Death Comes to Durham

by Jeanne M. Dams

  I had nodded off into a nightmare when Alan opened the door and startled me awake, still in the grip of horrors. I must have cried out, because Alan was at my side in a moment.

  ‘What is it, love?’

  I shook my head to clear it. ‘I don’t know. I guess I was dreaming. Something awful, but I don’t remember what.’

  ‘Coffee,’ he prescribed.

  While the water boiled, I got up and washed my face to complete the return to consciousness. We sat down to our cups of instant.

  ‘All right, did you learn anything?’

  ‘The officers were very accommodating, actually. It was a slow day, with most of the students away. They come back at the end of next week, so the petty crimes will pick up then.’

  ‘Alan! You’re accusing the students of being troublemakers!’

  ‘And so they are, by virtue of being young. Have you forgotten what university students are like, you who spent many, many years in a college town in the States?’

  ‘But they were American kids. And it was a long time ago.’

  ‘Adolescents are much the same the world over, my dear. A mixed bag. All the way from serious, dedicated students to confirmed hell-raisers, and all shades in between. Much as I’d like to claim that the English variety are better behaved than the general run, it simply isn’t true. And it seems as though the drowning victim was much like any student. Not particularly troublesome, but occasionally reprimanded for drunken behaviour. Nothing too bad, just noisy and quarrelsome.’

  ‘Hmm. Go on.’

  He spread his hands. ‘That’s it. Oh, a name, Nathan Elliot. From Birmingham.’

  ‘Good grief, Alan, that’s totally useless. We need to know what he was like, who his friends were, all that! A Brummie who sometimes drank too much – that doesn’t lead anywhere!’

  ‘My dearest love, we’re talking about police records. That was absolutely all they had at the station, besides his college here. He was a student at St Jude’s, but he didn’t live in their housing.’

  ‘Studying what?’

  ‘That wasn’t in the record. Now, before you fly apart, David is even as we speak working on the St Jude’s end. It isn’t as easy as it would be in term time, but David’s lived here long enough to make a few contacts. He’ll come up with some people who knew young Elliot.’

  ‘But it will take ages, and Alan, we have less than a week!’ I put down my coffee cup, stood up, and put my shoes back on. ‘I’m going to call Tim and Eileen. They’re the only students we know. Maybe one of them knew the boy.’

  ‘Surely they would have told us if she did. His death must have been a tragedy for the whole university.’

  ‘Oh. You’re right.’ I sat back down again. ‘Why wouldn’t they have told us? Well, never mind. I’m going to call her anyway.’

  I was lucky. Eileen answered right away, and she was with Tim. Well, no big surprise there.

  ‘Hi, Eileen. What are you up to?’

  ‘Hi, Dorothy. Nothing much. It’s such a nice day, we were going to go out on the river with some sandwiches, but Tim says he has to study. Term starts up again next week.’

  ‘Oh, dear. I was hoping to talk to you both.’

  ‘About …?’

  ‘Of course. I want to know lots more about the boy who drowned, and I hoped, since he was a student, that one of you might have known him.’

  ‘Uh, no. You see, Dorothy,’ she said in the gentle tone one uses to children or the subnormal, ‘the university has nearly 17,000 students, and most of our friends are either in one of our colleges or in our discipline. The chap who died – I forget his name – well, he wasn’t in my college or Tim’s, and I have no idea what he was studying. So neither of us had any contact. Sorry.’

  ‘Oh, dear, I was hoping … Look, could I come and see you? Even if Tim can’t come along? Something has happened, and it’s really important. I’ll meet you anywhere you like.’

  ‘No, I’ll come to you. Meet you in the courtyard in fifteen minutes.’

  I didn’t invite Alan to come along. Somehow I thought this conversation would work better as just girls together.

  THIRTEEN

  The hot, sunny weather had returned. I hadn’t brought a sun hat with me. Who thought I’d need one in the north of England in April? So I suggested we walk down by the river in the welcome shade. We found a convenient bench, and I told her the latest development at the home.

  ‘But that’s frightful! That poor old woman! And she’s done nothing.’

  ‘No. That’s why we must find the killer, and right away! And the only idea I have right now is that somehow that drowning is linked to Armstrong’s death. And the only way that I can see to find out about the drowning at this late date is to find out about the victim. Now. The police told Alan he was a student at St Jude’s, but that he didn’t live there. How are we going to track down people who knew him?’

  ‘Well. I know a girl at Jude’s. She’s a first year student in natural sciences, and is in some of my lectures. Pleasant person. We’re not special friends, but friendly.’ She gave me a quizzical look, and I nodded to show I understood. ‘Now, Jude’s is one of the smallest colleges, which means all the students probably know each other, even the ones who live out of college. And a death would bring them together. I can try to talk to her, if you like. She probably lives in college, but as it isn’t term time she might not be around.’ She paused for thought. ‘I’ll tell you what. If you’re up for a bit of a walk, we’ll go over there and see what we can dig up. It’s not really far, just past the cathedral.’

  We toiled up the steps back to street level. Well, I toiled; Eileen politely let me set the pace, when she could have run up them double-time. My chief memory of Durham, I thought as I stopped at the top to pant, was going to be of steps. And cobblestones, and steep grades. ‘A city built on a hill cannot be hidden’ according to the apostle, but it sure can have a lot of hidden corners to lead one up and down and around. When it’s been there for a thousand years or so, and is now trying to cope with modern traffic, getting anywhere becomes a challenge. And awfully hard on the feet.

  We passed the cathedral and walked briefly down the rather steep Dun Cow Lane. (I will never cease to be entertained by English street names. So much more imaginative than Maple and Oak and Fifth.) Then we turned right into one of the narrowest streets I’ve ever seen. There was little vehicular traffic and what pedestrians there were walked in the street for preference. I could see why. The narrow pavement (sidewalk, to my American mind set) was made of stones that had probably once been flat and even but were now tilted at odd angles, and mostly toward the street. If I stumbled I knew I’d land in the street, probably just as a delivery van came along.

  It wasn’t really far to St Jude’s College. I was by now not astonished to see a small, attractive flight of steps up to the door. I did wonder what students with mobility problems did, but that was an issue for another time.

  Once inside, we were in a foyer that could have belonged to any attractive house. A decorative stairway curved up; I smiled to myself, but wondered again how on earth anyone with disabilities might manage.

  Eileen gave a name to the man at the reception desk, who knew the answer immediately.

  ‘Sarah Hoskins. Yes, she does live here, and stayed in residence during the vac. I don’t know if she’s in at the moment. Do you have her phone number?’

  ‘No, I don’t think I do. We sometimes study together, but usually in a group. Could you call her for me?’

  ‘Well … we don’t usually – but just this once.’

  I had the feeling my elderly presence made us look ultra-respectable. Either that, or the porter didn’t have enough to do in this slack time.

  ‘Tell her Eileen Walsh, from botany lectures.’

  The porter murmured something into his mobile and turned back to us. ‘She’ll be right down.’

  The young woman who greeted us in a few moments was pleasant looking, though not in any way beautifu
l. On a Sunday afternoon in vacation time she wore the ubiquitous jeans, with a colourful top that had seen better days. Her hair was tied back carelessly with a nondescript scarf. ‘How nice to see you, Eileen. A pleasant surprise.’

  ‘Sarah, this is my friend Dorothy Martin. She and her husband are visiting Durham and staying in the castle, where they met Tim.’

  Sarah nodded. She knew about Tim.

  Eileen continued. ‘Dorothy is looking into the recent drowning. She’d like to know more about Nathan Elliot. I thought you might have known him.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘We can’t talk here. Come with me.’

  She led us to a small lounge down a corridor. ‘Now, Mrs Martin, what’s this all about?’

  She was perfectly polite, but plainly wanted a direct answer.

  ‘It’s a bit complicated, but to keep it short, my husband Alan and I came to Durham to visit an old friend, David Tregarth, a retired policeman like Alan. We became involved in helping Mr Tregarth look into a murder at the nursing home where David’s great-aunt lives. It’s creating a great deal of trouble for the old people living there, and it needs to be resolved quickly. The administration of the home wish as little police involvement as possible, which is why they called on David and he on us.’

  ‘I think that’s foolish,’ said Sarah firmly. ‘Crimes are the business of the police.’

  ‘I quite agree with you, but for the sake of David and his aunt we’ve agreed to help. I should add that I have a bit of experience in criminal investigation, and of course Alan and David are trained in it, which means we’re not totally useless. However, the matter has become crucial. After another incident at the home, the administrators have decided that Great-aunt Amanda may be the culprit, and have said she must leave. Sarah, she’s over ninety, and has severe dementia. She can’t defend herself, and she’s happy and settled there. It might, quite honestly, kill her to have to leave.’

  Sarah frowned. ‘I still don’t see—’

  ‘You will. The man who was killed, Blake Armstrong, was nearby when Nathan Elliot drowned. We think he might have seen something, or heard something, that led to his death. I have been speculating that perhaps Nathan’s death wasn’t an accident, that someone pushed him into the river. And quite frankly, the only way I can think to learn more about the matter is to find out more about Nathan. Since he was a student of St Jude’s, we came to you.’

  She thought about that. ‘Eileen, how did you get into this?’

  ‘I was the one who saw Dr Armstrong walking away from the scene. He didn’t even try to help. I did, but I was too late.’

  ‘So you also saw whatever what’s-his-name saw?’

  ‘No. The angle was wrong. I don’t know for certain that he saw anything, but he certainly heard the splash, because I saw him turn around, and then rush away.’

  Sarah sat silent for a moment, then looked at us very directly. ‘I don’t know that I can help very much. I didn’t know Nathan well. He didn’t live here, you know.’ She raised an eyebrow, and Eileen nodded. ‘I’ll tell you what I know of him. It isn’t much, and I’ll start by saying I can’t give an unbiased opinion. I didn’t like Nathan Elliot, and to tell the truth I know of very few people who did. He was … how shall I put it?’

  She hesitated, and I interrupted. ‘I hope you’ll forget about not speaking ill of the dead. It can’t hurt him now, and I don’t know about you, but I believe that the truth never hurts, anyway.’

  Sarah smiled, the first smile I’d seen since we started talking about the trouble. ‘I like the way you think. Very well. Nathan was a snoop and a prig. Holier than thou. I don’t know what he was studying; never cared to find out. I hope it wasn’t theology!’

  ‘Me, too.’ I nodded emphatically. ‘That particular attitude seems to me to be absolutely anti-Christian. The antithesis of almost any religion I can think of, actually. But go on. You said no one liked him much. Did he have any actual friends? Or particular enemies?’

  She shrugged. ‘Enemies would be very much to the point, wouldn’t they? But no, I don’t know of any. Friends? Again, not that I know of. Most people just ignored him. You can find out a lot more next week when term begins.’

  ‘Sarah, we can’t wait until then!’ I leaned forward in an attitude of desperation. ‘David has been told he must find a new place for his great-aunt in a week. That was yesterday. We have five days after today to work this out!’

  ‘But that’s … I don’t … oh, wait. He had some drinking buddies. Not close friends, you understand, but they went out together on occasion. He wasn’t much of a drinker, but now and then he’d condescend to lift a glass with the others, and then sometimes got even more objectionable than usual. Sorry to sound catty, but he really was … oh, well, the poor sod’s dead.’

  I opened my mouth, but she held up a hand. ‘Wait. I’m trying to think. Two or three of them are first year students, living here. One, I think, stayed here for the vac. I don’t know if he’s in, of course, but I can find out. Wait here.’

  ‘Dorothy, are you okay?’ murmured Eileen when Sarah had left the room.

  I discovered that I was twisting my hands together in that motion known as ‘wringing’. I stopped. ‘It’s just that I’m terribly worried about poor Aunt Amanda. She really is the sweetest person, Eileen.’

  ‘I know. I asked to see her when I went to the home. She’s a love. Completely gaga, of course, but darling. She thought I was her daughter. I don’t want her hurt, either.’

  I smiled a little. ‘Wishful thinking. She never married or had children. You probably look like her dream daughter. Many of us unlucky enough to have no children have created them in our minds. I imagine that when my mind goes, I’ll start seeing my children in every attractive young man and woman.’

  ‘I don’t think your mind will – oh.’

  Sarah had returned with a young man in tow. He was dressed very casually indeed, and had the look of someone who had just left his bed: tousled hair, a distinct grey shadow on his chin, and eyes that seemed unfocussed.

  ‘This is Charles. I woke him up. I’m going to go get some coffee for him. Anyone else want some?’

  Charles slumped down in a chair and yawned widely. My own jaw quivered in sympathy. ‘Yes, thank you, I’d love some coffee.’

  Charles yawned again and mumbled an apology.

  ‘I’m the one who should apologize, disturbing your Sunday afternoon. If the truth were told, I’d love a nap right now, myself, but that doesn’t matter. Did Sarah tell you why I wanted to talk to you?’

  He shook his head, and then made an effort to pull himself together. ‘Only that it was important.’ He yawned again with force that might have cracked his jaw. ‘I really am sorry. I didn’t get much sleep last night. But I’ll try to help with whatever it is you want to know.’

  I introduced myself, and by that time our coffee arrived. It probably wasn’t the worst I’d ever tasted, and it did have the magical ingredient. I explained my mission, briefly, and was pleased to see Charles’s sleepy visage change to a frown. He looked at Sarah.

  ‘You told her I was a friend of Nate’s?’

  ‘No. I told her you sometimes went drinking with him.’

  ‘Twice. Exactly twice. And that was once too many.’ He drained his coffee mug and set it down with a bang. ‘I went the first time because I felt sorry for the bas— for the chap. He didn’t seem to know anybody. He didn’t live here in college, and he hadn’t made friends in his lectures. From what I gathered, he was barely keeping his head above water, academically. Didn’t seem to care, and that didn’t go down well. Jude’s students are rather serious about our work, for the most part. Nathan was serious only about Nathan.’

  Charles smothered another yawn. ‘Well, he turned up here one evening, and we went to the pub. That time wasn’t too bad. He didn’t say much, and he bought a round or two. The next time …’ Charles whistled. ‘He started out by giving us a lecture on how wonderful he was, how hard he’d worked to save
money and invest it soundly, so he had plenty now and didn’t have to take out loans for university – the full Gospel according to Nathan. Oh, and he threw in that sort of thing, too, how he lived according to the word of God and worried about the rest of us poor sinners and where we might spend eternity. All of this while he was drinking our beer!’

  ‘I can see why he was unpopular,’ I said mildly.

  ‘Unpopular! He was easily the most hated student in this college. It’s no wonder we weren’t exactly weeping buckets when he died. Oh, okay, I know I shouldn’t say that. But it’s absolutely true that he isn’t missed.’

  ‘Charles, I have to ask. There’s a small possibility that his death wasn’t accidental. Did anyone hate him enough to – to push him in the river?’

  ‘To … Are you saying he was murdered?’

  ‘It’s a possibility. Only that, thus far.’

  ‘But – but you don’t kill someone just because you can’t stand him. There has to be a reason. A big reason, like – like – I don’t even know what. Like he’s sleeping with your wife, or something. But nobody who lives here has a wife.’

  ‘I agree, there has to be a reason, a motive. But my husband, the retired chief constable, will tell you that sometimes the motive is pathetically thin. Shopkeepers have been killed for the few pounds in the till.’

  Eileen spoke up. ‘Sex, money, power. Aren’t those the classic motives?’

  ‘A few of them. Then there’s revenge, fear of discovery, fear of almost anything. My favourite soap-box lecture is that fear is at the bottom of almost every crime, but there’s no time to go into that. We have to act fast! Charles, think! Go through that list of motives in your mind. Do you know anyone who associated with Nathan Elliot who might have cherished one of those corrosive hatreds in his bosom?’

  I could see Charles turning over ideas in his head, thinking of various people, rejecting them. Finally he looked up and said, ‘This is beginning to sound like Jacobean tragedy. Revenge, murder. We are living in the twenty-first century, right? I admit it’s sometimes easy to forget that in this town, but aren’t we getting a bit melodramatic?’