Death Comes to Durham

by Jeanne M. Dams

  ‘Probably to find out how much George knows, especially if he knows about the money owed to Nathan.’

  ‘Probably. He goes, things do not go well, he loses what little composure he still possesses and wrecks George’s house, with the aid of some almost innocent singers. But you’re still closing in, you’ve talked to George, which means it’s now time to go after you, first rampaging in the car park and then attacking you directly. For which, incidentally, I owe him something.’

  ‘Yes, dear. But pay it with a withering statement in court.’

  ‘You may be sure I shall. But let me summarize: we have lots of evidence against Colin for many of his offences. But we have not one whit to prove that he did drown Nathan.’

  ‘But – but everything he did later—’

  ‘Conjecture, my dear. Inference. You can’t show an inference to a jury.’

  I wanted to have a temper tantrum, stamp and scream and rant, but I was too weary and my poor bruised body hurt too much. ‘Then I wish Colin Grimsby had an inquisitor for a mother who could get the truth out of him!’

  ‘No such luck, I’m afraid. David told me that his parents are dead and he lives with elderly grandparents. Very strict, very prim and proper, but apparently little backbone. No help there, I fear. Tomorrow is Sunday, love. If you’re up to sitting in a pew for a bit, let’s take our troubles to the cathedral. Can’t hurt, and who knows? Our guardian angels might just come through.’

  I felt fairly decent in the morning, but I was certainly not up to a walk to the cathedral, so we took a cab. ‘We’re spending money like water,’ I commented. ‘We’ll have to go on a bread-and-beans diet when we go home.’

  ‘I’ve always been partial to beans on toast,’ was Alan’s unconcerned reply.

  The service was as lovely as usual, and as soothing, but we left with no more ideas about Colin and his connection with two murders. As we sat over a light lunch in the Undercroft Restaurant, I worried over the problem like a dog with a bone.

  ‘There’s the button,’ I offered, without much confidence. ‘Colin does have a jacket like that, right?’

  ‘Right. They found it in his flat. Not looking very natty, I’m told.’

  ‘And there’s a button missing?’

  ‘Two, actually, according to David. One from the right sleeve, one in front. And two others hanging by a thread. Colin apparently hasn’t enough domestic skills to keep his clothes in order.’

  ‘Hmph! Doesn’t take much skill to sew on a button.’

  ‘No. I did it during my years as a widower. I’m sure you know the chief reason I married you was to rid myself of that chore.’

  ‘I long suspected your motives. But if the button we found matches the others on the jacket—’

  ‘That’s proof he was at George’s house. Which we already knew.’

  I sighed heavily. ‘Alan, what are we going to do?’

  ‘I confess I have no idea. I fear this may turn out to be one of those detestable instances of “we know who dunnit, but can’t prove it”.’

  ‘No!’ People turned to look. I moderated my voice. ‘No, we can’t let that happen. There would always be some people who believed it was Aunt Amanda, and that’s simply not acceptable.’

  ‘She wouldn’t know, my dear. And in any case, “always” may not be a very long time for her.’

  ‘Doesn’t matter. She wouldn’t know why people gave her funny looks, or stopped speaking to her, but she would know something was wrong, and she would be unhappy, and I don’t care if it’s only for a few more months, she’s an old dear, and I won’t have it!’

  My voice had risen again. The couple at the next table decided they’d finished and left hastily.

  Alan said nothing, but his look told me I was making a spectacle of myself, one of the cardinal sins of English society. I finished my cottage pie in silence.

  ‘Can you walk as far as Tesco, do you think?’ he asked as we left the cathedral. ‘I’d like to find a newspaper. Or I could leave you here whilst I fetch it.’

  ‘No, I’ll come. It’s a lovely day. We can pick up some naproxen. It helps a bit, and I’m all out. And then I can find a place to sit before we climb back up the hill.’

  ‘I thought I might call David to see if he could pick us up. It’s Sunday – no congestion charge.’

  Slowly, leaning heavily on the walker, I hobbled down the hill to the Market Square, all the time hating the picture I presented of a helpless old lady. One more debt owed by Colin Grimsby, I thought crossly. I really, really wanted that young man to get what was coming to him.

  Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord. The thought merely added guilt to my anger.

  We made our purchases and went back to the Square, where the few benches were occupied. When we approached, though, a young couple stood and offered us their place.

  I couldn’t make up my mind whether to be grateful or insulted. Alan, however, said and did exactly the right things and shamed me into thanking them.

  ‘You’re a better man than I am, Gunga Din,’ I muttered when they had gone.

  ‘You’re just tired. Here’s your pill, and a bottle of water, and when you’ve dealt with that, I bought this.’ He showed me a large bar of dark chocolate.

  ‘You spoil me. And I’m an old grouch, and I’m sorry.’

  He just patted my hand and got out his phone to call David. ‘He’ll be here in a few minutes, and you can settle down, love, to your nap.’

  ‘I don’t know how I can sleep, with Colin Grimsby tramping through my head,’ I retorted, but Alan was already absorbed in the Sunday Times. I took the features section away from him and was trying to work the simple crossword (I can’t manage the cryptic one) when Alan jogged my elbow. ‘Look at this, Dorothy!’

  I wondered what international disaster was making news now. They come so frequently they’ve almost lost their power to shock.

  ‘It’s about the chap who’s been diving in the Wear. You remember we saw him the other day.’

  ‘Well, not to say saw. He was under water at the time.’

  ‘Yes, yes, but there are pictures of his latest finds. One shows a net full of miscellany, with some ancient coins among other detritus. It’s remarkably clear for a newspaper photo, and unless I’ve lost my eyesight completely, here is’ – he pointed a finger – ‘a button. Quite a familiar button, wouldn’t you say?’

  The picture was in black and white, but had it been in colour, that button would have been identical to the one we found.

  ‘It’s bigger,’ said Alan. ‘Not a sleeve button. Perhaps off the front of a jacket?’

  ‘Alan! How old is the picture?’

  ‘The article is dated today, but the picture has no date. Could have been snapped almost any time.’

  ‘What do you think the diver does with the stuff that’s of no importance?’

  ‘Straight into the bin, I’d think.’

  ‘We’ve got to stop him!’ I stood in a hurry, hardly noticing the pain. ‘Alan, this could be it!’

  THIRTY

  David drove up just then and I almost ran to the car, ignoring my infirmities. ‘David, we have to go to the police station, quick! They might be able to stop this guy before he throws everything away!’

  David blinked. ‘Excuse me?’

  Alan explained carefully, while I fidgeted impatiently. ‘Alan, that’s enough! David understands. And we need to move fast!’ Alan and I were in the car by that time, and David had turned it in what I assumed was the direction to the station.

  He and Alan exchanged looks, and Alan pulled out his phone. ‘Ask for DI Harris,’ David said, giving him a phone number. I remembered that the inspector was the one who had appeared at the Milton Home to talk with Eileen.

  ‘Is he also in charge of the Grimsby tangle?’ Alan asked. ‘I’ve been moving on the periphery, you know.’

  ‘No, but since we think it’s all one, might as well begin with him.’

  Alan’s end of the conversation was not enlighte
ning, but by the time it ended David was trying to find a place to park near the police station. I’d soon know how Harris responded.

  The man at the front desk was not eager to let me in. David was all right; he was almost one of them. Alan, as a very senior officer, though retired, was treated with respect. I was a hanger-on, and the young constable knew how hangers-on were to be treated. Every courtesy, no concessions.

  Alan smiled at him. ‘Well done, constable. However, this lady is my wife, and an integral part of the investigation. Shall we all go through, or wait for the inspector?’

  The young man swallowed nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing. ‘Well, sir, you see … ah! Here is the inspector!’

  Harris looked less than overjoyed to see us all, but he showed us to an interview room. ‘I understand,’ he said to David, ‘that you believe some material evidence has been turned up by the chap digging in the river.’ He paused. That didn’t sound quite right. ‘Er … diving for artefacts.’ That, too, sounded peculiar. He let it go. ‘I don’t quite understand.’

  Alan shot me a stern glance, and I closed my mouth. Okay, let him handle it. This was familiar territory to him, after all.

  He handed Harris the newspaper, folded to the picture. ‘You can see quite clearly that there is a button amidst the other materials found in the river. Certainly it’s the ancient coins that are of interest to the archaeologist, but the button is of great interest to us, because it appears to match the one left by Colin Grimsby at the home of George Elliot – the home Colin damaged. If it is indeed a match, and did come from Colin’s jacket, it places Colin in or near the river, at the place where Nathan Elliot was drowned. It seems imperative that the button not be discarded along with other unwanted material, don’t you agree?’

  Harris pondered, and then sighed. ‘It would indeed be pleasant to have a bit of concrete evidence to shore up the elaborate web of conjecture and inference that we’ve spun. A button is as good as a bullet if it can get the job done.’ He sighed again. ‘You do realize that the lot may have been pitched already?’

  I couldn’t keep silent any longer. ‘That’s why we got here as fast as we could, the moment we saw that picture!’

  Harris’s smile was wintry. ‘Yes, well done. Now if you’ll excuse me?’ He pulled out his phone, and we were dismissed.

  David dropped us at our hotel for our usual Sunday afternoon nap, though a little late. I’d thought I would be too steeped in anxiety to sleep, but I dropped off the moment I lay down and woke only when my stomach began to complain of being unfed. It was well past supper time, and we’d had no tea. I sat up and yawned. ‘What do you think, Alan? A big expensive meal downstairs, or something simpler? Only I still can’t walk very far.’

  ‘We could have a bar meal. It being Sunday night, I’m not sure what our other options might be.’

  For some reason, Sunday night in many English cities, even cathedral cities, is pretty much a food desert. I suppose it goes back to the days when Sunday was a day of rest and work was frowned upon. It’s a philosophy I actually find refreshing, but it’s certainly inconvenient for travellers. ‘I suppose there might be a pizza place open. We could order takeaway.’

  None of the options sounded attractive, but my stomach was beginning to rumble rather loudly.

  Alan’s phone rang. ‘Ah, David. What news?’ He turned on the speaker.

  ‘They have the button and have matched it to Colin’s jacket. Now it’s time to confront Colin with it and ask for an explanation.’

  ‘His solicitor will be there, of course,’ said Alan.

  ‘Of course, and Harris thinks that may mean Colin will say nothing at all.’

  ‘It’s a pity Colin doesn’t have a mother like Mrs Elliot to bully him into talking,’ I said tartly.

  On the other end of the line, David cleared his throat. ‘That’s one reason I’m calling, Dorothy. It seems various officials involved in the investigation were impressed with your success in getting George Elliot to talk. They think you might have some influence with Colin. Would you be willing to come to headquarters and have a go?’

  Would I be willing! Willing to confront the nasty little thug who had caused me such pain, and who, I was sure, had killed two people and threatened who knew how many others?

  ‘David, give us time to pick up a sandwich or something from the bar, and I’m all yours!’

  A jail cell is not a congenial place for a chat. I would have preferred to meet with young Colin there, welcoming any psychological stress that might put him at a disadvantage. However, police procedure dictated that the discussion take place in an interrogation room. His lawyer would, in any case, have insisted on the least threatening environment possible, and I didn’t actually mind greatly. I had, in my teaching days, known how to be intimidating in the cosy confines of a fourth-grade classroom. I’d manage.

  ‘You can’t actually threaten him, you know,’ said Alan quietly as we walked to the room. ‘Judge’s rules.’

  ‘I do know the rules, Alan, having read every English mystery written in the past hundred years or so. I’ll be careful.’

  He took a deep breath and raised his eyes heavenward, but said nothing more.

  The room wasn’t all that much more hospitable than a jail cell. The walls were painted in that dispiriting pea-soup green that law enforcement agencies all over the world must have bought years ago by the tanker-load. The furnishings consisted of a table and straight chairs of some dark wood. There was one small window, uncurtained and barred. I noticed a video camera high on one wall.

  The four of us – David, Alan, a policeman I didn’t know, and I – entered and sat down. I noted that the table was slightly sticky to the touch with varnish that had never dried properly. I hoped I wouldn’t stick to the chair, which was, even in the first few seconds, proving to be every bit as uncomfortable as it looked.

  The policeman introduced himself as Detective Chief Inspector Drendall, in charge of the complex case. I was delighted to know that someone of high rank had been handed the unwelcome job of trying to put all the pieces together. ‘As it is somewhat irregular to have members of the public present for an interrogation, Mrs Martin, I have taken the liberty of deputizing you. For this occasion only, I might add.’ There was a welcome twinkle in his eye. ‘Mr Nesbitt and Mr Tregarth are, of course, sworn officers, a status which does not lapse upon retirement. I have informed Mr Grimsby’s solicitor about the arrangements.’

  ‘I don’t imagine he’s happy,’ I commented.

  ‘Not entirely, no, and he will certainly be vigilant in making sure his client’s rights are not violated.’

  Two men, one young, one older, came into the room just then, and for the first time, I met Colin Grimsby.

  I said nothing as everyone was introduced, but my mind was busy. How was I to approach this young man? A mere boy, he seemed to me, with the truculent look of a cowardly bully, sullen and insolent. Oh, I’d met his type dozens of times, and I knew how to deal with them. This wasn’t going to be at all hard.

  I hoped.

  Mr Drendall opened the session with the customary date, time, and names of those present, for the sake of the recording. With no equipment on the table, I assumed the video cam was equipped for sound. The attorney made a brief statement, also for the record, that he objected to the presence of non-police personnel, especially as one of them could be assumed to have an attitude prejudicial to his client. Alan kicked me unobtrusively before I could object to the objection.

  The inspector spoke. ‘Now, Mr Grimsby. You have confessed to several crimes, and your confession is on record. You have been accused of other very serious crimes and have refused to answer questions about them. We now have evidence to connect you with one of them. Have you anything to say?’

  ‘My client prefers to remain silent,’ said the attorney swiftly.

  Colin smirked.

  Inspector Drendall looked at me.

  I pulled a button out of my pocket, set it on the table,
and looked steadily, silently, at Colin.

  The smirk disappeared. He looked at his lawyer, looked at the floor, looked at the video cam.

  I pushed the button forward an inch, still looking at Colin, still silent.

  It didn’t take long for him to break. ‘That … where did you get that? What are you trying to prove? I thought the police didn’t allow evidence out of their hands. That doesn’t mean anything! You could have got it anywhere. Anyway, I never saw it before.’

  His attorney tried to shut him up. ‘My client will not answer any more questions.’

  ‘Your client has not been asked any more questions, sir,’ said Alan gently.

  I let him stew for a little longer and then said, ‘It’s always easier in the end to tell the truth. It’s very hard to tell a long, consistent lie.’ I decided it was time to risk it. I sat back, trying to seem at ease in that inquisitorial chair. ‘Tell us, why did you kill Nathan Elliot?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to! It was an accident! He slipped off the bank. I tried to catch him. That’s how the button came off. Damn cheap jacket, shedding buttons all over the shop!’

  ‘You were talking about the money you owed him?’

  ‘You think you know everything, don’t you? I told him I’d pay him back, but he wanted it right that minute, and I didn’t have it. He said he’d go to my grandparents and—’

  ‘Mr Grimsby is upset! I demand that this interview be terminated!’ The lawyer was shouting, but Colin paid no attention.

  ‘They’re too old! They don’t understand that a man needs some fun, and some money in his pocket. It wasn’t my fault the bloody horse fell down! Just my damn bad luck!’

  He was raving, but the inspector could sort it all out later. ‘And your bad luck that Dr Armstrong saw the whole thing with Nathan.’ I said it very quietly.

  ‘Stupid old git! He was sick anyway. I just helped him along. Did him a favour, really.’

  The attorney stood and roared ‘This interview is over!’

  The inspector looked at the camera. ‘Interview terminated.’ He glanced at his watch and spoke the time. He opened the door, and a constable came in to take Colin away.