Free Hardcastle's Frustration by Graham Ison

two detectives about fifteen minutes of brisk walking to find the roller skating rink.
    A woman seated behind a counter looked up as Hardcastle and Marriott entered, and regarded them with a bored expression. ‘What size d’you want?’ she asked, removing the pencil that was lodged in her hair.
    â€˜Size?’ queried Hardcastle.
    â€˜Yes, what size skates d’you want?’
    â€˜We haven’t come here to skate, miss, we’re police officers,’ said Hardcastle. ‘Is the manager here?’
    â€˜There isn’t one; he went off to the army and got hisself killed by them Turks at Gallipoli. I’m the manageress.’
    â€˜I see.’ Even after nearly four years of war, Hardcastle still had difficulty coming to terms with women doing men’s jobs, even though his daughter Kitty worked on the buses. ‘Can you tell me if a Mrs Mavis Parker ever comes here?’
    â€˜Half a tick.’ The woman pushed the pencil back into her hair and referred to a large book that was open on the counter. ‘Yes,’ she said eventually. ‘She comes in a couple of times a week, usually with some of the girls from Sopwiths. Hires size five skates,’ she added, as though furnishing a helpful description of the woman.
    â€˜Is there anyone in particular who comes with her?’ asked Marriott.
    The manageress ran a finger down the entries in her book. ‘Yes, a Gertrude Hobbs,’ she said, looking up again. ‘Why, what’s Mrs Parker been up to?’
    â€˜Did she ever come with a man?’ asked Marriott, declining to discuss his and the DDI’s interest in Mavis Parker.
    The woman referred to the book again. ‘No, but she did leave with a man one night, the week before last that was. Is that helpful?’ she asked, looking up.
    â€˜What was his name?’ asked Hardcastle.
    â€˜Gilbert Stroud. He comes quite often. What’s this all about, anyway?’
    â€˜It’s secret business, miss,’ snapped Hardcastle, ‘and you’re not to mention my interest either to Mr Stroud or Mrs Parker. Otherwise you could be in serious trouble under the Defence of the Realm Act. Is that understood?’ He found it useful to threaten the draconian measures of DORA even when they were clearly inapposite.
    â€˜Yes, of course.’ The woman looked slightly taken aback by Hardcastle’s warning. ‘I won’t tell no one, mister.’
    â€˜Do you have an address for this Gilbert Stroud?’
    â€˜No, we don’t take addresses.’
    â€˜Do they come here regularly, miss, this Mr Stroud and Mrs Parker?’ asked Marriott
    â€˜They come here quite often on their own, but I’ve only ever seen them together the once, and as I said that was Wednesday of last week.’
    â€˜What time do they normally get here?’
    â€˜Mrs Parker usually comes in about seven o’clock of an evening, but Mr Stroud is usually here about six. When he comes, of course.’
    â€˜What does he look like, this Gilbert Stroud?’ asked Hardcastle.
    The manageress gave the question some thought before answering. ‘About his age, I s’pose,’ she said, nodding in Marriott’s direction, ‘and about his build an’ all. Oh, and he had a moustache, a bit like that picture of Lord Kitchener. You know, the one on the recruiting poster what they put up before he was drowned. Lord Kitchener, I mean, not Mr Stroud.’
    â€˜Thank you, miss, that’ll be all,’ said Hardcastle, but as he turned to leave, the manageress spoke again.
    â€˜I’ve just remembered. There was another man she came with once or twice.’ The manageress ran a finger down her book. ‘A Mr Mortimer, Mr L. Mortimer.’
    â€˜What did he look like?’ asked Marriott.
    â€˜I can’t remember, I’m afraid. It’s only the name I remember. And the size of their skates, of course, but only if they need to hire