Free The Case of the Missing Bronte by Robert Barnard Page B

didn’t want anything to do wi’ that sort o’ thing. She said they were foreign.’
    So it presumably wasn’t Mr Macklehose, or any of his flock. It didn’t sound of any significance.
    â€˜Well,’ I said, ‘think about it. And keep your eyes open. Come to me or the constable here if you notice anything at all.’
    â€˜Oh, I will,’ he said, enthusiastically. ‘You’ve got to get the rotten bastard who did it.’
    â€˜I will,’ I said. Nothing like confidence for ensuring theco-operation of the public.
    Nothing much was stirring inside the cottage. Through in the kitchen the duty constable, PC Bradley, had seen me talking to the boy and had put on the kettle for a cup of tea.
    â€˜Was it all right, letting him do the garden?’ he asked, as we sat down at the kitchen table and I pulled out a crumby pork pie I had picked up on the way. ‘Our boys went over it very thoroughly after the break-in, and he was keen to get something done.’
    â€˜Quite all right. What’s his name?’
    â€˜Jason Curle,’ said Bradley, as if it was the most usual name in the world, which these days I suppose it is. ‘The mother’s from round here. Picked up that little lot while she was working in Newcastle. Could have had an abortion — should have done, I’d say — but she decided to keep it.’
    PC Bradley consigned Jason to oblivion quite unrancorously, but I can’t say I shared his confident judgment as to who would have been better not to be born. I didn’t pursue the matter.
    â€˜Does he have problems here?’ I asked. Bradley shrugged.
    â€˜Nothing serious, but you know what these small places are like. People talk. Kids’ll use anything if they want to be cruel. Miss Wing was very good to him, so they say. By the way, someone who said she was your wife rang.’
    â€˜Oh?’ I said suspiciously. ‘I expect it was my wife, then.’
    â€˜Could be. Said would you ring back when you came in. Gave me this number.’
    I looked at the slip of paper. It was the number of Harpenden, my family’s ancestral pile, now run at a loss by the Northumberland County Council, and visited in droves by people who pretend they want to see the pictures but really want to gape at my appalling family. So Jan had gone ‘home’, as she had threatened. I got upand went to the phone in a bad temper. She must have been waiting for the call, because she answered at once.
    â€˜Hello, Perry. So you see, I did come home.’
    â€˜So I gather.’
    â€˜Daniel was looking peaky, and I thought he needed a change of air.’
    â€˜Daniel was not looking peaky when I left.’
    â€˜I fed him Mars bars all the way up. When we got here he was looking like death.’
    â€˜You’re a monster,’ I said cordially. ‘An unnatural mother — Clytemnestra, or someone of that sort.’
    â€˜He’s all right now. Romping around in the gardens with Cristobel and the baby. Well, come on — what has happened? Give me a progress report.’
    It was with considerable satisfaction that I balked her.
    â€˜I’m back at the cottage having a bite to eat with the duty constable,’ I said meaningfully. Jan let out a little groan. She knows the rules. ‘Yes, well, you’ll have to wait, won’t you? But at least you’ll be in good company.’
    â€˜I had lunch with Aunt Kate,’ said Jan.
    â€˜Then you’re justly punished for your morbid decision.’
    â€˜Not at all,’ said Jan triumphantly. ‘I took along fillet steak. All you need is a modicum of intelligent foresight, you know, Perry.’
    I banged down the phone and began collecting some things together.
    â€˜Know anything about any door-to-door religious people who were around the village last week?’ I asked Bradley.
    â€˜Someone did mention them,’ he said. ‘Witnesses, or