Bobby McGee

Chapter Twenty-Four. A Prime Suspect.

Chapter Twenty-four

A Prime Suspect

 Who could possibly have guessed that he might have the coded message in his possession? 

Who knew that Peter was at Cranwell? 

It was so obvious.

It was time to pay Mr. Platt another visit.

This time no one was watching from the bay window. He had to ring the bell. Someone was home, as even from outside he could smell the bacon. He rang again. The door opened. Mrs Platt, spatula in hand, hair in curlers, wearing a pinnie over her nightdress, seemed shocked to see him.

"Sorry to be around so early, Mrs. Platt, but I need to have an urgent word with David."

"Can't it wait? He's about to have his breakfast."

"It won't take long. Just a few questions."

"I suppose it's alright. Come in. Excuse the mess."

McGee followed Mrs. Platt down the passage to the kitchen. It was spotless. She obviously had no idea what was meant by the word "mess". Mr Platt, still in his dressing gown, was seated at the kitchen table reading the Daily Telegraph, waiting for his Cumbrian breakfast to be served. He glanced over the top of the paper and removed his wire rimmed glasses as McGee entered the room. 

"Good morning, Bob," he said, apparently unperturbed by McGee's arrival. "What brings you here so early in the morning?"

"Just some routine enquiries."

"Would you care to join us for breakfast?" He pointed to a vacant chair at the table. "I'm sure Liz can rustle something up for you."

McGee hadn't eaten, and the sight of the plump sausages sorely tempted him, but Meg had insisted he stop his daily fry-ups.

"No thanks. I'll wait till I get back to the station."

"How about a nice cup of tea then?"

"That would be nice. Thank you."

"Liz, a cup of tea for the constable, and I'm sure he wouldn't say no to a couple of McVities." 

McGee smiled to himself. Obviously his love of chocolate biscuits was common knowledge. McGee sat down at the table facing Platt. 

Mrs. Platt served them, and then excused herself, claiming she had to feed the cats.

"So, McGee. Still stumped with that code?"

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Last night there ..."

"Sorry, Bob. You don't mind if I eat while we talk. I don't want it to go cold. Nothing worse than a cold fried egg."

"Go ahead." McGee watched enviously as Platt tucked in to his cholesterol laden breakfast.

"So you were saying?"

"Yeah. Last night there was a burglary at the station."

"Don't you have an alarm system?"

"Yes, but this wasn't a break in. It was an inside job."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you know a young woman named Yelena Mays? She's a tall, good looking blonde who talks with an accent just like yours."

Platt looked up momentarily, thought a second, then returned to his breakfast with a shake of his head. "Sounds pretty exotic to me. Not the type of company I would normally keep. Maybe twenty years ago. Should I know her?"

McGee decided to be blunt. 

"I suspect you do. She knew about the code, and obviously knew that Peter was at Cranwell."

Mr. Pratt stopped chewing, dabbed his chin with a napkin and then rose from his chair, a wry smile on his face.

 "So you think I have something to do with the burglary, McGee? I suppose in a way I should be flattered that you could think such a thing?  I'm sorry to disappoint . I understand  your reasoning, but why me? It could be almost anyone in the village." 

"How so?"

" Tolliver must have had a contact in the village, and I'm sure he told him," Platt paused for emphasis, "or her..., that the coded message was in your possession."

"But he didn't know about Peter, and I'm sure a mouse of a man like him would never get involved in something like this."

"I suppose in a perverse way I could take that as a compliment, McGee. But just think about it. Tolliver really botched up. He must have reported to his contact, and they arranged the robbery. As for your son. I'm damned sure everyone in this village knew he was at Cranwell. Isn't your daughter friendly with Fiona Williams?"

"Yes. They're good friends."

"There you are. Mrs. Williams is a terrible gossip. Knows everyone's secrets."

"Even yours, David?"

Platt smiled. " I assure you, Bob, that I have nothing to do with this. Feel free to search the house if you think I may have the message tucked away somewhere. No need for a warrant."

"That won't be necessary, David. I'm sorry for any inconvenience I may have caused."

"That's fine. Let's pretend it never happened."

McGee realized that Platt was right about Tolliver. He most probably had just been a courier, and must have a contact in the village. But who? He had tended garden for several villagers, including Platt. It could be any one of them.

                                                                                                         *****

A week later, just after McGee had taken care of his morning school crossing duties, the office phone rang. It was Mr. Platt. He was one of the few villagers who owned a phone.

"Morning, Bob. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing me a big favour."

"Try me."

" Liz and I are so fed up with this constant rain that we have decided to take a holiday in the sun somewhere. We were wondering if it would be possible for you to keep an eye on our house while we are away."

"No problem, David. Your house is on my beat anyway. How long do you plan to be gone?"

"We haven't decided. I will drop you a card telling you when we plan to return. I"ll leave a key hanging inside the letter box so that you can pop in and check the plumbing from time to time. Will that be okay?"

"Fine."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Bob. I'll return the favour one of these days. Have a good day. Bye."

"Bye."

Obviously Mr. Platt had nothing to hide.