen to find out. Most of us would just shrug and say it was easily explained and forget it. We’ve had at least two good explanations of what it could have been, a shadow or a rubber glove.”

“Did either of them touch it? I can’t remember Miriam mentioning it.”

“No, she didn’t, but I can ask her. She’s sure to be round to see me later on, with an offer of something tasty.”

“Well, I’m still not convinced. But I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt and start working on the supposition that it was a murder and the body has been removed.”

“Meanwhile, I shall give some more thought as to why Miriam is so keen to pursue an investigation into something so unsupported by evidence.”

IVY AND ROY had come to much the same conclusions, except that Ivy’s doubts were stronger than Deirdre’s. “Still,” she said, as she walked beside Roy’s vehicle, “if she’s prepared to throw good money after bad, then the least we can do is to try and make some sense of what she has told us.”

They reached Springfields, and Ivy said she thought she would have a quick nap. “I often think better after a spot of shut-eye,” she said, and asked Roy to make sure she was awake in time to go down to lunch.

Stretched flat out on her bed, Ivy closed her eyes and let her thoughts wander. Much of what Miriam had told them this morning they already knew. The only new piece of information was her story of the man walking up Hangman’s Lane at eleven o’clock at night. Tallish, with a lot of dark hair, and wearing what sounded like formal evening
clothes. But eleven o’clock? Most people stayed at a ball until well after midnight. Deirdre’s account of her meeting with a saxophone player not wanting to meet Katherine Halfhide was interesting, but not necessarily connected, though the description sounded the same. And where was he going, up Hangman’s Lane with his supermarket shopping? There were no more houses after the Row, and he would soon come to the woods, which stretched on both sides for at least half a mile up the road.

Ivy began to doze. She dreamed she was at the ball, floating round the dance floor in a long evening frock, waltzing in Roy’s arms to the strains of Sid and His Boys. The last time she had tapped her foot to their rhythmic beat was when they came to play for an Olde Tyme Evening at Springfields, and she had thought them very polished and professional, considering Sid was a local tax officer and his Swingers had all seen the other side of fifty years old and came from Oakbridge.

Except one, thought Ivy, sitting up with a jerk. There had been one, playing a long curly silver thing with lots of buttons, and he was clearly not a plumber, nor was he any older than forty. He was tallish, with lots of dark hair, and was wearing a very smart dinner jacket, white shirt and black tie, not very appropriate for playing to old folks, half of them asleep, at Springfields.

“Ivy? Are you awake, my love?” It was Roy, of course, and Ivy woke up properly.

“Come in, do,” she said. “I am perfectly decent. All I need to do is put on my shoes, and then we can be off downstairs to lunch. There are good smells reaching up here, quite appetising for once.”

Roy came into her room, bearing a beautiful red rose, which he handed to her, going down shakily on one knee. “For you, Ivy dearest,” he said, and she smiled tenderly.

“You pinched it, out of our gaoler’s garden!” she said. “But thanks, anyway,” she added, planting a kiss on the top of his head. “I suppose you’d like a hand to get up?”

“I’m afraid so,” he said. “I may have been a bit rash, but we can always send for Katya.”

“Nonsense!” replied Ivy, putting her arm through his. “Up we come!”

To Roy’s amazement, he was hoisted to his feet with a strong lift. Ivy dusted down his trouser knees and said she hoped he would stay upright for any further romantic gestures he might have in mind.

When they were comfortably seated in front of plates of roast chicken and fresh peas, Ivy told Roy about her dream. “What do you think?” she said. “Could it be an omen? I believe in omens, you know. That man in Sid’s band answers exactly Miriam’s description of the nighttime stroller in Hangman’s Lane.”

“And there was something else,” said Roy, chasing a rolling pea around his plate with a fork. “Miriam mentioned he was holding supermarket carrier bags.”