‘I have to go,’ he said, stubbing his cigarette, disengaging his arm, and swinging his legs onto the floor.
And now he faced the inevitable question – what the bloody hell had he done with his clothes?
He’d find his jacket near the front door. He was fairly sure of that.
And his trousers?
He would have thought the trousers must have been gone by the time that he and Diana had tried that incredible manoeuvre with the Victorian hat stand in the hallway, but he supposed he could just about have managed it with them still round his ankles.
He looked around the bedroom, and into the living room that lay beyond it.
‘It’s a very nice place,’ he said. ‘You were lucky to get it at such short notice.’
‘It belongs to the woman who was the ICU ward sister before me,’ Diana said.
‘And what happened to her?’
‘She was offered this fantastic job in Singapore, but she had to leave immediately.’
‘I shouldn’t imagine the hospital was very pleased about that.’
‘It wasn’t at first – but then they found out they could get me, and realized what a favour she’d done them.’
He could see his tie on the floor of the living room, but what he really needed to find first was his underpants.
‘Couldn’t you stay a little longer?’ Diana pleaded, as he stepped into the living room. ‘I’m not on duty until ten o’clock.’
It was tempting – after the night they’d spent together, it was very tempting – but he knew he was going to have to turn her down.
‘I’m in the middle of an investigation,’ he said, pulling on one of his socks and looking around for the other one.
‘Is this investigation you’re in the middle of the one that I read about in the papers?’ she asked. ‘The body on the allotments?’
‘Yes.’
‘How exciting! Do you have a suspect?’
His underpants were poking out from under the sofa, his shirt was draped over the back of one of the armchairs, like an antimacassar.
‘I can’t talk about the case,’ he said.
‘Of course you can,’ she replied.
Her voice sounded closer than before, and he turned around. She was standing in her bedroom doorway – gorgeous and naked.
‘I talk about my patients all the time,’ she said. ‘I have to. It’s a release. I’ve seen some terrible things, and if I don’t talk about them to somebody, my head will explode.’ She mimed an exploding head, and the way her breasts moved was most disturbing. ‘But what I do,’ she continued, ‘is talk in very general terms. Do you think you could manage that?’
‘Maybe,’ Beresford conceded. ‘We do have a suspect. He works for the council. But we’ve got nowhere near enough evidence to even pull him in for questioning.’
‘So it’s a “he”,’ Diana said. ‘How disappointing. It’s always so much more exciting when it’s a woman.’ She hesitated for a second before speaking again. ‘This isn’t just a one-night stand, is it?’
‘God, no!’ Beresford said.
His words surprised him, because one-night stands were his speciality – yet even the thought of not seeing this woman again made his stomach contract into a tight, angry ball.
‘Will you come round tonight?’ she asked.
‘If I can,’ he told her.
‘Ah, the start of the classic brush-off.’
‘It’s not that at all. It depends on how the investigation is going. But I’ll see you at some point during the day, anyway.’
‘Yes?’
‘Yes, you’ll be on duty, and I’ll be coming to visit Monika.’
‘Do you always visit her on a Tuesday?’
‘I visit her every day of the week.’
‘And what do you do?’
Beresford shrugged. ‘I talk to her. Sometimes it’s about the past – when the two of us were working for Charlie Woodend. Sometimes it’s about whatever case I’m working on that day. I don’t know if she can hear me, but I talk anyway.’
Tears were forming in his eyes. He turned his back on her and pretended to be searching for clothes, though by now he had located everything he’d been wearing when he arrived.
‘So that’s it,’ he heard her say. ‘You’re not sure you can find time for me, but you’ll make time for a woman who probably doesn’t even know you’re there.’
She was speaking lightly – as if making a joke – but he could tell that she was hurt.
It would be best to say nothing, he thought.
‘The difference is that I love her, and I don’t love you,’ he heard himself say.
She gasped, and then – after a slight pause – she said, ‘Yes, well, I suppose I asked for that.’
He turned around, not caring that she would see the tears in his eyes.
‘But I think I could learn to love you,’ he said.
The two boys were constantly warned by their mothers to stay away from Smugglers’ Cove.
‘One minute it can be as calm as you like, and the next minute you’ll find yourself surrounded by a roaring, bubbling torment,’ said Will’s mother, who had a great love of words, even if she didn’t always use them correctly.
‘It’ll do you no good to come crying to me when you’ve been swept out to sea and drowned,’ said Tommy’s mother, who had a more prosaic view of life.
The two styles of warning were equally effective, which is to say, neither of them had any effect at all.
After all, how could you expect two young lads of spirit to ever stay away from somewhere called Smugglers’ Cove?
Besides, there were rewards to be gained from the cove.
In the old days, Tommy’s and Will’s ancestors had stood on the beach at night, holding out a lantern. The hope was that passing ships would mistake it for a distant lighthouse and, thus disorientated, would crash onto the rocks. It was not, as they would probably have been the first to admit, the most honourable of trades, but, when combined with rum smuggling, it was their trade – and, by God, it beat gutting fish for a living.
There weren’t wreckers in Cornwall any more, but interesting things were still washed up on the beach occasionally. Tommy and Will had found, at various times, a sodden armchair, a large fridge, a dozen cricket balls and a large wooden box which had contained (rather disappointingly) something called the Encyclopaedia Britannica. They did not know where any of these things had come from, nor how they had got into the sea in the first place, but that only served to add to their fascination. And every time they went down to the sea, they hoped (and secretly half-expected) to find that the waves had washed ashore a Japanese motorcycle, which they could hide in the caves and ride when there was no one around.
That very early morning when they arrived at the beach, they saw something long and thin at the far end, half-in and half-out of the water.
‘I hope it’s a roll of lino,’ Tommy said.
They’d found a roll of linoleum once before. It had been heavier than they’d imagined, and difficult to manoeuvre up the twisting path to the top of the cliffs, but once they’d got it back to the village, they’d managed to sell it to the mad old lady at Rose Cottage for a pound, so that was all right.
As they got closer, they could see it wasn’t a roll of lino at all.
‘I think it’s a man,’ Tommy said.
‘He’s asleep,’ Will said, with a worried edge creeping into his voice. ‘Don’t you think he must be asleep?’
‘Yeah, he’s asleep,’ Tommy agreed, in what came out of his mouth as a high-pitched squeak.
And then they both turned and ran as fast as they could away from the dead body.
It had been four years since Meadows last saw John Horrocks and Philip Jennings, and she was rather looking forward to it. She arrived at their flat at eight-fifteen, so she was hardly surprised to find them both still in their dressing gowns. She did, however, raise an eyebrow when she noted that both dressing gowns were shot silk.
>
‘Oh, come on, give us a break, Kate,’ Philip Jennings said, when he caught her reaction. ‘We live most of our lives like “normal” people. Surely we’re to be allowed to swathe ourselves in a few old queen clichés.’
‘They’re beautiful dressing gowns, and you are two of the most normal people I know,’ Meadows said.
Horrocks beamed at her. ‘Flattery will get you nowhere. Would you like a cup of coffee?’
‘I’d love one.’
They sat down in the living room, pretending to enjoy their coffee whilst conducting surreptitious inspections of each other.
In four years, Horrocks had got a little heavier and the odd white hair lay uncomfortably in Jennings’ dark thatch, but other than that, time had been very kind to both of them, Meadows thought. She hoped in their furtive assessment they were being as charitable about her.
‘So how are things at work, boys?’ she asked.
‘Oh, you know, there’ve been ups and downs,’ Horrocks told her.
‘One of the ups being that we no longer have to work with that awful little prick Arthur Wheatstone or that equally objectionable arsehole Roger Pemberton,’ Jennings said.
‘Now, now,’ Horrocks admonished him.
‘And Dr Pemberton has really come into her own,’ Jennings continued. ‘She’s much happier in herself, and that makes her an even better boss.’ He turned to his partner. ‘See? I can do nice when I want to.’
‘The downside is the Americans,’ Horrocks said. ‘The place has been flooded with them since the murder. They’re supposed to be “security advisors” but if they were just advisors, they wouldn’t have the right to boss us around, would they?’
‘One of them was particularly rude to me,’ Jennings said. ‘He kept calling me fag or faggot, which is the American term for …’
‘I know what it’s the American term for,’ Meadows said.
‘Anyway, he was always using the word. “Where are you going, fag?” “Don’t you know you’re not allowed in here, fag?” In the end, I went and complained to Dr Pemberton.’
‘And what did she say?’
‘She said that she was very sorry, but after what had happened, we couldn’t really object if the Americans wanted us to beef up our security a bit.’
‘“After what had happened”?’ Meadows repeated. ‘Do you think she was talking about Arthur Wheatstone’s death?’
Jennings shook his head. ‘No, she was talking about something that had happened at the plant.’
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know, I tried to push her, but she wouldn’t be specific – just told me there were some things I’d be better off not concerning myself with.’
Meadows took another sip of her coffee. It really was very good.
‘I’m interested in a man called Dick or Richard Judd,’ she said. ‘John may have come across him in his capacity as secretary of the allotment society, but I was wondering if you, Philip, knew him too.’
‘Does Philip know Dick Judd!’ Horrocks said.
‘Do I know Dick Judd,’ Jennings echoed. ‘Oh yes, we both know our spook very well.’
And then they both broke into a chorus of ‘Me and My Shadow’.
Chief Superintendent Crouch of the Cornish Constabulary was on the phone to Dr Dalton, the police surgeon, who was never an easy man to get on with at the best of times.
‘What the bloody hell were you doing sending me a cadaver?’ the doctor demanded.
‘The man was thrown up by the sea. He was dead, I thought you might be interested,’ Crouch said.
‘But you knew I was just about to set off on my fishing trip.’
‘Then hand him over to your locum,’ Crouch suggested. ‘Oh, wait a minute, what was it you said when I suggested you hired a locum? Wasn’t it something like, “It would be just like pouring money down the drain, because nothing’s likely to happen that will be so urgent it can’t wait until I get back”.’
‘Oh, well, that’s fine, then. If it’s not urgent, I’ll just put the cadaver on ice, and then, when I—’
‘Those were your words, not mine,’ the chief superintendent interrupted.
‘What are you talking about?’
‘“Nothing’s so urgent it can’t wait until I get back.” “If it’s not urgent, I’ll just put the cadaver on ice.” I never said either of those things.’
‘Well, maybe you didn’t in as many words, but …’
‘There’s a family somewhere waiting for news of this missing man, and I’m not prepared to keep them waiting for another two weeks.’
‘The autopsy won’t tell you who he is.’
‘True, but it will tell me what he died of, won’t it?’
‘Well, yes. But so what?’
‘The thing is, say I find his wife tomorrow, for example. I’m sorry, but your husband’s dead, I tell her. That’s terrible, she says. How did he die? I don’t know, I say, but in a couple of weeks Dr Dalton will be back from his holidays, and I can tell you then.’
‘Look, I’m afraid I’m going to have to say no.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘It means “oh yes”.’
‘What will you do if I refuse to do this autopsy now?’
‘I’ll feel obliged to inform the police authority that I don’t think you’re the right man for the position of police surgeon.’
‘They won’t listen to you. I went to school with two of the members of the authority, and I was on the same staircase as the chairman at Oxford.’
‘You’re probably right,’ the chief superintendent agreed. ‘After all, what chance does a humble copper, who worked his way up through the ranks, have against people who went to the same school and university?’
‘That’s a very sensible attitude to take,’ the doctor said. ‘And on that other matter – the humble thing – I think you should feel very proud of yourself for getting as far as you have.’
‘Thank you,’ the chief superintendent said. ‘And while I’m on the phone, can I take this opportunity to invite you to my celebratory dinner next month.’
‘What will you be celebrating?’
‘Didn’t you know? Next year, I’m going to be Grand Master of my lodge, which is the same lodge, coincidentally, as most of the members of the police authority belong to.’
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, then the doctor said, ‘I’ll have the autopsy report to you by this afternoon.’
‘Thank you,’ the chief superintendent said. ‘I’d appreciate that.’
The personnel manager at the Whitebridge town hall was called Howard Barnes. He wore a tweed suit and sported a large salt and pepper moustache. Crane guessed he was near retirement and that he considered every hour not spent on the golf course an hour wasted.
‘I got the job of deputy personnel officer just after the war,’ he told Crane, in a booming voice. ‘Ted Cobb was personnel manager then, and one afternoon, when we were sinking a few drinks at the nineteenth hole, he said to me, “Tell me, Howard, is it true you were a wing commander in the last show?” I admitted I had been. “So you know about handling men,” he said, and I said I supposed I did. “Right,” he said, “come and work for me in the town hall”.’
Crane smiled.
‘I know what’s going through your mind,’ Barnes said. ‘You’re thinking I’d not get the job nowadays.’
‘Actually, I wasn’t,’ Crane said. ‘What I was thinking was that it might be interesting if there were more people like you in personnel.’
‘That could never happen. Even I can’t be like me.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I used to judge a man by how clean his braces were.’ He paused. ‘Incidentally, did you know the Americans don’t even call them braces – they call them suspenders.’
‘Yes, I did know that,’ Crane admitted.
‘Extraordinary people! Now where was I?’
‘Judging men b
y their braces.’
‘Ah yes. Now you might laugh at that, but I think it’s a pretty good test. You see, a slob will always smarten himself up for an interview. He’ll polish his shoes till you can see your face in them, and he’ll make sure he’s got a clean white collar. But it’s only as he’s getting dressed for the interview that he thinks about his braces, and by then it’s too late. The kind of man I’d be interested in, on the other hand, will have blancoed his braces every day.’
‘The problem is that today most people wear belts,’ Crane said.
‘The problem is that even if I like the cut of a man’s jib, I still have to give him psychological aptitude tests thought up by some long-haired weirdo in one of our so-called universities,’ Barnes said. ‘But you’ve not come to hear me gripe, have you? So what is it you want to know?’
‘Everything we say in this room must remain confidential,’ Crane said. ‘You must not even mention that this conversation has taken place.’
‘Understood,’ Barnes said.
‘I want to ask you about Richard Judd, who works in your invoicing department.’
The change in Barnes was dramatic. One moment he was jovial and open, the next, it was as if invisible steel shutters had suddenly encased him.
‘Can I ask you what this is all about?’ he said.
‘No,’ Crane replied, ‘I’m afraid you can’t. How long has Richard Judd worked here?’
‘I’d have to look at the files to be sure, but I’d say six or seven years.’
‘And have there been any complaints about him?’
‘None.’
‘You could check his file to make sure,’ Crane suggested.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ Barnes said firmly.
‘Judd isn’t here at the moment, is he?’ Crane pressed on.
‘No, he’s taken a few business days off.’
‘Do you have an address at which I can contact him?’
‘I really have no idea where he is.’ Barnes glanced at his watch, stood up, and held out his hand. ‘Look, DC Crane, I really think I’ve given you all the help I can, and I have a very busy day ahead of me.’
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