by David Beard
The two men sat and declined the offer. When he felt it was safe to do so, Smalacombe decided to go straight to the point.
‘Mrs. Cooper, I’m bound to tell you that I don’t think you told us the whole truth the other morning.’
‘Well, that’s quite right, Mr Smalacombe. You must understand, I was very confused. You see, it isn’t every day you come across a dead body is it? I mean, I walk there most days, twice a day; once at about six and then again at two twenty, immediately after the Archers….’ Smalacombe interrupted her.
‘Mrs. Cooper, I don’t wish to be rude, but we are very busy people…’
‘I do go on a bit, don’t I?’ she said. ‘It just flows out you know. Well, only yesterday…’
‘Mrs. Cooper…’ Smalacombe admonished her.
‘It would help if you could keep your answers brief, Mrs. Cooper. Even yes or no, if it’s appropriate,’ Tiley interjected.
‘You knew the deceased didn’t you?’ Smalacombe said to her firmly.
‘She was a friend of Joan’s…’
‘Joan Cooper, sir, Rebecca Winsom’s real name,’ Tiley explained when he saw the puzzlement on his chief’s face. Smalacombe gave him an irritating look; he wasn’t that stupid.
‘She was your only daughter?’ Smalacombe asked.
‘Yes,’ she answered monosyllabically for the first time. ‘In fact, she was my only child.’ Smalacombe thought he was at last getting somewhere.
‘And she leased this place for you?’
‘Yes she did. From the Duchy. Well, I can look after things for her. You see, they are away a great deal and…’
‘Yes, yes. Well now, what do you know about the lady in the river?’
‘She’s called Anna. I don’t know her other name. She often came down to see Joan and Horry.’
‘Horace Piggman, sir,’ Tiley explained again. ‘For the fun weekends you mean?’ Tiley received a second penetrating look from his superior.
‘Oh, don’t talk to me about them, gentlemen. I didn’t approve I can tell you. But then I suppose if you earn a lot it’s up to you how you spend it. All that nudity.’ She tutted and noted the look of exasperation on the officers’ faces and tried to keep to the point. ‘No, Anna came down quite often, only recently though. I mean, not just for the weekends but also at other times. I couldn’t quite work it out. I think there might have been some sort of trouble between them.’
‘Them?’ Tiley picked up the reference and wanted to be sure.
‘Oh dear, I shouldn’t have said that should I? I do let my tongue run away with me sometimes. I mean with Joan and Horry. They weren’t always pleased to see her, I felt.’
The officers stood to go. ‘Well, thank you, Mrs. Cooper, you’ve been most helpful. I expect we’ll probably want to speak to you again and you must understand it’s a very serious offence to withhold information. I wonder if I might use your toilet?’
‘Oh, I do understand, Mr. Smalacombe, and I will make sure it doesn’t happen again but I didn’t want to implicate Joan for no good reason. And yes, the toilet is at the top of the stairs.’ Tiley explained that he would meet his superior outside and Smalacombe ducked his head as he passed through the low door at the foot of the stairs.
The bathroom was a transformation from the rest of the house. It was large, white tiled from floor to ceiling and absolutely pristine. It appeared that it had probably been a bedroom in the past. He cast his eye around but found nothing untoward except that it had no lock on the door. On reflection, he concluded that as she lived alone there was really no need for one. He returned to the ground floor. ‘It’s very well appointed, Mrs. Cooper,’ he said rather enigmatically but she picked up the drift.
‘Yes, well, the toilet area is brand new. Joan had it put in for me quite recently. The old toilet was outside and really it was quite inadequate. We converted the second bedroom. Well, I don’t need two bedrooms do I? If I have visitors there is always the Manor.’
‘What about the Duchy?’
‘Oh, we had to get their permission but it’s all right for them of course. If it’s better amenities, they can just put the rent up.’
As they drove back to the office, Smalacombe suddenly burst out laughing. ‘Horry! Can you believe it, Clive?’ he said and added in a mock American accent, ‘Ladies and Gentlemen we present to you the epic motion picture of the century, Quo Vadis starring Horry Piggman.’
‘That’s worse than Dexter Smalacombe that is.’
CHAPTER 7
Monday July 3rd
On the Monday morning Dexter Smalacombe was sitting at his desk before eight and long before any of his colleagues had arrived. He was concerned about the Turle and Winsom cases. It was now a week since the first murder and the progress he had made was, by his reckoning, no more than marginal. He felt too that he had made a number of mistakes that had delayed the investigation. Why had he not obtained a search warrant immediately, to go through Longtor Manor; why had he not pushed Golding to tell him about the abortion? And, what a balls up he had made with the press! None of these questions he could answer with any assurance, although he could persuade himself his judgement on these issues had so far been right.
His main concern lay with Hillman. He found it hard to understand how an officer of his experience could get himself into such a muddle. He began to wonder whether he should have charged him with one of the offences of which he was aware but something was holding him back. The man’s obstruction was a clear indication that he had something to hide. Why was he lying through his back teeth and sheltering behind Bowles? And, then there was the press; ever present in larger and larger numbers, slowly becoming more belligerent and inventive in their reporting, as little of interest was forthcoming from the police. Every day the headlines in the tabloids were becoming more lurid and they were beginning to hint at police incompetence with constant references to Chief Inspector Dexter Smallbrain. He knew he couldn’t persuade them much longer that his restrictions on the man were for his own safety, let alone convince Hillman or his advisors, and more to the point Sheila Milner who was outraged at the cost.
When the ‘phone rang, just after eight, Smalacombe was soon to discover that a number of more illustrious members of the police force than Milner were also concerned about all of this and were now insisting on action. If Sheila Milner was taking interviews at this time in the morning it was clear to him that she was as worried as he was himself.
He let himself into her office and sat down. He thought she looked extremely beautiful which was a worrying sign as it put him off his guard. She didn’t look much pleased and it was the sternness of her features that had attracted him, the implications of which concerned him even more. He prepared himself for an uncomfortable few minutes.
‘I’m taking a lot of flak on your behalf,’ she said as an opening gambit to their discussion. ‘It seems to me we’ve got nowhere.’
‘It’s not moving as I would wish, but come on, we have made progress,’ he answered.
‘Yes you’ve now got two murders on your hands! What about Hillman?’
‘It’s hard to explain, but I’m waiting for something better, quite frankly.’
‘That’s silly, Dexter, how long is it going to be?’ Before he could answer, she carried on with another onslaught. ‘He’s only sent an official letter of complaint to his mate – the Chief Constable. You’re deep enough in the doo doo as it is without that.’ Smalacombe decided that silence was the best course of action and waited for her to burn herself out. ‘It’s my ass as well, you know.’ And, what a beautiful one it is too he thought. He wondered when was the last time it had been caressed? ‘There’s more energy being spent at trying to keep you on this case than there is in the investigations. Cross examining him without his representative present? What were you thinking of?’
‘Now that’s bollocks.’ He felt the time was now right to chime in. ‘I followed it to the book. I’m entitled to question people; how the hell else can we do our jo
b? When he asked for his lawyer to be present I backed off immediately. The fact is, the bastard was lying. He knows it, I know it, and so I suspect, do you.’
‘How can you be sure? Why haven’t you charged him? It’s stupid going on like this.’
‘Well, it’s not as stupid as you think, Sheila. He’s up to his neck in the Turle affair, of that I’m sure. He’s hiding some secret, there’s no doubt. As far as possession of Class A is concerned, it’s no big deal for him and you know as well as I do that slick lawyers will stretch it out, cost the CPS a bloody fortune and then he’ll get off on some technicality.’
‘Well, you’ve got to move one way or the other. Not only are the press on our backs and goodness knows who else, this guy Bowles’s letter is pretty uncomplimentary about you, I can tell you.’
‘What a surprise! They can’t sue can they?’ Smalacombe interrupted.
‘Can’t they now? They can do anything these days and you know it. Apparently this filming delay is costing three quarters of a million dollars a day.’
‘It goes up every bloody time they mention it.’ Smalacombe sighed, he knew he had handled it badly, ‘Jesus, his wife has just been murdered. That’s not our fault. Do they really think he would be able to carry on as if nothing had happened? What sort of callous bastard is he? He’s a shit, I know but surely, not even he would want to be off to Spain or somewhere until there is some solution, or at the very least, a funeral. That is if he didn’t do it himself.’
‘You and I may know we’re on pretty solid ground but nobody else sees it that way and that’s the problem.’
‘So, what do you want me to do?’
‘All this nonsense about his personal safety is crap. Do you realise how much this twenty four hour watch is costing?’
‘Well, it’s cheaper than keeping him in custody.’
‘It isn’t! You haven’t charged him yet! I have given my assurance that Hillman can return to filming tomorrow afternoon if there are no serious charges brought before then. He will be leaving Longtor Manor for the airport at one.’
‘I can hold him for questioning for up to ninety six hours…’
‘Not without something substantive you can’t…and that’s an order.’
‘Doesn’t give me much time does it?’
‘You’ve had a week,’ she paused and fiddled with a pen. ‘I know how you feel, but it is me getting the stick you know.’ Smalacombe thought, not at the moment it isn’t.
Smalacombe felt it was fortuitous that Rita Golding was on her way down to identify Anna. He was also relieved that he had already made arrangements to interview her again. He had a feeling that this time he would get something from her that would start the breakthrough he so desperately needed. For the first time he felt good about the investigation; it may have been the boot up the bum from his boss that refreshed his enthusiasm.
Rita was as stunning as ever. She wore a bright cotton frock with a short flouncy skirt and high-heeled shoes that enhanced the perfect contours of her suntanned ankles. This time her hair was up and it showed off her slender neck and elegant shoulder line. They shook hands and he took her to the mortuary. As with all these matters, the identification process was miserable, sad, and depressing, especially as the face was unrecognisable. Rita had to identify her by other means; the tattoos, a mole beneath the left breast. She nodded and confirmed that the body was that of her long time friend.
He took her to an anteroom where she sat forlornly. The shock of seeing her friend’s horrendous injuries had numbed her. Her emotions were anaesthetised; she knew she should be crying but she remained stunned, unable to comprehend what she had just witnessed. Smalacombe went out and took his time to go to the coffee machine and pour two cups. By the time he returned, WPC Childs had ensconced herself in the room and Rita, at last, was sobbing into a handkerchief.
Smalacombe felt uneasy standing there with two cups, unable to pass one over to her. Wendy Childs held up her hands to take both beverages and nodded to indicate she was in control. She mouthed silently, ‘five minutes’. Smalacombe took the hint and excused himself. Outside he poured another coffee, helped himself to another triple X and decided that by the time it had dissolved Rita would be able to continue. The peppermint didn’t go with the coffee so he spat it out into a waste bin.
Rita Golding’s initial response to her visit to the mortuary meant that her eventual breakdown was more profound than Smalacombe or Wendy Childs had anticipated and it threw his plans for the interview into disorder. It would have to be a bit more softly, softly. He spent the next few minutes thinking it through.
When he finished the coffee, he took three more from the dispenser, which he carefully carried in a triangle and returned to Rita. WPC Childs helped him with the drinks, taking one for herself and handing another to the witness who was by now composed. Her eyes were reddened and her cheeks slightly swollen, but she was smiling and talking to the WPC. She looked up as Smalacombe crossed into the room. ‘I’m really sorry, Mr. Smalacombe.’
‘Not at all, it’s fully understandable. I know how I would feel. It’s a very unpleasant business but I’m afraid it’s something we can’t avoid.’
‘I’ve been bottling it up. Not a tear so far. I knew there would be a catharsis sooner or later. It’s a sort of confirmation isn’t it, the identification? A finality! You always have that little hope that perhaps it isn’t Anna, right up to the moment and then, suddenly it all dissipates.’ She paused for a while, staring ahead, avoiding eye contact. ‘My initial reaction was one of disbelief, but then it hit me when I sat here. I actually feel much better for it.’
‘I’m sure you do. Look, I’ve got some difficult questions to ask you. This is not a formal interview, but if you want…’
‘No, it’s OK. I’m fine now.’
Smalacombe took a small plastic packet from his pocket and showed it to her. ‘Do you recognise this?’
Rita Golding studied it carefully, ‘Where did you find it?’ she asked.
‘I can’t tell you that at the moment, but do you recognise it?’
‘It’s one of a pair of earrings I gave Anna a few years ago. They’re real diamonds you know.’
‘Thanks. It’s as we thought. I’m going to have to hang on to this for a while. The other one is in safekeeping. It’s the only personal possession we have of Anna’s.’
He put the packet away, paused a while as if to make a natural break from one line of questioning to another. ‘I’ll be straight with you, Rita,’ he said and hesitated again for a moment to collect his thoughts and to deliberate on how he should phrase things. He decided that Rita would not be put out by a little industrial language that he felt would have a greater impact. ‘I’m in the shit as far as Hillman is concerned and if he is guilty of something then I’ve got to nail him by tomorrow morning. Otherwise I have to let him go.’
There was a long silence. Smalacombe sensed that Rita was searching her conscience. He decided not to hurry her. He stirred his coffee and took a long sip; she sat hunched and cupped hers between her hands, still looking ahead at nothing. Finally she made the decision to speak out.
‘The fact is, Hillman raped Anna about three months ago,’ she said without moving. Smalacombe studied what was left in his cup. Neither could bring themselves to look at one another.
‘That’s a serious accusation Rita. Are you sure?’ he pressed.
‘Quite sure, apart from the fact that Anna would have no need to make up such a story for me now, would she?’ He saw the logic of that. ‘He wouldn’t leave her alone in the pool for instance. He tried it on there.... Well, don’t look shocked; what do you think these weekends were? Choir practices and scrabble parties? He chased her into the cinema and raped her there.’
‘But wasn’t she available?’
‘Not on his terms she wasn’t.’
‘But how do you know that?’ Smalacombe pressed her further.
‘Because I was there! I saw it first from the balcony. She told
him to fuck off, but he wouldn’t listen. He dragged her down the corridor by her hair. She was screaming. I was upstairs looking down and I saw him chase her through the door towards the cinema.’
‘You said dragged her then you said he chased her?’
‘He had her by the hair and he had her arm up her back with his other hand…..’
‘That’s not chasing or dragging is it?’
‘Well…’
‘No, listen. If it came to a cross examination, a lawyer would pick up such inconsistencies in a minute. It’s not for me to put words in your mouth but…’
‘He frogmarched her. I could see her trying to walk on tip toes to ease the pain. By the time I ran down and then crept in to the cinema it was beyond the point of no return. You know what I mean? I felt…’ she paused, ‘any interference from me would just make it worse. It was ‘get it over time’, you know. He took her from behind; she was pressed up against the wall in the corner at the back, still with her arm twisted. She wasn’t screaming or shouting; I suppose there was no point by then.’
Smalacombe remained silent and pursed his lips. ‘People like us can get raped too you know, just like anyone else,’ she added with some venom. ‘He barged out; he didn’t see me, I’m sure. Anna sank to the floor and sat there hugging her knees.’
‘She was naked.’ It wasn’t a question, just the need for a confirmation.
‘Yes.’
‘Did you go over to her?’
‘Of course I did. What a bloody silly question.’ Smalacombe agreed wholeheartedly and nodded as he pulled another face. ‘After a bit, I took her upstairs. We locked the bedroom door and stayed the night. In the morning I called a taxi and we left. In any event there were others in there who saw what went on.’
‘Would they give evidence?’
‘You would have to ask them. Who wants this sort of publicity? They might, if they are clear about the consequences. I can give you names. Look, the result was the pregnancy. We never, and I mean never, work without a condom. That’s why she knew it was him.’
