by Paul Charles
Kennedy failed to register ann rea’s puzzlement concerning the pigeons.
‘Method? He would have had to call in at the hospital, find Berry, and somehow administer some soporific drug to him before he could transfer him by his own devices to Cumberland Basin. He would then have had to lower the comatose Berry over the side of the bridge by rope, climb down after him – again by rope – wait till the Sailing Diamond had left or was leaving, so that Martin and Junior wouldn’t see him, before dumping the body in the water.’
ann rea continued with the preparation of the food. Kennedy noticed that she had arranged red and green peppers, spring onions, sweetcorn, washed but unpeeled potatoes and diced mixed vegetables. He tried to work out what she was cooking. Failing to do so, he returned to the case.
‘Norman Collins seems to be an honest man and you wouldn’t imagine someone like him committing murder. But he may have been driven by the urge to see justice done. He loved his sister, and both he and his father felt a great loss at her death. This is not something they’ve experienced before and perhaps Norman had a strong urge to seek revenge and vent his anger, anything to ease the pain.’
Next, the sugar bowl took centre stage.
‘Suspect number two, Mr William Jackson. Motive? He feels that Berry killed the girl he imagined was his girlfriend or the girl he hoped would become his girlfriend. Method? Would have to be something very similar to that described for Norman Collins. However, I have to say that somehow he seems a less likely suspect. I see him more as a weak man lost in a world of pot. I very much doubt that he would have had the wherewithal to execute such a complicated sequence of events,’ Kennedy mused. ‘Plus, our murderer had to be strong to move the body around the way he did.’
ann rea put her culinary task temporarily on hold.
‘How about this for a theory, Kennedy?’
‘Yea, go on.’
‘How about our friend William Jackson?’ Taking up her glass of wine, ann rea crossed the room to sit beside Kennedy. She put her hand around the sugar bowl and moved it a bit to the left. ‘What if suspect number two realises that Susanne Collins was, in fact, never going to be his or with him. So he can’t live with that, she was his last hope. He’s getting further and further into drugs, and she’s told him “no way, Jose”. So he finds a way to inject her with something that makes her blood thicken – it starts to clot, she falls in the schoolyard, goes to hospital and dies. And our hero gets to overplay the grieving boyfriend bit.’
Kennedy couldn’t help but be impressed with ann rea’s warped reasoning and he encouraged her to continue.
‘All right… part two. What if our Dr Berry, in his examination of Susanne Collins, finds out exactly what had happened and is going to go to the police with his information. You did say that he had an appointment with his solicitor, perhaps that was going to be the topic of conversation. “How do I approach the police with this and not get myself into trouble?” Still with me, Kennedy? Good. Now, somehow, William Jackson finds out that Berry is about to spill the beans and so he murders his second victim. Jackson does this to cover up the fact that his first victim, Susanne Collins, was just that, a murder victim and not a freak death.’
‘Hmm. Yes… okay. I know this William Jackson is not a very nice character and as a filed member of the human race, he’s a more likely suspect than Norman Collins. It’s just that I can’t see Jackson being able to carry out the murder. I can’t see him being able to lower Berry’s body over the bridge and then climb down the rope himself. Then the real hard bit, climb back up the rope. Pulling up his own weight, not a task for a weakling. It takes a very fit man to climb up a rope.’ Kennedy sounded convinced but ann rea had definitely set his mind off on a tangent. Her theory made a lot of sense and would tie up a few loose ends.
ann rea returned to her cooking but was into the swing of her story. ‘Okay, Kennedy – you say our friend Jackson is a pot-head and a pill-popper. Well, we all know that the drug people are in each other’s pockets. It wouldn’t have been hard for him to recruit one or two of his mates to help him out.’
Kennedy mulled it over. ‘So you think both deaths are connected? Interesting. The connection has to be Susanne Collins. The other thing they have in common, I suppose, is that both deaths have been made to look like something else. Collins, a hospital accident and Berry, a suicide. I don’t know, I’m still not sure.’
John Lennon interrupted Kennedy’s train of thought, claiming he’d rather ‘see you dead little girl than to be with another man’ – “Run for Your Life” – the last track on Rubber Soul. Kennedy thought this uncanny; was it a coincidence or a clue from on high? He drew ann rea’s attention to this tip from the beyond. She smiled, saying that, as ever, The Beatles were in tune.
Kennedy doubted if he could convince his Superintendent that Lennon and McCartney’s lyrics could be used as evidence to convict William Jackson. ‘Well, you see, sir – it’s like this. The Beatles sang me the answer to the case.’ Yes? He didn’t think so.
Kennedy returned to the living-room to select some more music. This time he opted for Revolver.
‘I didn’t know you were a Beatles nut,’ called out ann rea.
Kennedy re-appeared in the kitchen. ‘Well, they are the best,’ he asserted, ‘and that’s the simple truth.’
They tuned into The Beatles for a couple of songs, ann rea continuing with her cooking and Kennedy mulling over the possibility of William Jackson being responsible for the death of both Susanne Collins and Dr Berry.
Towards the end of “Eleanor Rigby”, Kennedy wandered over to ann rea. ‘What exactly are you making?’ he asked, topping up the wine glasses. ‘I feel very guilty sitting over there drinking your wine while you do all the work.’
‘Don’t worry about it, Kennedy, you’re doing the dishes.’ She laughed, her eyes buckling Kennedy’s knees. ‘It’s nothing fancy. I call it “Psychedelic Potatoes”.’
‘No drugs in it, I hope!’
She laughed her brilliant laugh. Her eyes lit up the room when she laughed, he thought she looked so radiant. Kennedy was sure his heart was beating faster and he felt short of breath. Either he was having a mild heart attack or else he was falling in love with this incredible woman.
‘No, Kennedy; no drugs. I hide them when you come around,’ she laughed. ‘Just potatoes – mashed in their skins – and some butter. Add sweetcorn, diced mixed vegetables courtesy of Bird’s Eye, red peppers, green peppers and diced spring onions. Mix it all up and we have “Potato Psychedelia”, which is now ready, so set the table.’
Pretty soon, the two of them were tucking into the food.
‘What about the HP Sauce?’ asked ann rea.
‘What?’
‘The HP sauce?’
‘It’s there.’ Kennedy pointed to the bottle.
‘I know it’s there, you fool,’ she grandstanded. ‘I mean, what about suspect number three?’
‘Ah,’ he smiled. ‘My third suspect has a perfect alibi and no motive that I’m aware of – but is perfectly positioned for the execution of the crime.’
‘Dr Burgess?’ she inquired.
‘The very same!’ he replied.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The wine haze blurred Kennedy’s remembrance of the previous night’s events, but the friendliness of the evening shone through brightly. He and ann rea had continued their discussion over dinner, which had surprised him that something so simple could taste so incredibly delicious.
Kennedy had managed to keep The Beatles top of the night’s play-list with five of their albums making it into the CD player before ann rea’s protests had produced one of her favourite albums, A Walk Across the Rooftops by The Blue Nile. Kennedy had never heard it before but – maybe due to the combination of good wine and good company – the music had left an indelible mark on his memory and he now regarded it as one of the best albums he had heard in ages. As he browsed through his inter-office memos, Kennedy made a mental note to purchase a co
py of the CD at the next opportunity.
Kennedy had hoped that the night might have ended with more than the peck on the cheek he had received from ann rea as she escorted him to his minicab. But, he now mused, if it’s going to happen, it must happen naturally. Pleasant though the thoughts of the previous evening were, it was time to return to the case in hand.
Recalling ann rea’s double-murder theory, he concluded that it was too far-fetched to be a real possibility.
There was a knock on his door.
‘Come in.’
Detective Constable Milligan entered.
‘So, Milligan, what have you for me this morning to get the day off to a fine start?’
‘Sir, it’s about the boat restaurant,’ he began.
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I visited it and asked them if I could see the credit card slips for the period mid-January to early February. I was then left in a room to examine them.’
Kennedy was convinced that the young DC was getting somewhere, although he was not entirely sure where. But he decided to let him continue at his own speed.
‘Well, I’m sorry to have to report, sir, but there was only one name on the slips that I recognised.’
‘And whose was that?’ asked Kennedy.
‘Dr Burgess. No good is it, sir? Doesn’t he have a solid alibi?’
‘Just when did he eat there?’
Detective Constable Milligan consulted his notes. ‘Friday 29th January, sir. He ate alone. The bill came to eighteen pounds and fifty pence and he left a two-pound tip making twenty pounds and fifty pence altogether.’
‘Hmm, good work. Good work. Do me a favour will you? Dig up a photograph of our Dr Burgess and go back to the boat restaurant and see if any of the staff recognise him from his photo. Try and find out exactly where he sat, just to see if it fits in with your theory about the doctor over-viewing the Basin from his seat.’
‘Erm, bit of a long shot, isn’t it, sir?’
‘Possibly, but that’s what detective work is all about. Anyway, well done so far.’
Kennedy showed the proud young Milligan to the door.
‘And while you’re pushing your luck, see if they can remember anything about him – how he was dressed, was he relaxed or anxious? Anything you can dig up. Well done – very good work.’
‘Funny people, these guv’nors,’ Milligan said to Coles a few minutes later out in the corridor. ‘You tell them something which can be of no use to them and they congratulate you on doing a good job. Funny people.’
‘They’re not the only ones,’ smiled Coles as she watched Milligan walk down the corridor, shaking his head.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
‘Well,’ said Kennedy to Irvine – ‘I think it’s time to go and see our favourite staff nurse again.’
‘Count me in for that, sir,’ Irvine eagerly chipped in. ‘I’ll drive.’
‘Good idea, Sergeant. That way, we’ll get there.’
Euston Road was busier than usual and they were stuck in traffic for a period equivalent to the lifetime of many species of insect. The rain was falling fast and steady, as it had done since dawn, producing a bleak, grey, miserable morning.
Kennedy turned the radio into GLR to see what was happening in the world. The presenter was interviewing Colin Dexter about his new Inspector Morse novel.
‘That’s who we need to sort this out for us,’ Kennedy proclaimed.
‘Who sir?’
‘Colin Dexter. Yes, we need Colin Dexter’s brain to sort this one out. I wonder what it would really be like, though, if you brought Dexter or one of these other crime writers into a real case, have them attempt to solve a real-life crime,’ Kennedy said, continuing his own thread. ‘Apparently, the force did try it with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle way back when.’
‘How did he get on?’ inquired Irvine.
‘I can’t remember. His suspect turned out to be the murderer but the police didn’t put the case together until six months later. Either that, or he was totally wrong, I must check up on it sometime.’
‘I suppose it had to be one or the other,’ Irvine said very quietly.
Kennedy turned the mild-mannered and amusing Dexter off with a flick of the switch as they drove into the hospital car-park.
‘What exactly are we meant to be looking for this time?’ inquired the detective sergeant.
‘Well, I want to collect the duty rosters and I want to see if it would be possible for Burgess to “disappear” long enough to murder our Dr Berry.’
‘Impossible,’ Rose Butler answered when Kennedy asked her the same question a few moments later. ‘No, he was actually on duty the entire time. If he had been on call, like Dr Berry had been a short time before, then he could have perhaps risked skipping off for a couple of hours, hoping that an emergency would not come in and require his presence. But Dr Burgess was on duty non-stop that morning.’
‘Ah,’ was all Kennedy could say.
‘Let me fetch you copies of those duty rosters,’ said the staff nurse, rising from her chair and giving Irvine a particularly warm smile as she left the room.
When she returned, Kennedy took the paperwork from her. ‘Thanks. That’s very helpful of you. One final thing, Staff Nurse.’
Yes, Inspector?’
‘Say I wanted to make someone appear to be drunk but I didn’t want the bruise marks of a struggle from forcing a bottle of whisky down his throat. Is it possible? Is there any drug that you know of that would have the desired effect but would not show up in an autopsy?’
Simple, Inspector, very simple. You’d just have to inject alcohol, whisky or whatever, directly into the bloodstream. That way would be a lot more effective than pouring a bottle of whisky down someone’s throat as it’s going straight into the bloodstream. It would also take effect near enough immediately.’
‘Would it not take a long time, though, to inject the alcohol into the body?’ Kennedy inquired.
She smiled. ‘No. It’s not like drinking eight shorts to become drunk – only a small percentage of those eight shorts would end up in the bloodstream. We’re not talking about injecting half a bottle of whisky into a body using a needle, just a few millilitres.’
The nurse laughed.
Irvine laughed.
Then Kennedy laughed.
‘Interesting,’ Kennedy said, turning to Irvine. ‘All right, Sergeant, I’m going to talk to Dr Taylor. Erm… maybe you could continue questioning the staff nurse and… er… see if you can find out anything else of interest.’
Kennedy left them giggling, and wandered along the corridor, up a flight of stairs, back along another long and bending corridor until he stopped at the door of Taylor’s office.
‘Good day, Inspector, fancy a cup of tea?’ Taylor greeted him with a smile.
‘Perfect. That’s exactly what I fancy, old chap.’
‘Good. Come in and sit down, I was just about to make myself one.’
The doctor made his way over to the sink area. He plugged in his electric kettle and washed out a couple of cups. His office was packed to overflowing with files and clips of paper and he had to turn sideways to negotiate his way past piles of paper to get to the sink area.
Kennedy had seldom seen such a crowded office but legend had it that Taylor could, within a couple of minutes, put his hand on any file required.
Carefully manoeuvring his way back to his desk – without spilling a drop of the precious tea – he handed one of the cups to Kennedy. Taylor’s tea very much reflected the maker, not spectacular in the presentation but it delivered what was needed.
Kennedy savoured the first couple of mouthfuls of the piping hot tea before Taylor spoke. ‘Well, Inspector, I know you love a cup of tea but I’m sure that’s not the only reason you’re here.’
‘You’re right.’ Kennedy started off rather slowly. ‘I want to discuss the Berry case.’
‘Of course.’ The doctor swivelled his chair around, cup of tea in one hand, and without spilling a
drop, reached up on to a shelf behind him and produced a file marked Berry E.
Kennedy marvelled at watching the legend at work before his very eyes; the magic filing system really did work.
Kennedy’s smile remained on his face as he inquired, ‘Would your examination notes tell you if Dr Berry had received any kind of hypodermic injection in the hours before his death?’
Not really, no. But I’m intrigued; tell me more.’
Kennedy relayed the information he had just received about being able to inject a body with alcohol. ‘Now, everyone tells me that Dr Berry drank only a little, if at all – but when his body was found, he was considered to have been “very drunk” prior to death If this alcoholic state had been induced by someone pouring a bottle of whisky down his throat then some kind of struggle marks would have shown up in your examination.’
Taylor nodded his agreement.
Kennedy continued. ‘Dr Berry was asleep, on call, so it would have been possible for someone to sneak up, inject him while he slept and then – while he was in the soporific state – he could have been carted off to the canal. The murderer was trying to make it look like either a drunken accident or a suicide. Do you think this theory will fly, Doctor?’
‘Well, far-fetched as it is, it certainly has wings. Unfortunately I found no obvious injection marks. But, as all drug-users soon learn, there are plenty of places to inject the body that cannot be easily be detected,’ concluded Taylor.
‘Okay, Doctor. I understand. One other problem – if we accept that this is how Berry met his end, how could the murderer have taken his body out of the hospital without being noticed?’
Taylor thought for some time, during which they both sipped at their teas, taking warmth from the cups.
