Garret Lane was off the High Street. He headed in that direction. The reason why Maggie had managed to find a job so quickly was answered as he approached the cafe. A woman was taking down a notice from the window which said ‘Waitress Wanted’.
The only customers in the cafe were a couple seated at a window table. Maggie emerged from the nether regions carrying a tray with coffee cups. The tray trembled in her hand when she saw Fell. With a sharp pang of guilt he noticed that her eyes behind her thick glasses were red with weeping. Maggie served the customers and then approached him. “I’ll be round later for the rest of my things,” she said. “Oh, and I forgot to give you this.” She fished in the pocket of her white apron and drew out the engagement ring. Fell flushed miserably. “I always meant for you to keep it, Maggie.”
“I don’t want it,” said Maggie.
Fell took the ring. “Look, Maggie, I’m…”
The door opened and a family of four walked in. “Excuse me,” said Maggie. Fell stood there, irresolute. Then he decided he had best wait at home until she came round for her things and apologize then.
The day stretched before him, hot, flat and empty. Without Maggie, he felt he had no energy to do anything. But at least when he got the painful apology over with, he would be free, free to court Melissa. Suddenly the Melissa dream came back and wrapped him round in rosy colours. With a half-smile on his lips, he walked home, unlocked the door and walked in…
To chaos.
Everything was topsy-turvy. Drawers hung out at crazy angles, papers were strewn across the floor.
He felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. He walked into the kitchen, picking his way over the kitchen utensils which had been thrown over the floor out of upended drawers. How had they got in? The front door had been locked and the panes of glass on the back door and windows were intact.
He would have to phone the police. But instead he picked up the phone book and searched it until he found the phone number of Katy’s Kitchen and dialled it. Maggie answered the phone.
“Maggie,” gasped Fell. “We’ve been broken into. They seem to have gone through everything.”
“Have you phoned the police?”
“No, I just got here.”
“Phone them. I’ll be round.”
Fell phoned the police. No, he didn’t know if anything of value had been taken. He had just got back. They said they would be round and he sat down on the sofa, noticing as he did so that the upholstery had been slashed.
In a short time, two policemen arrived. Fell’s frightened thoughts flew to the cash box still buried in the garden. He had not checked with the lawyer or the bank as to whether the money from his inheritance had been paid into his account. He had planned to pay for the dinner the night before, although, as it had turned out, Melissa had paid. But the day before, he had dug up the cash box and taken money out of it before replacing it and filling in the hole. He had made a hurried job of it. What if the police dug it up?
He gathered his wits and followed them from room to room. The few things of value, such as the television, were still there. Maggie arrived and exclaimed at the chaos. They both made statements and were warned not to touch anything until the place had been examined for fingerprints.
“How did they get in?” asked Maggie.
“There’s no sign of a break-in,” said Fell.
“You’ve only got a Yale lock on your front door,” said one of the policemen. Maggie suddenly remembered that she had never got in touch with a security firm after Andy’s visit. “Easy to open with a credit card. Better get yourself a decent lock. You’re lucky. The forensic team should be here any moment. It’s a quiet day.”
Sure enough, just as he had finished, the men in white overalls arrived. “I hope all this hasn’t made you lose your job,” said Fell to Maggie. Her eyes were still red and his heart ached for her.
“As a matter of fact, it has,” said Maggie with a shrug. “But I’ll get another one soon enough. There’s a shortage of waitresses.”
“You could always…,” began Fell, but just then, the doorbell rang.
Fell opened the door. A large crumpled man stood on the doorstep. He was carrying his jacket over his arm. His wrinkled shirt was stretched over his stomach. His voluminous trousers sagged down to his dusty shoes. His face, like his clothes, looked sagging and crumpled. There were great pouches under his eyes. His thick greyish lips were permanently turned down at the corners, and small intelligent eyes stared at Fell from under fleshy lids.
“Detective Inspector Dunwiddy,” he said.
“Fell Dolphin. Come in.”
“You’ve had a burglary?”
“It looks more of a search.”
Dunwiddy followed him into the living room and stood looking around, dwarfing the small room with his bulk. “Better not disturb the fingerprint work,” he said. “Got a garden at the back?”
“Yes.”
“We’ll take chairs out there. Is this Maggie Partlett?”
“Yes, how did you…?”
“Read about you pair in the local paper.”
Fell and Maggie collected chairs from the kitchen and then exchanged nervous glances as they carried them out into the back garden, for the plot where the cash box was buried looked glaringly obvious to them.
“Lucky this bit’s in the shade,” said Dunwiddy, sitting down with a sigh. “Now, the situation is this: There’s been a lot of break-ins recently, all for drugs. Telly, videos, stereos, jewellery taken to hawk for drugs. But you say nothing’s really been taken, and that’s what interests me. It appears in the paper that you are researching that old train robbery, and hey, presto, someone or some people break in and ransack the place. So it looks to me as if someone’s worried you’ve found something, or someone thinks your father might have hidden cash from that robbery.”
“My father was innocent,” said Fell defiantly.
“Maybe. Anyway, you’ve got someone rattled and that’s the way I see it. Phoned your lawyer before I came here. Rumour in this town is that you’ve been left a good bit of money. Lawyer says your parents were right misers and never spent a penny. Right?”
“Right,” echoed Fell.
“So if you’ve got someone worried, then to me that means that someone who had a hand in the robbery is still around. Well, you amateur detectives, how far have you got?”
“Not very far,” said Fell. “Have we, Maggie?”
Maggie took off her glasses and passed a hand wearily over her eyes. “No,” she said. “We got a book on the robbery out of the library and we spoke to the other signalman, Terry Weal, and then the editor of the paper. Oh, and Inspector Rud-fern.”
“You wouldn’t get far with him,” snorted Dunwiddy. “Arrogant bastard. He thinks because he couldn’t solve it, nobody can. Then we come to a chap called Andy Briggs.”
Fell wanted to look at Maggie but was aware that the big detective was studying them carefully.
“Wasn’t that the name of the fellow who was murdered recently?” he said as casually as he could.
“The same. Now he was Tarry Briggs’s boy, and Tarry Briggs was our only sure suspect. Did a runner to Spain and lived like a king. The point is this: What did Andy Briggs come back for?”
The gun, thought Maggie with a stab of panic. They’ll find the gun!
Fell had the same thought at the same moment. Should they say anything or sit it out and pray that the forensic team wouldn’t look in that suitcase under the bed where Maggie had hidden it?
Suddenly overcome with fright and distress, Maggie began to cry.
“There, now, miss.” Dunwiddy stood up and put a heavy hand on her shoulder. “When they’re finished here, try to get a rest before you clean up. I’ll call back tomorrow and we’ll take it from there. Don’t worry; I’ll see myself out.”
Fell waited until he heard the street door slam, then he handed Maggie a clean handkerchief. She blew her nose and said in a shaky voice, “The gun. What if they find the gun?”
“We’ll wait and see,” whispered Fell. He took her hand in his. “I’m sorry about last night, Maggie. You
