by Roger Keevil
“As if we needed any more confusing coincidences,” grumped Constable.
“But,” continued Singleton, “there may be more to tell. If whoever’s flask this is took a swig from it directly, there may be some DNA to be recovered from around the neck. We’re working on that.”
“How old is it? Is it an antique?” queried Copper. “You never know, guv. It might be relevant.”
“Sorry to disappoint,” said Singleton. “It’s modern, according to the hallmarks. Made about twenty-five years ago. But not cheap, for all that. It’s got the maker’s mark for a very smart shop in London. Holders of the Royal Warrant, no less.”
“Not by any remote chance the same source as the cigarette lighter?” said Constable hopefully.
“Sadly not, sir,” smiled the SOCO officer. “I can’t offer you that interesting coincidence.”
“I always find coincidences greatly overrated in a murder enquiry,” said Constable. “They’re often more trouble than they’re worth. But thanks anyway.” He checked his watch. “Good grief. This has all taken rather longer than I thought. I think we’d better make our escape and go and track down Dr. Livermore before he gets hauled out again on some other matter.Thank you for all that, Singleton, and please keep me posted if you get any further results.”
“Of course, sir. Goodbye.” A sparkle returned to her eyes. “Goodbye, David … sergeant.”
Chapter 10
“Good morning, doctor.”
“Is it?” Dr. Livermore looked up from the workbench where he appeared to be engaged in handing over a variety of surgical equipment to a rather nervous-looking and rabbity junior colleague. “Not if you’ve been dragging some poor old lady out of her grave in order to find out whether one of your esteemed colleagues has let the entire profession in for another session of being comprehensively berated by the media, it isn’t. And now I have to write a long and tedious report which will probably ensure that some half-witted idiot who should probably never have been allowed to practice in the first place will get struck off, to the great delight of the chattering classes. So, Inspector Constable, you do not find me in the sunniest of moods!”
“Sorry to hear that, doctor.”
“And another thing, inspector. I do not appreciate being badgered to produce my findings concerning Sir Richard Effingham in double-quick time.”
Andy Constable did a double-take. “Sorry, doctor. I don’t know what you mean.”
The doctor raised a doubting eyebrow. “The word came down from on high that it would be appreciated if I would let the coroner have my findings as soon as possible, so that the inquest could be arranged without delay. I assumed that must have been something to do with you.”
Constable exchanged glances with Dave Copper. “Nothing to do with me, doctor. Copper, get on the phone. See if you can find out what’s going on.”
“Righty-ho, guv.” Copper obediently pulled his phone from his pocket.
“Not in here, laddie, if you don’t mind,” snapped the doctor. “There is nothing more calculated to send up my blood pressure than listening to half of a conversation on a mobile telephone, usually of the ‘I’m on the train’ variety. So, out in the corridor, if you please.”
“Certainly, doctor,” replied Copper. “I’d hate to be responsible for your blood pressure causing any problems. We don’t want you ending up prematurely on one of your own slabs, do we?” The cheery grin faded from his face in response to the stony looks directed at him from the other two men. “I’ll … I’ll be outside then, guv.” He scuttled for the door.
“Forgive Sergeant Copper’s misplaced sense of humour, doctor,” said Constable. “I’ve had a great deal of practice coping with it, but it does come as a surprise to some people. Anyway, while he’s engaged on the phone, why don’t we make a start with Sir Richard? Where is he? And have you got anything new to show me?”
“I haven’t got anything to show you at all,” retorted the doctor grumpily. “If you want to see the body, you’re too late. It’s gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“Passed into the custody of the Effingham family’s usual funeral directors, I understand.” And as Constable opened his mouth to object, “Don’t look at me. Matter taken out of my hands. As I said, the word came down from on high. Your sergeant may be able to tell you how high. But don’t worry – I’ve got all my results noted down, even if I haven’t had a chance to codify them formally, and there’s an embargo on doing anything with the body until after the inquest.”
Constable sighed. “So, can you tell me what we do know?”
Dr. Livermore softened slightly. “You’d better come into my office and sit down. I’ve got my notes in there.” He led the way away from the harsh glare of fluorescent lighting and gleaming hard surfaces into a small side office, surprisingly cosy with wood panelling dotted with framed certificates and what appeared to be family photographs, comfortable tub chairs upholstered in dark red leather, and soft lighting. “My sanctum away from the cruel realities of death,” he commented. “Take a seat while I find the file.” He opened a laptop and clicked some keys.
“I’ve just come from speaking to Sergeant Singleton from the SOCO team,” said Constable while the doctor searched for his records. “I think she has more or less confirmed many of the things you were originally suggesting when we spoke at the scene.”
“I should hope so too,” retorted Livermore. “Just because we’re rather better off for trees and fields over on this side of the county, that doesn’t mean we’re all country bumpkins, you know. I’ve been doing this long enough to know what I’m about.”
“I’m sure you have, doctor,” soothed Constable. “But I never mind going for the belt-and-braces approach when it’s a case of putting facts before a jury.”
“Ah. Here we are. So, let’s see …”
“Could we perhaps start with the most obvious of the wounds to the body, doctor?” suggested the inspector. “The dagger.”
“Right to the heart of the matter, eh?” Livermore gave an unexpected twinkle. “Which in actual fact it was. Blade sharp as you please, probably slipped in with little or no effort, and I’ve got the measurements of the penetration here which no doubt somebody will want to tally with the actual dimensions of what SOCO have, but I think we can both agree that there’s no dispute about what we’re talking about and where it was found. Very little blood, though. That’s one thing I’ve been scratching my head over.”
“Maybe the stab to the heart was so effective that death was instantaneous,” hazarded Constable. “Could that have stopped the blood flow immediately? Of course,” he admitted, “I don’t really have the faintest idea of what I’m talking about.”
“It’s not the most stupid suggestion I’ve ever heard,” responded the doctor. “But I’m still thinking about that.”
“And while we’re thinking about blood, doctor, Sergeant Singleton showed me Sir Richard’s walking stick which had been found to have traces of blood on it. Confirmed as his.”
“Yes. We did have an enquiry regarding that. And it all tallied.”
“So do we conclude therefore that the stick is the most likely instrument to have caused the head wound you showed me?”
“Most probably,” agreed the doctor with a touch of reluctance. “I would have been happier if there had been any hair or skin attached to be absolutely certain of a match, but you can’t have everything. I gather there had been some sort of ham-fisted attempt to remove any incriminating traces, but the criminals would have to get up very early in the morning to slip anything past your Sergeant Singleton.” A smile. “She’s a bright young woman, but don’t let her know I said so. I always prefer to keep all the SOCO people in a state of mild terror. It helps to ensure that they try their utmost not to miss anything.”
“My lips are sealed, doctor,” said Constable with an answering smile. He felt himself beginning to warm to the dry humour which seemed to lurk beneath Livermore’s forbidding exterior. �
��Another thing which she showed me was the dog lead which was lying on the library floor. Apparently it accords perfectly with what you told us regarding the marks around Sir Richard’s neck.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised,” said the doctor. “Thought it might have been something of the kind, but I didn’t want to lead your people by the nose too much. I’ve got some thoughts on the implications of that, which are probably rather too technical to go into here and now, but I’ll develop them in my report so you can absorb them at your leisure. So now, unless you have any questions, we’ll move on to the next thing, which is the shooting.”
“Which was, of course, the last thing to take place, and the event which alerted the whole household to the situation. What have you been able discover?”
“In the absence of the gun itself – I’m assuming you don’t have it …?”
“It hasn’t been found so far, but the search is still under way. But I imagine that won’t have stopped you finding out a certain amount.”
“Not at all. We managed to dig quite a few pellets out of your dead man.” The inspector gulped slightly at the doctor’s words. “Perfectly ordinary lead pellets from a perfectly standard 12-bore shotgun. The sort you’ll probably find on nine farms out of ten in the English countryside. And probably also in its sawn-off incarnation in quite a few of the nastier parts of our big cities, but we won’t go into that. We’ll stick to what we know, which is, that from the spread of the shot, I’m estimating that the gun was fired from approximately ten feet away from the victim.”
Constable did a quick mental calculation. “I’m trying to visualise where in the room that would put the shooter.”
“Can’t help you there. I was rather too preoccupied with the body to be thinking very much about architectural details.”
“And the wounds from the shotgun pellets? We’re all assuming that they would have been fatal, since Sir Richard was obviously dead when he was discovered.”
“He was certainly peppered with a considerable amount of shot. But don’t forget, inspector, that you can bring down a pheasant with a single pellet,” was the doctor’s slightly evasive reply. “Anyway, there you have it, for what it’s worth. I’ve done a brief résumé for the coroner’s office, which they seemed to think was satisfactory for their immediate needs. I’ll spell everything out in a great deal more detail in my formal report, but that’s all so far on the four various attempts on your dead man.”
“Actually, doctor, it’s five.”
“What are you talking about, man?” bristled Livermore. “You saw the body as well as I did. I hope you’re not suggesting that I’ve missed something.”
“Not at all, doctor,” replied Constable hastily. “This is something I didn’t find out about myself until this morning. It was something that SOCO had found. I’m surprised they haven’t communicated it to you.”
“There was some garbled message that somebody took about checking for toxins. I ignored it because that is what we would normally do anyway. And you’ll be getting a highly detailed list of stomach contents, if that sort of thing appeals to you. SOCO are quite welcome to a copy. What, do they think we don’t know our job down here?” The doctor’s heightened colour seemed to indicate that his blood pressure might be rising towards previously-mentioned hazardous levels.
“I’m sure that’s not the case, doctor.” Constable made a strenuous effort to pour oil on troubled waters. “I expect it’s just a question of belt-and-braces again. It’s just that you haven’t mentioned the matter.”
“No reason why I should,” said Livermore. “So what are SOCO saying?”
“They showed me a whisky glass which was on Sir Richard’s desk,” explained the inspector. “They’d analysed the contents, and apparently it contained a significant dose of rat poison.”
“What? Ridiculous!”
“I assure you, doctor, that is what Sergeant Singleton told me. And as you pointed out, she is a very bright young woman. I’m sure SOCO would have been unlikely to make a mistake over such a thing.”
“Well, you can tell SOCO from me that, in this instance, they’re barking up the wrong tree. There might have been poison in the glass, but I’ll stake my reputation on the fact that Sir Richard never touched it. There wasn’t a trace of any toxin present in his body.”
*
Back out in the corridor, Andy Constable encountered a nervously-hovering Dave Copper. “What are you doing lurking out here, sergeant?”
“I thought I’d better not risk Doctor Livermore’s wrath by coming back in, guv. I’m not sure he and I are on the same wavelength, and I didn’t want to get in your way.”
“Probably wise.”
“Any startling revelations, sir?”
“Not really. A few more details about the injuries we already knew about, but the whole thing is going to be laid out for me in considerable detail in the doctor’s report, so it looks as if I shall have the exquisite pleasure of ploughing through that in due course.”
“And we all know how fond you are of paperwork,” said Copper in sympathetic tones.
“But it has to be done,” sighed Constable. “Oh. One thing did turn out to be startling, but it was the doctor on the receiving end of the surprise. He knew nothing about the poison in Sir Richard’s glass, and he was adamant that there was no trace of any such thing in his body.”
“So there’s another scenario we can rule out, guv. Sir Richard definitely didn’t poison himself before not hitting himself over the head and then not stabbing himself in the chest. You know, I’m beginning to think that this suicide theory of ours is never going to hold water.”
Constable laughed in spite of himself. “Copper, you can sometimes be a complete idiot. But that’s probably what it takes to keep me sane.” He resumed a serious demeanour. “Back to business. What did you manage to find out about this business with the coroner?”
“It’s all a bit odd, sir,” replied Copper. “Everyone’s being rather tight-lipped, but I get the impression that things are being pushed through on a fast track in order to minimise any possible embarrassment in certain quarters. Nobody will say anything specific, but I got hints that it may have something to do with the fact that Sir Richard was married to an earl’s daughter, and the earl may or may not be long-standing chums with the Home Secretary’s father. Oh, there’s no hint of a cover-up,” he added hastily as the inspector seemed to be about to interrupt. “It’s just that I think they want everything tidied away as quickly as possible. And the long and short of it is that the inquest has been scheduled for first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Hell’s teeth,” retorted Constable. “That’s pushing on a bit. But, I suppose, nothing untoward. We’ve had quick inquests before. I imagine it will be the short version – formal identification, details of the event to follow in due course.”
“That’s what it sounds like sir.”
“So what else have you been doing to occupy your time? I assume you haven’t just been lurking out here doing nothing.”
“Far from it, guv. In fact, I’ve actually achieved some progress. I managed to get in touch with Susan Robson-Bilkes.”
“You succeeded in tracking down our elusive solicitor? Well done, you. And …?”
“The lady didn’t want to talk on the phone, sir. But she has graciously deigned to give us some moments of her time at her office this afternoon.”
“How very grand of her. I get the impression that you and Miss Robson-Bilkes did not entirely hit it off.”
“A bit snooty for my taste, sir. I think she fancies herself as a bit of a dragon. Didn’t really want to talk to an underling. I think only an inspector is good enough for her.”
Constable raised an eyebrow. “Thank goodness she’ll settle for me. Otherwise we could have faced the prospect of dragging the Chief Superintendent into the case, which, knowing her, would not have helped matters one little bit. And you did not hear me say that.”
“Say what, sir?” grinned Copp
er.
The inspector looked at his watch. “Approaching lunchtime. I think, sergeant, that it would be a very good idea if we were to head over in the direction of Knaggs End and take a spot of lunch at the Four Horseshoes. I noticed some rather enticing venison sausages on their menu when we were last there, so I think it would be a good plan to check out whether they are as good as they sound.”
“You’ll get no arguments from me, guv,” smiled the sergeant.
“And we shall then be very handily placed for our little chat with your new solicitor friend. Right. Onwards and upwards. Or rather, downwards to the car park.” Constable headed for the stairs.
*
As he used the final portion of creamy mash to soak up the last remnants of the rich red wine and onion gravy which had accompanied his venison sausages, Andy Constable leaned back with a satisfied sigh. “You know, Copper, I think Sergeant Singleton had the right idea, getting herself transferred to this neck of the woods. The catering here is so much better than the unappetising mush they dish up in the station canteen.”
“Or even the pie and chips they do across the road in the Collar and Cuffs,” agreed Dave Copper. “They obviously don’t know what real pub food is.”
Constable smiled. “If we’re not careful, we shall find ourselves offering to contribute a food critic’s column for the next edition of the county police magazine.”
“Ah, but we have other fish to fry, guv.”
Constable groaned. “That’s it. One bad Copper joke too many. Back to work, I think.”
The front door of the premises of Cheetham and Partners was opened by a timid-looking bespectacled waif with a sniff. In response to Constable’s ‘Detective Inspector Constable and Detective Sergeant Copper to see Miss Robson-Bilkes, please. I believe she’s expecting us’, she stepped back into the hall, standing aside to allow the detectives to enter, and then disappeared wordlessly through an adjacent door, from which a murmur of conversation could then be heard.
“She says come in,” she squeaked, before scuttling back to her place behind a desk in a corner of the entrance hall.
