Episode 6 - Getting at truths

Friday cont.

Cleo finished her coffee at the Huddle Inn and drove to the school.

On the way she phoned Gary to tell him the identity of the dead man and that she would break the news to Jessie. He said thanks, but inside he was smouldering.

The Hartley Agency had beaten him to it again. He would settle for Sybil alias Moira and forget Cleo. He quite enjoyed the challenge of dealing with both identities. The Moira personality was cool: attractive and sexy on the outside, but brittle and surprisingly un-erotic in bed, that he found intriguing in contrast with Sybil’s knowhow. Saying he was still married was a form of protection from both, if you thought of them as two individuals.

***

Cleo was an emotional wreck, if the truth be known. After meeting Moira the previous evening she had asked herself why Gary bothered about her when he could obviously attract women like the luscious Moira, whom she quite sure was a projected personality of Sybil. She wondered whether Sybil had always been a dual personality and she could not help wondering if Gary was in danger. Supposing he ditched her and she took revenge. She would have to ask him if that had ever occurred to him, given that she was mentally unstable.

Then there was Jessie to cope with. How would she react to learning that Tom Crowe was dead?

***

Dorothy was again helping out with lunch in the school kitchen. Mrs Cagney was trying to get the breakfast things washed and put away. She had cancelled her cleaning jobs so that she could come every morning. Mrs Baines described her as an angel, though she was more of a fallen one, considering that she took every scrap of information picked up anywhere and told everyone everything down to the last detail, starting with the bus-driver on the bus to Upper Grumpsfield train station. When you had Mrs Cagney to inform you, you learnt all about the seediest things going on in the neighbourhood, and a fair amount about the hopes, desires and imagination of Mrs Cagney thrown in for good measure.

To Dorothy’s surprise, Mrs Baines was turning a blind eye to the commodities Mrs Cagney slipped into her capacious shopping bag as the morning wore on. That’s how grateful she was for Mrs Cagney’s help, Dorothy mused.

***

Cleo went into the school kitchen to find Jessie chopping vegetables in a lethargic way with Dorothy urging her to keep at it. The girl was apathetic. Was it possible that she already knew about Tom Crowe?

“Jessie, I need to talk to you,” Cleo said, avoiding any preamble.

“I’m not talking to anyone,” Jessie replied.

“Leave her, Cleo. She’s not over that business with her boyfriend yet.”

“But it’s linked to that, Dorothy.”

Jessie sniffed.

“The fact is that Tom Crowe is dead,” said Cleo.

You could have heard a pin drop.

“She bloody did it,” said Jessie finally.

“Who’s she?”

“My bloody mother.”

“Don’t be silly, Jessie,” Dorothy said. “Why would she do such a terrible thing?”

"I know she bloody did it. She bumped 'im off, didn’t she?"

"How do you know he was bumped off, Jessie," Cleo asked.

Jessie did not answer.

Mrs Baines had entered in time to hear Cleo’s announcement and Jessie’s immediate accusation of her mother.

“Tom Crowe was murdered, Jessie,” said Cleo, “but we think it was a man who did it.”

“My mother’s as strong as an ox,” said Jessie.

It seemed as if she wanted her mother to be guilty.

“Can you think of a reason she would kill him, Jessie?” Dorothy asked.

“I caught her with ‘im, didn’t I?”

“That’s not a good reason.”

“It’s good enough for me. I’ll go home and kill her now.”

”No you won’t, Jessie. I’ll wait for you and drive you into Middlethumpton to say goodbye to Tom at the HQ mortuary when you’ve finished your work here.”

“He won’t know me. He’s dead. You said he’s bloody dead.”

Now Jessie burst out laughing and laughed hysterically until Dorothy went over to her and slapped her face. Then the girl started moaning.

“I think you’d better take her away, Cleo,” said Mrs Baines. “We can’t have this kind of scene here.”

“I’ll take her to Dr Mitchell," said Cleo. "She’s suffering from shock.”

***

Jessie was calmed with a strong sedative. Dr Mitchell advised Cleo to  get Jessie’s confrontation with the corpse over and done with, so leo took Jessie straight to HQ. Chris himself led them to the mortuary, where the trolley bearing Tom Crowe’s earthly remains was pulled gently out of its slot. The blue linen sheet was drawn back from Crowe’s head and Jessie stared at it for some minutes before announcing that she’d seen enough.

Chris did not think her behaviour was out of the ordinary. It was certainly preferable to the antics of some witnesses who threw themselves at the corpse as if they were Salome in the opera throwing herself at the head of John the Baptist on a plate and issuing moans and groans that would have done a hired mourning troop proud.

Cleo was heartily glad when it was all over. She took Jessie back to her car and drove back to her cottage in Upper Grumpsfield. She had for the first time bypassed trying to see Gary. It had taken strong will and determination, and Cleo was devastated.

***

Back at her cottage, Cleo invited Jessie in.

“I don’t suppose you want to see your mother yet, do you.”

Cleo’s ruse was not self-sacrificing, though an hour spent with Jessie would probably feel like a week. Cleo was afraid that Jessie might act out her threat and attack her mother.

“I’ll call the doctor,” said Cleo. “He can come here and give you some pills to make you feel better.”

***

“Can you keep her here overnight, Miss Hartley,” Dr Mitchell wanted to know. “I’ll give you some sedatives for her. I don’t think it would be wise for her to go home in this state.”

Dr Mitchell, Upper Grumpsfield’s one and only GP, knew what he was talking about. Leaving Jessie half-asleep on the guest bed, he took Cleo aside and told her more or less what Molly had already told her.

“Shocking,” he said. “I delivered all the Coppins children, you know.”

“So you know about Jessie’s two.” 

“Everyone knows. Mrs Coppins didn’t even pretend to be pregnant before they were born. But Jessie’s mental condition is such that she does not quite understand everything that went on in those days. It would not surprise me if she’s pregnant again and hasn’t yet noticed.”

“That would make things even more complicated, Dr Mitchell. Let’s hope she isn’t.”

“I could get rid of it, Miss Hartley, but the Coppins family is Roman Catholic. They have appalling morals, but don’t approve of abortions, even in such cases.”

“I don’t think Jessie has much intellect,” said Cleo, “but I experienced stupider individuals when I was a social worker in Chicago.”

“She has improved with age. She can read and write a bit and do simple sums, but that’s about all, academically.”

“It’s amazing that she found such a nice boy as Tom Crowe,” said Cleo.

“A nice boy?” said Dr Mitchell. “Those young lads take advantage of girls like Jessie. If the gil is pregnant, it will be hard to tell which of them is the father Jessie won’t know.”

“We can get DNA for that, Dr Mitchell.”

“You ‘d have to get all the candidates to give you mucus samples or hairs, Miss Hartley, and first you’d need to know which young men Jessie had been cavorting with.”

“We’d better wait and see if she is pregnant, Dr Mitchell.”

“She is, Miss Hartley. I can tell at a glance.”

“The Jessie’s of this world all tend to throw themselves at young men, Dr Mitchell, unless Jessie has been telling fairy tales. She says Tom Crowe was her boyfriend until she caught him in bed with her mother.”

“That doesn't surprise me, either, Miss Hartley. Nothing surprises me about that debauched lot in Huddlecourt Minor. Mr Coppins absconded with an under-age barmaid, Mrs Coppins is an amoral woman with no scruples, and Jessie is a victim of circumstances, if ever there was one.”

“Poor Jessie.”

“You can say that again! To be honest, Tom Crowe was like all the young men in the district, bragging about their conquests and generally behaving like louts. Jessie was a willing victim because her sexual urges far outweigh her ability to discriminate,” said Dr Mitchell who seemed to be as open to gossip as Molly. So much for medical discretion.

“But that would not be a motive for killing Crowe,” said Cleo-

“She will have enjoyed the sex orgies she was drawn into and not want them to end, Miss Hartley.”

Cleo was astonished that Dr Mitchell could be so blunt.

“How do you know about them, Dr Mitchell?”

“Everyone knows, Miss Hartley.”

***

Dr Mitchell turned to leave, but hesitated.

“You do detective work, don’t you?” he said.

“More as an advisor, but I have part-time helpers who do the sleuthing.”

***

“Would you do something for me, Miss Hartley?”

“If I can, Dr Mitchell.”

“It’s personal.”

“Go ahead. Come to my office and we’ll make some coffee while you’re telling me about the problem. Or stay now and we’ll make some coffee.”

Dr Mitchell seemed glad of the chance to get something off his chest. Cleo led the way into the kitchen while Dr Mitchell looked for the right words. It was a spontaneous idea to hire a detective agency to do the job and he was not sure it was such a good idea, after all.

“On second thoughts …” he started.

***

“I’m going to my office later, when Robert is here to supervise Jessie. Come along after surgery hours. The coffee’s good there, too.”

Cleo was used to people having second thoughts about hiring a private eye. Dr Mitchel could use the walk to decide what he wanted to do.

Much later, Cleo was able to meet Dr Mitchel at her office for that chat and some good, strong espresso.

Eventually they sat vis-à-vis at Cleo’s desk and Cleo invited Dr Mitchell to say what was on his mind.

“Just tell me your problem, Doctor. It’s confidential and you can still say you don’t want anything done. I assure you nothing will be revealed. Discretion is part of the deal, Dr Mitchell. It’s not unusual for people to decide spontaneously to get help.”

“I did, too, when I saw how concerned you are in Jessie’s fate.”

“I am, Dr Mitchell. I’m really sorry for the kids in that family.”

***

“It’s my wife, Miss Hartley. I think she’s seeing someone.”

“Do you have any evidence of that?”

“Nothing I can show you. But I’ve heard her making phone calls.”

“And listened in?”

“No. She always makes the calls on her mobile and goes to where I can’t hear what she says.”

Dr Mitchell paused as if he felt guilty about telling Cleo even that much. It was going to be difficult getting a person with noble ethics to delve into the dark secrets of the person he was living with.

“Have you any idea who it could be?”

“I tip on her old school sweetheart.”

The old story. The first love, the old love, the unrequited love, and not least: the novelty of any or all three donkey’s years later in life.

“We came here from up north because my wife wanted to get back to her roots.”

Another old story. A million novels had been written on the topic.

“And then she discovered that her old flame also lives here. He teaches at Middlethumpton comprehensive, Miss Hartley, and my wife has gone back into teaching.”

“And she got a job there, of all places.”

“Is that kismet, Miss Hartley?”

“I don’t know, Dr Mitchell, but we can find out if your suspicions are justified.”

“Will you do that?”

“Of course. We keep in touch with that school after there was a drug problem. Colin Peck helps the police keep track on the kids because they trust him. It will be quite easy for him to see what’s going on among the staff – if there’s anything to see, that is – and he is discretion itself.”

“My wife’s first name is Anne, and the teacher’s name is Dan Simpson.”

“I’ll get on to it right away, Dr Mitchell. I’ll call you when I have something to report.”

Dr Mitchell drank his coffee, offered Cleo profuse thanks, and left.

***

Cleo phoned Colin to ask him when he would next be at the school. Could he go there next day on some pretext or other? Colin made a note of the names Dr Mitchell had given Cleo and she told Colin what she wanted to find out.

“We won’t need Gary for this,” she added.

“He’s too busy with that new hooker of his, Cleo. I’m never sure if he’s a wanton pervert or a Good Samaritan,” said Colin.

“Let’s go for the Samaritan, Colin.”

“Sorry, Cleo. I know you are a bit sweet on him.”

“Forget you said that, Colin.”

Cleo wondered if Gary had confided in Colin. She was still digesting the information that Moira alias Sybil had gone back to being a hooker. The idea that Gary was seeing a woman with two names and probably one and the same profession had shocked her. She had to find out if Gary knew what was going on. A phone-call might get her the answers, though she wondered how much Gary actually knew.

“Gary, who is Moira?”

“I’m glad you didn’t ask that last night, Cleo. I don’t really know. We don’t live together. When I called for her, she was talking to some guy who called her Moira.”

“What?”

“She said he was a former neighbour of her parents and knew her as Moira.”

“And you believed him, Gary?”

“Why not? Little girls always have pretend worlds, don’t they? Sybil’s was Moira, her identical twin, and she still plays the game now.”

“And you let her?”

“Why not? It’s amusing to see people puzzling about her identity. You did last night.”

“Does she know when she is not Sybil?”

“I think so. It was the first time I had seen her playing out the Moira identity yesterday and I’d probably have asked her what the game was  if the guy had not had an explanation.”

“And that guy was believable, I assume.”

“I did wonder.”

“So when she’s a hooker she calls herself Moira. Am I right?” said Cleo.

“It looks like it.”

“But you don’t know for certain.”

“No, Cleo, and I don’t think I want to.”

“What if she’s performing as a hooker under both names, Gary?”

“I honestly don’t know, Cleo.”

“You’d better stop that game immediately,” said Cleo. “For someone who does not believe in spooks you are into a very spooky thing.”

“I’ll stop when you leave Robert.”

“Then carry on seeing your schizophrenic lady friend.”

“No one else knows about her dual existence. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

“Are you sure?  Colin knows, I’m sure, and that means that he will tell Julie. I won’t reveal your murky secret life, Gary.”

“Have you got time for me, Cleo? I really need to talk this through.”

“That’s rich! You want to talk to me about the hooker you a dating? No, Gary. You’ll get yourself out of this mess.”

***

Colin Peck took time off documenting cases at police HQ in Middlethumpton to concentrate on the case of Dr Mitchell’s wife, leaving Cleo to concentrate on the two murders in which she found herself involved. She decided to stay at home on Friday afternoon, not least since Jessie was still asleep in the guest room and would surely wake soon. Cleo had left her in the cottage while she dealt with Dr Mitchell’s problem in the office, and had been surprised and relieved to find that Jessie had not absconded in the meanwhile, though she did not think that the girl would want to fulfil her threat to kill her mother now she had had time to recover. Dorothy had told her that Jessie had not turned up for work and Cleo had explained that the girl was still knocked out from the sedative Dr Mitchell had given her.

A phone call to Robert at the shop warned him that they had a guest.

***

“Another murderess, Cleo? You seem to be making a habit of harbouring felons. Remember that other Jessica?”

“This is a totally different situation. Jessie Coppins has probably not murdered anyone, but she’s here because she threatened to kill her mother.”

"Only probably?”

“Tom Crowe, the guy she was unintentionally sharing with her mother.”

 For heaven’s sake, Cleo, she won’t kill her mother. That brood is as thick as thieves.”

“That’s the operative word.”

“Use plain English on me, remember? I’m not your intellectual cop.”

“I’ll ignore that stupid remark. I might be tempted to murder Gloria if I caught her in bed with you, Robert.”

Robert hooted with laughter.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he said. “I wouldn’t touch her with a barge pole.”

“You might if she was paying you.”

“Now we are in cloud cuckoo land.”

“I’m just explaining the situation, Robert.”

“Which is?"

“Jessie claims that her mother stole her boyfriend."

“But you can’t compare that situation with yours. Your mother was never a rival – and we don’t…well...”

It did not take much imagination to realize that Robert was about as erotically poled as a codfish.

“My mother was quite sweet on Jay Salerno.”

Gloria snatched the phone from Robert.

“What’s going on? Me a rival?” Gloria squealed at Cleo.

“It was all hypothetical, Mother. I was just explaining to Robert why we have someone staying with us.”

“Well, you’ve confused Robert and I wish I’d heard what you said.”

“Let him explain. I can hear movement somewhere. I’ll have to ring off.”

***

The movement, Cleo soon discovered, was Jessie slipping out of the back door of the cottage.

For crying out loud! I’d better go after her, Cleo decided. She did not know what the girl had heard.

But there was no sign of Jessie anywhere. She must have run straight into the thickets behind the cottage. It would be impossible to find her there. Cleo got into her car and drove to Huddlecourt Minor. She would get to the Coppins’ house before Jessie and prepare her mother for her daughter’s murderous intention.

***

“Let me in, Mrs Coppins. It’s urgent.”

Joe was seated at the all-purpose table eating a bowl of cornflakes. He looked hopefully at Cleo, who said hello and flopped down on the seat next to him, indicating secretly that she had no news. Joe was disappointed. He did so want to have his father back and thought Cleo had come to tell him she had found him.

“We won’t talk here, Miss Hartley. Come into the kitchen with me. I’ve got to get the fish fingers arranged on the baking tray.”

“So what’s the matter?” she said once they were out of Joe’s earshot.

“Your daughter wants to kill you.”

“She wouldn’t do that.”

“She says she caught you in bed with her boyfriend.”

“I suppose you mean Tom Crowe. He wasn’t her boyfriend. He’d smiled at her once or twice. That’s all.”

“That wasn’t the impression she gave me.”

“But that’s how it was.”

“She caught you with him in flagrante, Mrs Coppins.”

“In what?”

“In bed. She said you were ‘at it’.”

Mrs Coppins laughed.

“She doesn’t even know how she got pregnant, Miss Hartley. She has no idea about these things.”

“So you don’t deny that you were ‘at it’ with Tom Crowe.”

“It’s part of my job to show the young lads how to do it, Miss Hartley.”

“So he paid you for it, did he?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not, but it’s a motive for murder.”

Mrs Coppins gasped.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean Tom Crowe. You know he was killed, don’t you? Don’t you read the paper?”

“No I don’t. You say he’s dead?”

“Identified by Molly.”

“By Molly Moss? That bitch would say anything to save her skin.”

“I’ll show you the photo, Mrs Coppins, then you’ll know she wasn’t mistaken.”

Cleo took the photo out of her handbag and handed it to Mrs Coppins who looked at it for a long time.

“It’s him, that’s for sure. Who did it?” she said. “How was he killed?”

“Stabbed in the stomach. As to who did it, your guess is as good as mine, Mrs Coppins. Could it have been Jessie?”

“Never. She’s a weak little thing and she cared about Tom.”

“That didn’t stop you from jumping into bed with him,” said Cleo.

“I didn’t know she was coming home, did I? She usually works all day.”

Cleo realised that Mrs Coppins really had been ‘at it’ with Tom Crowe. She was unscrupulous and untruthful.

“Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, Mrs Coppins?”

“Why should I be ashamed? I keep what I do from the kids and I need the money so that I can feed and clothe them.”

“That’s as may be. The tragedy of Tom Crowe was possibly waiting to happen for other reasons, but if Jessie carries out her threat, it will be because she believes you stole the love of her life.”

At that moment the front door slammed and Jessie came running into the kitchen brandishing the bread knife that had been on the living-room table and screaming “Where is she? I’ll bloody kill her.”

“I’ll handle this,” said Cleo, catching the hysterical Jessie in her arms and confiscating the knife.

“Come on, Jessie. Your mother’s sorry about Tom. She didn’t mean any harm and she didn’t kill him.”

“How do I know that? She stole him from me. Now he’s dead, she can die, too.”

“No she can’t, Jessie. What would happen to your brothers and sisters?”

“I don’t bloody care.”

“Yes, you do. You’d be in prison and they’d starve.”

That put a sudden stop to Jessie’s desperate struggling. She started to weep and Cleo took her back into the living-room and sat her down.

Joe looked on wordlessly. Cleo mused that he had probably been forced to witness many such scenes.

“It’s tough, Jessie, but you’ll have to be brave.”

“Yes,” said Joe, “and you’ve still got me.”

It was a touching scene, but short-lived.

“I’ll go for a walk. After that I’ll come back and be brave,” said Jessie, getting up so fast that the chair fell over.

“I’ll come with you,” said Joe.

“No, Joe. I want to be alone.”

Jessie left.

“Aren’t you going after her?” cried Mrs Coppins.

“No,” said Cleo. “She’ll be OK now.”

But even as she reassured Mrs Coppins, she had a feeling of foreboding that stayed with her for the rest of the day.

***

Even though Cleo was not as confident about Jessie intentions has she had made out, there was no way she could stop the girl from leaving. It would have been better if Joe had gone with her, but Jessie hadn’t wanted that. Cleo drove home to her cottage feeling she had failed in her mission to get Jessie back onto an even keel. Would Jessie go back home and behave herself? At least Mrs Coppins was forewarned and the two oldest brothers, who worked somewhere in Middlethumpton and apparently still lived at home, would probably be in for a meal soon and piece together what had happened. How would they react? There was nothing Cleo could do. If the Coppins clan was as thick as thieves, they would find a solution without her.

***

Robert and Gloria were in the cottage kitchen cooking supper. There was a light-hearted cooperativeness about them that got on Cleo’s nerves after her stressful day. She left them to it and lay on the sofa. It didn’t take more than a minute for her to fall asleep. Robert, who wanted to lay the table, saw that his wife was what she called 'stressed out' and covered her with the plaid they often put over their knees to stop a blazing log fire from scorching them. The fire in the hearth was now just a glow after eating up its first log of the evening. Robert threw another one onto the embers, trying not to make a noise in the process.

“I can hear you, Robert. I’m sorry I’m such a bore.”

“You’re not a bore. Just snooze while we get the food on the table, then you can tell us all about what is bothering you. Are you warm enough?”

“OK, thanks,” said Cleo, and drifted off into the blessed state of Lethe that accompanies sleep until it is haunted by dreams or nightmares.

No one spoke much during the meal, but Cleo could tell that the waiting was almost too much for Gloria.

“So now you’ve rested and eaten a whole trout, you sure can tell us what’s bothering you,” she said finally. “What was all that nonsense on the phone?”

“It was about a simple-minded girl who caught her mother in bed with the guy she thought was her boyfriend.”

“And where do I come in?”

“You don’t come in. You were an example.”

“That’s a contradiction, Cleo.”

“It’s like this, Mother. The boyfriend was stabbed to death on Upper Grumpsfield Common. The girl thought her mother had done it or was at least responsible for it all since she had been give the boy lessons in sex. The daughter said she was going to kill her mother for stealing the boyfriend.”

“I still don’t know what I have to do with it all.”

“I wanted to explain that if a wife finds her mother in bed with her husband, she might want to kill him.”

“Her motive would have been betrayal, wouldn’t it?” said Gloria.

“That’s exactly what I meant. Betrayal. A mother misusing her child's trust,” said Cleo pointedly.

“I did not have sex with Jay Salerno, Cleo,” said Gloria, indignant that Cleo should say such a thing.

“I didn’t say you had,” said Cleo.

Since Gloria had taken sides with Jay Salerno, Cleo’s divorced husband, even after he had knocked her about until she been hospitalized and lost her baby, and refused to believe that Jay was anything but kindness itself, there was a strong element of accusation in Cleo’s voice.

Gloria was contrite. She had the feeling she was a survivor of a very nasty accident.

“I’ve said I’m sorry a thousand times, Cleo.”

“And I didn’t even consider killing you, Mother.”

 “Well, I’m relieved and I did not have sex with Jay or any other boyfriend of yours, Cleo.”

“Shall I leave the room, Ladies?” said Robert, totally out of his depth.

“Henry James couldn’t have found a better plot, Cleo,” said Gloria. “Did the girl carry out her threat?”

“No. I confiscated the breadknife and now she’s wandering about trying to come to terms with life.”

“I suppose you mean the girl is wandering about, not the mother,” said Gloria.

“I suppose you mean Jessie Coppins,” said Robert.

“That’s correct.”

“Isn’t there anything you can do for her?” Gloria wanted to know.

“Find the real killer,” said Cleo.

“Which killer?”

“All of them, Robert.”

“Isn’t that a job for the cops?” asked Gloria.

“Yes, but they seem slow on the uptake,” said Cleo, feeling she was betraying Gary by being irritated by the lethargy in the homicide squad.

“I suppose you mean Gary,” said Robert. “He seems to carry all his personal problems round like a sack of potatoes and leaves his work locked in a dark cellar somewhere where the potatoes should be. He’s in the wrong job.”

“I think the burnout is raising its ugly head again.”

“And I think he lets you do all the dirty work!”

“No, Robert. I do it for myself as well. I’m sort of anxious to beat the guy at solving the crimes I get to investigate.”

As she said those words, Cleo wondered if they were true. Was she only using Gary and enjoying the intimate hours he offered her?

“That isn’t a good idea, Cleo,” said Gloria. “You don’t have the resources or the protection that the cops have.”

“Nor does Jessie except me and I haven’t achieved much so far.”

“So who did kill Mrs Oldfield?” Robert wanted to know. He felt on safer ground with her murder, but not for long.

"She was poisoned, so it could have been Jessie, but I hope it wasn't."

"I thought Mrs Oldfield was stabbed," said Gloria.

"Stabbing was not the cause of death, Mother. The stabbing occurred when she was already dead."

"What kind of a brute stabs a corpse?"

“Good question. We need more clinical information from Chris Marlow.”

“Who’s Chris?” Gloria wanted to know.

“You remember, Mother. That’s the forensic expert. I think he does the work on time, but Gary is in no hurry to pass the results on.”

“That’s pretty mean.”

“It’s typical Gary. He’s ambitious and pathologically scared that the Hartley Agency will beat him to a solution again.”

“Despite his infatuation, Cleo?” said Robert.

“Because of it, I suspect,” said Cleo.

"He needs a shrink," said Gloria.

“Let’s have coffee,” said Robert, who was sick and tired of crime and Gary. Most of all Robert was fed up with Cleo’s involvement with either or both. Why couldn’t she have continued to run Middlethumpton’s public library? She was safe there.

Robert’s daughter Julie had even got involved with Gary, he argued, his mind in a turmoil, though he would never have admitted it. Julie had soon realized what a dead end the situation was, or at least, she had hinted as much. Robert would have preferred to see Julie getting on with Gary since that would have meant he was no longer interested in Cleo.

But now Julie was back with Colin Peck, her former boyfriend, and Robert would welcome him as a son-in-law in preference to Gary, if the truth be known. That was the brightest spot on Robert's horizon right now. The darkest was that he did not think that the woman named Sybil or Moira or both was a serious candidate for Gary, so the cop was to all intents and purposes a free man. Free to mess around with Cleo? Robert did not know that Julie knew exactly what Gary’s true intentions were. Her father was going to suffer enough without her rubbing salt into the wound.