Carruthers' Demise, Chapters Twenty Four & Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Four
Leaving Lyndhurst police station, Inspector Jack Manners hurried to his car, ducking out of the ceaseless rain that had attributed considerably to the gloom of his day. He sneezed; the damp weather was doing nothing to vanquish his hay fever affliction. Sinking back momentarily in his seat, he raised his eyes to the visor that had been redundant of late, and taking a deep breath uttered an expletive.
Why did the powers that be choose to involve him in a case like this? A murdered publisher, and a disappearing best-selling novelist, who in all likelihood was responsible not only for his murder, but the vagrant Foulkes as well. Add to that a disagreeable literary agent in her husband, who even if he wasn’t in collusion couldn’t see the wood for the trees – and to top it all a country bumpkin of a sergeant who he’d been forced to cooperate with owing to the rural plod’s dwindling resources.
What made matters worse was he couldn’t understand how people such as novelists made up stories and got well paid for doing it. He lived in the real world, dealt with real people in real locations – he wasn’t locked away in some cosy study creating make-believe. Okay, in Carruthers’ case he only represented writers but that was just as bad. They lined his pockets and he doubted that the man had to do too much to earn the cash. Manners engaged the engine, shook his head. They should try living in the real world, the lot of them. He hadn’t the time for their nonsense.
And yet, despite the touch of acid that this case brought to his throat, it wasn’t all bad. There might yet be a silver lining locked away in their somewhere. If he could track the woman down quickly enough he’d have the result he badly needed to restore momentum to a stuttering career.
Manners drove out of Hampshire contemplating that very point. There was no doubting his career had stalled. He’d had a good beginning – a sound education had stood him in good stead for his push to the top. And then, early on in his police career he’d met Jennie, a constabulary police officer, at a police charity ball.
They’d hit it off, and it had helped that Jennie’s father was a former superintendent with influence in the force. The combination of some good publicity on one hand and a word in the right place on the other, plus his own undoubted skills had propelled him to the rank of inspector in no time at all. And that was where it had started to go awry. Jennie being something of a publicist had a liking and tendency to be at the hub of things. That inclination had started to grate on him and it wasn’t too long before he’d begun to dissociate himself from the various gatherings Jennie attended; not all, he thought, were professionally orientated.
Before long the rift had developed sufficiently for them to part company; okay, it might have been pure coincidence but that had been the point at which his career had run out of steam.
However, if he could nail this one quickly enough he might be able to gain a little upward momentum; particularly considering the social status of the individuals concerned.
Because that was what he’d set his sights on the moment he’d joined the force. His banker father and lecturer mother had raised their eyebrows initially, but once he’d explained that plodding the beat featured nowhere in his aspirations, they’d capitulated to his reasoning.
Now however, he was becoming increasingly frustrated with the standstill in his fortunes. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility however, that this case, even with the literary theme he abhorred, might yet prove to be his saving grace.

Chapter Twenty Five
Carruthers wandered off into the rain, glad to be free of Manners’ overbearing presence and having received his inevitable caution that the Inspector be advised of any movements he might make.
Manners was on the wrong track but only Carruthers’ own belief and intuition told him that.
He’d come close to pointing a finger at Casey, she might have jumped out in front of him, so stark was the sudden notion of her involvement. But as much as he needed to confront her he was hell bent on finding Chelsey, even though he knew he might find her in Noades’ arms. The shock revelation that Manners was looking to arrest her brought added urgency to Carruthers’ objectives.
The chances were she’d find out anyway, because no matter what Noades and Chelsey had going between them, it would be unthinkable that she could avoid the tentacles of the media with all its forms; but he’d made it his personal quest to find his wife and nothing was going to deter him from that.
Thoughts of the media brought him around to the distasteful subject of Adrian; no doubt with his press connections the man was well informed, nonetheless Carruthers summoned up the spirit to contact him, more out of a sense of duty than anything else.
Oddly he found the conditions less oppressive out on the Forest. Free of Manners he found the rain squalls a relief from the intense humidity.
Not for the first time he thought Adrian sounded harassed. ‘Just a moment.’ He heard the furious ‘hush’ to the barking dog.
‘I expect you’ve already heard,’ Carruthers began, ‘but in case you haven’t, the police have issued a warrant for Chelsey’s arrest.’
‘What? Are you kidding me? Adrian blustered. ‘This is your doing, Carruthers – what the blazes…’
‘It’s not my fault, damn you,’ Carruthers yelled back, then steadying himself, ‘they’ve found pieces of her diary in Goldhawk’s pocket…’
‘How the hell could they have done that?’
“Because someone took them from her bag and for all I know that might have been you…” Carruthers narrowly held back from uttering his thoughts, because what possible reason could Adrian have had? And in any case the man jumped in again with another outrageous remark –
‘And who put them there, you?’
‘Oh for goodness sake, if you’re going to continue to take this absurd line I’m ringing off…’ Carruthers thought to do just that but he needed to let rip. ‘I don’t see you doing anything to help find her, when you came here you disappeared soon enough.’
‘Rubbish, Carruthers,’ Adrian responded sounding angrier by the minute. ‘I’m utilizing all my media contacts to try and locate her. I’m more concerned than anybody.’
Carruthers stifled a sneer. ‘There are a couple I’m not sure about – this hotel guy for one, I thought there was something about him…’ he broke off, on the verge of relaying the Noades issue, but he knew how possessive Adrian was about his half-sister.
‘What hotel guy?’ Adrian’s voice rose. ‘What on earth are you talking about?’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Carruthers said tiredly. ‘And Casey Jennings, there’s never been any love lost between them, she’s been acting strangely.’
‘Now look Carruthers, you’re trying to blame everyone but yourself!’ Adrian stormed.
‘Fine, if that’s what you think.’ Carruthers terminated the call, not being willing to listen to any more bluster from a man he’d always struggled to tolerate.
He caught a bus for the first time in a long while. It came along as he was ending his unsavory conversation with Adrian, and wondering how on earth the man had managed to engage all available media contacts to determine Chelsey’s whereabouts, while being unaware of the warrant for her arrest.
That didn’t gel. He had to assume that Adrian’s claim was plucked out of the air in response to his counter-accusation of her half-brother’s lack of concern.
Given Adrian’s closeness to Chelsey this puzzled Carruthers, because despite his blustering, accusatory tone there seemed to be no underlying concern for her whereabouts.
Carruthers showered and changed clothes, and then eager to scour the area where he’d lost sight of Noades he headed out to his car. And then he had a thought – if he was to search clinically then he needed to start from the beginning. When the hotel had employed Noades they must surely have recorded his personal details – and that would have included an address.
He strode back to the hotel and engaged the receptionist, one he hadn’t seen before. She gave him an awkward glance when he asked whether they had Noades’ address. ‘I’m an old friend,’ he lied, putting on his most amiable face, ‘and I’m looking to surprise him.’
The receptionist appeared to accept this and went through to the main office, emerging a few minutes later with some details scribbled on a complimentary slip. ‘This is the address we were given, Mr. Carruthers. It’s against our normal procedure to release employee details but as you’re a guest at the hotel we’ve made an exception in this instance.’
Carruthers thanked her and returned to his car. There had been an apprehension about the woman which suggested that Chelsey’s disappearance and ensuing incidents had afforded him a degree of notoriety. He wondered whether this was the way it would be from now on.
Once in his car Carruthers studied the address the receptionist had given him. Brockenhurst was as good a start as he could have hoped for, being close to the point where Noades had slipped away from him. He punched ‘The Rise,’ into his navigation system and arrived at the location, close to Brockenhurst centre, in fifteen minutes. The house was a sizeable, nondescript grey brick affair, with a ‘no vacancies’ sign displayed inside a front window.
Giving three raps on the door pane with his knuckles, he was met by a portly middle-aged male who evidently thought he couldn’t read. With the index finger of his right hand arcing towards it, he said, ‘I’m afraid there aren’t any vacancies as the sign says.’
‘No.’ Carruthers raised the palm of a hand. ‘I’m not looking to stay. I’m led to believe that a Robin Noades is living here.’
‘Robin Noades?’ The proprietor frowned, gave a shake of the head. ‘I don’t have anyone of that name, I’m afraid you’ve been misinformed. I had a Robert Bodes book in a couple of weeks back, stayed a week – but other than that I can’t help you.’
‘I see. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.’ Carruthers turned, irritated at the apparent dead-end, but then had a thought, wheeling round as the man was closing the door. ‘No, wait – can you describe this – Mr. Bodes?’
The proprietor sucked in breath. ‘As I recall he was tall, fair haired and slim, seemed a likeable young chap. A bit of a ladies’ man I should imagine.’
Carruthers bit his lip, the last part hurt. Could this man be Noades?
‘And I don’t suppose you’ve any idea where he is now?’ Carruthers asked, aware of his accelerating heart rate.
‘None at all.’ The podgy man looked up at Noades thoughtfully. ‘He said he was touring the area, enjoying his holiday, though I suspected there was more.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘After he moved on I found some property rental leaflets from estate agents in his drawer. It seemed to me he might have had plans for staying longer term.’
Carruthers enlivened heart missed a beat, causing him to cough. ‘Have you got them now?’
The proprietor shook his head. ‘I’d no reason to keep them.’ He narrowed his greying brows. ‘Why do you ask – are you a detective?’
‘No, only a friend needing contact – I don’t suppose you recall the agents who provided the leaflets?’ Carruthers asked, feeling a wave of sudden optimism.
‘Oh yes, of course – there are only two.’ The man turned towards the door. ‘I’ll jot them down for you…’
‘No it’s okay.’ Carruthers didn’t want to waste time with pen and paper. A glance at his watch told him that time was pressing on. ‘If you could provide me with their names that should be enough.’
‘Yes, very well. One’s Buddington and Hart, the other’s Jeffries. You’ll find them both on the main street.’
‘Thank you very much,’ Carruthers said, getting the feeling he was really on the trail, but not liking the picture his mind was painting for him.
Carruthers sped to the main street to find one agent closed and the other in the process of doing so. But the second of the two, Julian Jeffries, had been obliging enough to check his records for any property lettings related to Robert Bodes and call him in the morning. When
asked for his name Carruthers had given it as Cousins. The name Carruthers right now, was bound to invite questions he wasn’t willing to answer.
He returned to the hotel that evening fired up, the picture developing in his mind having provided the fuel. He had the feeling he was on the verge of tracking down Noades and confronting Chelsey. She had nothing to do with any murder, he’d always known that in his heart – but her heart appeared to have deserted him in favour of Noades.
If this really was Noades, then had he known Chelsey for longer than he’d thought? Had they formed a relationship prior to their arrival, and had his stay at the lodgings been to scout
for a house? Was this the reason for Chelsey’s increasingly disturbed and aggressive behaviour?
He’d soon find out the answer to that.
Carruthers headed for the bar and ordered a double whisky.