As seemed to be her wont, Maria Willis wasn’t slow in replying. When Cynthia checked her emails later that evening she found the full details of the funeral, which was scheduled to take place on Friday, in two days’ time. A note attached indicated that they were welcome to attend the service and the burial at the local church, where there would be plenty of room for all those who wanted to come. The wake by contrast was going to be in the local pub, where numbers were limited. Cynthia was happy to take the hint and went back with the message that she and Gladys would expect to leave once all the formalities were over. She then sent a text to Gladys to keep her in the picture.
At the taskforce meeting they’d organised for ten the next morning Gladys was in bullish mood. She’d finished the work on her article and it had received editorial approval. A copy had been sent to Shamira for her agreement and she had already come back to say she could find no initial problems. As soon as she confirmed, which should be within hours, it was all systems go for publication in the next issue. Moreover, the editor was pleased to have Gladys back on board and looked forward to any further contributions she might have to make. Gladys blasted out this news virtually in one breath and received a polite round of applause from the other two.
“Many many congratulations.” Cynthia’s tone was warm. “Not everyone has it in them to change their career midstream and then change back again. You should be really proud of yourself. All our work together has produced a positive outcome already.”
George touched Gladys on the arm. “Nothing I can add to that—it’s an amazing achievement.”
Gladys beamed at the praise. It wasn’t quite the Oscars’ ceremony but close. “Well, obviously I’m pleased too but it’s only a step on the way. We still have a crime to solve and a funeral to attend.”
For George’s benefit Cynthia went through the information she’d received from Maria Willis. “As we agreed, I’m assuming Gladys and I should go.”
George was quick to confirm. “Yes, this is definitely an assignment for you two ladies tomorrow. There’s no point in my muscling in, and depending on who’s there, there would be a good chance of my being recognised. With someone like Charlie Willis the word will spread on the bush telegraph so there’s no means of knowing who might turn up to say goodbye.”
“Including Jack Metz,” Gladys put in.
George nodded. “With that in mind I’ve arranged to have a pint with Andy Croft this morning and he’s expecting to bring a picture of Metz with him. I’m also going to brief him on our adventures yesterday.”
Gladys looked questioningly between the two of them and Cynthia gave her an account of the events at the bank. “My God, so you were thrown out of the bank,” she exclaimed at the end. “There must be something fishy going on there.”
“I’ll tell Andy our suspicions,” George responded. “It will be up to him whether there is any police action at this stage. I think he’ll then be more than happy for us to go and seek out Cauley Mortimer. If Cauley’s willing to talk, there may be more of a basis for the authorities to give Gonzalez and Co. a thorough going-over. The question is how I make the approach.”
“If it’s right that he lives in Wales, that’s quite a long way,” Gladys mused, “a day trip in fact. You would want to be reasonably sure he wasn’t going to shut the door in your face. I’ve never had anything to do with footballers.” She twitched her nose in disapproval.
George grinned at her. “They’re not all alien beings, Gladys.”
She sniffed. “Overpaid prima donnas—you’ve only got to push them and they fall over as though they’ve been shot.”
“Back in Cauley’s day the pay wasn’t so great. But anyway, enough of this—I’m off to meet Andy and after that I have another errand to run. We could meet again for tea, perhaps around three-thirty.” He gave Cynthia a hopeful look.
“You mean you would like me to make the tea?” she enquired.
“I just think it would be advisable if we don’t have too many occasions in the main hall together. People don’t have too much to think about here so they’re bound to notice.”
Cynthia grinned. “Fine—I’ll do it.”
“I’ll fetch some cake from the main hall,” Gladys proposed. “It’s usually fruit cake on a Thursday.”
“I like that idea.” George pressed on the arms of the carver chair to get up. “See you both later.”
**
By the time George arrived back a plateful of cake was sitting in the middle of the kitchen table together with the blue and white china tea service which Cynthia only brought out when she had company. He looked on approvingly as the tea was poured, with a little milk added as he requested but no sugar. He then proceeded to demolish a hefty slice of the cake. “I had lunch at the pub,” he mumbled as he swallowed the last remnants. “It wasn’t up to the standard here.”
“So what did you find out?” Gladys demanded pushing the cake plate closer to George so that she wouldn’t be tempted apart from the small piece she’d already eaten.
“Well, Andy’s quite happy with what we’re doing. He made a note of our suspicions about the bank. No one there has made a complaint about our visit—not yet anyway. Knowing who I am, or rather who I was, I thought that might be a possibility. Andy won’t do anything until I’ve seen Cauley Mortimer, assuming that comes off.”
“What about the statement from Charlie Willis?”
“Noted as well—I’ve advised that the two of you will be attending the funeral. He provided pictures of Jack Metz.” He slid two photos on to the table. “That one…” he stabbed his finger down on one of them, “is the standard mugshot from when he was last put away.” Gladys and Cynthia studied the full-face picture of a man with plastered back hair, piercing eyes, severe mouth and incipient beard. He had a prominent nose and a diagonal scar tracing its way down his left cheek. “He would be a lot older now. The other one is of Metz on CCTV at a crime scene.” This one was fuzzy, taken at night of a figure in a hoodie with the face turned towards the camera. “That may be more how he looks today. There’s no record of him having committed any offences for at least ten years.”
“I suppose even criminals retire,” Cynthia put in.
“They do—or get retired just like Charlie Willis. Some of them even end up living in places like this.” George finished his cup of tea and was rewarded with a refill from the treasured teapot. He then helped himself to another piece of cake. “The advice for the funeral is stay vigilant. If you see anyone you don’t like the look of, try and get a picture of them on your phone but don’t take any risks. If Metz is there, a snap of him would clearly be good.”
“What are you up to tomorrow?”
“Taking the train to Wales,” said George indistinctly through the cake. “I’ve a date with Cauley Mortimer.”
“Wow,” Cynthia exclaimed. “How did you arrange that?”
“That was my other errand,” George responded with an air of satisfaction. “My friend at the Welsh FA is well acquainted with Cauley. I did him a counter favour for contacting Cauley by agreeing to speak at a lunch they’re organising shortly. It took a few calls before we had confirmation Cauley was prepared to see me and talk about his treatment by the bank, although, in his words ‘it’s all so effing long ago it’s surprising anyone gives a monkey’s about it now.’”
Gladys sniffed. Her sniffs were impressive enough to stop an eagle in full flight. “Sounds like a typical footballer.”
“He wanted to be sure that I was going to be there in an unofficial capacity,” continued George unperturbed. “Once assured of that, it was plain sailing. He said he doesn’t have many visitors these days. It’s only old timers like me who remember him.”
Gladys forestalled another sniff just before it came out. “When should we be meeting again?”
“It will be evening time before I’m back from Wales,” George said in the course of snaffling the last piece of cake. “I suggest Saturday morning at ten. We can stay in touch by text as necessary.” He heaved himself to his feet with the cake in his hand. “I’m off now to get myself prepared.”
After he’d gone Gladys and Cynthia had a chat about what they should wear for the funeral. “Forecast is cloudy and windy, perhaps, with some snow showers—no sign of spring yet,” said Cynthia by way of background. They both had a long black coat so that was a no-brainer, plus a black skirt to wear underneath. Cynthia thought she’d add a thick light grey sweater, both because it would keep her warm and also because it would relieve the black theme a little. She always thought of funerals as celebrations of life as well as mournful realisations of finality. After they’d had another cup of tea Gladys decided on a dark blue top to go with the rest. “And boots definitely, as we’ll be stamping around in the graveyard. It is a burial after all.”
With that thought they parted company.