Chapter 5

Gooding parked the Wolseley in Ash Tree Lane and he and August walked round the side of the Midland Bank and back up onto the High Street. The offices of Mackenzie and Goat were partway down, sandwiched between the bay-fronted post office and Williamson’s family butchers.

Even as the two men passed by the frosted front window, the door to the solicitors’ office was opened by a tall grey-haired woman in a tweed skirt and jacket, with an overcoat draped over one arm, and a bonnet held in her other hand. Behind her horn rimmed spectacles her eyes betrayed a worried mood.

“Oh, that’s good,” she said in a soft lowlands accent, “You’ve saved me the bother of the walk, Walter Gooding. I was just setting off to see you.”

“Oh? What’s the problem then, Margaret?” the sergeant asked.

“It’s Angus,” the woman replied, “He drove over to Cambridge to pick up our new stationery yesterday morning and I expected him back around lunch time. But he wasn’t. He wasn’t back yesterday at all.” She paused briefly to pull her overcoat further over her arm to stop it sliding to the ground.

“And he hasn’t come to the office today either,” she continued. “I checked with Clarke’s and they said Angus picked up the new stationery and left there before 11 o’clock. So, he should easily have been back here by lunch time. Even with all the snow.”

“You’ve checked he’s not laid up at home ill or anything?” Gooding asked.

“I have,” Mrs. Campbell said. “I phoned his house twice yesterday and then again this morning and his housekeeper says she not seen him and she doesn’t reckon he’s been there since he left after breakfast yesterday. I know it’s not been all that long, Walter, but I’m worried something’s happened to him.”

“You say he drove down to Cambridge?” August asked, and as the woman looked round at him Gooding made a late introduction, “This is Inspector Brighton, Margaret. From Scotland Yard.”

“Oh, my goodness,” she said, “What’s happened? Has there been an accident?”

“No, no, Margaret, it’s nothing like that,” Gooding quickly interjected, “The inspector and me just called to ask Angus a few questions.”

August gave a small supportive smile. “Perhaps we could go inside in the warm, Mrs. …?”

“Campbell. Margaret Campbell, Inspector. And yes, it’s very rude of me. I’m so sorry. Come into the office.”

Once back inside, Mrs. Campbell returned her hat and coat to the coat stand. “This isn’t like Angus at all,” she said. “He never goes off somewhere and doesn’t say. Something must have happened to him, I’m sure.”

“Please don’t worry yourself, Mrs. Campbell,” August said. “The sergeant and I are driving out to Witchford shortly, so we can check the road as we go, and once we’ve finished in Witchford, we’ll travel on down to Cambridge and make further enquiries. Do you have the address for the printers to hand?”

Mrs. Campbell opened the top drawer of her desk, retrieved an address book and passed it to Gooding, holding it open at the relevant page. As the sergeant noted down the address of Clarke’s Printers, August wandered across the room to look at a framed photograph mounted on the wall. “Is this a recent picture of Mr. Goat, here?” he asked, pointing at the tall and bearded figure in the photograph. “It is, yes,” Mrs. Campbell said, “He’s standing by his new car. He bought it in the July just gone and he’s so proud of it.”

 “I can well see why,” August said. “It’s a smart looking motor. The new Alvis Firefly, if I’m not mistaken.”

August then turned to Gooding. “The license plate is CE 67, sergeant. Best note that down too.”

August made a mental note of Angus Goat’s appearance and when Gooding indicated he’d got the printer’s address, the solicitor’s telephone number, and the Alvis’s registration noted, the two men took their leave.

“Thank you for your assistance, Mrs. Campbell,” August said as he passed out of the office. “And please don’t worry. As and when we find Mr. Goat, we’ll telephone. And if by chance he returns here while we’re away, please leave word with Mr. Frobisher at the Railway Hotel.”