‘Really?’ I said, trying hard to conceal my deep interest. ‘Does he work at the palace?’
‘None of them exactly “works at the palace”. They’re the Queen’s official bodyguards, but their duties are purely ceremonial.’
‘Do they live at the palace, then?’
‘I don’t think so, but I have no idea, really. Why this sudden interest in a bit of royal trivia?’
‘You know I love all things royal,’ I said lightly. ‘How do you happen to know this man, anyway?’
‘Friend of a friend of a friend. You know how these things work. And you’re evading my question. What are you up to this time, D.?’
‘Oh, dear.’ I glanced at my watch. ‘Look, I honestly can’t tell you right now. I’m due at . . . I have an appointment in fifteen minutes, and traffic being what it is, I’ll be late if I don’t leave this minute. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as I can.’
‘And that’s the price of the name and phone number of my tame Yeoman,’ said Tom, showing me down the elegant staircase.
EIGHT
I made it to Scotland Yard with exactly one minute to spare, and was shown into Mr Carstairs’ office immediately.
I don’t know quite what I expected. Something out of Dickens, I suppose. I should have known better. New Scotland Yard is a sixties vintage office building, all glass and steel and anonymity, and the offices match; bland, indistinctive.
‘Mrs Martin, what a pleasure! Would you like some coffee?’
‘I just finished lunch, thank you.’
‘Ah, well, just as well, perhaps. Our coffee is not always . . . however. How can I help you? Alan was a bit mysterious about your mission.’
‘I feel a bit silly about it, to tell you the truth. I know you’re terribly busy, and I shouldn’t be bothering you.’
‘Not at all.’ It was the polite reply that meant: Do get on with it.
‘Well, as Alan may have told you, it has to do with the incident in St James’s Park.’
‘Ah, yes. Do you perchance have some information for us? I’m afraid we haven’t got much forrader with it.’
‘Oh, dear. I’m sorry to hear that, and sorrier still that I can’t help. I actually came to make a request, which you’re going to think very silly and stupid, I’m afraid.’
‘I doubt that, Mrs Martin. You are not a silly or stupid woman.’
Uh oh. He wasn’t going to buy a ditzy act. ‘You may change your mind after I tell you what I want. I know you’re busy, so I’ll come straight to the point. I’d like to look at the pictures your people took yesterday. I never did get a really good look at the poor child.’ I stopped there, fearful lest I say too much.
Mr Carstairs frowned. ‘Is there some particular reason?’
‘None you’d think adequate, I suspect. You know of my interest in crime. If I were much younger, I think I might make a good investigator; officially, I mean. As it is, I simply like to know as much as I can about any crime which touches me. I suppose it really comes down to being nosy.’ And that was the gospel truth, if not all the truth. Lying by omission, as Alan rather brutally called it.
Mr Carstairs looked at me very thoughtfully, and then picked up his phone. ‘Oh, Latham, bring me the St James’s file, would you?’
‘Sounds like something diplomatic,’ I said brightly. ‘The Court of St James’s, and all that.’ I had remembered that ambassadors to England were called to the ‘Court of St James’s’, an archaic usage from back when St James’s Palace used to be the monarch’s residence.
‘Yes, well, we’re calling this one the Corpse of St James’s.’
I smiled. ‘Appropriate, if a bit macabre.’
‘But then you enjoy the macabre, as you said.’
Why did I have the uncomfortable feeling that this man could see straight into my mind? While I was trying to think of some safe reply, the sergeant, or whoever he was, came in with the file, and Mr Carstairs opened it and placed the photographs before me.
They weren’t pretty. True, there was no explicit evidence of violence, but a young girl lying crumpled in the dust was a pathetic sight, at best. They were in colour, so her pallor was more evident than I had remembered.
Her eyes were open. I hadn’t noticed that at the time, or maybe they had closed them before they moved her out from under the bush. I suppressed a shudder and turned to other pictures that didn’t show her eyes.
I lingered over one. It was a good clear picture, showing her face but taken from an angle that made the open eyes less obvious.
‘Now I’m about to ask something truly outrageous, Mr Carstairs.’ Take the initiative away from the adversary whenever possible. ‘I would like a copy of this picture. Is that possible?’
He was silent for a long time. Well, I know that technique, too. I waited him out.
‘I have always had a very great respect for your husband,’ he said finally, ‘from back in the early days, when I was just getting started, but he was in the very highest echelon already. He’s an extraordinary policeman, Mrs Martin.’
‘And an extraordinary man,’ I said steadily.
‘Were it not for that . . .’ There was a long pause. Again I didn’t break it, though my nerves were stretched to their tightest.
‘You may have your copy. I’m sure I can trust you not to make unwise use of it.’
‘Certainly.’ We both stood at the same moment. ‘Yes, I’ve taken up far too much of your time. And thank you so very much.’
He told me to take the picture to an office on the ground floor, where he would instruct someone to make the copy for me. He was picking up the phone as I left, and I was quite sure I was under observation until I left the building, an envelope in my handbag and my heart trying its best to hammer its way out of my chest.
There are some pleasant pubs near New Scotland Yard. I made my way into the Sanctuary House (well named, I thought), ordered a half of bitter, and sat with it untouched while I phoned Aunt Letty’s house.
Jonathan answered on the first ring. ‘Dorothy? Alan said you might phone.’
‘Yes. Jonathan, can you come to London? Or would it be better if I came to you?’
‘You have—’
‘Yes. I don’t want to talk about it on the phone, especially a mobile.’
‘Alan suggested it might be best if you came home, and Aunt Letty and I could drive there.’
‘I’ll be on the next train.’
I phoned Alan on the way, telling him when to meet me at the station.
‘Success?’ he asked.
‘Yes. I’ll tell you all about it when I get there.’
Alan had tea laid, so when we got home there was only the kettle to boil. Waiting for Jonathan and Letty, I sat down in the squashiest parlour chair and let my breath out in a whoosh. The afternoon was chilly, even if it was May, and Alan had kindled a small fire.
‘That bad?’ asked Alan without, I thought, a great deal of sympathy.
‘Every bit that bad. I think that man has X-ray eyes. I swear he knew exactly why I was there and that I was hiding something important. What did you tell him when you called?’
‘Only that you wanted to see him about the body in the park. He’s quite capable of drawing inferences.’
‘Well, all I can say is, I’m glad I wasn’t a criminal facing him. I felt quite guilty enough as it was.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘Essentially nothing. I didn’t lie, if that’s what you mean. Actually, it was you who turned the tide.’
‘I! I said only that you wanted to see him. I told you.’
‘No, it was nothing you said, it was you, yourself. He said he had great respect for you, and apparently my connection with you was enough to satisfy him I was trustworthy. He took his time about it, though, and for a while there I really thought I was going to have to make up some reasonable story.’
It was perhaps a good thing that the doorbell rang just then, and Alan went to admit Jonathan and his aunt while
I hastened to switch on the kettle.
When I came in with the tea, Jonathan was sitting on one side of the fire and his aunt on the other. They both looked a bit pinched, and as if they were glad of the warmth.
I studied Letty covertly under cover of pouring and handing out tea. She was a small woman, probably undernourished as a child in those difficult years of austerity following the war. In fact, she looked exactly like the dauntless English ladies one meets everywhere. Her short hair, just beginning to go grey, had a tendency to curl in unexpected places. She wore a no-nonsense skirt and blouse, with no-nonsense shoes. I had seen her double on every market day in Sherebury, carrying what used to be a string bag and was now plastic or canvas, walking everywhere, buying with careful thrift, stopping now and then for a word with a friend. She was the backbone of England, strong, purposeful, dependable. Her exterior was rather severe, even rigid, but there was something about those curls that hinted at a softer core.
Jonathan started to stand, and I made a gesture. ‘You’re comfortable, Jonathan. Please don’t get up.’
‘Then let me introduce my Aunt Letty. Letty Higgins, Dorothy Martin.’
‘I’m happy to meet you, Mrs Martin. And you know Jonathan and I are no relation, really. It’s a courtesy title.’
‘It’s a title of great affection, or so I understand. I’m Dorothy, please, and may I call you Letty? I confess, after all Jonathan has told us, I’d find “Mrs Higgins” a terrible strain.’
‘Please do. Jonathan has been telling me how kind you’ve been to him, over the years and especially now.’
‘Letty, I hope you know how sorry we are, Alan and I, for your terrible loss. Nothing we can say will help, I know.’
‘Thank you,’ she said with great dignity.
I was sure she said no more because she was afraid of breaking down. I looked at Alan, uncertain of what to say or do next.
He cleared his throat. ‘Mrs Higgins—’
‘Letty.’
‘Letty, then – I imagine Jonathan has told you the awkward position he’s been placed in.’
‘A sworn police officer with information he dare not give the police. Yes.’
‘Quite. And he has therefore enlisted our aid, Dorothy’s and mine, to try to uncover the truth behind this terrible crime.’
‘He has told me. I must say I don’t altogether approve. It seems to me he has no right to ask you to undertake actions that are questionable, if not downright illegal.’
‘I understand and honour your objections,’ said Alan, his stately language cutting off my protest. ‘But we have talked this out, the three of us, and decided there really is no choice. Jonathan and I are no longer officially with the force, and Dorothy never had any official standing. Within limits, we feel we can act according to our consciences.’
‘In other words,’ I said, no longer able to keep silent, ‘we’re going to do what we think needs to be done, and hang official policy. So that’s why I went to London today, and I managed to get a photo of . . . I’m sorry, Letty, but of the body Jonathan thinks might be your granddaughter.’
‘Do you wish me to identify it?’ Her voice had nary a quaver, but her hands tightened in her lap. I was glad she’d put her teacup on the table beside her.
‘No!’ said Jonathan. ‘I’m going to take it up to Town tomorrow and show it to Jemima. I hate to do it, Letty, but she has to know about Melissa sometime. This way we’ll know for sure, and can start trying to find the man who did this.’
‘Man? What makes you think it was a man?’
Letty was sharp.
‘Was she raped, then?’ she went on stoically.
‘No,’ said Alan. ‘Quite definitely not.’
‘Then why are you presuming it was a man? I understand she was suffocated, with a scarf or something of the sort. A woman could do that as easily. Melissa was a slight child, always afraid she was too fat, not eating enough.’
‘That’s true enough, Letty.’ Jonathan tried to save the situation. ‘You’re quite right, a woman could have done it, physically.’
‘Then why did you say man? You’re careful about that sort of thing, always have been from a child. Pedantic, even. You’d have said person if you weren’t sure.’
Jonathan threw up his hands. ‘I didn’t mean to tell you. Honestly, I don’t know for sure. I mean the Met doesn’t know for sure. But . . . well . . .’
‘The girl was pregnant, Letty,’ said Alan quietly. ‘About three months. It’s a reasonable assumption that the man who was responsible for that might also have been responsible for her death.’
Letty closed her eyes. Her hands relaxed, deliberately. She opened her eyes again, picked up her teacup, and drank deeply.
‘Do you think,’ she asked when she had put the cup down, ‘that I might have a little sherry?’
NINE
‘She was always a wild child,’ Letty said when I had poured sherry for all of us. ‘Always, from the very first. She needed a father’s influence. Jemima did the best she could, but she was only seventeen, and working to support her daughter. She was a good mother, in her way, but she was too young, and . . . well, I’ll say it before Jonathan does . . . she’s too much like me for us ever to have got on well.’
‘She’s not in the least like you,’ said Jonathan. ‘You’re level-headed and generous. Jemima . . . I’m sorry, Letty, but you know Jemima was always a handful.’
‘I know, dear. So were you, you know. You had to have your own way, always.’
Jonathan looked astonished, but grew silent, probably considering what she had said.
Alan tactfully brought the discussion back to the present. ‘I believe Melissa lived with you?’
‘When Jemima looked like getting the job with the Lord Chamberlain’s Office, she was of two minds about it. She’s always been obsessed by art, and living in a palace full of beautiful things was like a dream come true. On the other hand, she couldn’t have Melissa with her, and Jemima worried about leaving the child with me.’
‘Was there ever any thought of sending her away to school?’ Alan asked.
‘We couldn’t well afford that, and in any case . . .’ She hesitated.
‘Melissa wouldn’t have put up with school discipline for a moment,’ Jonathan finished. ‘Bramber is a tiny village. It seemed better for her to stay there with Letty and go to the comprehensive.’
‘But she ran away?’
‘Several times,’ said Letty with a sigh. ‘The first time was last summer. She took some money from my purse and caught the train to London, and went to the palace. She was determined to move in with her mother. Obviously that wasn’t possible, but Jemima begged a bit of time off and took Melissa on a tour of the palace, since it was one of the days the State Rooms were open to the public. I suppose Jemima hoped Melissa would begin to understand why her mother loved working and living there, even though it meant separation from Melissa. It didn’t work. They had a furious row, which was overheard and noted with displeasure, and then Melissa did the unforgivable – slipped away when there were a lot of other tourists gawking at the art, and went roaming about on her own.’
‘She didn’t! But that isn’t allowed, surely?’
‘Not exactly,’ said Letty drily. ‘I’m not sure, in fact, how she managed to get away, but she was gone for some little time.’
‘You’re not saying . . . she didn’t try to steal anything, did she?’
‘No, apparently she was simply storming away from her mother, with no thought but to get away. That isn’t easy to do, however, in that maze of palace rooms. So she was found eventually. She was dressed down pretty severely and summarily ejected, and told never to come back. Jemima very nearly lost her job over the incident, and was told that in future she would have to see her daughter somewhere else, well away from the palace.’
‘And did she?’
‘Oh, yes. Jemima came home on her days off whenever she could. She was frightfully worried about Melissa, and asked if I
thought she should chuck her job and find one nearer Bramber, where she could have Melissa with her. But Melissa was having none of it. She wanted to live in London. She was sullen with her mother, and often with me. It was all very difficult.’
‘I expect she was at that age where girls hate their mothers,’ I said. ‘I never had any children myself, but I remember the turmoil of my own emotions when I was an adolescent. I’ve often said I wondered why Faust wanted his lost youth back. I wouldn’t have it as a gift.’
‘You said that was the first time she ran away,’ said Alan patiently. ‘And the other occasions?’
‘Two more, before this one. At least, two more that I know of. It’s possible there were others. She spent a good deal of time away from home, with her friends, she said. But unless she was away on a school day, when the school would report it, I wouldn’t necessarily know she’d been somewhere she didn’t want to tell me about.’ Letty sighed. ‘I thought I was right in allowing her a good deal of freedom, but . . .’ She raised a hand in a hopeless gesture and then let it drop.
‘And the other episodes you knew about?’ Alan persisted.
‘She came home voluntarily the one time, just when I was thinking about calling in the police. No explanation, no apologies, just walked in the house the next afternoon, as if she was coming home from school. Said she’d spent the night with friends, and I must have misplaced the note she’d left. But she wouldn’t tell me what friends. I wouldn’t have approved if I’d known she was planning an overnight. I don’t care for most of her friends. But I didn’t believe her, anyway.’
‘And when was this incident, Mrs . . . Letty?’
‘Let’s see.’ She looked at Jonathan.
‘Last August,’ he said promptly. ‘I remember it perfectly, because it was only two days before . . . well, all this.’ He gestured to his legs and the cane by his chair.
‘Yes, August. And then the next time she admitted going to London. That was in February, and a nastier, sloppier time of year to run off on holiday one couldn’t have imagined. She said she needed new clothes, and certainly she came home with some, but she flatly refused to tell me where the money came from. It wasn’t from me, this time. I’d kept my bag locked up ever since the first time.’ Her hands had begun to clench again. ‘I tried, God knows I tried. I suppose I’m just too old to understand an adolescent. When Jemima was that age we fought, certainly, but we loved each other, even through the worst bits, when she was making the wrong friends and the wrong choices. But I couldn’t seem to do anything right with Melissa. She resented me, resented living in a village, resented everything.’ A tear made its way down Letty’s cheek. I silently handed her a tissue.
The Corpse of St James's Page 6
