Death of a Bovver Boy Page 3

  ‘I should think not!’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘It was bad enough Roger going off with his mother and leaving Kenneth for us to look after. Roger’s never given a bit of trouble and now he’s started work at the factory it means he’s a help instead of a hindrance like Kenneth’s been. I told Bert from the first, I said he ought to have kept the older one of the two and let their mother take Kenneth, then we shouldn’t have had all this trouble.’

  ‘Has it meant so much trouble for you?’ asked Carolus mildly.

  ‘Of course it has, with the police round here and everything else. Then I suppose there’ll be an inquest and goodness knows what. Anyone would think we’d murdered him the way they go on, instead of him very nearly murdering us when he set fire to the bed clothes, smoking half the night and half drugged for all I know. Pot, he called it, though the police told me it was cannabis. They used to get it from…’

  ‘We don’t know that,’ put in Bert Carver. ‘It’s only what you’ve been told. You want to be careful of saying things like that. We don’t know where he got it from.’

  ‘Still. You could tell by his eyes. He’d come down in the morning looking like I don’t know what. It was all this cannabis they talk about.’

  ‘Cannabis costs money,’ Carolus said.

  ‘Oh he always had plenty of money. You should see the clothes he had and the things he bought for himself. You know, radio sets and that. He must have a hundred or more records up in his room. Talk about money…”

  ‘Where did he get it from, that’s what I want to know,’ said his father. ‘It wasn’t as though he ever did a stroke of work. I wouldn’t put him past thieving if it came to that. It’s like you read about with all these young fellows nowadays, they won’t work but they expect to be given everything. Kenneth was just the same. I often wondered where he did get it from.’

  ‘You never asked him?’ tried Carolus.

  ‘What would have been the good? It would only have meant more lies. I let him get on with it.’

  ‘You don’t think, perhaps, that your “letting him get on with it”, as his father, I mean, may have caused some of the trouble?’

  ‘Certainly not. I knew my own son, didn’t I? I tried to use a bit of discipline when he was younger. But it was no good. I told him he was a proper little rotter, didn’t I, Con?’

  ‘All the same,’ Carolus persisted. ‘There must have been some good in your son.’

  ‘I don’t know where, then,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘I could never see any good.’

  ‘Dutch kept on with his singing,’ said Bert Carver, perhaps trying wearily to defend him.

  ‘Singing? What singing? Oh, you mean with the Pop group. I don’t see what good it did him. They can all do it, come to that. All they do is make a racket to keep you awake.’

  ‘No. I meant in the choir.’

  Carolus looked almost startled.

  ‘The choir? You mean a church choir?’

  ‘Yes, well, when he was a little youngster I used to send him down there with his brother to get him out of the way and stop him getting into mischief. Roger never took to it but young Kenneth fancied himself singing solos, with half the old women looking at him. They put him on to sing when the BBC did a television show of the church. That caused quite a lot of talk and Kenneth was running round like a dog with two tails.’

  ‘I don’t see that showed anything,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘Just because he happened to have a good voice, that didn’t make him an angel.’

  ‘Still it must have meant some work and study,’ Carolus pointed out.

  ‘Must have done, for the choirmaster,’ said Mrs Farnham contemptuously. ‘I don’t see Kenneth doing any study.’

  ‘So you couldn’t see any good in the boy at all?’ Carolus asked Mrs Farnham, almost pleading this time.

  ‘No. I couldn’t,’ she replied emphatically.

  ‘He used to look after that little girl of Mrs Bodmin’s, didn’t he?’ said Bert, who seemed to have come to his son’s defence.

  ‘The less said about that the better,’ Mrs Farnham rejoined. ‘She’s only twelve now and they say…’

  ‘You don’t want to believe everything you hear,’ interrupted Bert. ‘I don’t know where you get these things from, I really don’t.’ He turned to Carolus. ‘If you want to hear something good about the boy, don’t come to us, but go to Mrs Bodmin, the mother of the little girl I’m talking about. She’ll tell you. And you might try his brother Roger.’

  ‘What about his mother?”

  ‘I should keep away from her, if I was you,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘That is unless you want a knife in your back from that Jamaican or whatever he is. Besides, she’ll say the same as what we do about Kenneth. She knows the truth, you see. Of course, you can ask her,’ conceded Mrs Farnham. ‘Only she’s never had any time for Kenneth. She’s got too much to do imagining things about herself. Wait till you see her. Then you won’t wonder why…’

  ‘All right. All right,’ said Bert. ‘That’s enough of her. The only other person you’re likely to hear anything good about Kenneth from is Mr Leng, the choirmaster. You can try Swindleton who keeps the discotheque but he’s more likely to tell you how much pot Kenneth flogs for him.’

  ‘Now who’s making accusations?’ asked Mrs Farnham. ‘But I can tell you one thing. There isn’t one of the young girls in the place has a good word to say for him.’

  ‘But you say he has some friends?’

  ‘Friends? Greasers like himself. They won’t say anything, one way or the other. You can try, of course. You’ll find them down at Swindleton’s. The Spook Club it’s called—I think I told you. It’ll be a waste of time. You’d far better go to the Cattle Market…’

  ‘Where’s that?’

  ‘That’s what they call another discotheque, where the skinheads go. You might find out something there about Kenneth.’

  ‘What good it’ll do I don’t know,’ said Mrs Farnham. “The boy’s been killed and that’s the end of it. I don’t see what you want to go raking things up for.’

  ‘I want to know who killed him,’ said Carolus.

  ‘Why? Why do you want to know that?’ said Bert Carver in a frankly puzzled way.

  Carolus considered. Why was he spending time on finding out who murdered a seemingly worthless youngster? There was no logical answer. The pursuit for the love of it. Art for Art’s sake, he reflected. But he answered sharply—I don’t quite know. Perhaps I find myself siding with a boy whom everyone seems to condemn. Perhaps I was rather like that myself. At any rate I’m going to find out who killed him.’

  ‘And send him away for a few years, I suppose,’ said Bert.

  ‘Him, or her,’ Carolus responded.

  ‘Don’t look at me when you say that,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘I scarcely knew the boy and what I did know I wouldn’t have touched with a barge-pole.’

  ‘I don’t know where to look yet,’ admitted Carolus. ‘But I shall, Mrs Farnham. I can assure you that I shall.’

  ‘You know what I say?’ asked Bert. ‘I say you get on with it. And all the rest of them that can’t mind their own business. You get on with it, and the best of British Luck to you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Carolus. ‘It looks as though I shall need it if the rest of the boy’s friends and relatives are not more co-operative than you.’

  ‘What should we co-operate about, I should like to know?’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘We’ve told you all we can.’

  ‘Except anything which might possibly be of the smallest assistance to me.’

  ‘We didn’t even know he was missing till the Monday morning when we found he’d not been in all night.’

  ‘But from your accounts there was nothing unusual about that?’

  ‘Oh yes there was,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘He didn’t like missing his sleep. He’d come in after we’d gone to bed and not get up all day the next day until just before his father was coming home. Then he’d start dressing himself up and sneak away out before Bert could see him.�
�

  ‘What about food?’

  ‘He’d go to the Lucknow Restaurant some days, and some days to one of the cafés. But except sometimes on a Saturday he’d always come in at night. I used to hear him creeping upstairs when I was trying to get to sleep.’

  ‘How did you know where he went to eat?’

  ‘Roger told his dad that. I never saw him in the town myself. He was very deceitful. Never told anyone about himself. Even Roger didn’t know much. That’s why we can’t tell the police all they want to know.’

  ‘You go round and see that little girl’s mother,’ advised Bert Carver. ‘She’ll tell you more than what we can.’

  ‘Yes. You go,’ Mrs Farnham said challengingly. ‘You’ll find her at home now if you go straight away. 47 Docker Street, her address is. Her husband died a year or two back from a stroke while he was at work. One minute he was having a cup of tea and the next he was Gone, but his heart had been bad for some time the doctor said. She gets his pension of course and they’ve given her a job in the canteen where I used to work before I met my husband. I ought to have stayed there only how can you tell? This Farnham looked such a nice fellow. I never dreamt there was anything like that about him. You’ll find Mrs Bodmin is all on her own, and always will be by the look of her. I said to Bert the other day, I said, she looks more like a skeleton than a human being. But I must say she works hard in that canteen.’

  ‘What about the little girl?’

  ‘She’s at school all day. Her mother hasn’t got the time to look after her. They say she has to do everything for herself, even mend her own clothes and make her bed. It’s no life for a child of that age. Her mother ought to try and get married again, only where it is, she’s…’

  ‘That’s enough,’ said Bert. ‘You’re always on about someone. Let the man judge for himself.’

  ‘Yes. Well, that’s where you’ll find her. 47 Docker Street. It’s the house with the nasturtiums growing over the porch so you’re bound to know it. She’ll tell you about young Kenneth. More than you want to hear, very likely. If she doesn’t know I don’t know who does. They say she’s given him all her husband’s things…’

  ‘Who says?’ asked Bert angrily. ‘Trust you to know better than anyone else. His sister took her husband’s things home with her, what there was.’

  ‘That’s not what I heard,’ said Mrs Farnham. ‘Anyway, you pop round and try her. It’s not ten minutes. Turn to the left at the corner and keep straight on by the Wheatsheaf. She’ll be in now, sure to be. You’ll very likely find the little girl as well if she hasn’t gone to the pictures. She’s a Caution! Liz her name is, her father having called her after the Queen. She’s a little monkey but you can’t help laughing. I shouldn’t tell her you’ve seen me. She might get the wrong idea. You ask her about…’

  ‘He’ll ask her what he sees fit to ask her,’ said Bert and Carolus made for the door.

  Chapter Four

  At first it seemed that Carolus would not have a chance to ask Mrs Bodmin anything, for at 47 Docker Street the door was opened by a small girl who spoke in monosyllables and very unwillingly at that.

  ‘Is Mum in?’ Carolus asked, believing this was the most appropriate form of address for such an occasion.

  The little girl shook her head.

  ‘Will she be in soon, do you think?’

  The little girl nodded.

  ‘May I come in and wait for her?’

  This caused the little girl to stare at him critically and long.

  ‘Yes,’ she said finally.

  Carolus followed her into a sitting-room.

  ‘You have a friend called Dutch, haven’t you?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Have you seen him lately?’

  ‘Mum says he’s gone away.’

  ‘I expect you’re sorry?’

  ‘He gave me a motor-car,’ said the little girl unexpectedly.

  ‘A toy one?’

  ‘It goes fast. D’you want to see it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Without another word the small girl began to climb the stairs. She brought down a toy car, to Carolus’s inexpert eye it seemed an expensive one. Carolus did not know what prompted him to ask his next question.

  ‘Has your Mum seen it?’

  The small girl shook her head with some energy.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Dutch said not.’

  As though reminded of that prohibition, the child took the toy upstairs again.

  ‘Does Dutch often give you things?’

  ‘Sweets. And sausage rolls. And fruit jellies. And coke. And coconut cakes. And a pencil for school…’

  Carolus called a halt to this catalogue which promised to be interminable.

  ‘Does your Mum give you things?’

  ‘Sometimes but not like Dutch. Dutch gives me things I want.’

  ‘Are they all secrets?’

  ‘Yes. Dutch says not to tell.’

  ‘What mustn’t you tell?’

  A rather vacant look came across the face. Carolus realized that the child’s mind was somewhat retarded. Mental age about seven, he thought.

  ‘Lots of things,’ she said with a sly look.

  ‘Aren’t you going to tell me?’

  Liz shook her head.

  ‘Dutch won’t give me any more presents if I tell.’

  ‘Is there a secret between you and Dutch?’

  The head shook slowly from side to side.

  ‘Who is it about?’

  ‘Shan’t tell.’

  ‘About your Mum?’

  ‘No.’

  There was the sound of a key in the lock followed by the entrance of a very pale gaunt woman who stared at Carolus with—hostility, was it? Or curiosity?

  ‘Mrs Bodmin?’ asked Carolus rising. ‘I must apologize for coming in. Liz invited me. I wanted to see you.’

  Before answering him Mrs Bodmin turned to her daughter.

  ‘Run outside and play,’ she said, ‘while I talk to the gentleman. Run along, now, there’s a good girl.’

  Liz went.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Mrs Bodmin fairly amicably to Carolus. ‘Are you from the Insurance Company?’

  ‘No, Mrs Bodmin. I wanted to ask you about the boy they call Dutch Carver.’

  Mrs Bodmin looked up as though she was startled. After a moment she said quietly, ‘What about him?’

  ‘I have been told I might hear something good about him if I asked you. Up till now everyone seems, to have seen the worst side of his character.’

  Mrs Bodmin looked at him narrowly.

  ‘Have you been talking to Connie Farnham?’

  ‘Yes. I went to see his father.’

  ‘She’s a bitch,’ said Mrs Bodmin, with unexpected venom. ‘A real bitch. She made that poor boy’s life a misery as soon as she got hold of his father. I suppose she said he took drugs and that?’

  ‘She suggested something of the sort.’

  ‘She would. Just because she married a man that does nothing but run after boys, she has to turn his father against poor young Dutch.’

  ‘I didn’t get the impression that he needed much turning.’

  ‘Well, he might not have, but she made it worse. Dutch wasn’t a bad boy, Mr…’

  ‘Deene,’ said Carolus.

  ‘He wasn’t a bad boy, Mr Deene. Only he’d never had anyone to look after him. His mother going off with that African fellow…’

  ‘I heard he was a Jamaican.’

  ‘Whatever he was. And his father picking up with that Connie Farnham after her husband had left her, you can’t wonder at young Ken’s being a bit of a black sheep, can you? But there was no real harm in him. Ever so generous he was, too. He was always giving my little Liz presents.’

  ‘She seems to have been quite attached to him.’

  ‘She was. Of course I hadn’t the time to look after her all day, but I often said he was as good as a mother with her.’

  ‘You never felt the least concern abo
ut her when she was with Kenneth Carver?’

  ‘With Dutch? No, none at all.’

  ‘You don’t think there was anything she didn’t tell you? Any sort of secret between them?’

  ‘If you’re getting at what I think you are you can put that out of your head at once. Ken used to sing in the choir, you know.’

  ‘You think that’s a guarantee of virtue, Mrs Bodmin?’

  ‘You’re as bad as the rest of them, seeing harm that don’t exist. I know my little girl…’

  ‘Forgive my asking, but do you?’

  Mrs Bodmin stood up. Her face was flushed.

  ‘Look here, Mr Deene. I don’t know who you are or what business any of this is of yours. But if you think Kenneth would ever have done anything to be ashamed of with a child like Liz you’re very much mistaken.’

  ‘I just wondered…’

  ‘Well, don’t. I suppose Connie Farnham’s put you up to this. Asking all these questions. You ask her what the police told that thing she married before they made it legal, and see what she says to that.’

  ‘I understood that her husband was a butcher.’

  ‘So he is. Came in to the business from his uncle. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t hang round the public lavatory in the square every evening, does it? You can tell his wife—she’s still his wife however much she may pretend to be with Ken’s father—you can tell her to keep her nose out of my affairs.’

  ‘But, Mrs Bodmin, there seems very little doubt that Kenneth, or Dutch as they call him, has been murdered. Have you anything to suggest about that?’

  ‘Not unless it was her or Bert Carver that did it.’

  ‘The boy’s own father?’

  ‘Now he’s mixed up with her I’d put nothing past him.’

  ‘You don’t think it more likely to have been some of the young fellows in the town?’

  ‘Well, there are these skinheads. From what you read about in the papers they might do anything. Look at that case the other day…’

  ‘I’m more interested in this case, here and now. I want to get to the truth of it.’

  ‘Well you won’t if you listen to what Connie Farnham tells you, that’s a sure thing.’

  ‘Did Kenneth ride a motor-bike?’ asked Carolus, seeking to divert Mrs Bodmin from the subject of Connie Farnham.