Jurij Korybut, space cadet

 remember I was messing around with the idea of a graphic novel?  well, I've been playing with cartoon style on Night Cafe. The story starts at the bottom and goes to the top; I can't flip it without rearranging every pic.  Anyway, here's the collection if anyone wants to take a look. It's in the 'Happy Jurij' universe at an unspecified sf time period. I'm adding to it as and when. I shall probably turn it into a novel novel sometime perhaps with some of the pics in it.

 

https://creator.nightcafe.studio/collection/pM4mosCTFHngFLKADL6p?ru=CardinalBiggles 

lies in lashbrook 15

 

Chapter 15

 

Alexander stood at the graveside. The Girl Guides had turned out in uniform to follow the coffin of Irma; and the Braithwaite family had come in solidarity.  Alexander could not see anyone there for Violet Savin except her husband. Theodore Savin was sobbing quietly. He had already received a phone call from Superintendant Barrett confirming that Savin had been in the office all day and had not taken French leave at any time.

Alexander put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Thanks,” said Theodore. “I appreciate it.”

“I need to ask you for help with Irma’s diary but it will do on Monday,” said Alexander. “After the inquest.”

“God! There’s that, too,” said Theodore.

“Hang on there,” said Alexander. “I take it you had no trouble from work about taking time off?”

Theodore snorted.

“I’m being docked pay.  Having close relatives die is an inconvenience to the firm, and I am made to understand it. But then, I have less to spend it on, so why should I care? Sometimes I have the mad thought of sending in my resignation, but I’m not sure where I would go or what I would do.”

“I understand,” said Alexander. “You have been working hard for your daughter, to give her a good start in life.”

“Yes, you understand,” said Theodore. “I could probably live on my savings if I invested wisely; I don’t need to be beaten down by my superiors. And if I spent them on living, Vera has no chance of challenging any will I might make and getting any of it.”

“I should think there’s no challenge if you left it to your niece and nephews; but don’t let your mind drift towards an early grave for yourself, it’s not healthy,” said Alexander.

“I’ve precious little left to live for,” said Theodore.

“Nine out of ten people who try to commit suicide bungle it badly,” said Alexander. “Then it becomes my job because it’s illegal, and I hate having to arrest people who have crippled themselves or who are dying slowly and painfully because they got an overdose wrong. Please don’t become one of my clients.”

“You know, that’s a more powerful argument than to say that it’s wrong, or that I should find something to live for,” said Theodore. “Really, so many people bungle it?”

“Oh, hell, yes,” said Alexander. “If you overdo an overdose, your body can reject it but still be damaged. If you try to hang yourself and get the knot wrong, someone might easily cut you down, jumping off buildings or bridges can make a mess of your bones without necessarily killing you, so there you are, just as miserable, but stuck in a wheelchair and needing someone to change your underwear when you have accidents because you can’t feel what’s going on down there....”

“Stop! I won’t try,” said Theodore. “I was considering the drowning machine, like Al.”

“At that, if you don’t get the angle right, you can be spat unceremoniously out of it, battered but alive,” said Alexander, mendaciously. It could rarely happen that people survived a drowning machine of a weir, but it was unlikely. However, if it kept Theodore hanging on to life and ready to rebuild, he would lie about it. “Violet may not have been a good wife to you, but there are other women out there.”

“I still loved her, you know,” said Theodore. “I got angry with her often, but I still loved her. I’ll think about it, but not yet.” 

“A word of advice?” said Alexander.

“I’ll always listen.”

“Don’t turn Irma’s room into a shrine,” said Alexander. “Get some of her friends to clear it, and each take a memento. Then you’ll know she will be remembered, but without letting it consume you. Maybe let out the room to students, it’s close enough to Oxford that someone who can’t afford to live in the city would be glad of it, and it would give you some company in the evening”

Theodore nodded.

“I’ll think about that; thank you,” he said. “And a small fee for the room would supplement my income if I left work, which I believe I might.  I did all the work in the garden, I’ve half a mind to set up as a gardener-handyman.”

“If you need a loan for equipment, I’m willing,” said Alexander. “And as our gardener at Heywood Hall is disobliging if it doesn’t involve his idea of seasonal planting, I imagine I’ll be a customer and willing to help out with some of the ideas I have for the place.”

“Well, then! I’ll go back to work next week, after the inquest, to put my affairs in order, which should not take longer than Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, then it’s bank holiday Friday and Monday for Easter, and I’ll call in my resignation on Tuesday third of April,” said Theodore. “I can almost hear Irma approving, she said I gave too much of myself for too little appreciation.”

“And maybe your first job can be for the parish in cutting down those damned bushes on the river walk,” said Alexander. “And that an act for Irma, too.”

“I’ll do that for free over the weekend,” said Theodore. “Gladly and willingly. I don’t want anyone else’s little girl killed in what should be plain sight.”

Alexander hid a smile of satisfaction; he had hoped that Theodore might feel that way, and would distract himself in hard work.

Theodore went to have a word with Mrs. Marion Squires, Maggie’s mother, thanking her and the Girl Guides for turning out, and asking if the girls would care to help strip Irma’s room, taking a keepsake and any clothing they fancied.

“Well, now, Mr. Savin, that’s generous,” said Mrs. Squires, who also answered to ‘Captain’ or ‘Cap.’ “We usually meet on a Tuesday, perhaps though it’s holiday we could have an extra meeting to help you out?”

“Certainly,” said Theodore. “I... I have no objection if the girls would like a bonfire in the garden as well, and I can get in some potatoes and sausages to wrap in foil to bake. Irma loved cook-outs.”

“Well, that’s very generous of you,” said Mrs. Squires. “I’ve a new child, one of eight children and the only girl, her parents farm; could I ask for Irma’s uniform for her? It will be a little large, but she can grow into it.”

“Certainly, and her Girl-Guide handbook, too,” said Theodore. “And her camping handbook; together that’s five bob. Not easy for a poor family to find.  And if there’s anything that the child needs to buy and cannot, let me fund it so she does not feel humiliated.”

“You are all that is good.”

“I recall Irma learning the rules, and that a Guide is a friend and a sister to all guides. I would do as much if Irma had had a sister.”

“I think Irma would be very pleased,” said Mrs. Squires, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief.

Theodore also shook hands with all the Braithwaites, a wordless exchange in which all exchanged more than could ever be said. He accepted a hesitant invitation from Braithwaite to take pot luck with them for lunch. Alexander was glad; though he had no objection to inviting Theodore back with him, he was hoping that Jeff and Tim would be at Heywoods Hall for lunch, with a budget of news they could talk about more freely concerningVera Tweedie-Banks than they might in front of her cousin and neighbour.

 

 

Tim greeted Mary and Ruth a bit self-consciously, and flushed when he would have reached for a knife and fork whilst Jeff murmured a grace. Alexander and Ida were used to Alexander’s father saying grace, and if Jeff was willing to do it, they accepted it.

Alexander carved the leg of mutton which Mary had served, passing down slices to the women first, and including Millie in that, and then the men.

“We could do with two sets of cruets, really,” said Alexander. There were nine of them at the table with Gladys and Campbell.

“I’ll get another set out,” said Mary, standing up.

“It’ll do next time,” said Alexander. “We shall just have to plaintively ask for the mint sauce.”

“Oh, now that is in two bowls, Mr. Alexander; the one at your end is hiding behind the potatoes.”

“There now, couldn’t see for looking,” said Alexander, cheerfully. “But I can smell it and it’s tantalising me. Let us do justice to this before giving up your budget of news; thank you, Mary, for filling the inner policeman at midday after a hard morning.”

“I did think that going to a funeral or going to court were equally depressing tasks in need of cosseting,” said Mary.

“I’ll take a funeral every day,” said Alexander. “Assuming they are not bad people, you know where they’re going, which isn’t necessarily true when up before the beak.”

“Mr. Alexander!” said Mary.

Alexander grinned unrepentantly.

“Vi Savin isn’t bad enough to go down, and Irma, poor child, had little opportunity to sin much in this life. Sorry, I’ve been talking Theodore out of suicide, and it makes me facetious when trying to cope with it.”

“What’s suicide?” asked Millie, with devastating clarity. There was a very loud silence.

“Well, Millie,” said Jeff, “It’s really a very grown up thing when grown ups are very sad, and they want to go to sleep for ever and ever and not get on with life.”

Millie digested this.

“I wouldn’t like to do that,” she said.

“No, it doesn’t really solve any problems,” said Jeff. “But that’s one thing policemen are for, to help people to manage without it.”

“Oh!” said Millie. “Can I....”

“May I,” corrected Ruth.

“May I have more peas, please?” asked Millie.

“Goodness, more?” said Ruth, spooning some out for her daughter. “Considering you were eating them raw all morning, while you helped me shell them, I’m surprised you have room.”

“I like peas,” said Millie.

“How do we have peas in late March?” asked Alexander. “These taste fresh, not canned and if Millie has been shelling them....”

“The forcing-house,” said Mary. “We have year round cucumber, too.”

“It works on waste heat from the kitchen and laundry,” said Campbell. “And a southerly aspect carefully angled for the best sun.”

“Well, that stopped a tirade of mine in its tracks,” said Jeff. “Actually, I love the luxury and I’m not going to be a hypocrite about it.”

“It’s not too far to commute by train,” said Alexander. “I’m thinking of taking up cycling so I can take my bike by train into London, and living here if I’m not tied up late on a case.”

“I haven’t cycled in years since I came out by bike to the cottages,” said Jeff. “My backside is still complaining.”

“I haven’t cycled since I was on the beat,” said Alexander. He cocked his head, hearing a loud bicycle bell. “It’ll be good for us.  Now, I can hear the ice-cream man, which I asked to call, so as you’ve finished eating, Millie, perhaps you will take a bowl out, and get a dozen good scoops of ice-cream and nine half-bars of Cadbury’s flake, and you can keep the tenth half flake for running the errand.”

“I’ll go and help her,” said Ruth, sliding off as her daughter took off on sturdy little legs. “She’ll never carry the bowl.”

“No, but I want little pitchers with big ears out of the room,” said Alexander. “Jeff can fill you in later.”

 

“And there’s not much to tell,” said Jeff. “She was expecting to be remanded on bail for the wasting of police time, and for being the poison-pen, and she did not take that well. Her solicitor told her to plead guilty to wasting police time and hope to get off with a fine, but no. She opened that big mouth of hers and told the judge he was a fool and in on a conspiracy to silence her from saying that she knew that Theodore Savin had killed his wife. Well, the beak asked us some questions regarding that, and I told him that Savin had an unassailable alibi which had been checked by Scotland Yard, and that the idea of him murdering his wife was purely in Mrs. Twiddly-bonk’s head. I did remember to call her Tweedie-Banks.”

“Just as well,” said Alexander.

“Yes, I was pleased with myself,” said Jeff.  “And she went on and on about vagrants in the police force eating out of dustbins, and I explained that we were looking for a diary which might contain clues; so she held forth about how there was nothing but squiggles. I told the judge that the girl was studying Pitman’s shorthand, and that breaking and entering to read her diary was part of our case against the accused. So she set up a screech and said it wasn’t breaking and entering if you knew where the key was hidden, and got cagey when the beak asked if she had permission to come and go at will, and asked if she was in the habit of doing this, and after some humming and hah’ing, she admitted it, and he said, ‘A persistent offender, then,’ and she called him an evil old bastard, begging pardon of the ladies, and the upshot was she was sent down for fifteen days for contempt of court, and when she shrieked more, he extended it to thirty days.”

“Did you get a search warrant?” asked Alexander.

“I did,” said Jeff. “This afternoon?”

“Might as well get it over and done with,” said Alexander. “Oh, look! Ice cream and flakes. Splendid!” as Ruth came in carrying the bowl. Millie’s mouth was suspiciously stained with chocolate.

The company tucked into vanilla ice cream with half a flake bar each, and when given permission to leave the table, Millie trotted off on her own small concerns.

“Back to the dustbins, I fear,” said Alexander.

“‘Lay on, Macduff, and cursed be he who first cries ‘hold! Enough,’” said Jeff.

“Have I ever told you about how my ancestor, the Bow Street Runner, tortured two actors into giving their testimony by mentioning Macbeth, or quoting from it every time they turned obstreperous?” asked Alexander.

“No, how did that work? Surely they knew the play,” said Jeff.

“Actors are as superstitious as sailors,” said Alexander. “And they have to go through a ritual of turning around and quoting from ‘Hamlet’ if anyone calls it by name, not ‘The Scottish Play,’ or who quotes from it.”

“How do they rehearse?”

“Apparently, that’s different,” said Alexander. “Tim, are you ready?”

The young policeman gave a shy grin.

“‘When shall we three meet again?’” he quoted.

Jeff and Alexander laughed.

“Now that would be a performance, the three witches all men in drag,” said Alexander. “I wonder if Fred would go for it?”

“If it has comedic value, Fred would go for it,” said Tim.

 

lies in lashbrook 14

 

Chapter 14

 

“I phoned my sister,” said Savin. “She’s willing to have me; I should have checked before, but she said she can find a bed for me.  Ronald and George -her sons, my nephews - are willing to share a room, which is kind of them.” He gave a hysterical giggle. "With 'Bicester' rhyming with 'sister' it's almost a lymerick... 'I once had a sister in Bicester, until a solicitor kissed her; he put aside deeds to marry with speed, and 'twas only then that I missed her.'" 

“Write it down; I expect Irma would have liked it. I am glad you have some family who can help,” said Alexander. The drive to Bicester was otherwise silent, until Savin murmured directions when they got there. He got out of the car with his old army kitbag.

“You forgot the teddy bear,” said Alexander, picking it up.  “He has pretty hard stuffing, doesn’t he?”

“Not the most comfortable to hug,” said Savin. “But he smells of my little girl. And I need that right now.”

“Understood,” said Alexander. He noticed that Savin had not wanted a keepsake of his wife. A woman came out of the house and hugged Savin, drawing him in, a girl of about twelve and two older boys, or really, young men, with her, surrounding their uncle, and chattering to him. Alexander drove away, and back to Lashbrook village.

Vera Tweedie-Banks was audible when he got to the police house.

“Goodness, Tim, what are you going to do with all that row?” Alexander asked.

“Go over to the Clene Shepe to sleep,” said Tim. “I can’t be expected to do my job if I don’t sleep and she isn’t going anywhere. It’s all mod cons, she has a toilet pan and a sink behind a screen, and I’ll leave food and water.”

“It’s not as if she’s in danger, after all,” said  Alexander. “If she isn’t the poison-pen, the real one has no reason to kill her, as she knows nothing, indeed, she lets him off the hook for a while, if I am right, though if the reasoning is to throw the blame on a female relative, then more letters have to be sent whilst she’s in custody.”

“I’m hoping she’ll shut up while we are at the autopsy,” said Tim. “The Hell! We shall have to have her at the inquest.”

“Have you got that booked?”

“Yes, can’t be done until Monday,” said Tim. “I asked for an official car and a policewoman to take her into Oxford for a preliminary hearing tomorrow. She’ll be up before the magistrate and she’s plainly guilty of wasting police time, and I’m hoping she will be held in contempt of court if she goes off on a tirade there. And I think there’s enough evidence to commit her to trial for being the poison pen and potentially a killer.”

“Make sure she has a solicitor,” said Alexander. “I am glad I’m on leave; I can’t cope with her.”

“I think her solicitor is old Benbow,” said Tim. “I’ll phone him up; he can talk through the bars while we’re at the inquest.”

“Fine,” said Alexander. “I don’t know him.”

“He’s a fussy little man who doesn’t take any nonsense,” said Tim, happily. “I want to write down for him any evidence that she may be the poison-pen.”

“Firstly, proximity to the two women killed, who claimed to know who the poison-pen was,” said Alexander, as Tim took notes.

“Maggie will type this up for me,” said Tim, his ears going red at his untidy writing. “She can use carbon paper for several copies, she’s very good.”

“An excellent help-mate,” said Alexander. “You should indent for the cost of her services; I’ll sign you off on it.”

“Really? If she can be paid that will really help,” said Tim.

“The government did not ought to rely on wives and girlfriends to work unpaid,” said Alexander. “Anyway, the lady has a record of criticising others, which could be a clue to her identity as the poison-pen.  Of course, many do swallow resentments and store them up, but she is a woman at this certain age when things can break out, and the poison-pen is lashing out at those to whom Mrs. Tweedie-Banks has no other opportunity of normal interaction.”

Tim hesitated over the spelling and Alexander took his pen to write in ‘interaction’ for him. Tim flushed and nodded thanks.

“And she admitted breaking and entering and looking for Irma’s diary,” he said. “Though she denies burning it.”

“I’m inclined to think that she did not, in fact, find Irma’s diary,” said Alexander.  “Mrs. Savin described it specifically as Morse Code, and I suspect Irma of using that since she learned it at Girl Guides.  Mrs. Tweedie-Banks described it as ‘dots, squiggles, and dashes.’ And what course was Irma taking?”

“Shorthand,” said Tim. “That could easily describe the Pitman shorthand outlines. Especially at the early stages where she is putting in dots for vowels to remind herself.”

“Quite,” said Alexander. “Now, I am hoping that whoever killed Mrs. Savin, and somehow I can’t see Twiddly-bonk using a kitchen knife, made the same mistake and burned Irma’s practice books. Come to think of it, I did not see any, and at the time, in my mind, her father had taken them with the course books, but why would he?”

“No, indeed,” said Tim. “So, the diary is still somewhere. But where? Not under the pillow or under the mattress, or even in the ottoman thing which Ida searched.”

“She ferreted about deep in the golf bag as well as checking inside all the books Irma thought she had grown out of but did not want to pass on,” said Alexander. “And the trinket chest. The drawers were all flung onto the floor so it was easy to check the backs and bottoms for anything taped onto them. Ida sounded every floorboard for a loose one. The walls are plaster, distempered, so nothing there.”

“I don’t know where she might have stuffed it,” said Tim, frustrated. “Perhaps the killer did find it, and burned the shorthand books as well, just in case.”

“Or burned earlier volumes with the shorthand books,” said Alexander. “You gave me a thought, though; I need to search one more place but I need Theodore Savin.”

“It won’t be up the chimney; there was a coal skuttle, so she’s used to have a fire there,” said Tim.

“I’ll keep my own counsel, if I may,” said Alexander. “I don’t want to upset Savin if I don’t have to.”

“I’ll see what I can come up with, too,” said Tim. “I think Ida checked any pockets in clothing.”

“She did, and seams in the dressing-gown,” said Alexander.

“It seems that Irma went to a lot of trouble to hide it; I wonder why,” said Tim.

“Well, for one thing, she was a rather romantic girl, who would see a secret diary as filled with romance,” said Alexander. “Moreover, we know her mother pried, or she would not have known that Irma began logging her thoughts in Morse.  And if Irma knew or suspected that Twiddly-bonk was in the habit of using the concealed back door key to poke around, even more reason to conceal the diary.  I would imagine a question Twiddly-bonk should be asked is whether this was the first time she had effected an entry, and whether she was in the habit of it, and if she did so in the houses of other neighbours.”

“Habit of breaking and entering won’t look good,” said Tim. “The neighbours on the other side are Miss Harmon and Miss Goodie; they’re... well, you know, but in a more regular way, a nice couple and no trouble. Though I believe Miss Goodie, who’s a large woman and none of it is fat, has been known to threaten Mrs. Tweedie-Banks.”

Alexander nodded. Their relationship was their own business, but having the aggressive Mrs. Tweedie-Banks interfering in it would not be helpful. If one of them was capable of enforcing their privacy, that would help.

“I don’t think the killings were about any kind of sexual frustration,” said Alexander. “I think Mrs. Tweedie-Banks uses her personality as intimidation rather than anything else. I doubt she did lust after either Savin woman, or she’d have shown it in more than just trying to overwhelm Violet as Savin described. Strangling can be a sex crime, but the efficiency and rapidity of the killings of Sally Braithwaite and Irma Savin suggest more a brutal expediency. As does a knife to the carotid artery. So, if the killer is a man, the same applies.”

“Thank goodness for that, I hate complications of love tangles,” said Tim. “So, purely protective of the identity; and I wonder if the killer had done anything else, maybe a foray into poison-pen writing which Sally knew about?”

“It’s a good hypothesis,” said Alexander. “And Sally might have found out something about Tweedie-Banks when she was her companion, so it does not let her out. And a ligature strangling does not need extraordinary  strength.”

“Stabbing, though....”

“And it was a sharp steak knife which I wager would slide in like it was hot butter,” said Alexander. “We have no idea how deep it went, as Savin pulled it out. It doesn’t have to go far to nick the carotid. But whoever did it would surely be covered in blood from the initial arterial spray.”

“If it was a man, and personable, there was nothing to stop him stripping, borrowing Savin’s dressing-gown, and taking it off while she sat there,” said Tim.

“Good grief! That’s... oh, well, maybe it’s my generation that finds it shocking,” said Alexander. “I blame Hollywood; it makes people think that licentious behaviour is normal.”

Tim blushed, but laughed.

“I think it’s a reaction to the war,” he said.

“It may well be, but I can still be shocked whilst acknowledging the feasibility of the idea,” said Alexander.

“It’s something we discussed as Boy Scouts,” said Tim, blushing more. “We were discussing murder – you know, as little boys do – and how police methods could find out more, and one of the other boys said that if you could kill someone when you were in the nude, you could wash off any blood and be in the clear.”

“Good grief! Who was that?”

“I’m sorry, I disremember,” said Tim. “I can’t have been more than fourteen so it’s almost ten years ago. It was dark, and we were telling lurid stories. You know.”

Alexander nodded. He knew! He had not been a Boy Scout himself, being just too old for it, but he had camped with friends and cousins. Ghost stories and lurid penny-dreadful type stories were part of camping.

“So, basically, we have opportunity; motive of a sort; and a woman of the right age,” said Alexander. “That she was interfering in an ongoing investigation could be seen as another way to divert suspicion.  If my instincts didn’t tell me it was wrong, I’d say it was a strong case to take to court. It’s certainly strong enough to ask for a warrant to search her home for the diary, in case she was lying, for bloodstained clothing, and for evidence of cutting out letters from newspapers. You sent them off to forensics, of course?”

“Oh! Yes. The lab boys laughed at me when I asked about finger prints. They found marks of eyebrow tweezers, which suggests a woman, but some men use them for moustache shaping, too. They were all from the Oxford Journal, which so many people take you can’t really check.”

“Well, at least we know what papers to flick through when we have somewhere to search,” said Alexander. “I want to get into Twiddly-bonk’s dustbins too.”

“We can get a search warrant when we have her before the beak tomorrow,” said Tim. “Right, I’ll leave Maggie typing that up, she said she’d be a guard while I’m out at the inquest. And I suppose I should sleep here tonight.”

“Probably,” said Alexander. “It’s unlikely that anyone would sneak in to do away with her... and by the way, I just thought.  Savin might be leading up to framing her.”

“He’s totally cut up about his daughter,” said Tim.

“True,” Alexander agreed. “Though someone else, the one who killed Sally, might still have killed Irma, if she threatened to accuse him.”

“As if it wasn’t complex already!” said Tim.

 

oOoOo

 

“Well, well, here we are again,” said Dr.  Hammond, cheerfully. “You always generate a lot of business for me, Inspector Armitage.”

“That sounds like I go around killing them,” said Alexander.

“I suspect you make things happen by spooking people,” said Hammond. “And dig out disguised murders, too.”

“And go disinterring composted bodies which had been moved, I know,” said Alexander.

“Well, this one is straightforward, adult healthy woman around forty, give or take a few years, bled out in minutes from the carotid artery, occasioned by a knife strike to the neck. There would be some considerable arterial spray at first but the wound-track shows it was thrust in deep enough for the hilt to block the spray. Presumably she knew the killer as there are no defensive wounds.”

“Well, now we can have the funeral at least,” said Dr.  Brinkley. “I was going to bury her daughter tomorrow; we might as well bury both together so Theodore only has to go through it once.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Alexander.

“We’ll be in Oxford,” said Jeff.

“I’ll represent the Yard,” said Alexander. “Well, I shall be glad to get home tonight.”

“I don’t mind that it’s your home, it’s comfortable,” said Jeff. “And I like the company.”

“So do I,” said Alexander. “But I’m having the boiler updated.”

Jeff laughed.

“Well, yes,” he agreed.

 

Lies in Lashbrook 13 cliffie bonus

 

Chapter 13

 

Alexander turned sharply to Savin.

“Have you been in your daughter’s room since her death?” he asked.

“Why, yes,” said Savin. “Both nights, I went and sat on her chair at her desk, and I talked to her. After all, she might be able to hear.”

“Did you search for her diary or disarrange anything?” asked Alexander.

“I didn’t even know she kept a diary,” said Savin. “She never mentioned it.  I did gather up her shorthand text books, and bundled them up; I took them into the school today on my way into work and asked if they could use them for a pupil who was having trouble affording them, and informed them officially of her death. They were appreciative. She had not written inside them,” he added, hastily. “I don’t permit her to do so, I’ll happily buy her any number of exercise books.”

Alexander nodded.

“Nothing else?”

“No... Oh! Yes. I picked up her teddy bear, because I couldn’t hug Irma ever again, and I took him into the guest room. I’ve been sleeping in the guest room since Irma... died.... because Vi and I quarrelled over it.”

“I told you! He quarrelled with her! He did it!” Mrs. Tweedie-Banks had pushed into the cottage.

Alexander spun round to face her.

“Madam, this is a crime scene. Please vacate the premises.”

“Not until you arrest him! Look, he’s been packing to leave!”

“Mr. Savin is leaving on my orders,” said Alexander. “Get out!”

“You can’t make me, and if you men hang together to cover it up....”

“You have the right to remain silent but any further words you use may be used in a court of law to your detriment,” said Alexander, fed up with her. “You are under arrest for wasting police time and interfering with evidence, and God help you if your pernicious nosiness meant that it was you who let yourself in to search Irma’s room!”

“And why shouldn’t I? I didn’t make a mess, but her diary was a load of patterns of dots, squiggles, and dashes and no use at all,” said Mrs. Tweedie-Banks. “You can’t arrest me! I haven’t done anything wrong! Arrest him!” she pointed at Savin, who flinched.

“Actually, you have done several things wrong, and have just moved to the top of the list as the suspect of writing the poison-pen letters and killing both Savin women, since your wearing of beach-pyjamas could lead to confusion over whether the killer was male or female,” said Alexander. “Lock her up, Tim, and we’ll have her arraigned in Oxford.”

“You can’t do this!” protested the woman as Tim snapped handcuffs on her. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“What a liar you are,” said Tim, with great pleasure. “Interfering in police work, breaking and entering, disturbing evidence with malicious intent; I should think you’ll get three months, and more if you run off your mouth to the judge.”

“I never heard anything so ridiculous! You’ll be sorry.”

“I already am, I have to listen to your farrago of nonsense in the cells, and walking there,” sighed Tim.

“Can you drive?” asked Alexander.

“Yes, I learned,” said Tim.

“Then you may borrow my car and bring it back when she’s locked up,” said Alexander. “Do the paperwork first, it will take a while to get this sorted out.”

“Gladys cycled over with me,” said Ida. “Just in case the killer thought we knew anything. She can go back with Tim so there’s a woman with the prisoner.” Mrs. Tweedie-Banks was led off, still protesting.

“What an irritant!” said Jeff. “But I am inclined to believe her when she said she made no mess,” he added. “She’d want to pry but not be caught at it.”

“I’m inclined to believe you,” said Alexander. “I don’t think she is the poison pen, but it will do no harm to treat her as if we believed that she was.”

“It might stop the real one from killing anyone else, as well,” said Jeff.

“It did cross my mind,” Alexander agreed. “Ida, is that a new dress?”

“I do love you, Alex,” said Ida, standing on her toes to kiss his nose. “No, it’s an afternoon dress from last year, made over for the new fashions. Jade is still in fashion, and I added side panels in cinnamon georgette as a contrast, with the same georgette rolled over cords to put a line around the neck and cuff, and three around the hemline, and very fiddly it was, and I said some naughty words that Jeff wouldn’t know that I learned from Basil, but I did most of it on the train. I thought about adding some beading at the base of the georgette but I thought it would over-egg the pudding.”

“Paint the lily and gild refined gold,” murmured Jeff.

“Yes, I knew a good Methodist would know the right quote,” said Ida. “I don’t think it’s overdone for an afternoon gown.”

“It isn’t,” said Alexander. “You look very fetching in it, and you’d better get back to your search before I’m tempted to fetch you. Show me the worst.”

Ida chuckled, then sobered, and ran upstairs. Irma’s room was one of the two back bedrooms with a sloping roof on one side, under which was set a low window, below the eaves rather than being a dormer, with two casements and a central section of four small panes which did not open. A low windowseat was built under it, on which a few ageing stuffed toys and a couple of dolls were sitting. Alexander felt tears spring to his eyes as it emphasised how very young Irma had been, unwilling to give away old toys. Everything else was disarranged, as if a storm had hit.  The bed, its mattress pulled awry, was in the corner opposite the windowseat, a desk next to it with a chair, taking advantage of the light of the window. Several books now scattered had presumably stood on a wall-mounted bookshelf over it, and the desk stood open, everything on the floor A chest of drawers stood at the foot of the bed. A Victorian towel-rack had been screwed rather precariously to the top of the chest of drawers with a net curtain draped over it, and a long garden cane was tied to the top of the towel-rail and the other end inserted in a hole drilled into the cottage wall. Net curtains, carefully darned, were threaded through a hem to the cane, parted in the middle and tied back with ribbon, now torn and thrust away to get at the bed.

“Poor romantic little girl,” said Alexander, softly. “Fancy curtains round her bed like a fairytale princess.”

“I didn’t appreciate the depths of Irma until now,” said Ida, whose own eyes were wet. “But you can see someone opened and emptied every drawer, ransacked her desk, threw down the books, pulled the pillows and mattress about and even searched the drawer of her wash-hand stand and scattered her cosmetics.”

On the wall where the door came in was a small wash-hand stand. The other back bedroom had been made into a bathroom with a toilet stool as well, but perhaps it was more convenient to bring hot water in to her bedroom to wash when her father had to get ready to go to work. A mirror over it showed where Irma had applied makeup, her makeup pouch ripped open and its contents scattered, rosy powders staining the white marble top of the stand. A tiny corner fireplace had a heap of ashes in it.

“I don’t know why the searcher did not look in the window seat,” said Ida, carefully moving the dolls and toys. “But looking at the ashes, I suspect they found the diary anyway and burned it.” She lifted the padded top of the windowseat, which proved to be hinged. Childhood books and more toys lived in there, under a tennis racket, canvas shoes, golfing shoes, and a golf bag.

“Someone did not associate it with storage?” suggested Alexander. Ida scoffed.

“Any woman knows that you put storage where you can,” she said. “It’s a box. It’s just a box with a padded top, like an ottoman.”

“But then, I don’t think we are necessarily looking for a woman,” said Alexander.

Ida froze.

“I thought it was usually those entering womanhood or leaving their fertile time?” she asked.

“Or someone who wants to get rid of someone inconvenient who fulfils those criteria,” said Alexander. “And I may be wrong. Hell, it might even be Mrs. Twiddly-bonk, who does like to criticise everyone, knows nothing about some of us, but makes up her mind anyway. There’s something almost mannish about her in some ways as well. And she goes on the offensive without pausing to find out the facts; there’s something eating her that she needs to push other people around about.”

“Yes, but how does she know about people?” asked Ida.

“Because Irma prattles...prattled,” said Alexander.

“Would she prattle to Twiddly-bonk?” asked Jeff, as Ida turned back to searching methodically.

“Probably not, but what’s the betting Twiddly-bonk eavesdrops?” said Alexander. “The more I think of it, the more I’m wondering if my initial thought was owing to personal dislike of someone.”

“If it’s a male, who has something to gain in getting rid of someone, that’s Sam Reckitt, Dan Reckitt, Fred Chaffinch, and Edgar Thripp,” said Jeff. “Not Braithwaite or his Billy; it’s plain as the nose on your face that Maud is the sunshine of their lives now Sally is gone.  I think it has to be one of the other four.”

“Reasoning?” said Alexander.

“Sam... I noticed sometimes he keeps his temper with difficulty when his missus is better some days than others,” said Jeff. “I think he gets her in his ear rather.  Dan? Well, he’s an outsider as a choice, but his mother relies on him rather, I think. Tim mentioned that Dan would like to get away from the village and be more than a village postie, but his mother cries if he suggests it. That can get very wearing.”

“That sounded like personal experience.”

“It was. My mother. I just walked out with all the clothes I could carry one morning, and signed up with a police recruitment drive, and moved in the unmarried men’s barracks. It was hell, but it was my choice.”

“Well done; that’s strength,” said Alexander. “Go on.”

“Edgar... he’s a weak character, and Miss Thripp has a few savings.  I know that’s a bit weak, but it’s a motive of sorts.  Fred... I know he and Polly sing together, but I’ve also heard him sigh over the packed lunch she gives him, and she does boss him about. Nobody can know what goes on in a marriage, but a henpecked husband can become the worm that turns. Even as Twiddly-bonk thought Savin could kill Violet Savin.”

“Unless she is the culprit and accusing him and having him die by judicial execution is one of three murders to get rid of the Savins,” said Alexander.

“But why would she do that?”

“If she’s the poison pen, then the women for the same reason – for knowing too much. And accusing him could be just to divert suspicion. Unless the letters were again a diversion from an intent to kill them all, because she could guess that the two women would make a big thing of any suspicion that could make killing them about knowing too much easy to blame on their knowledge.”

“So, now I have to find out what connection there was between them,” said Jeff.

“I can tell you that,” said Savin, who had come upstairs. “She’s my cousin. My parents took her in when her parents died. We hated each other from the first. She had to come first in everything.  She married a schoolfriend of mine, and dominated himself until he jumped off the river into the weir.  I can believe her throwing Irma into the weir as revenge on me; she blamed me for her husband’s death. I don’t know why.  I don’t think she even loved him. She used to flirt with Vi, though I don’t think Vi ever really understood that. And Vera did not like Vi turning her down. I’m not even sure she preferred women, but she liked people she could bully. Fortunately for her, Violet has... had, I should say... the impenetrable armour of utter self-centredness.”

“Dear me, that is a series of motives,” said Alexander. “Why on earth do you live next to each other?”

“Because our fathers were brothers and were very close, and bought cottages next door to each other,” said Savin. “My dad rented out her cottage until she married. It’s hellish at times. But we were living in a pokey apartment and with a little girl, it wasn’t right.” He paused. “I don’t think she’s the poison-pen, though.”

“Why?” asked Alexander.

“Because she enjoys the drama of bullying people to their faces,” said Savin. “I don’t think she’d find it enough to take hurt into the lives of others on the sly.”

Alexander nodded.

“You know her best,” he said. “Did she know Sally Braithwaite?”

“Yes, she hired Sally as a companion. Al, that’s Albert Banks, he never bothered with the Tweedie, died in 1913.  Sally was her companion for a few months but she said she couldn’t cope unless the pay was a lot more. That would have been... oh, 1916 or thereabouts. I’m a bit hazy as I’d been called up, but I spent the whole war in the pay office. They needed people who could add up columns straight.”

“And an important job, whatever some people might say,” agreed Alexander. “Here’s my car back; I’ll drive you to your sister now, and leave everyone mopping up here.”

They went out, and Gladys smirked as she came in the gate with Tim Mapp.

“I want danger pay for searching that besom,” she said. “That voice! Mr. Morrell can ride my bike and I’ll perch on with Ida on the parcel rack as she doesn’t have a crossbar, and Tim’s Maggie wouldn’t take kindly to him giving a lift to another girl.”

“And nor would Jim Campbell take it kindly to have you accepting such a lift if you weren’t injured,” said Alexander. “Stay together.  Jeff, you’ll lock up when Ida has finished?”

“I have finished, I think,” said Ida.  “I think we need to take some dusting for prints but I can’t find any diary. As I said, I think the ashes in the grate are the remains. And well-enough broken up with a poker not to be legible at all. I suspect that was our killer, knowing that he or she would not be interrupted.”

“And don’t get Agatha started on the subject of Vera,” said Savin. “She’s a couple of years older than me and had to share a room with her.”

“I can imagine that her reaction to that would be somewhat negative,” said Alexander.

“And that,” said Savin, “Is the understatement of the year.”