The Ice House

19

The phone rang on McLoughlin's desk the following morning. "You're a jammy bastard, Andy. I've got a lead on that tramp of yours," said his mate in Southampton. "One of the uniformed sergeants recognised the description. Seems he picked up the old boy about a week ago and took him to a new hostel out Shirley way. No guarantee he's still there but I'll give you the address. You can check it out for yourself. He's called Wally Ferris and he's a regular down here during the summer. Sergeant Jordan's known him for years." McLoughlin wrote down the address, Heaven's Gate Hostel, and thanked him. "You owe me one," said the other cheerfully and hung up.

Heaven's Gate was a large detached Victorian house, probably much sought after in the days before motor cars, but its appeal was diminished now by the busy thoroughfare which mewled and milled about its front door.

Wally Ferris bore no resemblance to the description McLoughlin had circulated, except in age and height. He was clean. Scrubbed rosy cheeks and gleaming pate with frill of washed hair dazzled above a white shirt, black slacks and highly polished shoes. He looked, for all the world, like an elderly schoolboy on his first day in class.

They met in the sitting-room and Wally gestured to a chair. "Take a pew," he invited.

McLoughlin showed his disappointment. "No point," he said. "To be honest, I don't think you're the person I'm looking for."

Wally did a rapid about-turn and beetled for the door. "Suits me, son. I'm not comfortable wiv bluebottles and that's a fact."

"Hold on," said McLoughlin. "At least, let's establish it."

Wally turned and glowered at him, "Make yer bleeding mind up. I'm only 'ere because the lady of the 'ouse arst me. She's scratched my back, in a manner o' speaking, so I'm scratching 'ers. What you after?"

McLoughlin sat down. "Take a pew," he said, echoing Wally.

"Gawd, you're a shilly-shallyer and no mistake. Can't make yer mind up, can yer." He perched on a distant chair.

"What were you wearing when you came here?" asked McLoughlin.

"None of your effing business."

"I can ask the lady of the house," said McLoughlin.

"What's it to you, anyway?"

"Just answer. The sooner you do, the sooner I'll leave you in peace."

Wally sucked his teeth noisily. "Green jacket, brown 'at, black shoes, blue jumper and pink trews," he reeled off.

"Did you have them long?"

"Long enough."

"How long?"

"All different. 'Ad the 'at and jacket near on five years, I'd say."

"The trousers?"

"Twelve monfs or so. Bit on the bright side but a good fit. 'Ere, you're not finking I nicked 'em, are you? I was give 'em." He looked thoroughly indignant.

"No, no," said McLoughlin soothingly. "Nothing like that. The truth is, Wally, we're trying to trace a man who's disappeared and we think you may be able to help us."

Wally planted his feet firmly on the ground, one in front of the other beneath his, chair, poised to take flight. "I don't know nuffink about nuffink," he said with absolute conviction.

McLoughlin raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Don't panic, Wally. As far as we know, there's no crime involved. The man's wife asked us to find him. She says you came to the house the day before he disappeared. All we're wondering is if you remember going there, and if you saw or heard anything that might help us find out why he went."

Wally's rheumy eyes looked his suspicion. "I go to a lot of 'ouses."

"These two gave you a pair of brown shoes."

Something like relief flickered across the wizened features. "If the wife was there, why can't she tell you why 'er old man went?" he asked reasonably.

"She's become very ill since her husband went," said McLoughlin, stretching the truth like a rubber band. "She hasn't been able to tell us much at all."

"What's this chap done?"

"Nothing, except lose all his money and run away."

That struck a chord with Wally. "Poor bastard. Does 'e want to be found?"

"I don't know. What do you think? His wife certainly wants him back."

Wally considered for several minutes. "No one bovvered to come looking for me," he said in the end. "Sometimes I wished they 'ad 'ave done. They was glad to see the back of me, and that's the trufe. Go on then. Arst yer questions."

It took over an hour, but in the end McLoughlin had a clear picture of Wally's movements during the last week in May, or as clear as the old man could make it, bearing in mind he had been tight most of the time. "I was give a fiver," he explained. "Some old geezer in the middle of Winchester popped it in me 'and. Put the lot on a gee-gee called Vagrant, didn't I. Came up eleven to one. Ain't 'ad so much cash for years. Kept me plastered for free weeks 'fore it ran out."

He had hung around Winchester for most of the three weeks, then, when he was down to his last few quid, he'd made his way along the back roads to Southampton in search of new pickings. "I like the villages," he said. "Reminds me of cycling holidays in my youf." He remembered stopping at the pub in Streech. "It was pissing down," he explained. "Landlord was a decent sort, gave me no bovver." Paddy's wife, by contrast, was a fat old cow whom, for unspecified reasons, Wally didn't take to, but he winked ferociously a couple of times as he mentioned her. At three o'clock, they turned him out into the rain. "Ain't no fun when it's wet," he said lugubriously, "so I took meself off to a little shelter I know of and spent the afternoon and night there."

"Where?" asked McLoughlin when the old man fell silent.

"Never did no 'arm," said Wally defensively. "No call for anyone to complain."

"There haven't been any complaints," said McLoughlin encouragingly. "I won't rat on you, Wally. As far as I'm concerned, if you behave yourself, you can use it as often as you like."

Wally pursed his lips into a pink rosette. "There's a big 'ouse there. Easy as winking to pop over the wall. Been in the garden a few times, never seen no one." He gave McLoughlin a speculative look to see if he was interested. He was. "There's a sort of man-made cave near the woods," he went on. "Can't fink what it's for but it's got some bricks stacked in it. The door's 'idden by a big bramble but it's a doddle to creep in be'ind it. I always take bracken in wiv me to give me a good kip. 'Ere, why you looking like that?"

McLoughlin shook his head. "No reason. I'm just interested. Have you any idea what day this was, Wally?"

"Gawd knows, son."

"And you didn't see anyone when you were in the garden?"

"Not a soul."

"Was this cave in darkness?"

"Well, there ain't no electricity, if that's what you mean, but while it's light you can see. If the door's ajar, of course," he added.

McLoughlin wondered how to put the next question. "And the place was empty except for this stack of bricks you mentioned?"

"What you getting at?"

"Nothing. I'm just trying to get a clear picture."

"Then yes. It was empty."

"And what happened the next morning?"

"Hung around till lunchtime, didn't I?"

"In the cave?"

"No. In the woods. Nice and peaceful, it was. Then I got to feeling peckish, so I 'opped over the wall and looked about for somefing to eat." He had knocked on several doors, without much success.

"Why didn't you buy something with your winnings?" asked McLoughlin, fascinated.

Wally was intensely scornful. "Do me a favour," he admonished. "Why pay for somefink you can get free? It's booze they won't give away. Anyway, I 'adn't much winnings left and that's a fact."

He had found a group of houses on the outskirts of Streech where "an old bat" had given him a sandwich. The council houses, McLoughlin thought. "Did you try anyone else?" he asked.

"Young lass told me to push off. Gawd knows, I sympathised wiv 'er. There was a dozen nippers yelling their 'eads off in 'er front room." He abandoned Streech as a dead duck at that point and set off down the road. After about an hour, he came to another village. "Don't recall the name, son, but there was a vicarage. Always good for a touch, they are." He had roused the Vicar's wife and persuaded her out of a cup of tea and some cake. "Nice little woman, but she came over sanctimonious. That's the trouble wiv vicarages. You can always get a bite but you has to take the lecture wiv it. I scarpered sharpish." It had begun to rain again. "Strange wevver, I can tell yer. 'Ot as blazes most of the time, but every now and then there was a funder storm. You know the sort. Fat rain, I calls it. Flashes of lightning and great claps of funder." He had looked around for shelter. "Not a blooming fing. Nice little boxes wiv neat garages. No help to me. Then I comes to this bigger house, set back a bit. I fought I'd explore the back, see if there was a shed. I sneaks down the side and lo and be'old there's just what I'm looking for, nice little shed wiv no one in sight. I opens the door and pops inside." He stopped.

"And?" prompted McLoughlin.

A cunning gleam had appeared in the old man's eyes. "Seems like I'm giving you a lot of information for nuffink, son. What's in it for me?"

"A fiver," said McLoughlin, "if what you tell me's worth it."

"Ten," said Wally. He glanced behind him at the closed door then leaned forward confidentially. "To tell you the trufe, son, it's a bit claustrophobic this place. The lady of the 'ouse does 'er best but there's no fun. Know what I mean. A tenner'd give me a day out. I've been 'ere a week for Gawd's sake. I've 'ad more fun in prison."

McLoughlin considered the morality of giving Wally the wherewithal to turn his back on Heaven's Gate and concluded that Wally was on the point of scarpering whatever happened. You can't teach an old dog new tricks. Ten pounds would give him a start at least. "Done," he said. "What happened when you went into this shed?"

"Looked around for somefink to sit on, didn't I, make meself comfortable while I was there. Found this feller 'iding at the back be'ind some boxes. When 'e realised I'd seen 'im, 'e came over all 'oity-toity and ordered me off 'is property. I arst, reasonable like, why I should imagine 'e was the owner when 'e was skulking in the shed same as me. 'E got properly riled and called me a few names. In the middle of it, this woman comes out of the kitchen door to see what the noise is. I explains the situation and she tells me the geezer's 'er 'usband and 'e's in the shed looking for a paintbrush." Wally pulled a wry face. "They must've fought I was born yesterday. The paintbrushes was all laid out neat and tidy on a workbench at the side. The geezer was 'iding, no mistake. Anyway, I sees my opportunity. They wants rid of me and they'd pay up to see me go. I got a bottle of whisky, a decent pair of shoes and twenty quid out of it. Tried for more but they turned nasty and I reckoned it was time to skedaddle. This the feller you're looking for?"

McLoughlin nodded. "Sounds like it. Can you describe him?"

Wally's brow wrinkled. "Five tennish, fat, grey 'air. E'ad nancy feet for a man. The shoes they gave me didn't 'alf pinch."

"What did the woman look like?"

"Mousey little fing, sorrowful eyes, but Gawd she 'ad a temper. Lammed into me and 'er old man somefink rotten for making a noise." He looked suddenly thoughtful. "Not that we was, mind you. Froughout the 'ole fing, we spoke in whispers." He shook his head. "Bats the pair of 'em."

McLoughlin was jubilant. Got you, Mrs. T, he thought. "Where did you go then?"

A thoughtful expression crossed Wally's face. "There's a saying, son. A bird in the 'and is worf two in the bush. It had stopped raining but I 'ad this feeling we was in for anover funder storm. I fought to meself I've a bottle o' whisky and nowhere cosy to drink it. If I push on, 'oo's to say if I'll find a dry place for the night. So I 'ightailed it back to the cave at the big 'ouse and passed a 'alfway decent night." He considered McLoughlin out of the corner of his eyes. "The next day, I finks to myself, I've a few quid in me pocket and I've 'ad nuffink decent to eat for days, so I 'eaded off towards Silverborne. There's a nice cafe on the road-"

"Did you leave anything behind?" McLoughlin cut in.

"Like what?" asked the old man sharply.

"Like the shoes?"

"Dumped 'em in the woods," said Wally scornfully. "Damn fings gave me corns a right drubbing. That's where experience comes in. A young bloke would've chucked the old pair out before 'e'd properly tried the new. Then 'e'd've been in agony till 'e found some more."

McLoughlin tucked his notebook into his pocket. "You've been a great help, Wally."

"That it?"

McLoughlin nodded.

"Where's my tenner?"

McLoughlin took a ten-pound note out of his wallet and stretched it between his fingers. "Listen to me, Wally. I'm going to give you ten pounds now as a token of good faith, but I want you to stay here another night because I may want to talk to you again. If you do, I'll come back tomorrow morning with another ten, making twenty in all." He held out the tenner. "Is it a deal?"

Wally got up and pounced on the note, secreting it in the depths of his shirt. "Are you on the level, son?"

"I'll give you an IOU if you like."

Wally made as if to spit on the carpet, then thought better of it. "Be about as much use to me as a mug of water," he said. "OK, son, it's a deal. But if you don't come back first fing, I'm off." His eyes narrowed. "Don't you go telling the lady of the 'ouse, mind. I've 'ad my fill of good works this week. They don't know when to leave a bloke alone in this place."

McLoughlin chuckled. "Your secret's safe with me, Wally."

"I spotted the pattern," said McLoughlin to Walsh, with a tinge of irony which brought a glitter to the older man's eyes, "when I marked the houses which reported seeing the tramp." He pointed to small red crosses on the map in front of them. "If you remember, Nick Robinson had two reports. One from a woman in Clementine Cottage who said the tramp passed her house and went into the pub, which meant he was coming from the direction of Winchester. The next from the landlord at the pub who said he stayed until closing time then ambled off in the lee of the wall round the Grange estate, in other words heading towards East Deller." He traced his finger along the printed road. "The next reports we had of him were PC Williams's. He said an elderly woman had given the tramp a sandwich and a young woman had turned him away because it was her son's birthday. They both live on the council estate which is to the west of Streech and on the East Deller road. The date the young woman gave was May twenty-seventh. But when we spoke to Mrs. Thompson she told us he'd visited them in East Deller on the twenty-fourth. That would have meant he had doubled back on himself for some reason to come through Streech three days later from the direction of Winchester."

Walsh gathered together the remnants of his authority and buttoned them about himself with as much dignity as he could muster. "I went into all this myself," he lied. "The fact that we found the shoes at the Grange implies he did just that."

"I agree, so we needed another sighting in East Deller, with a date, if possible. Jonesy went out there to see what he could dig up. He had a chat with our friend the Vicar who told Jonesy he was writing a sermon when the tramp called at the vicarage. The Vicar couldn't give a date but he always writes his sermons on a Saturday. OK, now only two people have offered a definite date, May twenty-fourth, supplied by Mrs. Thompson, a Wednesday, and May twenty-seventh, the day of the birthday party, a Saturday. Wally is adamant he went from the council estate in Streech to the vicarage and the Thompsons at East Deller which puts him there on Saturday, May twenty-seventh. So why did Mrs. T. lie about the date?"

"Get on with it," ordered Walsh impatiently.

"Because, in face of her blatant lie, we had proved the shoes were her husband's and she had to explain why they were no longer in her possession. She opted for the truth this time, or as near the truth as damn it, and invited us to corroborate the story by giving us a description of the tramp. Remember, we never told her where we found the shoes. For all she knew we got them from the tramp himself." He collected his thoughts. "Now she could be sure, if we had the tramp, that he would say he'd seen her husband. So to give us the actual day of his visit would be tantamount to telling us her husband was alive and well and living in East Deller after she'd reported him missing. Bang would go her alibi. So she advanced the tramp's visit by three days. It was a gamble but it damn nearly paid off. Wally hasn't a clue when he went through, and if it wasn't for the child's birthday, neither would we. No one else can remember the date." He paused for a moment. "It's going to come as a nasty shock when we tell her where Wally dumped the shoes. In her wildest nightmares she couldn't believe it would be at the scene of her proposed crime."

Walsh stood up. "Poetic justice, I say. But I'd like to know how she persuaded him to lie low and how she got him to the ice house."

"Use your charm and she'll probably tell us," said McLoughlin.