Witch Is When Things Fell Apart (17 page)

Chapter 19

Yay for garden parties! Don’t try to tell me that anyone actually enjoys them. What?
You
do? You freak!

Still, I had to admit that as garden parties go, this one was a cut above the average. As well as the usual cake, plant and tombola stalls organised by the locals, Colonel Briggs had brought in a number of fairground stalls and rides. I hadn’t expected there to be so many people there, but then it was a beautiful, sunny day.

“You could at least try to look as though you’re enjoying yourself,” Kathy said.

“I am.” I gave her my cheesiest grin. “Look!”

“Sometimes you’re just plain weird,” she said. “Have you seen Pete?”

“The last time I saw him he was complaining about the mess that the crowds were making of the lawns. Where are the kids?”

“They probably went home crying because their Auntie Jill was ignoring them.”

“Don’t be horrible. I wasn’t ignoring them, it’s just that the grass is damp, and my heels keep getting stuck.”

“It might have helped if you’d worn sensible shoes. What were you thinking?”

Kathy was right—as usual. What had I been thinking? Heels and garden parties don’t mix. “So where are the kids?”

“They’re with Kylie’s mum.”

“Who’s Kylie?”

“One of Lizzie’s friends. The last time I saw them they were headed for the carousel. Why don’t you go look for them?”

I glanced at my shoes. Oh well, it was time to take one for the cause.

I was making my way gingerly across the lawn when I heard a familiar voice.

“Jill, glad you could make it.”

“Colonel, hi.”

I’d worked on a case for Colonel Briggs recently. After retiring from the military, he’d taken the reins of a dog rescue charity. He’d come to me when he’d suspected that one of the charity’s supporters had been murdered because she’d intended bequeathing money to Washbridge Dog Rescue. My investigations had revealed it had been a little more complicated than that, but everything had worked out okay in the end, and the charity had received a substantial donation from one of the deceased’s children. Better still, the colonel had given Kathy’s husband, Peter, a job looking after his estate’s grounds and gardens.

“Are you okay?” the colonel asked. “It looked like you were limping.”

“I’m fine. It’s just—” I gestured to my shoes.

“I have some wellingtons you can borrow. They may be a little on the large side.”

One glance at the colonel’s feet told me they’d be more than a
little
on the large side. “Thanks, I’ll be okay.”

“What do you think to all this?” He looked around. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Err—yeah. I love garden parties.” Hypocrite? Who, me? “I was just telling Kathy how much I was enjoying myself.”

“I’m afraid that Peter may not share your enthusiasm. He’s worried what it might do to the lawns.”

“He takes his job very seriously.”

“I can’t thank you enough for recommending him to me. He’s doing a sterling job. I was just headed for the refreshments tent. Will you join me?”

“Maybe later. I have to find my nephew and niece.”

“Okay, well enjoy yourself.”

Standing in one spot for any length of time was not a good idea—my heels were now wedged deep into the soft ground. After much swaying back and forth, I eventually managed to dislodge them, and continue on my stumbling way.

“Auntie Jill!” Lizzie shouted. “Where have you been?”

“Why are you walking funny?” Mikey threw his arms around me. “Have you hurt your foot?”

“No, Mikey, I just chose the wrong shoes.”

The woman who’d been standing with them, who I took to be Kylie’s mum, glanced down at my feet.

“Hi,” I said, trying to keep my balance. “I’m Kathy’s sister.”

“Right.” She smiled. “Kathy has told me all about you.”

She had? What did that mean exactly? Nothing good, I'd wager.

“You’re a private investigator aren’t you? How exciting.”

“Not as much as you might think.”

“Still. You must see some things. What are you working on now? Anything gruesome?”

That was my cue to leave.

“Sorry, I promised Kathy I’d take these two home. Thanks for looking after them. Come on kids!”

I grabbed Lizzie and Mikey by the hand, and dragged them behind the candy floss stall.

“I don’t want to go home!” Lizzie stamped her feet.

“It’s not time yet!” Mikey protested.

“It’s okay. We’re not going home.”

“But you said—”

“It was just a joke. I was playing a trick on Kylie’s mum.” I checked behind me to make sure she hadn’t followed us—the coast was clear. “So, what do you two want to do?”

“Win a bear!” Lizzie screamed. Why can’t kids speak at a normal volume?

“I want to win a bee! A giant bee!” Mikey yelled.

“Where can we win those?” I asked.

“Well,” Lizzie said, quite serious now. “To win a bear you have to knock a coconut down. To win a giant bee—which are stupid—”

“Giant bees are not stupid,” Mikey protested.

“Yes they are. Bees aren’t supposed to be giant. They’re supposed to be tiny.”

“You have to throw a hoop over a block of wood,” Mikey said.

“It’s very hard.” Lizzie sighed. “I’ve had three goes, and I couldn’t even hit the coconut.”

“That’s because you’re a rubbish thrower,” Mikey said. “I nearly got the hoop over the block.”

“No you didn’t!”

“I did!”

“You didn’t!”

“Okay! Okay! Let’s go and take a look at the stalls. Maybe I can win something for you.”

The garden party was divided into two distinct areas. On one side were all the stalls run by locals. On the other side were the fairground stalls and rides. Peter had told me that Colonel Briggs had reached an agreement with the fairground owner that the stalls and rides would be provided to him free of charge, but that all takings would be theirs.

The grey haired man at the coconut stall had a face which was more like a coconut than the coconuts themselves.

“How much is it?” I enquired.

He pointed to the board on the far side of the stall:
three balls for one pound
.

I handed over a pound coin, and he dropped three red balls on the counter in front of me. My first attempt missed by a foot.

“I told you girls can’t throw,” Mikey said to his sister.

Cheek! I’d show him.

My second attempt caught the coconut square on, but it didn’t budge.

I put everything I had behind my final attempt. That too hit the coconut full on, but still it didn’t budge.

“Unlucky,” coconut-face said.

Lizzie looked so sad, it was heartbreaking.

“Come and try the hoops.” Mikey grabbed my hand and dragged me over to the hoopla stall. Lizzie followed.

“Hello, darling!” A young man with floppy blond hair greeted me. “Where’s your boyfriend? You lost him?”

“Three hoops please.” I handed him a pound coin.

“Three hoops for the prettiest girl here today.”

This guy was about as subtle as a sledge hammer, but judging by the crowd of young girls hanging around the stall, his approach was having some success. Which was more than I had with any of the three hoops. All three found their target, but none of them covered the block.

“Unlucky, darling. Why don’t you have another go?”

I declined. Something just didn’t smell right to me.

“Sorry kids. Looks like we’re out of luck. Let’s go and find your mum.”

Kathy had tomato sauce all over her top lip from the foot long hot-dog she was devouring.

“What have you done now?” she asked me through a mouthful of bread and sausage.

“What do you mean?”

She pointed to the kids who both looked on the verge of tears.

“I haven’t done anything. They wanted me to try and win them a prize on the coconut shy and hoopla, but I didn’t manage it.” I stepped closer so I could whisper. “I think they’re rigged.”

“Never mind kids.” She crouched down. “Why don’t I buy you both some candy floss?”

“Can I have a toffee apple instead?” Mikey said.

“Of course you can.”

Kathy and the kids disappeared in the direction of the candy floss stall. I made an excuse, and made my way back to the coconut shy. Standing to one side, I watched a procession of punters take turns at trying to dislodge the fruits. Some of them were simply hopeless, and missed the coconuts entirely. Others managed to find their mark, but with nowhere near enough power to have any effect. But, at least three different men hit the coconuts with enough power that the fruit should have been dislodged. Coconut-face dismissed their complaints as sour grapes. Meanwhile he continued to rake in the cash without once having to give out a prize. Something definitely wasn’t right.

I handed coconut-face my payment in return for another three balls. I cast the ‘power’ spell just before I took my first throw. My first attempt missed by inches, and crashed into the back wall with such force that the whole stall reverberated. My second attempt caught the coconut dead centre, and knocked it off the post and into the back wall. Coconut face stared in disbelief—first at the coconut, and then at me. My final throw hit another coconut full on—this time the fruit smashed into a thousand pieces.

“I’ll have two of those bears, please.” I pointed to the large orange bears on the top shelf at the side of the stall.

Coconut-face looked shell shocked, but recovered in time to say. “One prize per person only.” He pointed to the small print on the bottom of the price board.

“Just give me one then.”

With the bear tucked under my arm, I made my way over to the hoopla. Here again, I watched punter after punter attempt to get a hoop over a block of wood. Not once did anyone manage it. I was absolutely sure that it was impossible despite the fact that the stall holder regularly demonstrated that it could be done. I didn’t know how he was doing it, but my best guess was that the ring he used was marginally larger than those which he handed to the punters.

I hadn’t actually used the ‘smaller’ spell before although I had memorised it. Similar to the ‘shrink’ spell, it would allow me to reduce the size of an object. The blond guy was still flirting outrageously as I paid for another three hoops. Just like the coconut shy, this stall also had a ‘one prize per person’ rule written in text so small it was practically invisible. I threw the first hoop which only managed to clip the block. My second attempt landed on the block, but didn’t completely cover it. Before I threw the final hoop, I chose the block I intended to aim for, cast the ‘smaller’ spell and then tossed the hoop. My aim was true, and this time the hoop slipped easily over the block.

Blond guy was so busy flirting with every female who came within ten yards of the stall that he didn’t even notice I’d won.

“Excuse me,” I said.

“What is it, darling?”

“I’ve won.”

He looked confused for a few seconds until I pointed at the hoop. Now, he looked even more confused. The expression on his face confirmed what I’d suspected: it shouldn’t have been possible for me to win.

“I’ll have one of those giant bees, please.”

“But—err—?”

“I’ll have a bee please.” If only his name had been Bob, my day would have been complete.

Blond guy kept glancing back at my winning hoop as he handed me the giant bee.

“Thanks,
bee
seeing you.” What? Come on, you knew that was coming.

The kids’ faces lit up as soon as they saw me hobbling towards them.

“Thanks, Auntie Jill!” Mikey grabbed the giant bee.

“Thanks!” Lizzie hugged the bear.

Kathy looked at me with a puzzled expression. “How?” She mouthed the word.

“Girl’s got skillz.”

Chapter 20

I wasn’t looking forward to going to the office. I hadn’t been back there since the incident with the helicopter. Something told me that I wouldn’t be Winky’s favourite person.

“Morning, Mrs V.” I was surprised to see that she hadn’t put the line of socks back up.

“Morning, Jill. How did it go with the landlord?”

“I think we’re okay for now, but I wouldn’t trust Armitage as far as I could throw him. I don’t think he’s going to give up just yet.”

“That’s what I thought too. I decided it would be better not to put up the sock line again until this has all blown over.”

“I think that’s wise. What time is Jackie Langford coming in?”

“She should be here any time now.”

Jackie Langford had contacted me after the news of Jason Allan’s suicide and confession had broken in the news. I wasn’t sure yet what I was going to tell her. As far as the police were concerned, the Alan Dennis case was now cut and dried. I still had some reservations, not least the CCTV from the lift.

Oh well, I couldn’t put it off any longer. Time to face the wrath of Winky.

“I need milk,” Winky called from the window sill. The window was closed and he had the little flags in his paws.

“Sure.” I grabbed the milk carton from the fridge and poured some into his dish.

“Thanks.” He put down the flags, jumped down from the window, and began to lap up the milk.

I didn’t trust him. This was obviously some ploy to catch me off guard. The moment I thought he’d forgiven me, he’d attack. “I see you’re using the flags again.”

He ignored me until he’d lapped up the last of the milk, and then said, “Turns out you did me a favour. Bella thought the helicopter was a little too impersonal. She’s decided semaphore is more romantic after all.”

“So, you and I are okay?” I said.

“I guess so.”

“Good.” I checked my watch. “Look, I have a client due in a few minutes. Do you think you could hold off on the semaphore until she’s gone?”

“What’s it worth?”

“Salmon.”

“Red?”

“Pink.”

“Okay. Deal.”

Jackie Langford arrived on time. “Thanks for seeing me at such short notice.”

“No problem. Have a seat.”

She looked around the office. “Where’s that handsome cat of yours?”

Before I could answer, Winky strutted out from under the sofa.

“You are a handsome boy.” She stroked him; Winky lapped up the attention. “I could take you home with me.”

If only she meant it.

I had to raise my voice to be heard over Winky’s purring. “How can I help?”

Jackie Langford gave Winky one final tickle under the chin, and then turned her attention back to me.

“The newspapers say that the young man who murdered Alan was his son. Is that true?”

“Yes. Apparently, Alan had been paying his son’s rent for some time. I spoke to Jason Allan. He said he had no idea that Alan was his father, and hadn’t known who was making the payments.”

“Did you believe him?”

“Yes. Either he was an incredible actor or he genuinely didn’t have a clue.”

“Why did he murder Alan?”

“No one knows the motive for the murder. The police think Jason may have committed suicide once he realised it was his father he had killed.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know what to think. I do believe that Jason didn’t know Alan was his father or about the payments. The CCTV still bothers me though.”

“Will you stay on the case?”

“That’s up to you. I don’t want to keep running up charges on a case which the police consider to be closed unless you specifically want me to.”

“I think there’s more to it. I’d like you to stick with it for a little longer at least.”

“I’ll be happy to. Is there anything more you can tell me about Alan? Anything at all?”

“He didn’t talk much about his life. I knew he’d been in at least one serious long term relationship, but that had broken down. Money problems, I believe.”

“And he never mentioned having a son?”

“No, never.”

Sometimes the old ways are the best. My father hated computers, and preferred to scribble notes and diagrams onto an A4 pad. He said it helped him to see the big picture—to see how the different elements of a case came together. Well, if it was good enough for Dad, it was good enough for me. Let’s see, what exactly did I have so far?

Alan Dennis was Jason Allan’s father. He left Jason’s mother before Jason was born.

Jason never knew who his father was because his mother wouldn’t talk about it.

Alan arranged for Jason to move to Tregar Court, and paid his rent.

According to Jackie Langford, Alan Dennis and Jason’s mother had split up because of financial troubles. This coincided with what Jason’s sister, Sarah, had said.

Alan Dennis had gone to great lengths to try to make amends for walking out on his son. A son that by all accounts he may not even have known he had until later in life. He’d paid Jason’s rent, and most likely had given him other money too. How else could Jason have afforded to live in Tregar Court? Alan had done all of this without ever letting Jason know who he was, and Jason had never suspected.

I had all of this, but still no real answers. There were still several pieces of the jigsaw missing:

- Why had Alan walked out on Jason’s mum? What exactly had those money problems been?

- If Jason Allan had killed his father, why had he done it?

- Why didn’t the CCTV show the murder?

It was time to take another look at the CCTV.

The same secretary who I’d met on my previous visit to Gravesend Security collected me from reception.

“Here to see Tony again?”

“Yeah.”

“I should warn you. He’s not in a very good mood. He’s been kind of depressed since his girlfriend dumped him. I think she must have sobered up and realised her mistake.”

“Okay, thanks for the tip off.”

She wasn’t exaggerating. Tony looked as though he’d aged ten years since my last visit. His long hair was greasy and tied back into a ponytail. He hadn’t shaved for at least a week, and he had a bad case of body odour.

“Why are you here again?” he growled.

“I just want another look at the tape.”

“Waste of time.”

“Still, if you don’t mind.”

He sighed as though life itself was too much bother.

This time around, I watched every frame over and over again. Tony had shown me how to control the film, so I was able to play it back and forth and to slow it down. After thirty minutes, I still hadn’t seen anything new. Tony had barely spoken two words since I’d started to view the CCTV footage. He kept staring at his phone. At one point, I thought he was about to burst into tears. He put his phone down on the desk, grabbed a tissue and blew his nose. That’s when I spotted the screen’s wallpaper—it was a photograph of a woman—a woman I recognised.

He must have noticed me looking at the photo, so he grabbed the phone. “I have to go to the loo,” he said, and slunk away.

I focussed on the CCTV again. There had to be something I’d missed.

Eureka! I paused the film and zoomed in as close as I could. Mr Dixon, who had been standing with his wife at the back of the lift, scratched his chin. As he did so, the expensive watch on his right wrist was visible. I hated those men’s watches which were so cluttered with dials that it was almost impossible to tell the time. Fortunately for me, this one also showed the day—
Wednesday
.

I had to be quick. Tony would be back at any moment. I navigated my way back to the main menu which listed the tapes by day/date. The murder had taken place on a Thursday, so why had Dixon’s watch shown it to be Wednesday? His watch could have been wrong—it happened all the time. Or—

“What are you doing?” Tony grabbed my hand.

I turned to face him, and cast the ‘forget’ spell, followed by the ‘sleep’ spell. He slumped onto his seat, and I continued to work my way through the tapes for that same week. Monday—nothing unusual, Tuesday—nothing unusual, Wednesday—I hit pay dirt.

I watched as the Dixons got into the lift on the fourth floor. The victim got in on the third floor. This time the lift doors
did
open on the second floor, and Alan Dennis took a step back. He’d been trying to avoid the knife which had been thrust towards him from someone standing just outside the lift. The lift doors closed. On the next floor, Darcy James boarded the lift. On the ground floor, Alan Dennis fell headfirst through the open doors.

The tapes had obviously been switched, and I thought I knew why. I had to let Maxwell know, but first I had to pay another visit to Tregar Court.

The friendly concierge nodded to me as I walked into reception.

“Is Darcy James in?”

“I think so.”

“Is it okay if I go up?”

“Sure, but the lift is being serviced at the moment. You’ll have to take the stairs.”

Great. Like my feet weren’t aching enough after all the punishment they’d taken at the garden party.

I bumped into the cleaner on the first floor.

“Oh, hello.” She was dusting the skirting boards with very little enthusiasm. “Back again?”

“Yes. Just tying up a few loose ends.”

“I can’t believe that young man did it,” she said. “He seemed so timid.”

“How has his girlfriend taken it?”

“Girlfriend?”

“Darcy James, the woman on the this floor.”

“I didn’t realise she was his girlfriend.”

Now I was totally confused. “I thought you said you’d seen him sneaking into her room?”

“No, not him. I meant that old letch on the fourth floor.”

“Mr Dixon?”

“Yeah. Right old pervert. Tried to grab me once, but I told him if he didn’t pack it in, I’d set my Alfie on him.”

“Let me get this straight. You’ve seen Mr Dixon going into Darcy James’s apartment?”

“Oh, yeah. Several times. I don’t think his wife knows. She’d probably kill him.”

Now my head was spinning again. It was back to the A4 pad for me.

I only just remembered to pick up a can of pink salmon on my way back to the office. Just as well because Winky was on me as soon as I walked through the door.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, as he made short work of the salmon. “I think you should let those geezers next door move into this office.”

“Geezers? Since when did you use words like geezer?”

“I’m a talking cat, and you’re quibbling about my vocabulary?”

“Point taken. But no. Why should I let them take my office?”

“Look.” He waved his paw around. “This place is a dump.”

“It is not a dump. It has character.”

“It’s falling to pieces. Look, that guy Armitage seems pretty desperate. I’m sure he’ll make it worth your while to move.”

“I’m not interested.”

“And I know just the place. It’s much more modern, and spacious, and is very cat friendly.”

I began to smell a cat. “By any chance, would the offices you have in mind be anywhere near Bella?”

“Funny you should say that—”