Last Boat To Camden Town (The Christy Kennedy Mysteries Book 1)

by Paul Charles

  ‘And five…’ Kennedy’s thumb came up and he smiled at WPC Coles, ‘…I want you to visit Primrose Hill Primary School. Find out all you can – gossip, everything you can – about William Jackson and Susanne Collins. Again, same as DS Irvine, dig up all you can about William Jackson. You know what I want. What kind of a person is he? Were they in love? Did he love her enough to kill for her? Did she see other men? Did he see other women? Was he possessive? Was she possessive? Again, try to find out if anyone has any idea about what Jackson was doing on the morning Berry was murdered. You and DS Irvine should then compare notes and do any cross-checking on alibis, locations, etc.’

  Kennedy seemed happy with his strategy. ‘And that is the end of my fingers.’ They all stare at him. ‘But, of course, there’s me. I nearly forgot about myself. Well, when you’re off doing all the hard work, I’ll be spending an hour and fifty-one minutes with The Beatles.’

  They grunted and groaned but knew better than to voice complaints.

  ‘That’s it, go to it. Let’s go out and find who did it.’ And then, as an afterthought, Kennedy added, ‘And let’s be careful out there.’

  They all laughed as they disbanded.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  An hour and fifty-one minutes is the time it takes to get by train from Euston to Derby. The time passes quicker with A Hard Day’s Night and Revolver on your Walkman, as Kennedy found out that journey. After having listened to the Fab Four for nearly three decades, he still found it hard to believe how brilliant a band they were and how much pleasure they had given him. Songs like “And I love her”, “If I fell” and “I Should Have Known Better” are truly magic. When something’s as wonderful as that, you try hard to analyse it – to work out why the music moves you so much. The secret, if there is one, is in the simplicity. It seemed fitting to Kennedy, as he travelled deeper and deeper into the pure English countryside, that he should be listening to England’s finest folk music from England’s finest folk group.

  The stations rolled by his window – Bedford, Wellingborough, Kettering, Market Harborough and Leicester. The Beatle melodies rolled around his head.

  Kennedy was happy to be out of London for a spell. He’d always loved train journeys as a child and it was a passion he had maintained into adulthood. Apart from anything else, you get a chance to look into backyards. Back gardens are so different to front gardens. A front garden is a showpiece, where everything is in its correct place for the world to see. Backyards give a truer picture of the household’s inhabitants: the way people leave things they feel are not in public view.

  Kennedy wondered what Norman Collins’ backyard might say about Norman Collins that perhaps Norman Collins might not say about himself.

  ‘Good old Tim O’Flynn,’ Kennedy muttered to himself as he noticed a member of the local plod waiting for him at the ticket barrier. Camden’s finest desk sergeant – the cunning, white-haired Timothy O’Flynn – had promised to have someone meet Kennedy at the station and ease his way around Derby. Funny, thought Kennedy, you can always spot the local constabulary. He wondered if he was as noticeable in London.

  ‘Constable Harold Black at your service, sir. Welcome to Derby.’

  The local bobby greeted Kennedy just as he was thinking that Derby was a funny kind of city – not far enough south to be southern and not spunky enough to be a Birmingham, Liverpool or Newcastle.

  ‘Thank you, Constable – thanks for meeting me.’ Kennedy shook the other’s hand before they pushed their way through the throng to the station car-park.

  ‘Now, sir, how do you feel after your journey?’ inquired the constable as they climbed into the unmarked police car. Without giving Kennedy a chance to answer, he posed a second question. ‘Fancy a quick lunch before we head out to the Collins’ neck of the woods? I know a great little pub, The Mucky Duck, it’s just off the Mansfield Road, on our route. They do a choice pub lunch.’

  ‘Sounds great to me, Constable – lead on,’ said Kennedy, as they hit the road. No clouds of dust or New York-style burning rubber here, just a conservative and unremarkable commencement to their journey.

  Kennedy flashed through the radio turner in the hope of finding something local to tune into. Having no success, he gave up.

  ‘So, Constable Black, what do you know about this Collins’ family?’

  ‘Well, sir,’ he began, as they passed the police station in Full Street, ‘Norman Collins is forty-six-years-old. He’s lived in Derby all his life as has his father, Tom Collins, who resides in Lodge Lane in the north-west of the city. Norman is married with two teenage children – one boy, called Tom, after his granddad, and a daughter, Geraldine. Norman works as a railway ticket clerk. He’s an ardent pigeon-fancier and he’s never been in trouble. It’s a very close-knit family and from what we hear, the father’s not been the same since Susanne’s death. Apparently, he just mopes around all day as if he’s given up. Norman visits him regularly but it seems not a word passes between them.’

  ‘I’m impressed,’ said Kennedy. ‘How on earth did you manage to find all this out?’

  ‘Ah, sir – inside information. The wife’s sister does the local meals-on-wheels and Tom Collins is one of her stops.’

  ‘I see,’ said Kennedy, as they pulled into the car-park of The Black Swan. ‘I assume this is the establishment for lunch?’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Constable Black had not been wrong – the lunch was excellent and the craic, as Kennedy’s mother would say, was “ninety”. Harold took a liking to Kennedy, ‘Even though you work in London,’ as he put it – and Kennedy appreciated the other’s northern humour.

  ‘What’s the difference between Manchester United and an arsonist?’ he asked Kennedy.

  ‘Give up,’ replied Kennedy.

  ‘An arsonist wouldn’t throw away his last three matches,’ joked Black.

  After lunch, they drove back down the Mansfield Road, the A61, for about five minutes, before pulling into Handyside Street. The Collins’ residence was semi-detached and backed on to school playing fields.

  Black anticipated Kennedy’s thoughts. ‘He’s expecting us; he took the afternoon off work.’

  The house was small and nothing fancy but clean and very cosy. The minute the door opened, Kennedy’s nostrils were tickled deliciously with the smells of home-baked bread. The house was very “lived-in” and had a comfortable air about it. It is what is classed a “functional” as opposed to a “beautiful” house.

  Kennedy was somewhat surprised by the welcome he received. He was more used to people resenting his presence in their homes and could always sense their impatience to get rid of him. But Norman Collins shook his hand very firmly and bade him enter. Out of the corner of his eye, Kennedy noticed the woman of the house slip off her apron and hide it under one of the cushions scattered on the living-room sofa.

  ‘This is the wife,’ announced Norman. ‘Come on through.’

  They were shown to the living-room. The room was warm (very warm) from a heartily burning coal fire. Kennedy was invited to take off his coat and did so. He sat down on the sofa and sank down and then down further for what seemed like ages. He could imagine sinking into it after the Sunday lunch and just drifting off – in and out of consciousness. It was not your high-street furniture-store sofa, but part of a genuine farmhouse suite. The chair to the right of the settee was obviously “dad’s chair”, with all his bits close to hand – slippers, pipe, tobacco, matches, ashtray, newspaper, reading glasses and dog, Jonesy.

  The television was perched in the corner so all seats in the room had a view of it. There was a large wooden cupboard decked out with various ornaments. One shelf seemed to be reserved for trophies. At first Kennedy thought they were for darts but on closer inspection he saw they were prizes for pigeon racing and showing.

  The walls were sparsely covered, with some family pictures and a couple of paintings of countryside scenes. But the biggest surprise awaiting Kennedy was directly above the fi
replace. Taking off towards heaven were three flying ducks. Kennedy had never seen a set in real life before – only on television, where they had decorated the wall above Stan and Hilda Ogden’s fireplace for twelve years.

  ‘Fancy a cup of tea, lad?’ offered Norman.

  Kennedy wanted a chance to move out of the sitting-room because he felt their conversation would be too formal.

  ‘Yes, great idea. Let’s have a cup of tea in the kitchen,’ he said.

  Norman Collins smiled.

  This is better, Kennedy thought to himself as they settled around the kitchen dining-table, much better in here. He could see that Mrs Collins was slightly anxious about their new location, which he put down to a touch of the front garden / back garden factor.

  Anyway, she made an astonishing brew of tea, refreshing yet delicate. Norman was about to help himself to one of the McVities chocolate digestive biscuits from the packet. The packet was sitting in the centre of the table along with the salt, pepper, HP Sauce, Heinz Ketchup, a bottle of milk and a sugar bowl. His wife snatched the packet away before you could say ‘mushy peas’ or even help yourself to one. Before he had a chance to complain, they were returned to the table, only this time neatly displayed on a flowery plate complete with some cheesecakes for good measure.

  Unfortunately those home-baked cheesecakes were a favourite of Kennedy’s. Mrs Collins’ originals were delicious – moreish. Very moreish in fact.

  Ten minutes elapsed before Mrs Collins left them in the kitchen, no doubt to reclaim her apron and return to her dusting. The three men sat around the kitchen table. Kennedy had positioned himself so that both the constable and Collins faced him on the other side of the table.

  ‘When did you first hear of Susanne’s sickness?’ Kennedy began.

  ‘She rang me from the hospital to tell me herself, it was on the Wednesday afternoon, an hour or so after she’d been admitted. You can imagine what I thought, but she quickly explained what had happened. She’d collapsed in the playground… she’d felt this burning pain in her leg. She said it was impossible for her to put any weight on it. Anyway William, William Jackson, had turned up at the hospital and she’d asked him to go and ring me and tell me what had happened. She’d planned to tell the nurses not to let him back in again. She was scared that I would be ringing her at her flat and would get worried about her when there was no answer. But Jackson was about as much use to her as chocolate teapot, he refused to call me. So, when he left, she rang me herself. Said she felt all the better for it, too.’

  ‘How did she sound?’

  ‘She sounded fine, did our Susie. I asked her if she needed me to come down. You see, she’d been planning to come up here for a weekend and I offered to go down and bring her back with me. But she said she’d be okay. She hoped to be out of hospital the next day and she was going to come straight up here, taking the rest of the week off school.’

  ‘Was that a special family weekend or something?’ Kennedy asked.

  ‘No, not special, just that Dad had been missing her since she went back to London after the Christmas holidays. She was also trying to split up with Jackson. So, she thought the weekend in Derby would be good for her on both counts.’

  ‘You say she was trying to split up with Jackson?’

  ‘Yes, he wasn’t really her type and he had just kind of latched himself on to her, all the time trying to be more to her than he really was. They spent some time together, but our Susie assured me it wasn’t serious. At first, she said that she pitied him but lately he’d been getting on her nerves so she had told him – politely at first – that it was over. Or, more correctly, that it was never going to start. But he kept on bugging her – telling everyone that he was her boyfriend. She told him she didn’t even want to see him as a friend anymore. She just wanted Jackson out of her life altogether.’

  Collins paused and seemed to be thinking about what he was about to say.

  ‘I asked her if she wanted me to come down and warm Jackson off. Our Susie got really mad with me for that, she said she was well capable of looking after herself, that she didn‘t want her big brother coming and beating up troublesome boyfriends. “That would do my reputation the world of good,” she’d said. She told me it was the nineties and people didn’t do that anymore, these days women could look after themselves. She was so annoyed with me, she put the phone down. Half an hour later, she rang back to say she was sorry. Jackson was getting her down but she really had to sort it out herself.’

  Again, Collins paused; it obviously wasn’t easy for him.

  ‘I rang again on Thursday and Friday and on both occasions I was told that she was resting. On the Friday, the doctor also told me that she was “uncomfortable”. She was experiencing some difficulties in breathing, so I left work early and caught the next train down to London.’

  A few moments of silence passed until he spoke again, this time his eyes filling with tears.

  ‘By the time I reached the hospital, she was dead. They’d let her die, Inspector and she’d been healthy all her life. The apple of the old man’s eye. Now she’s dead and all the hospital can say is that they’re carrying out an investigation. What use is that to us now?’

  Norman Collins wiped the tears from his eyes, not embarrassed. ‘Are you going to find out what happened to our Susie, sir?’

  Kennedy felt awkward. He didn’t like to lie just to get information out of a witness. ‘Well, actually, I’m working on the mystery surrounding the death of Susanne’s doctor at the hospital, a Dr Berry.’

  ‘Oh, him,’ was the only reply.

  Norman Collins’ mood shifted. He pushed back his chair from the table and stood up.

  ‘Time to feed the pigeons.’ He put on an old British Rail jacket and a cloth cap, which had been hanging on the back of the door. Along with his blue checked shirt, well-worn brown cords and black, leather boots, he looked like he might be nipping out for a loaf of Hovis. ‘Fancy coming with me, Inspector?’

  Kennedy nodded positively.

  ‘There’ll only be room for the two of us,’ said Norman Collins, looking at Constable Black. ‘Will you be okay here? Call the missus if you need anything.’

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The noise of the pigeons flapping their wings as Kennedy and Norman Collins entered the loft was deafening. ‘It’s just that there’s a stranger in the loft,’ he reassured Kennedy. ‘Come on, come on,’ he said to his birds, quietly persuading them to settle down with gentle words and whistles. ‘That’s better. Now, when you’re totally quiet you’ll get your grub,’ he smiled.

  Collins filled their dishes – cleaned-out Fray Bentos steak and kidney pie tins – with a selection of grains. All the perches seemed to empty at once as the birds alighted on the floor, close to their dishes, and tucked into their dinner.

  ‘She’d come in here with me, our Susie would, and we’d talk a lot. She liked being around the pigeons. We’d talk about everything in here, we would. I liked her, sir, you know, I really liked her. I believe that if she hadn’t been my sister we still would have been good friends. She cared about things, you could talk to her.

  ‘That’s one of the things I’m still trying to come to terms with,’ continued Collins, his voice following the tangent his mind had already set off on. ‘You have this wonderful person, you know, okay, I know she was my sister but I still think she was a wonderful person and you think of everything that has gone into her life. All of it – you know, her growing up, our parents clothing her and feeding her, teaching her right and teaching her wrong, sending her to school to learn all the various subjects and also to learn the ways of life. The pain she and my parents felt as she grew up – them watching her walk the tightrope of life hoping that she wouldn’t fall off and hurt herself. Her taking step after step up there, hoping her next step would be as sound as her last step but not being entirely sure.’

  Collins filled a dish with water for his birds.

  ‘I remember our mother used to take us t
o the cinema, to the matinee, every Saturday, and our Susie would sit quietly watching it, taking it all in, and then, when the film were over and we would be walking home, she’d bombard my mother with hundreds of questions about the movie. “Why did he leave her?”, “Why didn’t the robbers see that, when they killed the sheriff, the sheriff’s baby daughter would have no father?”, “Why did the school teacher throw the girl out of the class? You saw, Ma – she wasn’t the one being naughty – it was that horrible boy behind her?”, “Why does Old Mother Riley dress up in women’s clothes, everyone can see that he’s a man?” And then, after about a dozen questions and answers, we would arrive home. Our mother would make the tea and our Susie would tell me dad all about the film.’

  Collins’ eyes filled again.

  ‘Later, her dealing with boyfriends and all the pleasure, joys and pains of that. And then the work, the sweat to pass all the exams and each time you think, Great, I’ve made it now, until someone else comes along and says, Well, you did really well in that exam but that really wasn’t the important one. And the same thing happens again, and again. You never get to the point where you let yourself off the hook. You never reach the point where you can say, Okay, I’m here, this is it. It’s great here and I’m going to use this time to enjoy it. You’re always pushing and pushing to get to somewhere else and you never arrive. And now our Susie is gone and it’s all over. That’s what I find hard to accept. Why was all that hard work, all that living, why was it all in vain?’

  Kennedy said nothing. He felt that Norman was getting something off his chest. Perhaps this was his first opportunity to let it all out.

  ‘Why does someone good and kind like our Susie have to die after going through all of that? Twenty-eight years of hard work, day after day. She never had a bad thought for anyone. Why does she have to lose it all? Why was her life in vain while some of these other totally useless shits, shits whose minds are on other things, get to take her life away and be allowed to live? Can you tell me why? I can’t work it out, I really can’t. I know that being a good person is not selfish, being a bad person is pure selfishness. So, how does that add up?’