The Corpse of St James's

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘She might not have realized that.’

  ‘But Dorothy! The child wanted to live at the palace. That would never have happened, but you’d think she could see that her freedom would be severely curtailed, living in that fortress.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Watson brought the mitten back. I tossed it again. ‘Alan, where is Jonathan from? Where did he grow up, I mean?’

  ‘I don’t actually know. He was living in London and working for Scotland Yard when we first met him. I suppose I assumed he was from Bramber.’

  ‘That’s where Letty lives now. But it would have been an awfully small house for her and her husband and Jemima. It’s only a cottage, really. And then, Jonathan said his father was a shopkeeper who started small but then built a big business. If there are two shops in Bramber that’s one more than we’ve ever seen. Hardly a place to start an empire.’

  Alan thought about that. ‘I think you’re right. Do you think it’s important to know where he and Jemima grew up?’

  ‘I don’t know what’s important! I just . . . there’s an itch somewhere, Alan. I need to know more about the . . . the back story. Hercule Poirot always said that the most important character in any murder was the victim, and that once one understood the victim, one would find the murderer. Or something like that. I don’t feel we know anything, really, about Melissa, and I think we need to get to know her really well before we can work out why she died.’

  ‘Well, it’s a direction, at least, and that’s what you wanted. What we wanted, really. Let’s see if Jonathan is out of hospital and ready to tell us the story of his life.’

  SIXTEEN

  Jonathan’s ‘flat’ was very small, a glorified bed-sitter, and almost painfully tidy. The front room held a daybed, made up with military precision, a table with one straight chair and a bookcase with a miniature television, a laptop and a CD player on top. One corner had a tiny sink, a microwave, an under-counter refrigerator and one cupboard for food, utensils and tableware. There was a door leading, I assumed, to a bathroom. There was no back room.

  Jonathan sat in his wheelchair, and motioned me to the bed. ‘It’s far more comfortable than the chair, I assure you. Sorry, Alan.’

  ‘You’re very . . . cosy here,’ I said.

  Jonathan grimaced. ‘I’ve only noticed how small it is the past few months. Yes, I could easily afford a better place, what with my inheritance. But until I . . . had to retire, I was almost never here except to sleep.’

  There was that hesitation again, as if he weren’t sure how to refer to his horrifying experience. Or didn’t want to.

  ‘Yes. Well. Jonathan, we need to talk.’

  ‘Yes. Would you like some tea?’

  ‘Not right now, thank you,’ said Alan. ‘We’d like to ask you a number of questions, Jonathan. I don’t have to tell you that you need answer none of them.’

  ‘I’ve nothing to hide. If some answers can help you find Melissa’s murderer, fire away.’

  ‘All right, then.’ I bit my lip. ‘You’re not going to like this one, though. What really happened two days ago, when you fell?’

  He sighed and looked down at his hands. ‘I might have known I couldn’t fool either of you. You’re too good at reading people, both of you. You’ve been trained to do it, of course, Alan.’

  ‘And with me it comes from natural nosiness, plus years of teaching school and “I didn’t do it, Mrs Martin, honest!” The kids used misdirection, too. Which is what you’re trying to do now. What happened, Jonathan?’

  ‘I think Jemima pushed me.’

  ‘You think?’ Alan sounded extremely sceptical.

  ‘I’m not sure. I might have slipped. I don’t do stairs awfully well.’

  ‘Where was this? Not in the park, was it?’

  ‘Actually it was. We had gone to sit on those steps to the side of the Canada Gate?’

  ‘Yes, I know them.’

  ‘There was nobody much about, so we could talk there. Jemima didn’t want to talk in a pub or anywhere like that, which was a good thing, really. I knew she might react badly when I showed her the picture. But she didn’t want to get too far from the palace, either. She was like a cat on hot bricks, worried about her job, worried about Melissa. So the Canada Gate was a logical place . . .’

  ‘But . . .’ I prodded. Jonathan was finding it very difficult to come to the point. I knew it was painful for him, but we had to stop treating him with kid gloves.

  He swallowed. ‘But when I told her about finding . . . about what we found in the park, and showed her the picture, she screamed. Not a loud scream, and there was plenty of traffic noise to cover it. And she seemed so faint, I thought we ought to sit down. And the only place to sit was the steps.’

  ‘So that wasn’t when she pushed you?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know that she pushed me. But at any rate, no, that isn’t when I fell.’

  He paused. Alan and I remained silent. Finally he went on.

  ‘I’m not being deliberately obstructive, you know. This is very difficult.’

  ‘Take your time.’ Alan’s voice was gentle. I wondered if that was an interview technique, or if he was genuinely sympathetic to Jonathan’s distress. Whichever it was, it worked.

  ‘Yes. It was at the very end of our talk. Well, it would be, wouldn’t it?’ He made a face. ‘Obviously she wouldn’t go on talking to me after that. I told you what she said about the last time she saw Melissa.’

  I nodded and shuddered. Jonathan went on.

  ‘Well, when she told me what she said to Melissa, I was furious. I said . . . a lot of things I shouldn’t, hurtful things. It was unforgivable. Jemima was upset anyway, and she simply went spare. I don’t know if she meant to slap me, or if she was going for my face, but I shied away . . . and that’s when I fell down the steps.’

  I didn’t have the nerve to ask, but Alan did. ‘Exactly what did you say, Jonathan?’

  He looked absolutely miserable. ‘I told her it was her fault. I said if she hadn’t been hell-bent on living in London, living at the palace, none of this would ever have happened.’

  I must have looked my shock. Jonathan flared up.

  ‘I said it was unforgivable! Don’t you think I regretted the words the moment they were out of my mouth, and every moment since? I’m thankful I was hurt. It should have been worse.’

  Alan got up to get Jonathan a glass of water, and to give him time to regain his composure.

  I persevered, much as I hated to keep hitting the sore spot. ‘Beating yourself up isn’t helpful, Jonathan. The point is, was it true, what you said? I had the impression Jemima took this job because it was what she could get. Was there more to it than that?’

  The rage had left him as quickly as it had come. He sat back, pale and spent. ‘Yes, it was true. Not about it being her fault, I mean. Not really. But she was determined to come to London, and the palace was her idea of the perfect place to work.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘Because of the art.’ He frowned in puzzlement.

  Ah. Something clicked in my head. I couldn’t have said why, but I felt we were getting somewhere, at last. ‘We don’t know about the art, Jonathan. At least, we know a little about the art at the palace, and someone said Jemima was interested in art, but we need to understand the connection. I think you’d better tell us, starting at the beginning. Where did your family, and hers, grow up?’

  ‘Brighton. But what does that have to do with . . .?’

  ‘I don’t know. But Alan and I think we need to know more about Jemima and Melissa, and your childhood is a place to start.’

  ‘Jonathan,’ said Alan gently, ‘I know your personal involvement in all this has clouded your judgement, not surprisingly. But try to remove yourself from the equation and go back to thinking like the excellent policeman you are. Remember the things they taught you at Hendon, the things I taught you at Bramshill. Tell us everything you can about Jemima.’

  It was exactly the right approach. Jonathan lost t
hat strained look. A little colour came back to his face. ‘Where shall I begin? “I am born” à la David Copperfield?’

  ‘If you like. If you think it relevant.’

  ‘Possibly not. But I suppose I could go back to my first memories of Jemima . . . it must have been when she was about three. I would have been five.’

  The two had been playing, or rather Jonathan had been teasing Jemima. ‘I remember thinking she was a great nuisance. I suppose I was jealous of the attention Aunt Letty gave her. Natural enough. Letty was her mother, not mine. But I never had much attention from my own parents. Anyway, Jemima had a toy, or something . . . no, it was a book. One of those soft books one gave a child, made of some sort of cloth, with bright pictures or colours . . . I don’t really remember. But I took it away, and she screamed the place down.’

  ‘It sounds as though your interaction with Jemima hasn’t changed a lot over the years,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose not,’ said Jonathan. ‘I hadn’t actually thought about it that way.’

  ‘All right, we have your first memory,’ said Alan. ‘Go on.’

  ‘There’s nothing more for a while. I do remember, or I think I remember, being at Letty’s house one day when her husband came home. Fred was always rather useless, I’m afraid. I can see that now, looking back. Then, I just thought he was stupid. He came home drunk that one time and fell into the front room. I’d never seen anyone drunk before, and I wasn’t sure what was the matter. I remember being frightened.’

  ‘Was he abusive when he drank?’

  ‘Not that I ever saw. I don’t remember seeing bruises on Letty or Jemima, either. I think he was just lazy and lacking in ambition. I know Letty worked very hard to keep the family afloat.’

  ‘What did she do?’

  ‘Housekeeper at the Old Ship. Do you know it?’

  ‘Very well. Dorothy and I have stayed there several times. Lovely old building, but hard to keep in good condition, I’d have thought.’

  ‘It was. Still is, I suppose. Letty did very little of the actual cleaning, but she had to supervise those who did. It was hard work, and though she was paid a bit more than the cleaners, there were no tips. She struggled.’

  ‘Were there no family members able to help?’ I asked.

  ‘Not that I ever knew. Jemima had an uncle, her father’s brother, who was comparatively well-to-do, but he disapproved of the way Fred’s family lived, disapproved of Letty’s job and Fred’s drinking, thought Jemima a wild young thing – which she was, to be fair – and wouldn’t help them at all. In fact, in a way he made things far worse.’

  Jonathan sipped from his glass of water and went on. ‘You see, Uncle Roger had a son, Bert, a little older than Jemima. We went to school together before my parents sent me away to school, and became close friends, but we couldn’t see each other a great deal out of school. Bert’s father kept him on a tight rein. I used to feel sorry for him. He wasn’t allowed to go anywhere with his mates, or do anything unless he was under supervision.’

  ‘So, he went wild, too,’ I put in.

  ‘Of course he did. I thought you never had children.’

  ‘I had hundreds of children during my years as a teacher,’ I retorted. ‘I saw what a rigid approach could do to them. Some knuckled under, turned into little pale shadows afraid to move lest they incur the wrath of their parents, or parent; it was usually a stern father who did the damage. I don’t know if any of those poor girls – they were almost all girls – ever regained their self-confidence and became whole people.

  ‘Those who went the other direction, who rebelled, strained against their bonds, went in all sorts of directions. The most intelligent of the boys – the rebels were almost all boys – sometimes turned out all right in the end. One or two even achieved brilliant careers. Those were the ones who were not so much running away from their upbringing, as running towards some goal that simply could not be denied, something they simply had to do. They had a passion in life, a purpose, and nothing their parents could say or do made the slightest difference.’

  ‘That was the case with Bert,’ said Jonathan. ‘I could understand it myself, because all I ever wanted, from the time I first thought about what lay ahead in my life, was to be a policeman. But I wasn’t as strong as Bert, or perhaps I cared more about conformity. It took Letty to change the course of my life. Bert didn’t have a Letty, so he went off the rails. And he took Jemima with him.’

  ‘Oh! I hadn’t realized . . . he was allowed to spend time with her? I thought you said the two families didn’t get along.’

  ‘They didn’t. At least, I think Letty got along quite well with Roger’s wife . . . I can’t recall her name. She was never in the picture much. She was one of those pale shadows you talked about, so thoroughly cowed by her husband that she wouldn’t say boo to a goose.

  ‘But Roger despised his brother, and wanted Bert to have nothing to do with any of the family. As cousins, though, the two children were bound to meet on occasion. Jemima was only a year or two younger than Bert, and very pretty. I didn’t like her at all back then, but even I could see her beauty. And when they found their shared passion, it would have taken barbed wire to keep them apart.’

  ‘Passion? At the age of . . . what, ten?’ My voice was rising to a squeak in spite of myself.

  Jonathan almost laughed. ‘Not that sort of passion. Not then, anyway. Their passion was for art.’

  SEVENTEEN

  ‘Art!’ I smacked my forehead. ‘The palace! Joe Smith told us, remember, Alan? He said she knew a lot about the art, “wanted to get into that side of it”. That’s why that palace filled with priceless art was her Mecca, the ideal place to work, even though she had to leave her daughter behind to do it.’

  Alan shook his head sadly. He didn’t say ‘misplaced priorities’. He didn’t have to.

  ‘But Jonathan, that might make sense in a woman of thirty or so. But children at age ten? Seems strange to me.’

  ‘It’s a long story,’ said Jonathan, sighing, ‘and I’d really like some tea. Let me make it, and then we’ll go on with the saga.’

  I wanted to make the tea for him, but I realized he had to do it for himself, had to prove to himself that he could do normal things. So I watched him move painfully around his minute kitchen, put mugs on a tray, go through the whole ritual.

  When we were settled, with steaming mugs in our hands, Jonathan took up the tale. ‘It began in The Lanes. You know them?’

  Alan and I nodded. ‘The Lanes’ designates an area of Brighton that used to be renowned for its antique shops. Now most of the shops are gone, moved to other areas or turned into junk shops, but years ago there were beautiful things for sale, at very high prices indeed.

  ‘Then you know the quality of the merchandise that used to be on offer. And you’ll remember that Jemima lived in a household with no money to spend on anything except absolute necessities. Bert was somewhat better off. His father made a decent living, but his rigid view of life meant that there were no lavish expenditures on his son. He had to be taught that life was real, life was earnest, and good things had to be earned.’

  ‘A genuine Calvinist,’ I commented.

  ‘Yes, but without the faith to back it up. There were no needlework mottoes of “The Lord Will Provide” in that house, I’ll wager, though I was never inside it. No depending on the Lord. Bert had it drilled into him that the only way to succeed in life was to work, hard and constantly, with no time out for nonsense like music or art or sport or literature, or anything that might be enjoyable.’

  ‘No wonder they went off the rails, he and Jemima! What a terrible way to bring up children!’

  ‘I suppose he thought he was doing it for the best. But you’re right. Both he and Jemima rebelled badly, and once they saw what money could buy in The Lanes, they simply had to have some. So they began to steal, first from their parents’ purses and wallets and the housekeeping money, and then from any source they could find.

  ‘I had
gone off to school by the time they got into real trouble. Jemima began dealing drugs to get money. Just marijuana at first, but I think cocaine after a while.’

  I was too appalled to speak. Alan said sharply, ‘How old was she?’

  ‘Twelve, I suppose. She was caught, almost at once. She was too young to be clever about covering her tracks, but given her age, nothing much happened to her. She had to do some community service of some kind. Letty was devastated. She understood, in a way, but she could not condone. What she did do was arrange various jobs for Jemima – babysitting, dog-minding – jobs that would keep her off the streets and give her a little spending money.’

  ‘Hardly enough to buy antiques in The Lanes, I wouldn’t have thought.’

  ‘No, but enough to buy inexpensive prints, reproduction china, that sort of thing. You’d have thought that would satisfy a child, but it only fed her obsession, her passion for the real thing. Whenever I came home for school holidays, she’d come to see me and try to wheedle some money out of me. My father, oddly enough, gave me a generous allowance. I suppose he wanted to make sure the other boys at school knew I was the son of a wealthy man. Anyway, I usually gave in. Jemima was a cute kid, and she was Letty’s daughter, and she was a beautiful little liar.’

  I was growing more and more disturbed. ‘Jonathan, nothing you’ve said has given me any confidence in Jemima’s integrity. Quite the reverse, in fact. And I’m wondering, with a background like that, how on earth she landed a job at the palace. Don’t they do security checks?’

  ‘Of course they do!’ Alan ran a hand down the back of his head. ‘And with a record like that, I can’t imagine why they’d have anything to do with her!’

  ‘Ah, but she changed!’ Jonathan was almost beginning to enjoy himself. ‘You see, she and Bert eventually managed to put enough money together to buy something they’d always wanted, a nice pair of Staffordshire dogs. They split the purchase, each taking one of the pair. And that evening they sneaked out together to celebrate. They were wild with delight over their success, and they had a little wine, and one thing led to another . . . and Melissa happened.’