once more well. But I sinned in my thoughts for I did in my imaginings have my will of Jennet. I would the mind were controlled with as much facility as the body. It may be that I should send Jennet from the house.
Extract from the journal of John Banized,
15 May 1623
‘If she asks to see me again, Bob, tell her I’ve gone on a round-the-world voyage … retired … anything.’ Inspector Jenkins watched the swing door shut on his departing visitor.
‘I used to have that problem thirty years back, women chasing after me.’
Stan Jenkins swung round and saw Gerry Heffernan grinning.
‘It’s that woman again, Gerry, the nutcase. The one who says she’s seen the kid. It’s getting so she won’t leave me alone.’
‘Fancy a pint? She won’t find you down the Tradmouth Arms.’
Jenkins looked sheepish. ‘Beer’s out, I’m afraid. The diet.’
‘Slimline tonic, then. Come on. You look as though you need it.’
Jenkins hesitated for a moment, then followed Heffernan out through the swing doors. Bob Naseby smiled to himself as he watched them go, wondering how long Jenkins wouldtake to crack, given the proximity of the Tradmouth Arms’ best bitter.
One taste of slimline tonic was enough. Jenkins went to the bar and ordered himself a pint. The pub was pleasantly full but not overcrowded. Locals on their lunch hour, relieved that the tourist season was over and they could get a seat, tucked into the landlord’s much-acclaimed crab sandwiches. Heffernan and Jenkins did likewise.
They sat in amiable silence, jaws munching. Stan Jenkins spoke first. ‘How’s your new sergeant? Still shaping up okay?’
‘Fine.’ Heffernan took a sip of his beer. ‘He’s a good bloke. Did you know he’s got a degree in archaeology?’
Stan shook his head. ‘How’s he getting on with the others?’
‘Very well on the whole. But I’ve heard through the old station grapevine that our DC Carstairs has been making a few racist remarks to his buddies in the canteen – you know the sort of thing. At least Wesley outranks him so he can’t say much to his face. I’ll have a strong word if things don’t settle down once the novelty wears off.’ He sighed. ‘I put it down to bad influences.’ He sat back and drank deeply. ‘So what did your girlfriend have to say?’
‘My girlfriend? What do you mean?’
Jenkins looked quite put out. If Heffernan didn’t know better he would have said he’d touched on a guilty nerve. ‘The woman who keeps following you about.’
‘Oh, her,’ Jenkins said with some relief. ‘She just keeps saying she’s seen Jonathon Berrisford, that’s all. She believes it and all, poor cow.’
‘Maybe she has.’
‘What?’
‘Maybe she has seen him.’
‘Come on, Gerry. She just passes a kid of about the right age in the street and comes straight to us. Ten years ago she would have been locked up. I mean, I feel sorry for her, but it’s wasting our time.’
‘So is it always the same kid or what?’
‘How should I know? By the time we get there the kid, whoever he is, is long gone. I put a couple of uniforms tokeep watch on the area but they come up with nothing. There’s nothing to come up with. She’s a nutter.’
‘Same story today?’
‘She’s branching out. She reckons she saw the kid go into a house with a man. We’ll follow it up. No choice. It’s a million-to-one shot but it’s all we’ve got. I won’t tell the Berrisfords, though. I don’t want to get their hopes up.’
‘What are they like, the family?’
‘Hard to say under the circumstances. Seem like a decent couple. Middle-class, father a wine merchant or something like that. He’s the stoical type, doesn’t show his feelings much.’
Heffernan downed the last of his pint. ‘Any chance they’re involved?’
‘No way. I’d stake my pension on it. He’s their only kid, after years of trying apparently.’
‘She wouldn’t be the first adoring mother who couldn’t cope; something just
Extract from the journal of John Banized,
15 May 1623
‘If she asks to see me again, Bob, tell her I’ve gone on a round-the-world voyage … retired … anything.’ Inspector Jenkins watched the swing door shut on his departing visitor.
‘I used to have that problem thirty years back, women chasing after me.’
Stan Jenkins swung round and saw Gerry Heffernan grinning.
‘It’s that woman again, Gerry, the nutcase. The one who says she’s seen the kid. It’s getting so she won’t leave me alone.’
‘Fancy a pint? She won’t find you down the Tradmouth Arms.’
Jenkins looked sheepish. ‘Beer’s out, I’m afraid. The diet.’
‘Slimline tonic, then. Come on. You look as though you need it.’
Jenkins hesitated for a moment, then followed Heffernan out through the swing doors. Bob Naseby smiled to himself as he watched them go, wondering how long Jenkins wouldtake to crack, given the proximity of the Tradmouth Arms’ best bitter.
One taste of slimline tonic was enough. Jenkins went to the bar and ordered himself a pint. The pub was pleasantly full but not overcrowded. Locals on their lunch hour, relieved that the tourist season was over and they could get a seat, tucked into the landlord’s much-acclaimed crab sandwiches. Heffernan and Jenkins did likewise.
They sat in amiable silence, jaws munching. Stan Jenkins spoke first. ‘How’s your new sergeant? Still shaping up okay?’
‘Fine.’ Heffernan took a sip of his beer. ‘He’s a good bloke. Did you know he’s got a degree in archaeology?’
Stan shook his head. ‘How’s he getting on with the others?’
‘Very well on the whole. But I’ve heard through the old station grapevine that our DC Carstairs has been making a few racist remarks to his buddies in the canteen – you know the sort of thing. At least Wesley outranks him so he can’t say much to his face. I’ll have a strong word if things don’t settle down once the novelty wears off.’ He sighed. ‘I put it down to bad influences.’ He sat back and drank deeply. ‘So what did your girlfriend have to say?’
‘My girlfriend? What do you mean?’
Jenkins looked quite put out. If Heffernan didn’t know better he would have said he’d touched on a guilty nerve. ‘The woman who keeps following you about.’
‘Oh, her,’ Jenkins said with some relief. ‘She just keeps saying she’s seen Jonathon Berrisford, that’s all. She believes it and all, poor cow.’
‘Maybe she has.’
‘What?’
‘Maybe she has seen him.’
‘Come on, Gerry. She just passes a kid of about the right age in the street and comes straight to us. Ten years ago she would have been locked up. I mean, I feel sorry for her, but it’s wasting our time.’
‘So is it always the same kid or what?’
‘How should I know? By the time we get there the kid, whoever he is, is long gone. I put a couple of uniforms tokeep watch on the area but they come up with nothing. There’s nothing to come up with. She’s a nutter.’
‘Same story today?’
‘She’s branching out. She reckons she saw the kid go into a house with a man. We’ll follow it up. No choice. It’s a million-to-one shot but it’s all we’ve got. I won’t tell the Berrisfords, though. I don’t want to get their hopes up.’
‘What are they like, the family?’
‘Hard to say under the circumstances. Seem like a decent couple. Middle-class, father a wine merchant or something like that. He’s the stoical type, doesn’t show his feelings much.’
Heffernan downed the last of his pint. ‘Any chance they’re involved?’
‘No way. I’d stake my pension on it. He’s their only kid, after years of trying apparently.’
‘She wouldn’t be the first adoring mother who couldn’t cope; something just
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