“Three nights ago?” Fraser made a show of counting on his fingers. “Yes, three nights ago it would have been my wife.”
“Was there anything unusual about Neville when he was here? Something he might have mentioned?” I asked.
“I hardly remember what he looked like,” Fraser said. “He seemed perfectly ordinary. We discussed the terms of the loan, hardly stimulating conversation. What I do find interesting, though, is why you are here, Captain.”
“Captain Boyle is assisting us,” Payne said. “He helped coordinate the search for that missing girl from the Avington School, and is working with us on the Neville case, it being a matter of mutual concern.”
“Why?” Fraser asked, allowing a smirk to show. “Do the Americans need a loan? I thought they were swimming in money.”
“We ask the questions here, Razor,” Payne said. “So is there nothing you remember about Neville’s visit? Nothing you noticed?”
“Well, now that you mention it, I’d have thought he’d have been more interested in reviewing the plans,” Fraser said, gesturing at drawings unrolled on a nearby table. “We had an architect draw them up, all ready for inspection, but he gave them only the slightest attention. He is supposed to determine whether we have everything planned out properly, after all.” He sounded offended, as if he wished the dead man alive again only so he could berate him for his shortcomings.
“You haven’t heard anything about a kidnapping gang around here, have you?” Payne asked. “I know you’ve defended some dicey characters in your time, but crimes against children were never among the charges. Sexual crimes. If you’ve heard anything, it might save a young girl’s life.”
“I’ve heard about the drowned girl, it’s all over town,” Fraser said quietly. “Speaking in the hypothetical, I may have had certain contacts with people you’d not consider on the up and up. But every last man of them would draw the line at children. If I knew anything that would help apprehend the fiend who put that poor girl in the canal, I’d tell you and be glad I’d done my duty. Sadly, I cannot.”
“Thanks for your time, Mr. Fraser,” Payne said, ending on a cordial note. He rose and studied the drawings. “A greenhouse, eh? My wife’d fancy that herself.”
“I trust this incident will not hold up the loan, Inspector,” Fraser said, opening the door for us to leave.
“No, it should not,” Payne said, squinting at the printed legend on the plans. “You can tell the firm of Harrison Joinery not to worry. They should be on the job in no time.”
We left the office, and quickly confirmed with Mrs. Fraser that her husband was home the night of the murder. I wanted to ask about the other evenings, but bit my tongue. Instead, I asked Payne what his comment about the carpentry firm was all about as soon as we were out of earshot.
“Just a hunch,” he said. “Razor Fraser has likely accumulated income he cannot properly account for. I wouldn’t be surprised if the business doing the renovations is owned by him. Then he has the work end up over budget, and pays himself the difference from a stack of pound notes given to him by his criminal clients, so the illegal income gets washed clean. All sorts of ways ’round the taxman for a rogue like him.”
“Do you believe him about his gang drawing the line at crimes against young girls?” I asked Payne.
“From what I know of Fraser, I’d guess he believes that. There is a code of sorts among most villains. But there’s always a chance of one really rotten apple among all the merely bad.”
Payne’s driver took us out of Hungerford, taking the long way around to Kintbury, since the main road was closed off because of military traffic. We could hear the roar of engines in the distance, perhaps the start of the maneuvers Tree had mentioned. I wondered if he’d found out anything useful at the Chilton Foliat jump school. We planned to meet for lunch at the Three Crowns Pub and exchange information. He was as anxious for me to solve the case of the murdered and missing girls as he was to get Angry Smith out of the slammer, now that wild rumors were sweeping through every base and billet in the area. As we drove along back roads where farmers were plowing their fields, I thought about Tree and how nothing was ever easy between us. It was like we could never simply do one thing and not have it cascade into a dozen problems. There was no straight line between us, only the hard angles of race and distrust, softened by familiarity, then hardened again by betrayal.
I shook off the memories as the automobile gained the main road and we made for the outskirts of Kintbury, passing the Avington School, where Diana was paying her social call, or conducting an interrogation, depending on how you viewed things. The driver slowed as we approached Hedley’s Sweet Shop, and I could see a horse cart halted at the side of the shop.
“That’s our man,” I said to Payne, pointing out Ernest Bone. He was unloading lumber from the cart and stacking it at the rear of the store. His shop adjoined a bakery on one side, but on the other there was nothing but a large shed, a fence, and open fields.
“Good morning, Mr. Bone,” I said as we approached the store owner. He dropped the planks of lumber he’d carried on his shoulder from the cart onto sawhorses set up by the shed. For a paunchy older guy, he had some strength to him. A pony in traces whinnied as we walked by.
“Captain Boyle,” he said. “Come back for more humbugs, have you?” He gave a nervous glance in Payne’s direction, and then spotted the uniformed constable in the car. “Did I break a law giving them out like that?”
“As strict as the rationing laws are, Mr. Bone, I doubt a few humbugs would amount to a crime,” Payne said, showing his warrant card to indicate the formality of the visit. “We wanted to ask you a few more questions about the gentleman from the Newbury Building Society who came to see you about your loan.”
“My loan? What about it?”
“Does this man look familiar?” I said, holding out the picture of Stuart Neville at the Kennet Arms.
“Yes, indeed it does. That’s the fellow from the Building Society. Wasn’t very pleased with his report, I can tell you that.”
“Really? Do you remember when I asked if you knew a man by the name of Stuart Neville? Well, this is Neville, murdered shortly after visiting with you.”
“What?” Bone looked shocked, his eyes wide. “But I didn’t recall his name, honestly. I had no idea it was the same man.”
“Why weren’t you pleased with his report?” Payne asked.
“Well, he didn’t approve the loan,” Bone said, “and I needed it for my kitchen and storage. There’s hardly enough room to make my boiled sweets, and I need a cool place to keep them. I make them all here, the old- fashioned way, Inspector. Over copper pans, you know.” Bone’s face brightened up as he spoke of his candy, which evidently was his passion.
“Yes, you told me when I was last here. Did Neville tell you why he turned your application down?” Payne asked.
“Not in so many words, but I got the impression he thought that with the war and rationing, I couldn’t make enough money to pay the loan back. He said that perhaps I should wait until peace had come, and people would have more time and money to buy sweets.”
“Were you officially turned down?” I asked.
“Yes, the Building Society sent a letter saying it hadn’t been approved.”
“Did you ever see Neville again?” Payne asked.
“No, never.” I watched for any sign of nervousness or deception, and saw only the gentle smile of a candy maker.
“Did you have building plans drawn up?” I asked.
“Nothing so fancy as that,” Bone said. “The society didn’t require it, and I figured why spend the money until I get the loan, right? But I wrote out everything I wanted to do and had a rough sketch I drew myself. The plan was to expand the kitchen, and build a storage area in the basement where it’s cool.”
“Are you going to do the work yourself?” I asked, pointing to the lumber.
“Oh, no, that’s too big a project for me. Just a bit of fixing up to hold things together. I’m glad I have Sally here to fetch the lumber for me.” He patted the pony and brushed her black mane. “A Dartmoor pony, she is. Children love her, which helps when we sell at fetes and the like. I put baskets of sweets in the cart and Sally draws them in, adults and kids alike. Everyone loves a pony, don’t they?”
“Sounds like you have a good business for yourself, Mr. Bone,” I said.
“Good enough. Someday better, I hope. Sorry I couldn’t help you, gentlemen. Inspector, do stop by again when I’m open, won’t you? There are all sorts of new temptations inside.” He waved us off, smiling as he caressed
