by Paul Charles
‘What?’ Doreen seemed puzzled.
‘Sorry. It just reminded me of when I was growing up. My mother would have two levels of tea-making. The very formal level when people came to visit and when we’d have the full works – tea, sandwiches, cakes, buns – all set up at the table and we would switch off the TV. The other level was when friends would just casually drop in for a chat or whatever and my mother would say, “Fancy a wee cup of tea in your hands?” I always had an image of my dad, who was a bit of a joker, coming into the living-room with the teapot and doing just that – pouring the tea into people’s cupped hands.’
They laughed and he sat Doreen down at the table and poured her some tea – in the cup of course – and brought a cup for the WPC into the living-room. He found Sam trying to explain to the constable the need for the driver to go into his toy car upside down.
‘Obviously an Australian driver,’ Kennedy said to them both and then mouthed to Coles, ‘I’m going to have a chat with Doreen in the kitchen,’ before making his exit in that direction.
‘Tell me all you can about Dr Berry, please?’ he asked, as he sat down opposite her at the table.
‘Well, let me see… what can I say?’
And she thought for some time.
Kennedy realised his question was too general so he asked another to help start her up.
‘How did Sheila and Edmund meet?’
She smiled – a smile of memories – and Kennedy could see her eyes going to another time, another place.
‘Actually,’ she began after a few more silent moments, ‘Sheila and I were out together the first time they met. We were shopping in Liberty’s in Regent Street. We were looking for a birthday present for our father. They have some real “off the wall” presents in Liberty’s and we’ve never failed to find Christmas and birthday presents for our parents there. It’s a kind of ritual. We’ve been doing it for about twelve years and we’re never let down.
‘Anyway, we were in the basement – I think it was the basement – yes, the basement, because we were about to visit the coffee shop, and Eddie was there as well and they bumped into each other. Their eyes met and I could tell something special had happened. You know, you grow up romanticising about love at first sight and dreaming about it. It was weird being there; witnessing it, being a spectator. They were both powerless to do anything about it. It had happened – they had met, they had not spoken a word and I was the one being made to feel the stranger.
‘So eventually, they spoke – well, actually he spoke to me first, though all the time never taking his eyes off Sheila. He asked us who we were – he was very friendly for a stranger. He had a very heartening way of talking to you. It was a natural charm but not a performance, if you know what I mean.’
Doreen blushed slightly at this point as she realised that Kennedy shared similar qualities.
‘He asked us both to join him for a coffee in the Liberty’s coffee shop and within twenty minutes they were talking away as if they had known each other all their lives. They went out to dinner that night – “Of course, you must come as well,” he had said to me, but a gooseberry I am not. They dated heavily for the next few weeks. She moved into his house with a month and they married six months later.’
Kennedy smiled warmly.
‘Sheila and Eddie were deeply in love, Christy; probably from the first moment they met in Liberty’s. When Sam was born a year after they were married, their lives were complete – yes, complete,’ Doreen concluded, happy to savour that thought for a few moments.
Kennedy honoured this space and he contentedly sipped at his tea for some time before continuing. ‘How did they do financially?’
Doreen regrouped her thoughts. ‘Quite well, actually. Not stinking rich, but they didn’t have to struggle. Sheila is a partner in a PR firm. It’s small but it does exceedingly well. She had saved quite a bit before they married and after the wedding Eddie sold his house and they bought this place together. They bought it very cheap but spent a lot of money – and even more love – doing it up into the way it is now.’ She waved her hand around the kitchen.
‘A grand home,’ Kennedy said.
‘They seemed fine. A car each. Sheila never complained about a cash shortage. In fact, she was always asking me if I was all right, was there anything I needed?’
‘Hmm.’ Kennedy considered his next question. ‘Any other problem you were aware of?’
‘No. None at all. We’re particularly close and I’m positive she’d got her act together, as they say. In fact, she had her act together in a big way. I certainly admired her.’ After some consideration, Doreen added, ‘Both of them, in fact. The three of us, apart from being related, were great mates. We had some great times together… and now this.’
‘What about drink? Did Dr Berry drink a lot?’
‘He liked a little red wine now and again – with a meal or on a special occasion. But I’ve never seen him under the influence and Sheila said that he never overdid it. Her last boyfriend was a sober angel and a drunk devil and she commented on the difference when she started to go out with Eddie. He liked to keep in shape for his work.’
‘No spirits?’
‘I don’t think so. I think he drank mineral water at parties and receptions but you should check with Sheila when you chat with her.’
‘Yes, okay. Perhaps I should do that now. Do you want to see if she’s up to it or not?’
Chapter Twelve
Kennedy was on his third cup of tea. He was about to talk to Sheila Berry, his second interview of the day. You would have been forgiven for thinking that it was Mrs Berry – not Kennedy – who was the stranger in the house that morning, given the way he sat her down at the table, making her feel comfortable and fetching her a cup of tea.
He noticed how hard she was trying to keep it together. It was obvious she wanted to appear as near normal as possible for the benefit of the child.
‘Do you know yet what happened to Eddie, Inspector?’
Kennedy sipped at his tea, paused for some moments, and then sipped some more tea, using the space to ascertain how much she was capable of taking in. He sensed that the person sitting before him at the dinning-table was not a weak, defenceless widow, but a very strong mother out to protect and take care of her only child. She was fulfilling one of the basic laws of the jungle.
‘Well,’ he began, ‘as far as we can gather, sometime early yesterday morning – between the hours of seven and eight o’clock, he came to be in the Regent’s Canal at the Cumberland Basin. He drowned. There are no suspicious circumstances, no evidence of foul play.’
He paused to see how she was taking this in and carefully proceeded. ‘He had a great deal of alcohol in his body at the time of his death.’
‘But that’s impossible, he hardly drank. When he did, it was just a little red wine and he was always with me,’ she blurted out.
He could see the look of shock and horror in her kind face, as she came to some realisation.
‘Oh, God! Oh, no! You don’t think he became drunk so that he could jump into the canal and take his own life do you? Oh no, it’s not possible… it’s just not possible. He’d never, ever do that. He loved Sam so much, you should have seen them together, here, here at this table.’
The table was large and cluttered with newspapers, toys, keys, books, timetables, leaflets, a small television, a radio with the façade of a jukebox, a bowl of spare change, Game Boy, and photos. It was obviously the main family meeting-cum-talking, eating, drinking and playing point. It was old and sturdy and the centre point of the kitchen.
‘Eddie was so proud of his son – we both were very proud of Sam and spent hours upon hours planning his future.’
She paused for a moment.
‘He rarely drank, and never just for the sake of drinking. Always with a meal and always with me. I’ve seen him tipsy or merry a few times but never drink.’
Kennedy was quick to reassure her. ‘Doreen told me the same thing
.’ He was particularly anxious to ensure that she didn’t slip into the “He’s the police so he won’t believe a word I say” routine.
‘But then,’ she began, a new panic overtaking her, ‘if he didn’t fall into the canal, that would mean…’ The rest of the sentence went unspoken.
Again Kennedy jumped in. ‘Well, that’s what I have to do. I have to find out exactly what happened.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘And that’s what you are helping me to do.’
They both remained silent, neither knew how long, both brains racing ahead with different story lines. Sam came into the kitchen and climbed up on his mother’s knee. After some minutes, she told him to go back into the living-room and play with Auntie Doreen because she and the kind policeman had some more chatting to do.
‘I can leave this to later,’ he offered.
‘No – I’m fine, really. I would prefer to do this now. If I keep my brain active on your questions I can keep from thinking bad thoughts. I have to be strong. I have to, for Sam’s sake.’
She physically composed herself before continuing.
‘Really, Inspector – I’m fine to go on… I want to go on. What else do you want to know?’
Well, okay – if you’re sure now, but if at any time you want to stop, just…’
She nodded.
‘Your husband – did he walk a lot?’
Mrs Berry was bemused. ‘Not particularly – why?’ she asked.
‘No particular reason – just background. Did he have a sweet tooth?’
She smiled.
He was surprised how much her face lit up with the smile. Not in the same way that ann rea’s smiling eyes lit up her face and certainly in a much less sensuous way. He briefly remembered the carefree look Mrs Berry had displayed when she had opened the door to him the previous day.
‘Yes, he did,’ she answered. ‘I don’t know who was worse – Eddie or Sam. Eddie loved those chocolate-centred peanuts and Twirl bars. He loved Twirls cold, so I always kept the fridge stocked up for him, with a few spares hidden for an emergency. But what a funny question.’
Kennedy was trying to keep it light. He was trying to keep her out of that deep darkness she would unquestionably fall back into. ‘How long did it take you to do this place up? It’s really brilliant,’ he said.
‘Oh, probably three years on and off. When we first got together we talked about things and we realised that we both shared an ambition of finding a home and really making it our own, to do everything exactly as we needed and loved. When we bought the place it was a real mess and we got it dirt cheap – that way, we could afford to spend lots of money doing it out the way we wanted. We did this room first before we moved in. When we did move in, we practically lived in here for the first year or so, which is why this room seems to have become and remained the focus of the house. I’ll leave Sam in the living-room to come out here to start dinner or something and I’ll turn around a few minutes later and he’ll be sitting at this table playing away. I was surprised that Eddie, being a doctor, was so good with his hands. I’m useless, although I landed all the painting jobs. He kept referring to me as the “paid distraction”. I love this house, you know, but it does seem so empty without him.’
‘Did anyone from the hospital help you with the work here?’
But she was still lost in her last thought.
‘Sorry – what did you say?’
‘Did anyone from the hospital help you do the work on the house?’
‘We did it all by ourselves – well, along with help from this great Irish builder-cum-carpenter. Ossie Flynn was his name. He was great fun and he’d walk around saying all these great Irishisms. “So, it’s yourself, is it”, “You’ll never be half the man your mother was.” Eddie and I would be in stitches laughing and Ossie would be wondering what we found amusing. Ossie helped Eddie with the heavier work – he was brilliant and could turn his hand to anything. But Eddie wanted to do most of the work himself. It was a labour of love and, as I’ve said, an ambition we both shared. We kept talking about it – planning the various rooms – even before we found the house. Part of me thought both of us were mad and that when the time came we would both chicken out. But no – he was as good as his word. Mostly it was hard work but we had some good fun, too.’ She smiled at the memory of their secret shared antics.
‘Was he ambitious at the hospital – in his work, I mean?’ Kennedy inquired.
‘Well, he was and he wasn’t, if you know what I mean.’
Kennedy raised his eyebrows questioningly.
‘Well, yes, I suppose – he really wanted to do well at medicine and make progress with his career. But he was in no great hurry. He always used to say that the only way to become a great doctor was to be an older doctor. He felt there were no short cuts to experience and he was happy to bide his time until his moment came. He was very conscious about Sam growing up and we talked about that a lot – about not allowing Sam to grow up with his father out at work all the time. Perhaps you’ve heard the medical joke – I was ten years old before I realised my father’s first name wasn’t Doctor.’
Kennedy laughed, although the sound of laughter felt alien in this house.
Sheila continued, unaware of his awkwardness. ‘He wanted to be a father and a husband in attendance. He wanted to be a doctor and he wanted to be great at all three and he was prepared to work hard at them all, but wanted none to suffer at the expense of the other.’
Her words flushed her cheeks again and she looked out of the kitchen window into the distance beyond the bushes – beyond the trees, beyond the houses, way, way further on, to a place called nowhere. Her eyes filled up with tears as she cried for her man.
Kennedy put his arm around her, pulled her towards him and rocked her gently back and forth – gently encouraging her to let out her hurt.
Chapter Thirteen
Kennedy hung around the Berry household for a short time after concluding his interview with Sheila Berry. He had some more questions to ask but they weren’t urgent and would be better left for another time. He left them going about the job of picking up the pieces of their lives.
WPC Coles remained behind. It had not actually been defined anywhere just exactly what the police force were meant to do in such instances, but Kennedy felt that having the WPC stay there and being available left a subtle message with Sheila that she had a connection with the outside world, that, in some way, she was not entirely alone.
Walking back over Primrose Hill to the office, Kennedy thought that this was definitely the best time of the year to be on the hill – not a sunbather in sight and only the rarest of dog-walkers. The air was tight and sharp on the nostrils. He pulled his collar up and around his ears, thinking that the Crombie is a great coat. Kennedy didn’t mind being out in the cold but he did like to be protected against it with warm clothes. He was wearing the Crombie for the first time, although he had bought it over a year ago; Kennedy did that a lot. He hated to wear new clothes, so he would buy the clothes he liked and keep them for about six months to a year before wearing them, thus avoiding their newness. Kennedy liked to be comfortable but not noticeable in his clothes. He had always been like that – even as a kid he could remember having his father put down polish on the white soles of his new sandals to ensure they would not look new, only to have his friends say on first appearance, ‘Ah, look – Kennedy’s got new sandals.’
The time take for his walk was spent running all the information around in his head. It was like having only a few pieces of a jigsaw puzzle available to you when you obviously need a full set before you can get any sense of what the picture is about. But Kennedy felt the more he studied the pieces he had, the better chance he had of seeing if, in fact, there actually was a picture to see.
He exited the hill on the corner of Albert Terrace and Prince Albert Road. Crossing Prince Albert Road at the junction of Princess Street took him to the bridge leading to Cumberland Basin. Kennedy leaned on the railings of the bridge and
surveyed the scene once more.
There was no sign of the Sailing Diamond or its two-man crew, so after a few minutes’ meditation – and absolutely no flash of inspiration – he began the quarter-mile walk back to North Bridge House. It was time to brief his superior officer and make some decisions.
Superintendent Thomas Castle was happy to have men like Kennedy on his team. In fact, he would be even happier to have more officers like Kennedy around. He liked detectives who aspired to be just that, detectives. It helped make the superintendent look good and enabled him to get on with his primary purpose: further promotion.
Castle’s office was not as snug as Kennedy’s, at least not to Kennedy’s eyes. The superintendent spent all his time trying to move into bigger and better offices so he never had the opportunity to make his current one homely, liveable or comfortable.
‘Kennedy – come in, sit down. What’s the news on this Berry case?’
Kennedy sat down in front of the superintendent’s desk, recognising from the tone of the greeting that this will be a “straight-in, quick discussion of facts, and straight back out again” kind of meeting. He had hoped for a cup of tea but when no offer of one was made he decided it would be better to get on with the business in hand.
He produced a notebook from his inside pocket. The pages were crisp and the writing neat and easy to read. Kennedy’s notebook is not your standard-issue police notebook. It’s slightly larger and opens from right to left, not top to bottom. It’s encased in a thin brown leather-wallet affair – thin enough not to bulk his pocket awkwardly. Kennedy may use two, or sometimes even three, refills per case. His writings are more notes to himself – a record of his thoughts and what he feels to be important quotes from some of the witness statements. He updates his notebook two or three times a day. He does this in private as he feels self-conscious writing in public.
‘Well, sir,’ he began, ‘Dr Edmund Berry: healthy, happy, very happy, semi-prosperous and far-sighted. But on this occasion it appears that he acts completely out of character and consumes a great deal of alcohol and ends up at the bottom of Regent’s Canal at the Cumberland Basin. A witness may or may not have heard him jump, fall or be pushed in.’
