The Hangman’s Row Enquiry

consoling. But she had brought friendlessness on herself over the years, and she was not sure how to reverse this, now that she needed someone.

Rose Budd? No, she wasn’t much more than a girl, and they had nothing in common. Miss Beasley at Springfields? But wasn’t she a cousin of the Bloxham woman? No, that wouldn’t do. Miriam Blake? Ah, now, there was a woman of her own age, and also in trouble. Some said real trouble, but Beattie had no worries about that. It might even give her a hold over Miss Miriam. And they had several things in common. They had both lived in the village for years, and from what she had heard, they had both been more than interested in Mr. Theo and in the future of his estate. She could even hint that they might come to some compromise over Miriam’s rent.

“What plans for today, Mr. Theo?” she said with a friendly smile.

“Out and about, I think,” he said. “Weather’s too good to stay indoors. I shall be in for lunch, but possibly out for dinner. I will let you know later on. And you, Beattie, what have you got planned?”

“Oh, I thought I might invite a friend for tea, if that is convenient,” she said.

“Ah, who would that be?” he asked. He could have sworn Beattie had no friends, either in the village or anywhere else.

“Why, Miriam, of course. Miriam Blake,” she said.

AFTER A GOOD lunch of lamb chops, mint sauce, peas and mash, Ivy and Gus set off slowly up the road towards Tawny Wings.

“What a pair,” said Ivy grimly, as she stumped along, rapping her stick rhythmically on the pavement for support. Gus also had a stick, but his was more for show than from necessity. He had a pang of conscience as he saw how determinedly Ivy pushed herself to use legs that would much rather have been idle.

“Nearly there,” he said, remembering his childhood, when his mother had said those words every time they were on a journey, no matter how short a distance they had actually gone. “I am sure Deirdre will have a restoring cuppa for us both. I’m looking forward to our research,” he added. “I’ve been thinking of getting a computer myself.”

“What stopped you?” Ivy said. She knew how much computers cost, and was pretty sure Gus had no spare cash. Not that she was thinking of buying him one! Nor, for that matter, of lending him money.

His reply surprised her. His tone was serious when he answered. “Security. In my line of business, security meant everything. And even though I understand users are told their details are secure, I wouldn’t risk it.”

“What details?” Ivy said curiously. She had decided early on that Gus was probably exaggerating the importance of his “line of business.” Maybe a lowly security guard, but nothing more vital than that.

“Oh, you know, personal details, bank account numbers, pin numbers and pass codes, all that stuff. As far as I can make out, you put all that secret information on a computer and it goes off through the ether to God knows where!”

“Don’t blaspheme, please,” Ivy said automatically, as they turned into the driveway and made their way to the front door of Tawny Wings.

Half an hour later, the three were ranged around Deirdre’s computer screen. Ivy had to squint to make out the flickering words on-screen. “What’s Google?” she said suspiciously.

“A search engine,” said Deirdre blandly. She actually had no idea where the engine came in, but knew what Google could do for her. It could search miraculously until it produced undreamed-of information about any given subject.

“Right,” she said, “have you finished your tea? Good, then let’s begin. Best thing is to start with the name of the newspaper that Roy found. What was it, Ivy?”

Ivy looked blank. “No idea,” she said. “He didn’t say.”

Gus looked smug. “I asked him later. Suffolk Independent Press,” he said smoothly. “Folded in the eighties, but was once the most popular paper in the county.”

“Good lad,” said Deirdre, and typed the name in at speed. Ivy was impressed. “How did you learn to type so fast?” she asked.

“At the garage,” she said. “Although Bert had all the necessary office staff, I liked to keep my hand in, and worked one day a week alongside the others. I miss it, but they wouldn’t want me now.”

“Ooh, look, it’s doing something!” Ivy said, leaning forward.

“Yep,” Deirdre said, busying herself with the gadget which she had explained to a puzzled Ivy was a mouse. “Let’s download this archive website. Looks the most interesting.”

“We’ve got the date,” Ivy said, anxious to make amends for not knowing the name of the paper. “It was in the nineteen seventies.”

“Let’s hope it was a weekly paper,” Deirdre muttered, not keen to sift through hundreds of dates in ten possible years. She read through some information on-screen, and said, “Thank goodness it was a weekly evening paper. Now, what was the name of the woman who went missing?”

“Roy wasn’t sure, was he, Ivy?” Gus said.

“No. But didn’t he say it was something like Bentall. Katherine, or Caroline, or some such?”

Ivy nodded. “You know what,” she said slowly. “I think we should have brought Mr. Goodman with us. All this stuff”-she gestured at the screen-“might have triggered some more memories from him.”

“Well, we didn’t,” Deirdre said, annoyed at Ivy’s defeatist attitude. After all, she’d hardly started on her search.

“You could go and fetch him.” Ivy looked stubbornly at Deirdre. Gus sighed. Best keep out of this, he said to himself, though he did half agree with Ivy.

“Oh, all right!” said Deirdre. “And don’t try touching the computer while I’m gone. You could lose everything I’ve got stored on there.”

“There you are, then, Ivy,” Gus said mildly, as Deirdre flounced out of the room.

“That’s one of the reasons I haven’t bought a computer.”

Thirty-four

“HE’S RESTING, MRS. Bloxham,” Miss Pinkney said sternly. “I’m afraid I cannot disturb him. Mrs. Spurling would be very cross.”

“Blow that!” said Deirdre. “I’m cross!” she added. “I’ve been sent up here by Miss Beasley to fetch Roy Goodman, and I’m not going back without him.”

Miss Pinkney was shocked. She had never experienced such an encounter before in all her time working in retirement homes. What was she to do?

“Oh, look, there he is!” Deirdre said. “Poor old lamb looks bored to tears, staring at the telly with all the others. He’s as sharp as a pin, you know,” she added to a rigid Miss Pinkney.

Deirdre walked into the lounge, went straight up to Roy Goodman, and said, “Hi, Roy! We need you. Can you come with me? I’ll bring you back for supper. Ivy and Gus are waiting up at Tawny Wings.”

“Need me?” said Roy Goodman. He got to his feet without assistance. “I haven’t been needed for thirty years,” he said. “Lead on, Macduff! Get my coat, Pinkers-I’m needed!” he said, and like an agile gnome, followed Deirdre to reception, where she helped him on with his coat and led the way out to her car.

Envious eyes watched as he left. The lounge had its inevitable share of men and woman who couldn’t hear, couldn’t see and some who could no longer care what happened to them, but had once been needed. And some who would have given all their considerable savings to be Roy Goodman, if only for one afternoon.

Ivy and Gus greeted him with pleasure, and he joined them round the computer.

“AH YES,” HE said. “I see you’ve got a website up for that newspaper I told you about. What would we do without Google?” he said, turning to Ivy.

For once, Ivy spluttered and was speechless. Gus gulped. “Um, I see you’re, um, er, computer literate, Roy? Is that right?”