The Corpse of St James's

by Jeanne M. Dams

  Alan looked questioningly at Jonathan, who took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders, and said, ‘Letty, this is horrible for you. We don’t have to continue now.’

  ‘Yes, you do,’ she said. ‘You three are the only ones who know any of the truth about Melissa’s death. You have to find out what you can as soon as you can. Don’t you think I know anything about police work, boy? I do watch the telly, after all. What else do you want to know?’

  ‘When did you miss her this time?’

  ‘She didn’t come home from school on Tuesday.’

  The day before we found her. I couldn’t keep the lump out of my throat.

  ‘I tried to phone the school,’ Letty went on, ‘to see if she’d been kept late, but everyone had left by the time I rang. Then next morning I did talk to someone, and they said she’d not been there at all the day before. I should have called the police then, but to tell the truth I’d got used to her misbehaviour. I was more angry than worried.’ Her voice shook, but she continued. ‘If I’d said something then . . .’

  ‘We think the crime had already been committed by then,’ said Alan. ‘Don’t reproach yourself.’ It was useless advice, and he knew it. Letty would reproach herself to the end of her days about everything concerned with Melissa. He went on briskly. ‘We’ll need the names of her closest friends. She might have told them the truth about her forays into London.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what I can, but it’s only first names. You’ll have to go to her teachers for addresses and telephone numbers. I told you I didn’t like her friends. I could see her going the same way Jemima did; drinking and drugging and running wild. I didn’t make the mistake I did with Jemima, though, forbidding her to see them. I knew she’d just defy me, and I didn’t want to drive her away. So I encouraged her to bring them home, even though I didn’t care for the way they dressed or the way they talked. She did, a few times, but I knew she thought I was too strict and she’d have more fun at their homes.’

  Jonathan wrote down the name and location of the school. ‘Is there anything else, anything at all, that might give us a hint about the baby’s father?’

  Letty shook her head slowly. ‘She said very little to me about her interests. I suppose she thought I was too old to understand. Maybe I was.’

  ‘You’re not old, Letty,’ said Jonathan, ‘and stop thinking any of this is your fault. The little brat was impossible, you know she was. You did the best you could.’

  ‘But,’ said Letty bleakly, ‘it wasn’t good enough.’

  I invited them to stay to supper, but I wasn’t surprised when they declined. They were both emotionally drained and needed some time alone. So after they left I scrambled some eggs and whipped up a batch of what I still call biscuits, and Alan and I talked.

  ‘She sounds like a thoroughly rebellious and unruly child,’ I said. ‘I don’t think I’d have been as patient with her as Letty apparently was. I’d have been strongly tempted to administer a good smack now and then.’

  ‘That sometimes works with younger children, as you’d know from teaching,’ said Alan. ‘I don’t think it’s usually successful with a teenager. As you pointed out, it’s a tough time of life for all concerned, and she does sound extraordinarily difficult, I agree.’

  ‘I feel terribly sorry for Letty. She thinks she’s failed the girl.’

  ‘It isn’t easy being a parent, even a surrogate one.’

  ‘No. Frank and I eventually realized that childlessness had its points, and I’ve been forcefully reminded of it by all this. Alan, you noticed the one date, didn’t you?’

  ‘February. And this is May. Three months.’

  ‘I wonder if Letty made the connection.’

  ‘I was watching her pretty closely,’ said Alan. ‘I saw no sign that she did, then, but she’s no fool. She will.’

  ‘And then she’ll berate herself even more, for not managing to keep Melissa at home. Only she couldn’t have, not without chaining her up. I wonder where she got the money to travel to London, though. Train fares aren’t cheap.’

  Alan was studiously silent.

  ‘Oh, no! You don’t think . . .’

  ‘Carstairs thought she was dressed like a tart.’

  ‘But she wasn’t, not really. I told Chief Superintendent Carstairs, remember? Her clothes were of good quality, and not especially flashy, certainly not tawdry. It was just the shoes, and the make-up. No, I think whoever gave her the baby also gave her money for clothes and railway tickets.’

  ‘It’s all guesswork.’ Alan ran a hand down the back of his neck in a familiar gesture of frustration.

  ‘Everything always is at this stage. Maybe we’ll learn more when Jemima identifies the photo.’

  ‘You do realize that when we have a positive ID, we’ll have to insist that Jemima talk to Carstairs.’

  Well, no, I hadn’t quite realized that. I put down my fork.

  ‘We’ve been justified, if at all, in pursuing this ourselves only because we couldn’t be absolutely certain that the body was Melissa’s. When it is certain, we’ll have no excuse at all.’ He was looking at me steadily.

  ‘No. I suppose not. That is, no, of course not. But . . . but what will happen to Jemima?’

  ‘If she goes voluntarily to the police, very little, I would imagine. They won’t have to come to her, at the palace, and if everyone is careful, she may not get into too much trouble. This isn’t her fault, after all.’

  ‘Yes, but scandal . . . Alan, what if those awful tabloids get hold of it? What a story it would make! “Family of hero involved in palace sex scandal!”’

  ‘Jemima isn’t Jonathan’s family.’

  ‘Right. And the papers would eventually print a retraction, in very small print on page seventeen. I’m really scared of what will happen when the whole thing is in the hands of Carstairs.’

  ‘Dorothy, will you ever learn that you can’t fix everyone’s problems? The world is going to produce trouble and misfortune and suffering, sometimes for people we know, and sometimes we can do nothing about it except sympathize.’

  ‘I do know, but I don’t have to like it. I hate feeling useless. Alan, would you mind terribly if I deserted you for another day? I’d like to go back to London.’

  ‘You know I wouldn’t mind, but why? Are you going to try to talk to Jemima?’

  ‘Not yet. No, today at lunch Tom told me he knew one of the Yeomen of the Guard. Oh, heavens, I just can’t help feeling silly saying that. It just sounds too G and S and fairy-tale. Anyway, I gather these Yeomen don’t live at the palace, and since they only work part-time, maybe they just live in their own homes somewhere. I didn’t have time to get the man’s name, and Tom was going to check on his address for me.’ I didn’t mention that I was going to have to bribe him with the story. ‘It’s the only trace I have of any kind of palace contact,’ I went on, ‘and I want to follow it up. Because I really, really think, Alan, that the palace is at the heart of this whole mess.’

  ‘Dorothy, I do most sincerely hope you’re not suggesting the involvement of royalty?’

  ‘Certainly not! Though I don’t know why I say that. The Lord knows that the royals have involved themselves in a good many unsavoury affairs over many centuries, not excepting recent ones. But I’m talking about the palace itself. It’s such a huge place, and it has such a huge staff, and I imagine hundreds, if not thousands, of people are in and out of there every day. And we know Melissa was there at least once. I just . . . oh, Alan, you know I’m good at talking to people and finding out things. I need to talk to some people at the palace, and this is the only way I might be able to get a foot in the door.’

  ‘Then, my dear, I wish you the very best of British luck. Now, are you ready for a wee noggin and some mindless television?’

  TEN

  Before I went to bed I phoned Tom and Lynn. ‘It’s no go, D.,’ said Tom. ‘My Yeoman friend has taken himself off to Spain for a little holiday, and plans to stay for the running of the bulls in
July. So says his daughter, who deeply disapproves of the whole thing.’

  ‘I should say so! Oh, well, it was a thought. Thanks, anyway.’

  Alan looked at me enquiringly.

  ‘The man’s gone to Spain.’

  ‘Ah, well. Come to bed, love.’

  I moped for much of the next day. In the afternoon Alan took himself out of the depressing atmosphere with the excuse of needing some exercise. I wandered around the house, picked up a book and put it down again, went into the kitchen to see if there was some comfort food around, left again in disgust, telling myself I’d just had enough lunch to choke a horse, and besides I was up two pounds the last time I dared weigh myself. I was about to find some straws to weave through my hair, à la King Lear, when a knock sounded at the back door.

  Jane! Of course, Jane! She would listen to me, offer me pithy advice, make me feel better . . . I opened the door.

  Not Jane. Bob Finch, sober and with a stern eye.

  ‘Come to do what I can with the garden, missus. You’ve let it get into a shockin’ state, y’know.’

  ‘I do know, Bob, but the weather—’

  ‘Weather’s been fine, past few days.’

  ‘Well, yes, but . . . we’ve been away a lot.’

  ‘Gallivantin’ to London and that, I ’ear.’

  Bob has strong ideas about the way Sherebury people should behave. He makes some allowances for me, as I’m an American and can be presumed not to know any better, but two trips to London in less than a week were plainly at least one too many.

  I didn’t ask how he knew. The Sherebury grapevine is extremely efficient.

  I followed him out into the back garden. He was right, I had let it go. The weeds were crowding out the tulips; the daffodils were leaning their spent blooms and yellowing leaves all over everything, and I couldn’t even see the low-growing primroses. Bob shook his head.

  ‘You been gettin’ mixed up in a murder again?’ he asked accusingly.

  ‘Well . . . in a way, I suppose. It’s a good thing for you I do that sort of thing occasionally, you might remember.’

  For I had proven Bob innocent of some nastiness, a few years ago.

  ‘Yeah, well. That was ’ere. London’s another story.’ He knelt beside the path and began pulling up weeds by the handful.

  I sighed. ‘It certainly is. I don’t know London well enough, don’t know enough people who live there, and certainly not in Buck—’ I stopped myself, but too late.

  ‘Buck ’Ouse, is it? Don’t you get mixed up with them royals, missus. Never know what they’re goin’ to get up to next.’

  ‘Bob, I have never in my life met a member of the royal family, and it’s unlikely that I ever will.’

  ‘Wotcher doin’ at Buck ’Ouse, then?’

  When he’s sober, Bob is observant, and persistent. One day I’ll learn to keep my mouth shut. I suppose. ‘Nothing, really. I just wanted to learn something about the way the staff operates, but nobody will give me the time of day.’

  Bob lovingly freed an attractive clump of green leaves. I didn’t know what they were, but something nice, I guessed from the tender way he was treating them.

  ‘Course,’ he said, ‘there’s the bloke I know wot works there.’

  ‘At the palace? You know somebody who works at Buckingham Palace?’

  ‘Looks after the corgis, don’t ’ee? An’ ’as the scars to show it. Nasty little buggers, they can be.’

  ‘Really! But the Queen loves them.’

  ‘Reckon they’re smart enough to be’ave around ’er.’ He got up, groaning loudly, moved a couple of feet, and got to his knees again. ‘So do you want t’talk to ’im, or dontcher? Mind, he’s not much for talkin’, and not much for ladies, specially furriners.’

  ‘Well, I don’t care. I want to talk to him. What’s his name? Should I go to the palace and ask for him, or what?’

  Bob gave me the sort of look I once reserved for lazy nine-year-olds in my classroom. ‘’Angs out at the ’Orse an’ Groom, don’t ’ee? I can give you ’is mobile number, see if ’ee’s in Town. ’Cause see, the Queen takes them dorgs wiv ’er when she moves abaht from one palace to the next, an’ Joe, ’ee ’as to go along. So it’s only if she’s at Buck ’Ouse.’

  ‘Well, she certainly was a few days ago. I saw her.’

  ‘Thought you said—’

  ‘I said I never met her. I sat in a room with about two hundred other people and watched her award honours. We’re not exactly on first-name terms.’

  ‘First name’s all she’s got, innit?’ said Bob with a triumphant grin, and moved on down the border.

  Alan came home while Bob was still working. I had gone into the house to see about dinner.

  ‘I’m home, love, and ready for a drink. How about you?’

  ‘In a minute, as soon as I get this in the oven.’ I’d made one of my almost instant recipes for chicken breast. Really, it is the most versatile meat. Add a little of this and that and stick it in the oven, and voilà.

  When I came into the parlour, Alan had already poured tots of bourbon for both of us, and had settled in his favourite chair.

  ‘Enjoy your walk?’ I asked. ‘You were certainly gone long enough.’

  ‘The car needed some attention, and I stopped at the police station.’

  ‘Did you learn anything interesting?’

  ‘We’re going to need new tyres soon.’

  I made a face and waited.

  ‘Confound it, Dorothy, there’s nothing to learn. Everything’s at stalemate until they know who she is. I’ve left three messages on Jonathan’s mobile, but he hasn’t phoned yet. We’ve got to do something very soon, Jemima or no Jemima.’

  ‘Indeed. Well, listen, Alan. Here I’ve been looking all over the place for a palace contact, and he’s grubbing in our garden at this very minute!’

  ‘Bob Finch?’

  ‘Bob Finch. He’s got a pal who looks after the Queen’s dogs, so when she’s at the palace, so is he. They travel as a retinue, as it were.’

  ‘Literally in our own back garden. Well, well. I presume you’re going to talk to the chap?’

  ‘The trouble is, we don’t know whether he’s in London at the moment. Is the Queen still there, do you know?’

  ‘Easy to find out.’ He put his glass aside and picked up that morning’s Telegraph, turning to the Court Circular at the back. ‘Hmm . . . the Duke of Edinburgh . . . the Prince of Wales . . . here we are, the Queen. Well, she was certainly busy in London yesterday, doing all the normal things. Hospitals, charities, what have you. And it’s over a month to Royal Ascot. I’d say the chances are good she’s still there. Do you have contact information for this fellow?’

  ‘Bob gave me his name and mobile number. “Joe Smith, ’ee is, in’t ’ee, and don’t take no sauce about it, neither.”’

  Alan laughed at my feeble attempt at Cockney. ‘Do you think, my love, that it would be as well for me to go with you this time?’

  ‘I certainly do. Bob said the best place to meet him was a pub called the Horse and Groom. I gather it’s near the palace.’

  ‘I know it. Quiet, tucked away in a hidden corner of Belgravia. Not perhaps the setting I’d have imagined for a friend of Bob’s, but the beer is good. That probably explains it. Yes, I do think, if you can set something up with Mr Joe Smith, I’ll accompany you.’

  ‘Oh, no. You’re going to set it up. I got the distinct impression Joe chooses his friends, and might not cotton to foreign women. I’ll come along for the ride. Here’s his number, and the phone.’ I cravenly retreated to the kitchen to dish up supper.

  ‘Well?’ I asked when I came into the dining room with the chicken and a salad. Alan had set the table and brought a bottle of white wine from the fridge.

  ‘Well.’ He sat down and spread his napkin on his lap. ‘The gentleman was apparently at the Horse and Groom, and had been for some time, I believe.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’

  ‘Quite. He was inclined to
be truculent, but that may simply have been the drink. The burden of his song, insofar as I could understand it, was that it was a free country and if I liked to come along and have a pint in the same establishment he was occupying, it was no business of his.’

  ‘This is the edited version, I presume?’

  ‘Very considerably abridged and expurgated. I said we’d be along on Monday, but Dorothy, are you sure you want to do this? The fellow sounds like a lout, and I can’t imagine he’ll be of any use at all.’

  ‘He’s Bob’s friend,’ I argued, ‘and Bob isn’t a lout, though he can sound like one when he’s in his cups. It’s our only chance, isn’t it? Jonathan is bound to have talked to Jemima by now, and the spit is going to hit the fan any time now. If we can’t find out anything useful from good old Joe Smith, we’ll just have to call it quits and tell Jonathan we tried our best. Speaking of whom, you haven’t heard from him, have you?’

  ‘Not a word, and I tried twice more. I wish I knew what he was playing at.’

  ‘He’s been under a terrible strain for months now,’ I said. ‘Maybe it’s just suddenly caught up with him, and he’s pulled the covers up over his head.’

  ‘Fine time to climb out of the water, after he’s dragged us in with him,’ said Alan, in a fine flouting of metaphor agreement. ‘More wine?’

  Alan resolutely refused to discuss the matter for the rest of the evening, but as we tried to read and watch television and relax, the phone sat, screamingly silent.