Chapter 24: Aftermath
Tuesday Afternoon.
It took over an hour for the police to arrive. Once Penhale recovered from his latest agoraphobic panic attack, he occupied himself wandering through the greenhouses and gawking at the plants. Martin spent the time hoping to get some insight on the use of oleander as an herbal medicine from the woman who found him amongst the black-eyed susans, but she only prattled on about the habitat and range of Nerium oleander and scoffed at the idea that anyone would intentionally swallow any part of such a toxic plant.
Finally, Penhale's superior, Chief Inspector Chris Jackson, arrived from Delabole with two sergeants as backup. One sergeant was taller and paler, the other shorter and darker, but otherwise they seemed interchangeable in their enthusiasm for their boss's orders and things in general.
"Twenty seven minutes late, pickup hauling live chickens overturned on the B Road in Pendogget," the shorter one said.
Martin recognized them as the team that had taken charge of the scene at the cliffs to apprehend Louisa's father and the mentally ill Jonathan a few weeks ago. Jackson was a blunt, pugnacious man who seemed bemused by the unusual situations the GP from Portwenn was encountering.
"Trouble seems to follow you about, Dr. Ellingham," he said, with a smirk. "You'll be happy to know Jonathan Glazer is being examined at Broadmoor, could be detained in hospital indefinitely."
"Hm. My aunt might be involved in the case, she's a psychiatrist there. Any word on, er… Terry Glasson?"
"Mr. Glasson wisely chose to plead guilty to all charges, he'll likely go away for a few years. Old tossers like him, with a rap sheet a mile long, usually lawyer up and try to weasel their way out of doing any time but he told the judge he wanted to own up to the harm he'd caused his daughter. Said he wanted to 'spare 'er any more heartache.'" The chief inspector said that last bit with a sarcastic imitation of Glasson's Cockney accent, then laughed in a loud, blustering manner. "Sounds like an attempt to curry sympathy for when it comes time for his sentencing, if you ask me."
"Indeed." Martin kept his thoughts about Terry Glasson's sincerity to himself.
Jackson and his men took statements and then drove Martin and Penhale back to the cottage to investigate. Martin pointed out that the window where he had seen the curtain move was now shut. The footprints he had seen appeared to have been obliterated by someone kicking dirt over them. The policemen walked about, retracing the incident all the way through the sunflower field and out to the tin mine entrance. Martin was gratified to see the drone still lay on the ground where it had smashed against the heavy door.
Jackson put on latex gloves and examined the gun attached to the drone. "Well, well, a Colt .45, looks like a vintage World War II model. Let's get this bagged as evidence boys and we'll have it dusted it for prints. I think that just about wraps it up here. Just one more thing. P.C. Penhale!"
"Sir!" The constable eagerly snapped to attention.
"You came out here to question someone about what amounts to a stomach bug making the rounds. You didn't notify anyone in command about your intentions and you ended up endangering a civilian in the process."
"Sir, there is a common denominator with the housekeeper…" Penhale protested, but Jackson cut him off. "Nonsense, it's the same old lurgy that spreads like wildfire every so often. You went off on a wild goose chase and ended up getting chased by a drone. I didn't get where I am today by going off on a wild goose chase and ending up getting chased by a drone."
"No sir." Penhale seemed chastened.
Martin felt an unaccountable urge to speak up for the hapless constable. "It is suspicious that someone attacked us when we got here."
"Now, now, don't defend him, Dr. Ellingham. This was a strange incident but there's some real eccentrics that live out here on the moor, the isolation drives them Bodmin. We'll get to the bottom of this one way or another. In the meantime, seeing as you're here Doctor, can you take a look at this?" The chief inspector took off his hat and tilted his head forward, so Martin could see a pea-sized red bump on the back of his neck, just below the man's fringe of hair.
"It's a boil," Martin said, irritated that the man had dismissed his concerns. "Apply a warm moist compress to it twice a day, then keep it clean once it begins to drain. Be sure to wash your hands thoroughly after touching the area. It should clear up on its own within a few days. If it doesn't go see your GP in Delabole to drain it and you may need an antibiotic."
Jackson straightened up and put his hat back on. "Our GP closed his office for a fortnight. Dr. Cadbury in Port Liac is supposed to be the locum in his absence but Cadbury's apparently gone barking mad. Turned out he was dressing in drag and leaving poison pen notes encased in jellies around the village. Had to be sectioned, poor bugger."
"Hm." Martin didn't care about the gossip from some other eccentric village but there was something that caught his interest. "You say your own GP closed his office for a fortnight?"
"Yeah, the old tosser had to attend some further education course in Newquay."
"I expect your doctor will be re-opening his surgery early, if he hasn't done so already. I have reason to believe the, um… two week course may have been cancelled."
"Good to know, Dr. Ellingham." Jackson nodded and walked him out to Penhale's police vehicle, where the constable was waiting to drive back home.
"P.C. Penhale," Jackson barked. "You've got this big event coming up Friday night in Portwenn, the masked ball. You will of course be watching out for drunken revellers getting out of hand."
"Yes sir!" Penhale perked up at the call of duty. "I will be attending undercover, and I will be vigilant and call for backup at the first sign of trouble."
"Easy, constable," Jackson cautioned. "Don't be too eager to spoil a good time. I didn't get where I am today by being too eager to spoil a good time. Portwenn is damn lucky to have produced a local hero like Jago Powell, who doesn't let fame and fortune go to his head."
The two sergeants nodded. "Yeah, and he does all that charity work, for orphans and diseases and such," one of them said. "Great!"
"He's a fine fellow all right, sir. Me and my brother Sam were at school with him," Penhale replied.
"And that Wynnie Barlow, quite the stunner eh? Super!" the other sergeant said. They all laughed. Martin glanced impatiently at his watch, although he had no appointments to attend to.
"Mrs. Jackson and I tried to get tickets to the ball but Portwenn residents got first dibs, only a few lucky tossers outside the village were able to snag any," Jackson said. "Looks to be fine weather that night. There's a big storm brewing out in the Atlantic, but likely it won't get here till Saturday. What about you Dr. Ellingham, are you going to the ball?"
Martin grunted in disdain. "Idiotic revellers, sporting ridiculous costumes, loosening their inhibitions through alcohol and the imagined anonymity of masks. No." He got in the police vehicle and pointedly looked at his watch again. Penhale took the hint and got in to drive back to Portwenn.
When Martin finally got home, it was evening. He lingered on the stone terrace and paused to enjoy the quiet. He noticed the nightingale that had been chirping away at this time of evening for the past few weeks was gone. He was surprised to realize he missed the melodious song. Oh well, it was worth the price if the ultrasonic bird repellent sound system had solved the Gullzilla problem. Slowly he raised his eyes up to the crest of the slate roof, only to see the dreaded gull perched there glaring down at him. He darted into the house and slammed the front door.
To be continued…
Note: I was just having a little fun referring to some of the characters from Reggie Perrin and the original Doc Martin: The Movie here.