Rogues Retreat

By Jim Carr

A Dark Place Where Everything Goes

In two days, Winton Hazlett, a former Lancaster bomber pilot and now a CID Inspector in a small English town, finds himself trying to solve a daring daylight bank robbery and the murder of a young woman he can't identify.

The town, which had never seen anything like this before and already upset by the emerging drug culture of the 1960s, is demanding action.

It's just the start of a roller coaster ride as Hazlett confronts the real possibility of death at the hands of a former German SS Major, who has plans to bring the Third Reich back to life.

Behind it all in the shadows is a mysterious place called The Retreat, where anything goes.

• Language: English
• Publisher: jim Carr
• Release date: Oct 17, 2018
• ISBN: 9780995968479

Jim Carr

Jim Carr's adventure with words began as a teacher of Latin grammar, followed by a lengthy career in print journalism as a reporter, columnist and editor. He left to become a communications specialist for a number of national and international corporations and institutions. He returned to journalism in retirement and acts as associate editor of Spa Canada magazine as well as freelancing for other publications. He writes a blog about Thai resorts and spas, which is featured on Spa Canada's website, as well as fiction.

Book preview

COPYRIGHT: 2018 JamesWCarr

ISBN: 9781393129974

Chapter One

I nspector Hazlett?

Winton Hazlett looked up at the smiling young woman. They told me I might find you here.

Hazlett stood and invited her to share his bench. There is no other place in this world that I would rather be than in Gladstonbury on a fine June morning. There is a special magic about it. Then, suddenly: How may I help you?

My name is June Spottispode. I just recently moved to Gladstonbury from London. I’d like to become one of your constables. I was told I had to talk to you.

You look familiar somehow.

June matched him in height. Good size for a constable, he thought. She had long, light brown hair, blue eyes that smiled at you, a round face that made you like her with even a hint of a smile, and a firm handshake. She was wearing a black and white tartan skirt, a pale blue blouse and a navy blue sweater.

My mother came from Gladstonbury, and she always dreamed of returning one day. She looked away. She died before she had the chance.

What was her name?

Marigold, Marigold Faire. My father died on D-Day, and she never got over it. I joined the London Police as a constable. My mother never gave up hope of coming back to Gladstonbury, and when she died, I decided to quit and bring her back to be buried with her family and to live where I can always be with her.

Hazlett tossed a few seeds from a small bag to the pigeons. Are you familiar with Gladstonbury?

June shook her head and smiled.

Then join me on my morning stroll around the town. It’s changing here, too, Hazlett said, pointing to the park bench. It used to be black when I was a boy. Now, they’re all green. Hazlett always loved the bandstand, where the town’s coronet band played old favourites on Sundays on the upper deck. The bottom was covered in two inches of water, where pigeons gathered for seeds, ignoring boys trying to launch small sticks with paper sails. He dipped his hand in the water and shook off the remaining seeds for the pigeons.

All the pathways to the bandstand form all the crosses in the Union Jack, he added as they rounded the corner of the bandstand and headed for the town’s black-shingled courthouse. They crossed the street and turned right into Gladstonbury’s old cemetery that dated back to Shakespeare’s Day. When you were in London, did you have an opportunity to meet Inspector Allenby?

June knew it was a trick question. "Not Inspector Allenby but I did meet an Inspector

Harkness. And when I told him I was moving to Gladstonbury, he told me he and your father joined the constabulary the same day and remained life-long friends until your father died."

He liked the sound of her voice. Pleasant, yet held a hint of authority. They were walking past St. Giles Church, where he had been a Boy Scout and fell in love with the vicar’s daughter. He was 10 or 11 at the time, and it brought a smile to his eyes. They turned the corner onto Shaftsbury Street, where most of the stores were located.

Just about everyone waved to him. He would always nod and smile back. It’s a great way to get to know what’s happening in town and peoples’ lives.

Mrs. Stapleton stopped him as he emerged from Phinney’s store at the corner of King and Shaftsbury. My neighbour says she’ll call the police if I don’t trim the branches of my crabapple tree that overhang her property.

Do they? said Hazlett.

It’s all in her head.

Then, there should be no problem. But just in case the branches are, this is not a police matter. You should be aware, however, that your neighbour could take the matter to court and ask the judge to settle the matter.

June smiled. Do you get this often? The problems are a bit different in London.

I don’t mind. It’s a marvellous way to hear and learn about things you ordinarily would not get to know about.

They were stopped outside the police station by Hugh Gatewood, The Gladstone’s owner, a new hotel on the outskirts. The very man I need to see. The hippies are driving tourists away from town. We need to do something about it before it’s too late. If you won’t, I will. Fair warning.

The station was a red brick building at least a century old with high windows on its three floors. Two wood columns flanked the entrance painted a dark grey. Hazlett led the way, up the four steps, through the door, and into the main room, where Sgt. Connor Moreton held sway.

Sunlight from the windows shone on Connor’s face. He stood behind a large raised desk like a gatekeeper. He was the first person people saw as they stepped into the station. The desks for other constables were located on either side of Connor, waving the smell of cigarettes away. Lined the wall behind Connor were four offices for detectives and a much larger office for the Inspector.

Connor held a folder in his hands and handed it to Hazlett.

About?

Money laundering. They’re asking us to be on the lookout. I’ll put it on the bulletin board.

Hazlett nodded and turned to all the others. We have a new applicant, gentlemen. She’s a former constable from London. Her name is June Spottispode. June followed him into his office.

June sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Let’s start by telling me about your duties as a constable in London. Hazlett’s office had an official look and feel. Aside from his desk, there were two chairs, three pictures from his days as a Lancaster bomber pilot that included two photos of his crew, a fourth of his university graduation class after the war, and a picture of the Queen at the centre.

His wartime experience as a flight lieutenant and his university degree fast-tracked him to the rank of Detective Inspector over more experienced constables. One of our best constables retired two months ago, and we’ve been looking for someone to replace him. I won’t lie to you. You’re not exactly what we had in mind.

I spent a lot of time in homicide.

I’ll be honest with you. We rarely have murder in Gladstonbury. Our biggest concern at the moment is a daylight bank robbery.

June sat back and studied his face. Crowsfeet showed in the corners of his eyes, and his face was tanned. His hair was cut short, and there was grey at his temples. Tell you what. Give me a three-month trial if I don’t fit in or fail to meet the expectations you or the other constables have of me a new constable, no problem. I’ll leave and look for some other line of work.

Hazlett’s bright blue eyes did not leave her face. His thin face and square chin tightened before he spoke: I like your style and confidence. Confidence and make or break an otherwise good constable.

There was a light rap at the door, and Connor Moreton stuck his head in. Your wife’s on the phone, Inspector.

Hazlett picked up the receiver. Alma Hazlett had a loud voice, and June could make out every word she spoke from where she sat. Dr. Culver called. He wants to discuss my latest tests and would like to see both of us Thursday morning at 10. What do I tell him?

That we’ll be there. What else did Culver say?

Just that. Then, after a pause. "I’m scared, Winton. It was the sound of his voice. It was different somehow.

We’ll talk about that when I get home. Hazlett took a deep breath and looked at his new constable.

What did you say your name was?

June Spottispode, she said, sitting upright.

Well, June Spottispode, let’s introduce you to the others. He glanced at his watch. It’s tea time.

She followed him out into the front, where Connor Moreton talked to an older woman, who said she did not get the change from a purchase she had made at the greengrocers. Tommy Thomas was dispatched to go with her.

Well, gentlemen, please welcome our latest recruit, June Spottispode.

But she’s a woman, said Archie Ridley, a detective constable who had been at the station when Hazlett’s father had been the Inspector.

She comes to us with two years of experience as a constable in London and spent some time with their homicide team. My guess is she’ll show us all up.

A word, Inspector, said Archie, still shaking his head as he followed Hazlett into his office.

Hazlett knew what it was about. The bank holdup?

It was done by strangers. The bank manager couldn’t place their accents but they aren’t from here. The staff are still shell-shocked. Where do we go from here?

Let’s see what our newest constable thinks.

You’re joking, right?

It’ll be a good test for her. Ask her to join you, and go back to the bank.

June sat down beside Archie as Hazlett reviewed what they knew about the holdup.

We haven’t formally been introduced, Archie. The others say you’re the best, and I’d love to work with you.

Archie, who had white hair, grey eyes that never changed when they looked at you, a severe full face, was wearing a large tunic to accommodate his thickening stomach. He took a deep breath and looked at Hazlett. It’s going to be a waste of –

Thank you, Archie. Let me know how things went when you get back.

When they returned two hours later, Archie was smiling. She’s going to do just fine, Inspector.

She believes the thieves are locals and made up their accents. That’s why the manager couldn’t place it. She also feels one of the staff knows at least one of the robbers.

Actually, it was Archie who set me on the path. He asked one of the tellers to imitate how the robbers talked. I could see the others nodding. I’m not sure if the young woman knows she’s given the show away.

Hazlett smiled. What’s your next step?

June and I are going to talk about that now. We’ll report back to you before we do anything.

Chapter Two

Hazlett could hear his phone ringing even before he opened the door. Alma had already answered it and held out the phone to him.

It was Connor Moreton. There’s been a murder. A young woman. She was found in an old barn on an abandoned farm on the old Milton Road, six miles from town. Her body was discovered by three boys cycling on the road and sought shelter in the barn when it started to rain. It scared the hell out of them, and they telephoned me from a farm along the road.

Is anyone there now?

No.

"Then get Archie and our newest recruit to meet me at the station immediately, and send a car to pick me up. One more thing, alert Dr. Culver and the coroner and tell them we’ll meet them there. One more thing, Connor. Call The Observer and ask them to send a photographer to take pictures for us."

Fifteen minutes later, they were on their way to the old Butler farm. The couple who operated the farm lost their only son during the war, and when they died, their place went into ruin. Hazlett heard all this from Archie, who had an encyclopedic knowledge about Gladstonbury and its inhabitants.

The sun was still above the horizon when they reached the barn. Hazlett looked at the body. She could not have been more than 25. Her upper body was twisted in a grotesque shape, and her eyes were larger than he had ever seen before, dark eyes with fear and pain still in them. He watched June as she looked at the body. Her face tightened as she placed her jacket over the young woman’s face.

While we’re waiting, check any inch of the barn and see if our murderer has left a calling card. 

Dr. Culver and Dennis Evans, the town’s coroner, arrived a few minutes later. Dr. Culver leaned over the body, felt her forehead and examined her head and neck, then her arms and hands and fingernails. He conferred with the coroner for a couple of minutes. We’ll know more when we get her body to my dispensary. At the moment, I’d say she has been dead for about five hours. She shows evidence of being choked and fighting someone for her life. Her fingernails have skin under them, and she looks like a hippie. Her clothes still have a faint smell of marijuana.

Perhaps the victim had an overdose of something, said Archie, who had little compassion for drug addicts. He also had lost a son on D-Day and could never understand how these young people were able to shirk their responsibilities and expect help and understanding when they ran into trouble.

Perhaps not, said Hazlett. Her clothes don’t look it, and she has no purse or anything else to tell us who she is. Just this one-pound note in her jacket pocket, and, I suspect, a stranger, to Gladstonbury.

And then, added June, there is the comment made by the doctor that there was skin underneath her fingernails. She was obviously fighting for her life. Turning to Hazlett: I was thinking. A barn full of hay. What a marvellous place to commit a murder. A barn full of hay can cover up a lot of mistakes.

Dr. Culver was about to leave.

I’ll have two of our constables help you to remove the body to the hospital ambulance. He turned to Archie. It’ll get dark soon, and I think we’ve finished with her for the time being.

Archie wasn’t giving up. Do you think her murder may be connected with the hippie group that hangs around with the German Professor?

It won’t hurt to check. But before we do anything, Archie, we need to hear what Dr. Culver and our coroner may have to say. Let’s get at it.

YOU’VE SEEN DR. CULVER, Winston. Did he mention why he wants to see us?

We were investigating a murder, Alma. I’m sure he’ll tell us Thursday.

What if it’s cancer?

Or something really good?

Alma sat down on the sofa next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. She had lost a lot of weight, and her blouse hung on her. Her face, pale and thin, looking the way when they were married, and her dark hair was still curly. But what if it is? How long before you find someone else after I’m gone? She started to cry. You always wanted a child, and I’m sorry I couldn’t give you any.

He held her until she stopped crying. I think you should put your best dress on. I know, the one the day I met you. We’re eating out tonight. How about The Gladstone Hotel? You’ve been asking to go there. Well, tonight’s the night.

DR. CULVER’S DISPENSARY was at the back of his office. The body of the woman still lay on his examination

table. Dr. Culver and Dennis Evans were sitting at a small table at the back of the examination table. Dr. Culver stood when he heard Hazlett come in. He liked Hazlett, and it showed. His blue eyes softened, and his thin, angular face smiled. He liked Hazlett’s way of speaking and the way he treated people. Asphyxiation, just in case you were about to ask. Choked to death by a pair of very strong hands. The skin under her fingernails also had traces of blood.

Hazlett cocked his head.

I thought that would get your attention.

Anything else? said Hazlett.

No trace of drugs of any kind. She is also checked if she has been sexually molested in any way. The answer is no. Just someone fighting desperately to save her life.

I’ve already reached a verdict. Murder. Death by asphyxiation, said Dennis Evans, straightening his protruding stomach. The look of importance never left his face for a second. Anything you’ve seen that would hint at a motive?

I would say someone who is very cold with strong hands which killed her either for revenge or silence her for because she knew something about them, said Hazlett.

I’ve talked to the vicar about a proper burial, said Dennis.No one should have to be interred in an unmarked grave. There’s no good way to die, but this is worst. What do you intend to do then?"

"We’ll have her picture plastered all over town and in The Observer. And if that doesn’t work, then we’ll go mainstream and ask the BBC for their help."

ARCHIE AND JUNE HAD news for him when Hazlett returned to the station. We’ve been trying to track down the boys who called the station about the murdered woman. Connor asked them, but they refused to give them and hung up. We think we might get a lead by calling up every farm on the old Milton Road with a phone. It’s worth following up. Send in Connor.

Connor got the message a minute later from Archie. It’s going to take a long time, Archie.

The rest of the others will be pitching in as well. Get a list of farmhouses on that road and their telephone numbers.

It was Pip Walker who found the number after 15 minutes. He was out of breath. I told the woman we needed her help, the names of the boys who used her phone to call us, and that we wanted to congratulate the boys. I also told her we would be visiting her this afternoon. Pip was a six-footer and still had a boyish look about him. He had a long curl that kept falling over his forehead.

Hazlett, who had been listening to the interchange, joined in. Let’s get at it, constable.

Pip had the car ready in seconds, and 15 minutes later, we were on Old Milton Road, stopping only once to get the directions to the Craddocks.

Emma Craddock was in her late 50s. Her husband, Roy, came in from the barn when he saw the police car enter their driveway.What’s this about? he said while taking off his rubber boots before coming into the kitchen.

Inspector Hazlett, Mr. Craddock. Winton extended his hand. We talked to your good wife about the boys who came to your home to telephone us about the dead body in a barn a short distance from here. We want to congratulate them and show our appreciation.

Craddock’s grey-stubbled face eased. "Glad we