The Planting of the Penny Hedge Page 5

  Mr Brown left the office, leaving the detective alone. This gave him a couple of minutes to write in his note book before Mr Brown returned with a younger man in his mid-thirties.

  ‘Do you need me to stay Detective?’ Mr Brown asked, already half way through the door.

  ‘Not right now Mr Brown but I may need to come back sometime if that’s okay.’

  ‘Perfectly, now if you’ll excuse me I am needed on the bay.’

  He exited, leaving the detective with the young man who took the seat across the desk occupied by his boss just minutes ago.

  ‘Detective, Mr Brown tells me this is about James.’ David Turner was a thin man with short curly hair and wore filthy overalls that looked as though they were covered in fish guts. His voice was deep and articulate which did not match his appearance at all. The detective showed Mr Turner the same photograph of the body on the beach.

  ‘Can you confirm this is him?’

  ‘Woah… yes that’s him.’ He couldn’t look at the picture for more than a second and pushed it back to the detective. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Mr Turner do you know James’ surname by any chance?’

  ‘Yes sir, it’s Robinson.’ Detective Matthews kept his notebook out and continued to make notes.

  ‘Do you know where he has been staying?’

  ‘He’s been renting a room on Church Street. The guest house owned by Mrs Sheppard, crazy old bat, you’ve probably heard of her.’ Mr Turner snorted.

  ‘Tell me, how long has Mr Robinson been staying at the guesthouse?’

  ‘Oh I’m not sure, probably the whole time. He’s only been here in Whitby less than a year. I told him it’d be cheaper to get a room somewhere else, but he seemed keen to stay there.’

  ‘Would you consider Mr Robinson a friend, did you socialise outside work?’

  ‘Oh yes, not every day, but we would sometimes have a pint or two in the Black Horse. Was one of the only pubs which let him in anymore, he was barred from quite a few.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Fighting mostly, he had a temper on him. Certainly didn’t have any friends that’s for sure, even I wouldn’t consider myself that close to him. He got kicked out of the Duke of York once for harassing the waitress, putting his hand up her skirt he was. The White Horse and Griffin banned him for trashing the place, after getting so drunk he started throwing chairs. It was rare you’d see him with anyone as he drunk, usually just propped up against the bar on his own.’

  ‘I see. Its sounds as though our Mr Robinson was not well liked, which will probably make this investigation much harder.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Turner replied. ‘I know not many liked him but I don’t know any who would go as far as to kill him.’

  ‘Mr Turner do you know why he had come to Whitby in the first place, or where he had come from?’

  ‘He was also a private person, never told me anything about his life before coming here other than when he arrived in town. Although I always suspected he was looking for somebody, you know like a relative he was trying to find.’

  ‘What makes you think this?’ Matthews continued scribbling on his pad.

  ‘He never made it that obvious but when we first met he asked me if I knew somebody, I can’t remember the name now but the way he asked was as though it should be somebody around this area. He would always be scanning the street as though looking out for someone and I know he would ask around in the pubs, hence why he is known in them all.’

  ‘And you can’t remember what this name was…do you recall if the name was of a man or woman?’

  ‘I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘Mr Turner on the night that James was murdered, were you out drinking with him that night?’

  ‘No, sir. He had asked me to join him for drinks at the Black Horse Inn, but I couldn’t afford it. I usually joined him on a Friday after work when we got paid, nothing more.’

  ‘Do you know if he made plans to go out with anybody else?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge, but to be honest he went out for a drink most evenings so I presume he was alone but of course I couldn’t be sure.’

  ‘Can you tell me what time James left work that evening?’

  ‘We usually knock off around six. I headed straight home. James was in a particularly cheery mood that day, but never said why. Begged me to go for a drink that evening, and got a little upset when I said no.’

  ‘So once you clocked out of work that was the last you saw of him?’

  ‘Yes detective, he headed over the bridge and towards Church Street. We spoke briefly walking towards the bridge but then I headed the opposite way to my house on Broomfield Terrace, its near Pannett Park.’

  ‘Okay, well thank you for your time Mr Turner, if I could just get some details from yourself in case I need to speak with you again.’ Mr Turner wrote down his name and address for the detective before returning to his work. Matthews followed him out of the office, and when back on the street thanked him again.

  Harvey was still waiting outside the door and greeted the detective with a smile upon seeing him. ‘Get anything, sir?’

  ‘I think so, we finally have a name and address of where he was staying, so it’s a start. Come on, let’s get to the station, I should’ve been there hours ago.’

  Chapter 8

  By early afternoon, the Detective had managed to amass together two officers to question the residents of Havelock Place. Both given only the minimal information required of the case, as well as a pencil sketch of the victim that the chief had had arranged the previous day. Given the length of the street, Matthews knew they would be at it for the remainder of the day, if not longer; he knew from his days interviewing the public in York how much people loved to talk; especially when it involves a crime.

  During this time, he had also been shown to his new office by Mrs Lloyd-Hughes, his new secretary. She was in her late forties with dark hair that was cut into a bobbed style, and even in her small heals she didn’t quite reach the detectives shoulder. She had large thick glasses which covered half of her face and yet she still seemed to squint as though she struggled to see. She wore a simple navy blue dress which had long sleeves and came up high on her chest.

  Mrs Lloyd-Hughes was in fact the secretary to a number of senior members of the police station, but her desk was conveniently outside of Detective Matthews office in a small foyer. She greeted him as though they had known each other for years, and in some ways she had. She had worked in the offices at the station for a number of years and Matthews could remember her working on the front reception desk when he was a child.

  ‘W-Welcome b-back.’ She coughed into her handkerchief, and her voice was croaky as though she was unwell, and her words came out as though she was constantly out of breath. But Matthews knew that this was just her normal voice, although the coughing did seem to be much worse than he had remembered.

  ‘Thank you Mrs Lloyd-Hughes, it is nice to see you again.’

  ‘If you…’ she started coughing again into her handkerchief, and once stopped took a long drag on her cigarette before continuing, ‘if you need anything s-sir, just s-shout.’ She coughed again, wheezing away as she returned to her desk chair, and Matthews headed inside the office.

  He was grateful that his office was not too close to his fathers. It was a modest sized room with double windows that looked towards the police stables and training paddocks. He had a large solid oak desk, which he thought was completely empty, except one of the draws that was locked.

  ‘Mrs…’ He went to shout, but his secretary was already walking through his office door with a key in her hand, as though she had read his mind.

  ‘F-Forgot to hand you this s-sir.’ She spoke, trying her hardest not to cough again. ‘The C-Chief handed it to me yesterday.’

  She placed the key on the desk and let herself out again, wheezing as she went. Matthews immediately unlocked the draw to see inside a pistol with body harness, and laid on top was
an official police badge. A brass, star shaped badge that was the size of Matthews palm. It had the crown of Queen Victoria on the top, and in the centre was a rose to symbolise the white rose of Yorkshire; and around the rose were the words “North Yorkshire Police”. Matthews slipped the badge into his trouser pocket, but decided to leave the pistol there for now and relocked the draw.

  He then decided to check out the rest of his modest office. There was a bookcase behind the door which was bare and covered in dust, and a dusty old fireplace in the corner that still had old burnt out coal in it from the previous occupant. The office had clearly lain vacant for some time and now inside and behind his desk the detective almost didn’t know what to do with himself. He checked through his bag and decided to store certain items in his desk that he felt didn’t need carrying around, he also checked through his notes to ensure he hadn’t missed anything.

  The stop off at the docks had really given him a boost of confidence having now finally gotten some information. He knew he still had a long way to go, but this small boost was making him feel much better about his new position. He lit a cigarette and rested his feet on the window sill besides him as he leaned back in his chair, after a minute or two he realised he had nowhere to put the ash from his cigarette and quickly walked over to the window, holding a hand underneath in case the ash was to drop prematurely. He flicked it outside. He could see Harvey in the courtyard brushing down the two horses whilst they stood and ate hay.

  He then recalled his intention to visit the guest house James Robinson had been staying. Late afternoon was already fast approaching and so he grabbed his bag, placed his notebook back inside and headed out, cigarette still in one hand. On his way out he asked Mrs Lloyd-Hughes to make a note of any messages that came in, although he didn’t expect any, she gave him a nod and smile as she continued typing on her typewriter.

  ‘Where to now sir?’ Harvey said upon seeing him come into the courtyard. His face filled with joy at knowing Matthews had purposefully come to find him.

  ‘To Church Street,’ Matthews replied as he hopped inside the carriage whilst Harvey re-attached the horses, ‘it’s time to pay a visit to Mrs Sheppard’s guest house.’

  ‘Right-e-o.’ Harvey slammed the carriage door shut and took his perch up front.

  The ride to Church Street was short, and the hustle and bustle of the town soon surrounded them. The cobblestones of Church Street made for an uncomfortable ride, but thankfully it was not a very long street. They passed the White Horse and Griffin to the right, and then the market square to the left before coming to a stop outside a modest little building nestled between a newsagents and another guesthouse. It was three storeys tall, with a bright red door and window frames. The street was extremely narrow at this point and it was a struggle for Matthews to get out of the carriage as the building sat right against the constricted road side.

  ‘Would you like me to wait for you sir?’ Harvey asked from his perch up front. The carriage soon became surrounded by people all curious to why a police vehicle was there. A number of children surrounded the horses to pet them.

  ‘I think it is probably better for you to move the horses back along the road where it was wider, you will probably struggle to turn around with these crowds anyway.’ Harvey nodded and guided the horses forward away from the people in the hope to turn around. Matthews fought his way through the crowd of people to the front door of the guest house and banged on the door. Many of the onlookers waited to see what was going on, none of them disguising what they were doing.

  ‘What’s the matter constable, is she in trouble?’ an elderly woman asked. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised, she’s an odd ball if ever there was one.’ The detective reframed from answering her question, and thankfully Mrs Sheppard finally opened the door. She didn’t say anything at first and looked in shocked at the hoard of people surrounding her doorway. Beckoning the detective inside she seemed almost relieved to shut the door on the noisy crowd.

  ‘I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear myself think. Are you here to see me officer?’ Mrs Sheppard’s voice was soft and the surprise on her doorstep seemed to have thrown her off balance. She was barely concentrating on the detective and was still looking at the now closed door. She had dark grey hair that was short and curled, she wore no make-up and was dressed in a simple black dress that was dirty at the bottom where it grazed the floor. She had an apron on that was pale and patterned with flowers.

  ‘Mrs Sheppard is it?’

  ‘Huh? Oh…yes, that’s me. Can I help you?’ She finally took her eyes from the door and took the gaze of the man in front of her.

  ‘Mrs Sheppard my name is Detective Matthews, I work at the Whitby Police Station…’ he still wasn’t used to his new title, and he almost slipped again by nearly saying York station, ‘I am here because I believe a man named James Robinson has been staying at this guest house for some time, would that be correct?’

  ‘That is correct detective, Room Three, he’s been here since September.’

  ‘Do you know of his whereabouts now?’

  ‘I don’t really pry into my guests’ personal lives detective, I am quite happy to just let them be. He didn’t join me for breakfast this morning, but then sometimes he doesn’t come back if he got drunk or gone off with a girl. Mind, I’ve never had nobody stay here as long as him before though.’

  ‘Do you find that strange Mrs Sheppard?’

  ‘Well normal folk do just stay a couple of days, maybe a couple of weeks even, but rarely more than that. He’s practically living here…but I don’t mind, he pays his way like any other guest.’

  ‘Mrs Sheppard the reason for my call is that yesterday morning a man was found on the beach, dead. We have reason to believe it was Mr Robinson.’ A gasp was all she could manage, and she covered her mouth with one hand. ‘Do you know if he had any relatives we could contact?’

  ‘As I say son, I don’t delve too much into guests’ personal lives. We barely ever had a real conversation. I know he worked at the docks, don’t ask me which yard as I don’t even know that.’

  ‘Would you be willing to identify the body Mrs Sheppard, with no family I’m afraid we have nobody else.’

  ‘I guess I could detective, if you’re sure there is nobody else.’

  ‘I was also wondering if I could take a look at his room, see if there is anything in there that could give us some more details on him or his family, or even anything that could indicate what happened yesterday.’

  ‘Yes of course son, let me get you my spare key. I have one for all the rooms so I can give them a clean.’ She shuffled off along the corridor, leaving Matthews by the front door. She wasn’t gone long, and returned with a large metal key in her hand. ‘Room Three, top of the stairs and to your right. If you need anything detective just shout.’ With that she disappeared into the back, leaving the detective alone.

  The stairs were narrow and creaked with every footstep he took. The smell of cigarette smoke filled the whole building and the walls leading upstairs were covered in damp and mould. Matthews found the room easily enough and before trying the key gave a gentle knock, just in case. There was no answer.

  The door to the room was unlocked with a loud clunk, and the bottom of the door rubbed along the worn carpet making it an effort to open. The room itself was small, with a single bed. which had clearly been made up neat by Mrs Sheppard, and a small wooden bedside table with a half burnt candle rested upon it. There was a slender free-standing wardrobe at the base of the bed, and a thin dirty window that looked towards the harbour. To look at it the room seemed immaculate, but the detective soon came to realise that this was just a facade. Under the bed was rammed with what could only be described as junk, the two-drawer bedside table too was overflowing with mess inside, as was the wardrobe. He soon realised he was going to be here a while.

  The underside of the bed was mostly littered with dirty clothing, with the occasional old payslip, and tissue and food wrappings that had clearly not made
it to the dustbin. Matthews made sure to pull everything out just in case there was anything hidden at the back. The bedside draws were filled with clothing, mostly socks and underwear; there was also a fold out map of Whitby, as well as receipts for clothing and food shops, nothing from this pile stood out as being peculiar.

  He drew his attention to the wardrobe. The clothing hung inside all looked the same, and piles of unwashed items were thrown in the bottom. Matthews checked there was nothing underneath them and even checked the pockets of each item. He turned his attention to inspecting the one and only shelve at the top of the wardrobe. There were only a handful of items here, a small shoe box and a Kelly & Co. Ltd 1881 addition of the Whitby Directory. He opened the shoe box and discovered it contained letters, hundreds of them, and not all from the same person. Scanning a handful he managed to identify that many of them were from the same person, yet there were certainly one or two other sets of handwriting that he could make out too. He would take the box with him and check through it more closely at his leisure.

  Before leaving he decided to make sure anything he had touched was returned to its original place. He double checked there was nothing else up on the shelf out of view. There was only the directory book, which he lifted down and quickly thumbed through, not expecting anything out of the ordinary. To the detectives shock the interior of the book was covered in writing, crossings out and scribbles. Not all pages were defaced, and the detective flicked through a number of pages to see if there was any obvious pattern, but without looking through it more carefully it was difficult to tell. There was something about this James Robinson that didn’t quite seem right, thought Matthew’s, what exactly was he trying to achieve here?

  Chapter 9

  The detective left Mrs Sheppard’s guest house, dismissed Harvey for the rest of the day and returned home by foot. It was now early evening on Friday and most of the shops in Whitby would soon be closed for the night. He stopped off at various places along the way for extra supplies. He still needed some better cleaning equipment for his house, as the sweeping brush he currently had looked as though his grandmother had had it since the beginning of time; and he had very little food in the house. With the small shoe box of letters tucked under his arm, and the Whitby Directory safely stored in his briefcase he took off along Church Street in the hope to catch a number of shops before they closed for the day.