by Vera Morris
They turned as she approached.
‘How is he?’ Dorothy asked.
‘Much better, but still not fit to be by himself.’
‘Laurel, this is Ben Tucker, Ben, Laurel Bowman.’
Tucker shook her hand. ‘Well done, you were up on that stage in a trice. I suppose we must expect such prompt action from the lady who put an end to the terrible deeds of Mr Nicholson.’
His fluting voice was clear, his accent well-bred, suggesting an education in one of the best private schools, followed by a degree at an Oxbridge university. Physically he was short, about five eight, rotund, with crinkly grey hair, neatly barbered, with a widow’s peak above a pleasant fleshy face; his light brown eyes, small mouth and elvish ears, made Laurel think of a jolly pixie. A rather old pixie.
She smiled at him. ‘Thank you.’
‘Ben’s invited us to have coffee with him before we go home. Do you feel up to it, Laurel?’
The thought of a strong cup of coffee was tempting. ‘Sounds good. I could do with something. That poor man was in a terrible state. Do you live far, Ben?’
‘I’m staying for a few days at the Wentworth Hotel. We can have coffee and something a little stronger, if you wish, in the hotel lounge. Shall we go, ladies?’
The hotel was a short walk, past the Moot Hall, on the road to Thorpeness at the edge of the town. Ben Tucker received the full attention of the hotel’s receptionist, and on seeing the lounge was busy, he ushered them into the bar. Coffee was ordered, with a brandy for Dorothy, a cherry brandy for Mabel and whisky for Laurel and Ben.
‘Goodness me, what a night. High drama indeed. I thought this would be a boring meeting. Far from it. This poor man was in a state, you say, Laurel?’
They were seated in low, comfortable leather chairs round a small table. The waiter had brought dishes of crisps and peanuts; a fire was glowing in the nearby hearth. All relaxing after the unsettling encounter with Dr Luxton.
‘Yes. I feel worried for him, but I was impressed by Doctor Neave, he seems extremely capable.’
‘From what I could see he was equally impressed with you, Laurel,’ Dorothy said.
Mabel winked at her.
‘Aha!’ Ben said. ‘That’s two conquests tonight, Laurel.’
‘Two?’
‘Why, I’m the second. Like dear John Betjeman, I’ve always admired strong, determined women.’
Laurel couldn’t be annoyed; he said it with such good humour and a sense of fun, she and the other two laughed.
‘Did poor Dr Luxton tell you what had made him ill? I know him slightly; he’s bought a couple of pictures from me. Such a clever man, and good at his job, I hear. Does Dr Neave think he’s got a bug?’ He leaned towards her, his voice full of concern.
Laurel frowned. ‘No, I don’t think he’d got an infection. He seems to be very worried about something.’ She stopped. It didn’t seem right to discuss him.
‘You don’t think he’s worried about the power station, do you? Goodness, we don’t want any mistakes made there. Do you think he’s well enough to be in control of such an establishment? I’ve always had my doubts about nuclear power. I know the good points, but if anything happened …’ Ben Tucker shook his head.
‘I really couldn’t say, Ben,’ Laurel replied. ‘I’m sure Dr Neave will sort him out when he sees him tomorrow.’
Dorothy finished crunching some crisps. ‘He seemed to get worse when he saw someone at the back of the hall, didn’t he Laurel?’
Ben’s eyes rounded. ‘Oh, I hope it wasn’t me – I was at the back. I came in a bit late and I thought I’d stay there so I could sneak out if it got really boring.’
‘No,’ Dorothy said, ‘It was – Ow!’
Laurel had given her a swift kick. Too much was being said. Facts that might have a bearing on the case. Although how anything to do with Dr Luxton could tie up with David Pemberton she couldn’t see.
Ben laughed. ‘Quite right, my dear,’ he said to Laurel. ‘Ever the detective – I believe that’s your new profession?’
Laurel flushed. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m glad Dr Luxton’s seeing Dr Neave tomorrow. I hope he’s not being left alone tonight?’ Ben said. ‘No, he’s going home with his deputy,’ Laurel said. ‘Any more coffee?’ Ben asked. They all refused.
‘I think we ought to be going,’ Laurel said.
‘Yes, Frank should be back from the police station by now. As for Stuart, I expect he’s tucked up in his bed in Leiston,’ Dorothy said.
Ben Tucker leant back against the leather chair. ‘Of course, I’d forgotten, Laurel. Not only have you had to deal with a fainting director of a nuclear power station, but you discovered the bodies of the Harrops. Who would have thought such a tragedy could happen here, in a quiet little town like Aldeburgh? Your nerves must be strong indeed. What did the police say? Mercy killing and suicide I suppose. You must love someone very much to be driven to such extremes.’ He cocked his head towards her.
‘I really don’t know what the police think. I made my statement. It looked like the situation you describe.’ She shuddered. ‘It was awful.’
‘Time we were off. Thank you for the coffee and drinks, Ben. Right, girls?’ Dorothy rose from her chair.
Ben bounced up. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought up that subject. Let me get your coats.’
As he helped Laurel on with hers, a difficult feat due to their differences in height, he whispered, ‘Do come and see me in my gallery. I may have some work for your agency, although I know you’ve got your hands full at the moment.’
Was there anything Ben Tucker didn’t know about Aldeburgh and its inhabitants?
Chapter 14
Detective Constable Cottam guided Frank towards Revie’s office in Leiston police station.
‘What does he want to see me about?’ Frank asked. ‘He went over my statement three times yesterday.’
Cottam’s lips twitched. ‘He’s been in purdah since Ansell’s pathology reports came back. Something stinks.’
Not the most appropriate comment, Frank thought. ‘How are you getting on with him?’
Cottam frowned. ‘I thought he was a bullshitter to begin with, but he’s pretty shrewd in some ways. Not made my mind up yet. Wish you were back on the job.’
Frank smiled at him. ‘Johnny Cottam, you’re a bit of a bullshitter yourself.’
Cottam knocked on a door and opened it. ‘Mr Diamond, sir.’
Revie was sitting behind a wooden desk with a telephone and an open file on it. The room was sparsely furnished: two chairs in front of the desk, a grey metal filing cabinet against a wall, one wooden shelf with books and periodicals leaning drunkenly against each other, and a window overlooking flowerbeds in front of a busy road.
Revie got up. ‘Sorry to drag you back again. Like a cuppa?’
His Birmingham accent seemed more pronounced today and the lines on his face deeper. Was the offer of a drink a sign of a friendlier Detective Inspector Revie? It was just past four, so why not?
‘Thanks, I’d prefer a coffee, if that’s possible and a choccy biccy would go down well.’
Revie turned to the lingering Cottam. ‘You heard the man, and no pinching a biscuit, they’re for visitors.’
‘Yes, sir.’ He closed the door.
Revie frowned. He must have clocked the look Cottam gave him. ‘Sit down, Mr Diamond.’ Revie moved back behind his desk, sighed and drew up his chair close to it and leant towards Frank. ‘I expect you’re wondering why I asked you to come back?’
He tried to look puzzled, but couldn’t help replying, ‘Is it about the post-mortem reports?’
Revie’s face coloured and he closed the file on his desk with a snap. ‘Who told you that?’
‘No one,’ he lied. ‘I couldn’t think of any other reason you’d want to see me again, unless you were going to arrest me.’
Revie glowered at him. ‘That would be a pleasure.’
He decided he’d better shut up or R
evie might just do that.
‘I’m expecting Ansell shortly. You worked with him on the Nicholson case, didn’t you? What do you think of him?’
‘Professionally?’
‘Bloody hell, I don’t want to know about his sex life or what football team he supports.’ He pointed at Frank. ‘I suppose you’re pleased about Liverpool beating Bayern Munich, the other night?’
Frank nodded. ‘It’s a good score, 3-0, but it’s only the first leg.’
Revie sniffed. ‘Back to Ansell, did he do a good job for you?’
Revie was looking for help, for reassurance; perhaps there was hope of some kind of a working relationship. It was what he needed, what the agency needed. Better go carefully from now on, cut the crapping around and treat the man seriously, show him he was dealing with a good ex-copper.
‘He was excellent; in fact, I was pleased when you asked for him at the Harrops’ house. His evidence led to the conviction of Nicholson. He’s a hard worker and doesn’t mind how much extra time he puts in to get the results you need.’ He wanted to ask what Ansell had found, but decided to play the diplomat.
Revie grunted. ‘Good. Yesterday you said you wouldn’t be happy if the inquests on the Harrops’ deaths came in as mercy killing and suicide. I gave you short shrift and told you to give your statement and bugger off.’
‘Yes, I seem to remember it went like that.’
‘I want to know why you thought it would be a wrong verdict.’
‘You’ve changed your mind?’
‘I might have.’
Frank settled back in his seat; Revie was still leaning towards him; in Frank’s book that meant he was genuinely interested in his answers. ‘First of all, why did Clara kill Sam when he only had a short time to live? I could be wrong, perhaps the end wasn’t as near as his appearance suggested. What did Ansell say about his general condition?’
Revie opened the file on his desk. ‘Cancer of the liver, very advanced, secondary growths in the pancreas, lungs, and bones. Said the poor bugger would have died in a week or two; he must have been in terrible pain.’
‘I hope he was taking morphine?’
‘Yes. There was some in a bottle in the kitchen and we found a good supply hidden upstairs. Looks like he was well prepared for the end.’
Frank’s shoulders relaxed. Revie didn’t need to give him so much detail. Excellent. ‘But why kill him by smothering? She could have dosed him up with morphine. And he wasn’t ready to die yet. There was something he had to do. He wanted to see Nancy, his sister, for some reason: to say goodbye? Or to tell her something he didn’t want to take to the grave?’
Revie nodded. ‘But Clara didn’t want him to see Nancy. She didn’t want him to talk to Nancy, or anyone else.’
‘Why was there no telephone in any of the rooms?’ Frank asked.
‘We found two in locked cupboards, she’d made sure he couldn’t contact anyone. Also she’d dismissed the cleaner and gardener.’
Frank nodded. ‘Yeah, I knew about that. Poor old Sam, on his last legs, was a prisoner in his own home.’
‘Any idea what she was worried about?’ Revie’s small, blue eyes became smaller as he squinted at Frank.
Frank turned the question over in his mind. Sam’s homosexuality would have to come out, but if he told Revie, Laurel would be furious and Nancy would feel betrayed. ‘I presume you’ve talked to Nancy Wintle?’
Revie rolled his eyes, suggesting they hadn’t learnt much from her. ‘Yesterday. She’s in a right stew, can’t blame her. She was fond of her brother. Mind you she’ll be a rich woman when all Sam Harrop’s affairs are settled. He left everything to her, with a reasonable allowance for his wife, but as she’s dead as well, Mrs Wintle cops the lot. In my book that makes her the prime suspect.’ He leant back in his chair and laughed. ‘Can you see her stringing Clara up? She’d have a job pegging out the washing.’
Frank smiled. ‘She’s got a cast iron alibi, in case you change your mind. I think you need to talk to Nancy Wintle again – diplomatically.’
Revie scowled, then smirked. ‘Too hard, am I?’
‘You need to ask her if there was anything her brother was hiding from people.’
Revie stared at him. ‘He was married.’
Frank shrugged his shoulders. ‘I can say no more.’
There was a knock on the door and Cottam appeared carrying a tray with three cups and a plate of biscuits. Behind him was a tall, thin man with light brown hair curling down to his collar. ‘Hello, Frank! Gosh, didn’t expect to see you. Been called in for consultation, or are you going to be arrested?’
Frank was pleased to see Martin Ansell was more confident and cheerful than when he’d first met him the previous September. The success of his work on the Nicholson case and his impressive court appearance had done his self-esteem and reputation a power of good. However, Revie didn’t look to be happy with his remarks.
‘Please sit down, Dr Ansell. I’ve summoned Mr Diamond so he can answer more questions.’
The relaxed atmosphere had disappeared with Ansell’s flippant comments. Frank needed to go carefully with Revie if he was to get what he wanted from him. ‘I’m here to help, if I can, Martin. I’m grateful Inspector Revie has given me this chance to be more involved.’
A look of understanding passed over Ansell’s face. ‘Of course. Sorry for the faux pas, Inspector Revie.’
Revie’s lower lip pushed out and he shrugged.
Frank wondered if he knew what a faux pas was, but he seemed mollified.
‘I’ve read your post-mortem reports, Dr Ansell, but before we go into details, help yourself to a cuppa and a biscuit. The coffee’s Frank’s.’
How pally, he’d been promoted. He sipped the coffee which tasted like mud dredged from the bottom of a stagnant river. ‘Delicious, thank you.’ If his mother could hear him he’d be sent to the priest for a confession and ten Hail Marys.
Revie placed his mug on the desk, adding to several other stains on its surface. ‘Let’s take Sam Harrop first, shall we, Martin?’
My, this was getting cosy. It would be nicknames next. Marty, Franky and Nicky. The three musketeers, or the three stooges. His mind was wandering: the grillings yesterday and lack of sleep were taking their toll. He shook his head vigorously. ‘Sorry, lack of sleep.’
Revie sneered. ‘You’re getting soft; not used to proper cases now, are you?’
Frank metaphorically bit his tongue, but couldn’t keep his teeth clamped long enough. ‘It’s all the sex, Nicholas. But I expect you’re too old to remember.’
Ansell spluttered into his tea.
‘I’ve had more shags than you’ve had hot dinners,’ Revie retorted.
Ansell carried on spluttering, making the other men laugh.
‘Right, let’s cut out the macho stuff and get on with the job,’ Revie said.
Frank thought he might be able to like Revie … eventually.
‘As you know, Sam Harrop was smothered,’ Ansell said, wiping away biscuit crumbs from his chin. ‘If this is skilfully done and whatever was used to smother the victim removed, the murderer might get away with it, but the victims need to be young, very old, or incapacitated, it’s not an easy job on a fit person. Although Mr Harrop was very ill, he fought the murderer. The skin round his mouth and nose were pale, this is due to the pressure used, but the rest of the face showed cyanosis, colouring by the blood cells. There was saliva, blood and tissue cells on the cushion. There were no marks on the victim’s face, so the cushion was the only weapon used.’
Revie frowned.
‘I mean the murderer didn’t use their bare hands. If they did, you’d expect to see scratches, nail marks or lacerations on the victim’s face.’
‘Got you,’ Revie said.
‘The act was violent. There was a lot of bruising on the lips, gums and tongue. I also saw bruising in the mouth and nose. There were haemorrhages in the face and eyes and he’d bitten his tongue in the struggle.’
&n
bsp; ‘How long would it have taken?’ Frank asked.
Ansell grimaced. ‘Three to five minutes.’
Revie looked as though he was about to spit on the floor. ‘Bastard! What was Clara doing if someone else was killing Sam?’
‘Either she was already dead, or incapacitated, or she was looking on,’ Frank replied.
Ansell shuddered and Revie pulled a face.
‘My guess is, she was already dead,’ Frank said.
Revie’s sharp eyes became sharper. ‘Explain.’
‘She didn’t want Sam talking to Nancy. Perhaps she went to someone she knew who also didn’t want Sam to talk, and she asked for help. The way she treated Sam before he died shows she was a cold-hearted bitch. Perhaps she sought help to shut Sam up, but—’
‘Surely, she’d want his death to appear as natural or a suicide,’ Revie interrupted. ‘We know Clara Harrop left Sam in the house, Miss Bowman saw her drive away. She thought she’d gone to Nancy Wintle’s. Clara comes back with someone. Miss Bowman heard two car doors close. She assumed it was Nancy with Clara, but it must have been the murderer.’
‘If we knew where Clara went we would be closer to finding out what happened,’ Frank said.
‘I can’t give you any proof that it wasn’t Clara who murdered Sam. The green threads from Clara’s suit were found under one of Sam’s nails.’
‘Nail? A nail, not nails?’ Frank asked.
Ansell’s face twisted. ‘Yes. Only under the right thumbnail. It’s possible only that nail caught her sleeve as he struggled with her as she was smothering him, and I think to most people that would be conclusive. Clara murdered him.’
Revie drummed his fingers on the desk. ‘Let’s go over Clara’s suicide. Are you completely happy it was a suicide?’ he asked Ansell. ‘Your report suggests otherwise.’
‘Murder by hanging is extremely rare. A fit and healthy adult victim would need to be made unconscious by injury or a drug; a child or a very weak adult could be hanged without resorting to either of these. Clara was a strong, fit woman, as her autopsy proves. Even unconscious, it would need strength to carry her upstairs and to heave her over the banisters.’
