by Paul Charles
‘It’s just that I thought it strange that Martin had heard the splash and Junior hadn’t, even though Junior was seemingly closer to the splash,’ Milligan explained.
‘And?’ Kennedy prompted.
‘Well, I stood by Junior’s side and the roar of the engine would definitely drown out most noises. Martin, on the other hand, was in the main cabin with the windows open, so that’s probably how he heard the splash – through the windows. The main cabin is somewhat insulated from the sound of the engine.’
‘You’re probably right. Anything else?’
‘Just a small thing, more of an idea really,’ Milligan offered, slightly nervous about voicing an original idea.
‘It’s okay,’ Kennedy said in his soft voice. ‘Most of my good ideas start their lives as silly ideas – hopefully, they develop into something.’
‘Well, sir – I hung around the Cumberland Basin for a time. For the duration of one of the boat trips in fact. And I stood on the bridge – you know, at the point where you figured Berry was lowered from. And I was trying to imagine what might have happened.’
The team was intrigued.
‘And I couldn’t.’
The team smiled.
‘Then I thought that someone must have come up with a very clever plan to work all this out. I figured that it must have been someone who knew the area quite well, someone local. But then I thought that, if it were me, I wouldn’t do anything like that too close to home. I mean, er… sir, that, of course, I would never do anything like that in the first place, sir…’
‘I’m sure you wouldn’t.’ Kennedy laughed.
‘But if I did, I’d find somewhere that couldn’t be connected to me. I thought about which people would know the place well enough to work out a plan but with no obvious connection. And then I saw it, sir – the Feng Shang Boat Restaurant. Our murderer could have dined in there and surveyed the scene without drawing attention to himself and worked out the whole plan. He’d have a great overview of the entire scene, sir. And I was thinking that, if it’s okay, sir, we could check with the restaurant and go through a list of their credit card diners for the last month or so to see if any of the names are familiar,’ the DC concluded.
‘Great, Detective Constable – good thinking,’ approved Kennedy.
Milligan was blushing from the attention.
‘But, of course, there has to be a chance that if our murderer did dine there – and I’m well prepared to accept that he did – perhaps he paid in cash. But it’s worth a go. You get straight down there and go through those credit card receipts.’
Kennedy addressed the entire team. ‘Good thinking, eh?’ They nodded their agreement. ‘That’s one of the secrets of our trade: always try to put yourself in the murder’s shoes. Try to go through the options that would be open to him (or her) and somewhere in the middle of it all should be a solution. Now, let’s look at this again and see what we can see. Okay?’
Chapter Thirty-One
The posse watched Kennedy rise from his desk and go over to the case noticeboard. ‘Right – we have our victim, Dr Edmund Berry,’ Kennedy said, pointing to the picture on the noticeboard. He continued. ‘Now – so far, we have only two suspects, it would seem – Norman Collins and Michael Jackson.’
The room reverberated with laughter.
Kennedy took a moment to realise what he’d said. ‘Sorry, I mean William Jackson. Michael has an alibi for that morning – he was with Bubbles his monkey and Bubbles will swear to that.’
More laughter. When they’d settled down, he continued. ‘Let’s start with Norman Collins – he certainly has a motive. Berry was attending his sister when she died. Collins is a passionate man and very strong. I spoke to him in Derby yesterday – that’s right, I wasn’t idle yesterday – and he told me that on the morning in question, he had caught the six o’clock train from Derby to London, arriving in London at seven fifty – too late, it would seem, to arrange and carry out the murder. But if he caught the 3am train from Derby, that would put him into St Pancras at five thirty-seven. He has a railway employee pass and would not have needed to purchase a tell-tale ticket. If he did catch the earlier train, then this certainly would have given Collins enough time to pick up Berry, take him to Cumberland Basin, and lower him down on the bank.’
Irvine nodded in agreement.
‘Now, maybe he was about to kill Berry when he was interrupted by Junior arriving, prior to setting off with the Sailing Diamond. So, he then had to hide in the shadows and the minute that the Sailing Diamond cast off, he dumped the drunken body of Dr Berry into the water. He would have hung around for a period of time to make sure that Berry did not arise from his watery grave. Collins would still have had time to attend to his pigeons and catch the nine o’clock train back home. He would have needed to, because he clocked into work at one o’clock.’
‘Wouldn’t he have let the pigeons off first, sir?’ asked Coles.
‘No, he couldn’t. Pigeons won’t fly in the dark which is why, in normal circumstances, he would not have caught the earlier train,’ Kennedy answered, sharing some of his newly acquired pigeon knowledge.
Irvine spoke next. ‘But how would he have moved around London, sir – a body and some pigeons would stick out a bit. By car perhaps? Taxis are out.’
‘No and no: too noticeable and traceable. Let’s check if Susanne Collins had a car and if she did, find out where it is now. Anyway, the Collins case is flawed, I know, and there are more than a few missing links, but we have to make a start somewhere.’
Kennedy took a quick breather, allowing the team an opportunity to mull over these new developments.
‘Okay, we’ll get on. Our other suspect is William Jackson – let’s look at him. Are we to believe that he’s a pot-head and a wimp, totally incapable of committing such an act? But what if this is no more than an image he’s cultivated? What if Jackson, instead of being totally bombed or blitzed or whatever words are used to describe the current state of drug haze, was in fact, totally in command of his senses and well able to pick up Berry and go through the procedure I’ve just described?’
‘He certainly has a motive, sir’ suggested Coles.
‘Aha, I agree. He was losing the girl, though in fact, he’d already lost her, so he wouldn’t have felt the pain to the same degree as Norman Collins. I’m not sure about this one either, but suspects are kind of thin on the ground at the minute, so we better hold on to all that we’ve got.’
‘What about Dr Burgess?’ asked Irvine.
‘Burgess?’ muttered Kennedy.
‘Well, sir – Staff Nurse Butler told me that the word around the wards was that Burgess’ wife is – or was – having a secret affair. Some of the gossip, and it may just be gossip, was that the affair was with Berry. Of course, it could just be a case of two beautiful people and the tongue-waggers putting two and two together and getting five. But suppose they were having an affair? Burgess treats his wife like one of his prized possessions. He obviously doesn’t want to lose her, so he might have topped Berry to save face and keep his wife.’
Kennedy was clearly interested in this latest line of thought, so he had Irvine elaborate.
‘He’d have had a much better opportunity than either Jackson or Collins. He could have got in and out of the hospital easily and would have known Berry’s whereabouts and movements far better than the other two.’
‘Interesting, very interesting, but just not possible, Sergeant,’ concluded Kennedy.
‘Why’s that, sir?’ inquired Irvine, puzzled at Kennedy’s certainty.
‘Because at the precise time Berry was heard splashing into Regent’s Canal, his colleague, Burgess, was on duty at the hospital and I imagine there are a few dozen witnesses who could confirm this. Now, if this was a crime novel, I’m sure they’d find some way to tie Burgess in with this crime. I’d certainly not be surprised to find out that he was a murderer, but unfortunately – though fortunately for him and other innocent suspects – t
hat is not a possibility. No, I think we can rule Burgess out.’
There were no more voices of dissent so Kennedy issued his orders. ‘Let’s do this. Let’s get our friends in Derby to ask around the railway station and find out if anyone actually remembers Norman Collins catching the three o’clock train – or even the six o’clock. Let’s also try and find an alibi – or not – for William Jackson. I must admit, he’s the one I’m most suspicious of. I don’t know why I think that, I don’t feel it in my bones, I don’t feel it in my water, I don’t see it in my tea-leaves, it’s just a good healthy suspicion.’
Irvine cracked a smile.
‘We’ll also see what the public response is to our radio and press appeals and see if maybe we should cast our net a bit wider.’ Kennedy turned to Coles. ‘You and I will visit Sheila Berry again and see, now that she’s had time to think about it, if she has any suspicions. And maybe we should also call on Mrs Burgess – what’s her first name?’ Kennedy thought for a few seconds and then answered his own question. ‘Amelia, yes, that’s it, Amelia Burgess. Let’s see how she and her alleged boyfriend – whoever he is – fit into the picture.’
The meeting was over.
Kennedy had drunk four cups of tea during the course of the session and he was using a fifth to wash down the last of the doughnuts. Talking is thirsty work.
Chapter Thirty-Two
As WPC Coles drove Kennedy up to England’s Lane, she had the sense of him being more attractive than she remembered. Not that Kennedy was coming on to her or anything like that – it was simply that his sexual body-language seemed somehow more assured. The WPC wondered why she had failed to notice this before; she also wondered whether Kennedy had a girlfriend or not. Socially, he kept himself to himself and there was never any gossip around the station about his private life. To the outside world, Kennedy seemed to be a contended, enlightened man, totally committed to the art of criminal detection.
Kennedy, in his current clueless state, would have been very happy to know that the team were totally convinced that he would solve the crime. They were equally satisfied that he could solve each and every case put on his desk. He would be even further flattered if he knew that his team – or posse, as he called them – was the favourite team in the division. They all appreciated the way they were treated as equals and encouraged to help solve the cases. The more usual situation was for the soldiers to do the legwork and, upon completion of the case, the leader would take all the credit.
But at that precise moment, Kennedy could be doing with a bit of that faith and confidence himself. He had a victim, a victim whom Kennedy was convinced had been murdered, but there were still no clues to show how the murder had been committed. He had two suspects but time was passing fast and to Kennedy’s way of thinking, that meant that the trail was growing colder.
Perhaps it was because of the wondrous blue sky overhead, but the doom and gloom seemed to have risen from the Berry household. Perhaps it was because Sheila Berry was trying really hard to make her son’s life as comfortable and as normal as possible. As she greeted the WPC and Kennedy, she was bent almost double: one hand on the Yale lock opening the door and the other restraining Sam by the scruff of his neck.
‘Oh, good morning – good to see you again. Come on in quickly, won’t you. Every time Sam hears the doorbell ringing, he wants to go outside,’ she explained.
‘Good morning, Mrs Berry,’ said Kennedy. ‘We’ve come to ask you a few more questions, I’m afraid.’
‘Why don’t you go straight through to the kitchen – I’ll make some tea. What about you, Sam, do you want some tea with the kind policeman and policewoman?’
‘Cups,’ spluttered Sam.
‘Yes,’ his mother agreed. ‘You can get the cups.’
Kennedy relayed his new information to Sheila Berry. He told her how he had reached the conclusion that her husband had not committed suicide.
She seemed relieved to hear this – somehow, this news was consoling. Mrs Berry and her son could not live their lives with the obloquy of Dr Berry’s death. Kennedy noticed that just as she seemed to be mentally shaking off one cloud, another descended on her – the realisation that her husband had been murdered.
‘So, who do you think killed my husband and why?’ she asked.
‘Well, that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about – to see if you can help us shed any light whatsoever on the case. Can you think of anybody who might have wanted your husband dead?’
Kennedy became aware of Sam’s presence. ‘Sam – would you like to play with Anne in the living-room while I talk with your mother?’ Sam took Coles’ hand and innocently followed her out of the kitchen, throwing a caring glance to his mother as he did so.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Berry,’ continued Kennedy, his eyes fixed on the formidable woman before him, whose strength was returning bit by bit, day by day, ‘but I have to try and find a motive for this. Is there anything at all you can tell me?’
She had been tempted to invite Kennedy to call her Sheila but had felt that it may be inappropriate and make him feel awkward. But she liked this man, she liked his warm and compassion and it felt strange him addressing her as “Mrs”.
‘The only unpleasantness in our lives since we met, Inspector, was the death of that poor school teacher. But as I told you before, the only thing that Eddie said about that was it shouldn’t have happened.’
‘He said nothing more about it – you’re sure?’
No, just words to the effect of how it shouldn’t have happened, and what should he do? I told him that there was nothing that he could do about it now. But he hadn’t been listening, he just snapped out of it and we continued talking about something else. You think that it’s connected in some way, don’t you? The death of the school teacher?’
Kennedy nodded. ‘I think it could be, yes.’
‘But patients die unexpectedly all the time. I don’t see why there should be a connection,’ she ventured.
‘Nevertheless, Mrs Berry, since we last spoke, have you thought of anything that might have troubled your husband: money, debts, bad blood, arguments at work, maybe something in his family, anything at all?’
‘No. Nothing that I am aware of. Murder is a pretty drastic solution and I honestly cannot think of anything that would in any way add up for you.’
‘What about… I’m sorry to ask you this again… but what about other women. Were there any?’
‘I can only be honest with you,’ she interrupted. ‘We had a glorious, active sex life.’ She blushed ever so slightly. ‘I don’t know how to say this without making it sound sordid, but after we had finished with each other there was nothing left for anyone else – nothing left at all.’
Now it was Kennedy’s turn to blush slightly.
Sheila Berry was speaking more quietly now. ‘I thought when we first met that the sex was wonderful but that once the novelty of newness of each other’s bodies had worn off, we would tire of each other and that it would slow down a bit. But the more we knew each other, the better it became – it was blissful. I couldn’t believe how divine it was. We discussed how magical it was. In truth, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other.’
Kennedy’s blush deepened to scarlet. Here he was with this exquisite, graceful woman, and she was telling him her intimate secrets. For the second time she left him with no reason to disbelieve her.
‘I’m sorry to put you through this,’ he said quietly.
She was silent for a moment, perhaps reminiscing. ‘No. It’s good to talk about it. You know, I miss him a lot and I miss making love with him. At first, I felt guilty that I was missing our love life, but now I feel no guilt at all. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t miss sex. I don’t long for or need sex. I just miss making love to him. Do you see the difference, Chris… Inspector?’
‘Yes, yes I do,’ Kennedy replied, and he thought of ann rea as Sheila Berry was thinking of Edmund Berry.
Chapter Thirty-Three
The
contrast between the two households was stark. The house Kennedy and Coles had just left was warm, lived-in; it smelled of the family life and home-cooking and there were fresh flowers all over. It was a house that was busy but not untidy. Amelia Burgess’ home on the other hand, was spotlessly clean and oddly clinical. It was more like a show-house than a home. The predominant smell was that of perfumed disinfectant. Not a speck of dust or any blemish in sight. Obviously, a palace suitable for Dr Burgess to entertain in.
As Kennedy entered the house, a slight twinge reminded him that (firstly) he had drunk about seven cups of tea so far today and (more importantly) he had not visited the toilet since his first cup.
Amelia Burgess was not as Kennedy had expected her to be. She looked as if she felt just as uncomfortable in the house as Kennedy and the WPC did. She showed them through to the study and left them as she went off to organise some coffee.
‘Actually, tea for me, please,’ Kennedy had said, before getting down to browsing around.
He glanced through Dr Burgess’ rows and rows of books. There was the expected medical section alongside his desk. A large section of extremely expensive-looking and noticeably unread leather-bound classics was prominently displayed. Some of them were probably priceless first editions, Kennedy thought.
There was another large section of popular modern novels. Kennedy noticed several titles from the current best-seller list. He also noticed what looked like a complete set of Jeffrey Archer novels. Smiling, Kennedy took down Archer’s Shall We Tell the President, to see if it was a first edition. Indeed it was, and inscribed – To Spencer Burgess. Thanks for your contributions and support. All the best, Jeffrey Archer.
P.G. Wodehouse was here, too – Kennedy reckoned there must be nearly one hundred titles on the shelves. Underneath that section was a shelf reserved for manuals, reference books, cook-books – there was even one entirely devoted to potatoes. Kennedy was surprised at the number of edible things one could produce with potatoes these days.
