Death Comes to Durham

by Jeanne M. Dams

  She took a breath. ‘I’m sure you know, Mr Harris, that the louts sometimes fall into the river when it’s high and they’ve taken too much beer. Once or twice some young idiot has drowned.’

  It was almost ‘eejit’ but not quite. She must have lived in England for some time.

  ‘About a month ago,’ she went on, ‘I was out walking, rather late, and I witnessed one of those drownings.’

  ‘And you reported it?’ That was Mr Harris.

  ‘Of course. I called emergency services and told them I’d seen someone fall in the river. I was on the upper path by then, not near enough to see exactly what happened, but it was a quiet night. I heard a cry and a splash, and looked down to see someone struggling in the river. Or not quite that. It was too dark to see details, but a light on the other shore showed the water being disturbed, splashing about and so on. I phoned 999 and then ran down to see if I could help, but I tripped on a long streamer of ivy across the path, and by the time I got back to my feet and down to the river, the rescue squad was there. They’re very quick, you know.’ She swallowed, and the director poured her a glass of water, which she sipped with a nod of thanks.

  ‘It was really rather horrid. When I finally reached the scene, the boy had disappeared. The rescue team had to drag for him, and of course he was dead by the time they finally pulled his body out. You know all about this, of course, Mr Harris. It would be in the police reports.’ She sipped a little more water. ‘What you don’t know is that there was someone else at the scene.’

  David and Alan sat up, their attention at high alert.

  ‘Who, Miss Walsh?’ said Harris. ‘Why did you not report this at the time?’

  ‘I forgot all about it. I caught only a glimpse of the man, and he was farther from the river than I, almost at the end of the upper path. It would have taken him even longer to get down to the river. I remember I was a bit resentful at the time, seeing he was moving even farther away, but then I fell and in all the ensuing distress I forgot.’

  ‘Miss Walsh, what made you remember?’

  Alan sounded as if he thought she had some ulterior motive for coming forward, though for the life of me I couldn’t imagine what.

  ‘I was talking with a friend, Tim Hayes. I think you know him. He’s a Castle student.’

  Alan and I nodded, now completely at sea. Timothy might have been involved in unpleasant ways with Blake Armstrong, but what could he have to do with the drowning of a drunken student?

  ‘He told me that Blake Armstrong was dead. Murdered, he said. Is this true?’

  ‘It is.’ Harris was tight-lipped.

  ‘Then I knew I must tell you everything I had seen, the night the man drowned. Because the man I saw moving away from a drowning man was Blake Armstrong.’

  NINE

  The silence sat in the room for several seconds while we tried to make sense of this. Then David cleared his throat. ‘And you believe that Armstrong might have had something to do with the man’s death?’

  ‘No.’ The girl was quite definite about it. ‘That wouldn’t have been possible. He was too far away from the river. Look, if I can have some paper I’ll show you.’

  She drew a rough sketch and showed it to David. ‘See, here’s the river, with the path beside it. The lower path, that is. But here, up the bank a bit, is the upper path. There are stairs to get from one to the other. You know them?’

  David nodded, and so did I. I remembered seeing that there was a way up from the riverside path at several intervals.

  ‘All right. When I heard the splash I was about here.’ She marked a place on the upper path. ‘I had just come up, and I was about to go back to my room. I saw the splashing in the river and looked around, I don’t know why. I suppose I wanted to see if there was anyone besides me to help, but I saw only this man, right here.’ Another mark on the sketch. ‘That’s where the path ends, with stairs up to the pavement and the college buildings. The man there was turning to go up the stairs. As I think back on it, he wasn’t moving fast, or panting as if he’d been running. He could not have been on the lower path only a few seconds before.’

  ‘Then why do you think he was running away?’

  ‘He wasn’t running. I’ve just said that. He just “passed by on the other side”. I don’t know why he wasn’t going down to try to help. Maybe he didn’t hear the splash, or the cries. Was he deaf, do you know?’

  ‘We observed no hearing loss while he was staying with us,’ said the director.

  ‘Then I don’t know. I have no answer for you. The man’s dead. P’raps he was one of those “don’t want to get involved” cowards. I don’t know.’

  ‘Miss Walsh,’ said Alan, ‘one thing puzzles me.’

  ‘Please call me Eileen,’ she interjected. ‘Everyone else does. I feel daft being “Miss Walsh” in this company.’

  ‘In the company of those old enough to be your parents, or grandparents.’ Alan smiled. ‘Very well, Eileen. You’ve said you saw this man only fleetingly, at a time when you were considerably distressed and distracted. Yet you’re certain of his identity. How can you be so sure?’

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘I knew someone would ask that sooner or later. I am certain for several reasons. One is that there is a light just there, to light the stairs I imagine. When he turned to go up, it shone full on his face, and I recognized him at once.’

  ‘You knew him, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Not to say know. I had met him once. That was quite enough.’

  She was echoing Timothy. We waited.

  ‘He was a doctor. His speciality was geriatrics, and he treated old women. Old women with money.’ Her lip curled. ‘He didn’t suffer by it. He died a very wealthy man.’

  ‘And you met him how?’ I persisted gently.

  ‘You’ve probably worked that out,’ she said, addressing Alan and me. ‘Tim went to see him after his auntie died. You know the story.’

  Alan explained to the others. ‘Timothy Hayes had a courtesy aunt, an old friend of his parents. She had made a will in Timothy’s favour, leaving him her considerable estate. Dr Armstrong treated the lady, and before she died she altered her will, making the doctor her sole beneficiary.’

  Eileen took up the tale. ‘So Tim went to talk to him, try to make him see how unfair it was. I went with him. He was odious. Smarmy, oh so charming. He quite understood, but he had inherited lawfully under a proven testamentary instrument, and he could hardly try to overturn it, now could he, and had Tim any idea how much contesting a will could cost, and so on. I tried to keep my temper, but Tim lost his. He’s going to be a priest, and a good one, but he can tolerate only so much before he goes spare. We were escorted from the good doctor’s office, none too gently.

  ‘So you see why I would remember him quite clearly.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mr Harris cleared his throat. ‘What I still don’t understand is why you thought it necessary to bring this to our attention. You have said that Dr Armstrong could not have been near the unfortunate young man who drowned. What importance, then, does his presence in the vicinity have for you?’

  If the inspector meant by his formal turn of speech to intimidate the young Irishwoman, he underestimated her. She drew herself up and looked him straight in the eye. ‘He was there. He did nothing to help. I find that despicable. But that is not the only reason I think you might be interested.’ She picked up her sketch. ‘I told you I could not see clearly what was happening at the river. Trees and underbrush were in the way. But Armstrong was here, up where he would have had a clear line of sight. The trees are not high enough to restrict his view from that point. I think he saw exactly what happened. Suppose the poor laddie was pushed, and suppose Armstrong saw it. Why did he not come forward?’

  ‘She hates him. Hated him. She wants to involve him in this unrelated death.’

  David, Alan and I were sitting in what had become our favourite pub, with sandwiches and beer, hashing over what we had just heard.

  �
�David, the man’s dead, for Pete’s sake. What possible harm could she do him now? Granted he was a first-class sleaze. She said over and over that he could have had nothing to do with the kid’s death. What was his name, by the way? He deserves that dignity.’

  ‘I don’t remember, Dorothy, but I can look it up. His death didn’t raise a lot of ripples, I’m afraid. It happens all too often. The students will drink too much, and there’s not much to prevent their falling in. Oh, some safety features have been introduced, but the possibility is still there. Most of the time their mates pull them out and they’re not much the worse, but a few have drowned.’

  ‘We met a man on the river path,’ I commented, ‘who thought there ought to be a wall, or a fence, or some sort of barrier.’

  ‘It’s been suggested, but the general feeling is that it would spoil the beauty of the path, and walkers simply need to be more careful.’

  ‘Hmm. Drunks are not generally noted for their caution.’

  ‘We’re straying from the point,’ said Alan, ever the policeman. ‘David, why do you think she told us this rather odd story?’

  David shrugged, but I had an idea. ‘She thinks he might have seen something, something important. Suppose she’s right. Suppose someone did push in the poor kid, and Armstrong saw it. He said nothing to the police, but suppose he told someone else? It would certainly be worth checking that out, don’t you think?’

  David raised his hands in the classic gesture of futility. ‘Worth it, perhaps, but not at all easy to do. How would you suggest that we find, among the entire population of Durham, one person in whom Armstrong might have confided? Police resources are limited, you know—’

  I groaned and held up a hand. ‘Spare me. I can recite that lecture by heart. Too few personnel, too little money, et cetera, et cetera.’

  Alan frowned. ‘It’s all too true, Dorothy. The public expect miracles from their police, but lose interest when it comes to supporting them.’

  ‘I know all that, and yes, it’s shameful, but David is exaggerating the problem here. We’re not talking about a huge group of people, certainly not the entire population. We’re talking about Armstrong’s friends and colleagues, the people he spent time with. It couldn’t be too hard to track them down and ask a simple question.’

  David and Alan both shook their heads. ‘That could be done, certainly would be done if this were a case of murder,’ said Alan patiently. ‘It’s the sort of plodding routine that solves most cases, in the end. But it takes a good deal of time and a good many men and women, and there’s simply no justification for such a search in order to track down an entirely mythical confidante, simply to satisfy our curiosity.’

  I wasn’t going to give up easily. ‘But this is a case of murder. The murder of one Dr Armstrong. It was odd, his turning away from a drowning man, and I believe any odd things connected with a murdered man deserve an investigation.’

  Both men smiled and shrugged. Don’t distress the lady. Don’t argue with her. Change the subject. She’ll be off on some other tangent soon.

  Alan should have known me better than that.

  Before we left the pub I asked David for the phone number of the Milton Home and the name of the director, which I’d forgotten.

  ‘It’s one of those forgettable names. Billings? Wilton? Willard? Something like that. Why?’

  ‘I think I may have left my wallet in his office. Not that there’s much in it, but I don’t want to lose my credit cards. I’d just as soon speak directly to him. I don’t want my loss known to everybody in the place. I’m sure they’re honest, but …’ I yawned elaborately. ‘Goodness, I do believe it’s nap time. Oh, and David, don’t forget to pay your congestion fee before it bankrupts you.’

  Alan looked at me suspiciously but said nothing. And when we got back to our room in the castle, I waited until Alan was in the bathroom and then pulled out my phone.

  It took longer than I had hoped to get connected – the man’s name turned out to be Williams – but I got through to him just as Alan emerged. Drat! Well, no help for it.

  ‘Mr Williams, this is Dorothy Martin. I wanted to talk a bit further with Miss Walsh, and I wondered if you had her phone number. Yes … yes … got it. Thank you very much.’

  ‘So that’s what you’re up to,’ said Alan. ‘I wondered. Lost credit cards, indeed!’

  ‘You were both so smug about Eileen’s story. I intend to follow it up. If the police don’t want to waste their time on a “mythical confidante”, I don’t in the least mind wasting mine. You always say I’m good at talking to people.’

  ‘The best of British luck, my dear. I’m sorry if I sounded smug. I simply don’t have quite as much faith in Eileen’s intuition as you seem to do.’

  ‘She’s Irish, Alan, even if she’s lived in England long enough to lose most of the accent and idiom. That Irish heritage counts for something, and don’t you laugh. Her people have been credited with “the sight”, time out of mind. I find a little extra perception in Eileen quite credible, and I intend to follow her lead.’

  ‘And how do you propose to do that? I remind you that we do not have a car in Durham.’

  ‘We have our feet, which is the way most people seem to get around here. And I’m sure there are buses. Eileen will know, and I’m going to call her right now.’

  I reached her with no trouble, reminded her of who I was, and then told her of my conversation with the two men. ‘I’m afraid they’re inclined to dismiss the incident as irrelevant, but I am not.’

  I could hear the smile in her voice. ‘You’re a woman. We understand some things men do not, poor things.’

  I heard a male chuckle in the background and thought I knew who was with her. ‘And you’re Irish, which makes you aware of even more. Look, I’ve had an idea that I’d like to talk over with you and Timothy. Could we take the two of you out to dinner tonight?’

  She didn’t even need to ask him. ‘That would be very kind of you, thank you. Not a posh place, if you don’t mind.’ She didn’t say, but I suspected Timothy’s clothes might not run to ‘posh’.

  ‘We know very little of the city. Suppose you name the place, and tell us how to get there, and we can meet you.’

  ‘No, no, we’ll come and get you. Too easy to get lost in Durham if you don’t know your way. You’re in the castle, yes? Right. We’ll meet you in the courtyard at – what time?’

  We settled on a time and ended the call.

  ‘Am I to come along to this conference,’ asked Alan with mock humility, ‘or as a doubting Thomas am I beyond the pale?’

  ‘Of course you’re coming. Who do you think is going to pay the bill?’

  I found I was ready for that nap I’d used as an excuse earlier. When I woke, and prodded Alan awake, I made us a pot of tea to get our brains functioning again, and then it was time to meet the kids.

  They took us to the restaurant where he worked, and it turned out to be quite nice, if not utterly ‘posh’. The menu was extensive and interesting, and we opted this time for Italian specialities, a risotto for me and lasagne for Alan, hoping our guests would also go for a square meal. Eileen had a very nice figure, but Timothy was far too thin. I cast curses toward the greedy doctor who had deprived this young man of his rightful inheritance.

  I looked up at Alan when we had eaten our fill, but he shook his head. ‘It’s your agenda. I’m just along to pay the bill, remember?’

  ‘About that,’ Timothy began, but I overrode him.

  ‘We invited you out to dinner. It’s our treat. No argument will be accepted. In other words, shut up, Timothy. We have other things to talk about.’

  ‘Okay, if you insist. But please call me Tim. All my friends call me Tim.’

  Pleased to be numbered among his friends, I smiled, then looked around and lowered my voice. We were in a quiet corner, and what I was going to say wasn’t particularly private, but it pays to be careful. ‘Eileen, I told you, and I’ve no doubt you told Tim, about the conversation
earlier with David – Mr Tregarth – and Alan. We discussed your story about seeing Dr Armstrong moving away from a drowning man, and why you thought we should know about it.’

  ‘I thought he might have seen something important. I said that, but no one seemed to take it seriously.’

  ‘Well, that was what I wanted to talk to you about. Suppose he did see something important. Suppose he saw that someone pushed that poor guy into the river. He didn’t tell the police, for whatever insane reason, but suppose he told someone else.’

  I paused. Eileen and Tim looked at each other, eyebrows raised.

  ‘Because,’ I went on, ‘if he did talk to someone else, the police need to get hold of that someone, to find out what he said. At least I think they do. Alan and David think that kind of investigation would take too many scarce man-hours. The student’s death was accepted as accident; asking questions at this stage would stir up matters, and in any case it has nothing to do with Armstrong’s death, which is the one under investigation.’

  I picked up my wine glass and found it empty. Alan picked up the bottle, doled out a little more, and gestured at the other two, who shook their heads.

  ‘All right. I disagree with the two men. My point of view is that anything odd in the background of a murder victim deserves at least a glance. And that’s why I wanted to talk to you two. Neither of you knew Armstrong well. Both of you detested him. But do you know anyone who knew him, anyone he might have talked to about the drowning?’

  They considered. ‘I suppose he must have had friends,’ said Tim hesitantly. Eileen snorted. ‘I never heard of any, though,’ he went on. ‘He had a nurse-receptionist, of course. She might know something about his friends. And there were his patients.’

  ‘He wouldn’t have talked to them,’ said Eileen. ‘He was scum, a … well, there are very few words fit for this company. But he cultivated a professional manner. He wouldn’t have spoken to patients about anything but their symptoms, along with lashings of sympathy and hope.’