The Missing Earring

by David Beard

  ‘It’s been a great evening Dex, I’m glad you could make it.’ Dexter never answered but just smiled broadly. It had been a very profitable evening. Freda knew the signs. ‘Oh come on Dex, you’re back at work again aren’t you,’ she scolded. Dexter nodded.

  ‘Can’t you leave it just for one moment, I mean, look around you.’

  ‘I had every intention of doing so Frede,’ he said, ‘but I’ve just solved the problem that’s been baffling me for the last ten days. I know how Anna Turle died.’

  ‘Well, let’s go to the Jolly Sailor to celebrate then,’ she said and leant her head on his shoulder. She was determined that nothing was going to spoil their evening. For that matter so was Dexter. He reached in his pocket and switched off his mobile phone.

  It was Freda’s role to drive them home as Smalacombe had indulged in too much of the real ale. He could contain his thoughts no longer. He changed his mind, switched on his phone, rang Tiley and waited for him to answer.

  ‘What kept you?’

  ‘I’ve just gone to bed. Do you know what time it is?’

  ‘No, I’m driving home, why should I?’

  ‘No, you’re not, I am,’ Freda interrupted and grumbled.

  ‘Clive, I want the scene of crime officers and forensic down to Cooper’s cottage tomorrow as soon as possible. I also want a search warrant.’ The only response he heard was a confused mumble coming down the line. ‘Haven’t you bloody woken up yet?’

  ‘Do me a favour Dexter, there’s more to it than that,’ and he heard a female voice in the background say, ‘Tell him to sod off.’

  ‘The important thing is we’ll have to get in there early, so I’ll pick you up at seven thirty. Now, don’t use up all your energy, you’re going to need lots of it tomorrow.’

  ‘I can’t sort the warrant out before about nine.’

  ‘That’ll do, see you tomorrow. Oh, and there’s one final thing; get WPC Childs to sort out kennels for the dog.’

  CHAPTER 10

  Wednesday July 5th

  Smalacombe, with Tiley at his side, drove along the familiar route to Cooper’s cottage. They were followed by a carload of uniformed officers and he had had word that SOCO and forensics were on their way. The search warrant was safely tucked in the chief inspector’s inside pocket.

  For the first time since the investigation began, it was raining heavily. WPC Childs sat in the back of Smalacombe’s car feeling as miserable as the weather. It was the sort of driving Dartmoor rain that rode on a vicious souwester and it seemed to come from a hole in the sky just above and in front of them. It smashed into the windscreen threatening to overwhelm the wipers. So heavy were the darkened clouds that it was barely daylight. This was Dartmoor at its most miserable. Whatever were the advances of clothing technology in recent years nothing had yet been invented to keep a person dry when out on the high moors on a day like this.

  The black road, shiny with surface water, disappeared a few yards ahead of them as it rolled out of the mist like a treadmill to provide just enough warning of impending bends. Bedraggled bullocks, wandering around aimlessly and black on black, provided an even greater hazard than they did on bright summer days when the motorist at least had knowledge of their whereabouts. Every pony stood miserably facing northeast with its backside firmly stationed against the wind. The sheep, shorn for the summer now, cold and wretched, sought some shelter by the banks at the roadside.

  Mrs Cooper had just returned from giving Billy his second morning constitutional. Her hair was plastered to her scalp which was clearly visible against the greying roots not recently attended to by her hairdresser and the tresses, now a dull dun, tumbled over her forehead in sodden cords. As Smalacombe and Tiley passed through the garden gate she was busily wiping the animal down, before allowing him to venture into the sitting room, with a towel that was getting grubbier and wetter with each rub. It was a losing battle.

  She was very subdued and she pretended to be so absorbed in her activities that she could find no time to address the two officers who now stood over her. She made a conscious effort to string out her actions; wiping each paw in turn, inspecting each pad and nail. Finally, when she tapped Billy on the back he wandered off to the door and she walked slowly to her washing line and pegged the dirty towel out in the rain. The significance of a constable, standing on duty at her front door, and the presence of WPC Childs accompanying the two detectives, was not lost on her.

  She stood by the constable, as the two detectives waited patiently for her to give them her full attention. Smalacombe was used to the sort of actions demonstrated by Mrs. Cooper and knew it was all part of the ways of coping with the inevitable unpleasantness.

  ‘I suppose you will want to come in, Mr. Smalacombe,’ she spoke quietly. Smalacombe and Tiley, who were steadily getting wetter by the minute, moved to the door without a word. The clematis over the little porch brushed against their heads and showered them with great drops that found their way inside their collars. Smalacombe felt the cold water dribble down his back. She ushered them into her front room and stood silently waiting for them to begin the conversation. It was not the verbose Mrs. Cooper they had come to know. Billy made his way casually to the ingle and rolled himself up in his basket and began licking his front paw, which was the easiest part he could get to without a great deal of effort. WPC Childs followed them in silently and discreetly and positioned herself unobtrusively just inside the door.

  The room was as Smalacombe remembered it; the homeliness, the protective proportions of it, with its low sagging ceiling supported by a great rough hewn oak beam, its thick walls with a deep sill beckoning tiny windows. It oozed the cosy intimacy of a mature dwelling, protecting its occupants from bad weather and the storm raging outside. Mrs Cooper had lit a fire in the open hearth and rich red embers cast an aroma of wood smoke as they threw their heat across the room. Even in the height of summer, days such as these required some heating. Here was warmth, calmness, friendliness, a womb like environment, protecting them from the worst that Dartmoor could offer. Billy lay contentedly in his basket; he was steaming a little from the warmth of the fire. He had finished licking and he lay with his head on his front paws, eyes wide open, watching every move in case he may be called upon to protect his mistress.

  Could I be so wrong, Smalacombe thought? Could this place really have been the scene of unimaginable violence? Now was not the time to falter. Smalacombe pressed on. ‘You know why we’re here, don’t you?’ he began and Mrs. Cooper nodded. He searched in his pockets and found a pair of surgical gloves, which he put on, and then he walked over to the fireplace. ‘I admired this piece from the moment I first saw it,’ he said.

  ‘Yes, it was my Great Grandmother’s, Mr. Smalacombe,’ she said, breaking her silence at last.

  ‘And what did you say it was?’

  ‘It’s a Victorian warming pan. They used to fill it with hot coals and warm the bed with it.’

  ‘No, Mrs. Cooper, I think it’s a murder weapon, don’t you?’ He took it from the wall and held it by its long handle like a baseball bat. ‘A good swing on the end of a four foot handle would have an impact of many tons; even if it was wielded by a woman, wouldn’t you say? Pretty formidable don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s just a warming pan and one of my most valued possessions. I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Smalacombe.’ She was trying hard to maintain a quiet dignity but her protest had no real conviction. It was the final spluttering of a dying candle.

  Smalacombe raised it to just below the ceiling and brought it down vertically, with vigour onto the soft seat of the easy chair that stood before him. A puff of dust rose up and hovered around him. ‘Oh, yes you do, Mrs. Cooper. It may be your favourite thing but this is the only piece of brass in the room that’s been polished recently. Doesn’t that strike you as odd?’ He turned it over to look at the back. It was badly damaged. ‘It doesn’t seem you look after it terribly well either.’

  ‘That happen
ed before it came into my possession. It’s very old. It’s perfectly understandable to find it is no longer in perfect condition.’

  ‘We can easily detect when the damage occurred and from my inexperienced eye I would say that most of it is about a fortnight old. Fortunately, there are lots of seams and little holes and I am certain that our forensic team will corroborate my view and find traces of Anna Turle here as well.’

  Mrs Cooper stared ashen faced. She had removed her wellingtons and stood in her socks, both with great holes in the toes and with her flattened hair still dripping onto her shoulders she cut a pathetic figure. She looked very small and vulnerable. Smalacombe felt like the school bully and was beginning to hate himself but he knew he had hit the right button. The image of Alison, with her mother’s lollipop stick, came back to his mind and it saddened him to think how the innocence of childhood could solve a thoroughly adult act of unspeakable nastiness.

  ‘The other thing I’m interested in Mrs. Cooper, is how long it took you and your daughter to clean up the bathroom?’ She didn’t answer but just stared ahead at nothing in particular. ‘We’ll find something there you know, on the grouting between the tiles perhaps, under the edge of the sealant around the bath. It’s impossible to remove it all. In the drain beneath the bath plug? Did you remember to dismantle all of that and clean it out? Science is a wonderful thing, isn’t it?’ He paused. ‘I really need a response, Mrs. Cooper.’

  ‘You know that’s not necessary, Mr. Smalacombe,’ she said summoning up as much dignity as she could muster.

  Smalacombe looked across to Tiley, ‘Sergeant,’ he said. Tiley stepped forward. ‘Mrs Louisa Anne Cooper I am arresting you on suspicion that with Joan Alma Cooper you murdered Miss Anna Turle on or about….. ’ He referred to the back page of his notebook and continued with the charge by reading it out to ensure he made no errors.

  ‘What about Billy?’ she asked when Tiley had finished and for the first time she showed emotion.

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs. Cooper, I’ve arranged for him to go to kennels until we can sort things out. He will be well looked after,’ Wendy Childs reassured her.

  Mrs. Cooper looked around the room. Smalacombe had already left the house and was outside discussing with DC Crabtree and SOCO the particular investigations he wanted, ‘Can you give me a few minutes with Billy, Mr. Tiley?’ Mrs Cooper asked the sergeant. Tiley nodded and indicated to WPC Childs to stay with her.

  ‘So far so good, Chief Inspector,’ was how Sheila Milner opened the interview with Smalacombe and Tiley, as soon as they had all settled down. ‘I can assure you upstairs are well pleased. At least the press can’t accuse of us of getting nowhere with this. Two down as they say.’ Her fingers were interwoven and she rested her hands on the desk in front of her. She looked at each officer in turn and smiled.

  ‘And, one to go,’ Smalacombe interjected.

  ‘I hope the press will soften towards us now. After all, Hillman has been charged with rape and Winsom murdered Turle,’ the superintendent said, with some satisfaction. ‘There are enough column inches to fill the Sundays for the next three months, I’d say.’

  ‘It is column centimetres, mam. It’s an offence to talk Imperial you know.’ Smalacombe was aware that the light-hearted note to the conversation had a touch of self-congratulation about it. He hoped the impetus would continue and he wouldn’t be facing another bollocking within a day or two.

  Sheila Milner pursed her lips in mock exasperation, ‘It’s a figure of speech,’ she said with an artificial forcefulness. ‘However,’ she began again with some caution, ‘what they really want is Winsom’s murderer. That’s the big story. How far are you on with that?’

  Smalacombe noted that her hands were gently bouncing up and down just above the table in a motion that signalled her impatience to get the job finished. ‘Well, at least we have suspects, mam,’ Smalacombe answered, remembering the formality required when in company. Tiley raised his eyebrows in surprise at Smalacombe’s plural answer, as he was unaware that there was more than one suspect and then only because of a tenuous connection at that. ‘First, there’s Hempson.’ Smalacombe began to outline his reasoning. ‘Winsom and her mother set out to destroy him, break up his marriage and with the hope that an expensive divorce settlement would ruin him as well.’

  ‘The problem is, sir,’ Tiley interjected, ‘we don’t know that Hempson knew it was Winsom who set him up.’ Smalacombe stared at him, his silence conveying more than words. ‘Come on, sir, what we have wouldn’t stand up in court would it?’

  ‘Of course it bloody wouldn’t, Sergeant, but that’s your next job. What we are talking about here are leads. That’s all! I’m sure we will find that Hempson knew who messed him up. It’s a pretty good motive, I’d say. Right?’

  ‘Do you two always fall out like this?’ Milner queried.

  ‘Only in front of others, mam, it’s bad for morale.’ Smalacombe said with a note of irony. ‘In fairness to Sergeant Tiley, we do only have assumptions at present. I think it’s going to take some time.’

  ‘You said suspects, plural,’ Milner prompted him to continue.

  ‘We’ve discovered a great deal about Hillman. Our film star is in serious financial trouble.’

  ‘What, with the money he earns?’

  ‘That’s what everyone says. He played for very high stakes and lost,’ Tiley advised. That much they knew, but how much did they have on Hillman?

  Smalacombe set out to explain. ‘Creditors have been pressing for some time and now that he is arrested, they will serve to bankrupt him within the next few days. What triggered our concerns was the confusion about where he was filming; was it France or Spain? Even more, we couldn’t see why it was abroad, as the film is about the Civil War.’

  Tiley could now see where his boss was going and took up the story much to Smalacombe’s annoyance. ‘It turns out that the money has been slow in coming and the film company is still in the process of raising the finance; thirty million dollars would you believe. So, shooting has been rescheduled to begin in November instead of June as originally intended. Hillman was relying on his cut as his salvation but he knew his creditors wouldn’t wait until next year to get paid.’

  ‘Wouldn’t the banks step in? Surely, what he owes is relatively small in comparison to his earning capacity?’ Milner queried.

  ‘The banks don’t want to know apparently.’ Smalacombe butted in quickly as he was anxious to complete the story himself. ‘Remember, he lost something like twenty million with an Internet debacle and bad investments in films. And, more to the point he’s been telling porkies.’

  ‘What?’ Milner looked puzzled for a moment but her rapid rise through the ranks was wholly due to a quicksilver mind that had the facility to grasp the facts with astonishing alacrity and then propose sensible solutions. Her mood changed within a very short space of time. ‘Are you telling me he pretended the film was still on schedule in the hope he could hold them off?’

  ‘Precisely,’ Smalacombe was, by now, used to his boss’s perception and with some satisfaction, he continued, ‘and he said he was abroad to keep them off his back in the meantime.’

  ‘Incommunicado!’

  ‘Right! So, we checked all the ferries and airlines, Bristol Airport in particular and the Tunnel and there have been no bookings in his name or Piggman or Winsom, as we thought he may use one of those names instead. There were Coopers but we chased them all and they have no connection with this family. We also checked out his agent’s name and her firm. We’ve checked with private firms that deal with VIP transport. Further, there is no record of credit card payments or cheques to any travel agency.’

  ‘So, he didn’t go abroad.’

  ‘Unless he paid in cash, which is highly unlikely. Even his mobile’s statement only shows domestic calls.’ Smalacombe leant back; the bulk of the mystery had been delivered.

  ‘So, where was he and why did he continue to lie to us when he knew he was in a fix?’
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br />   Tiley took up the theme again. ‘He must have known the game was up as far as his finances were concerned. The point is, if a wife is killed, nine times out of ten it is the old man. Let’s face it, if we’re looking for a motive she wasn’t exactly faithful. She was also well insured, and he is the sole beneficiary.’

  ‘So, Hillman has got to be in the frame.’ Smalacombe concluded. Tiley looked across to his boss with some concern and Smalacombe noticed it. ‘And, that’s your next job, Sergeant,’ he joked. Tiley took it on board and they both grinned.

  ‘Anymore little things you want me to follow up, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Just one, because I think there is a third suspect. Golding and Turle were partners in every sense of the word since they were at university together. Unlike when men are involved, women as close as that have few secrets between them. Is that right, mam?’

  ‘Women do tend to be much more open with their best friends than men. Yes, Chief Inspector, I’ll go along with that.’

  Smalacombe continued. ‘Although Golding’s claim that they were blasé about their activities may have some substance because they had been doing it for so long, I’m not sure I believe her. On the Sunday morning before she left the Timbletown, Turle made four phone calls, one after the other with no break in between, which indicated to me that she was making arrangements between parties. She first phoned Golding, then she phoned Cooper, then she phoned Golding again and finally she phoned the taxi company.’

  ‘So, Golding knew exactly what Turle was doing on that Sunday and where she was going,’ Milner extrapolated.