The Maggie Murders

by J P Lomas

  ‘…latest reports indicate that these murders may not just be connected by Mrs Thatcher’s political victories, but may have an even more bizarre link to a nursery rhyme. Some of the experts I’ve spoken to are now calling these three deaths the Rub-a-dub killings.’

  Dent pressed the mute button on the remote and turned to Jane.

  ‘What do you think, Sergeant? You helped to investigate the earlier killings.’

  Jane tried to compose herself. Dent’s sallow face offered no encouragement and the other officers in their full dress uniforms just seemed to look glad that she was on the end of the questions for now.

  ‘Well all three victims were burnt to death, though this is the first one to die outside of Exmouth. The first two died on the nights of the ’83 and ’87 General Elections, whilst this one was only a leadership elec…’

  ‘I mean what about the ‘Rub-a-dub’ rubbish that the media is jumping on. Are we still dealing with The Maggie Murders, or is there something else behind these killings? We’re going to be under the scrutiny of the world’s press in a few hours and I want answers to stuff I don’t know!‘

  Jane had been slapped down before in her career and by better men than Dent, yet it still stung. Later, after a large glass of Chablis she would be able to frame the perfect retort to her smarmy boss, along the lines that there would be too little time left in the world to fill Dent in on everything he didn’t know, unfortunately like most ripostes it had come too late for her to use it in the large, but uncomfortably close office she was sitting in.

  ‘If the killer is following the rhyme, than they’ve chosen three victims who could fit: George Kellow was a butcher, Calum Baker was a soldier, but obviously his surname gives him a connection to the rhyme and arguably Gerald Mallowan was a candlestick-maker,’ was her best response.

  ‘Arguably?’ asked DCS Osborne.

  ‘His main line of business was as a successful property developer. His wife ran a number of fashionable shops selling candles, candlesticks and other high class fashion accessories, but the business was in his name and financed by him. He was also found dead in the office above the Exeter branch of ‘Scandalabra’. I don’t think that was a coincidence. I think for the killer he would be the best fit for a traditional candlestick-maker in this digital age.’

  If it was possible for Dent to look unhappier, he managed it.

  ‘Weren’t they all in the forces?’

  ‘Kellow and Baker were both war heroes – Kellow picked up a Military Medal in World War 2 and Baker was crippled in the Falklands, but Mallowan only ever completed his National Service. ‘

  Jane consulted her notebook.

  ‘And he spent his time square bashing on military bases up north so there is no obvious military link.’

  ‘Which line do you go with, ‘pursued Osborne, ‘Maggie Murders, or Rub-a-Dub killings?’

  Jane took time to reflect. Osborne at least seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say, Dent on the other hand was just trying to play down the inevitable shit storm which was going to follow. As the driving force behind the failed prosecution of Connie Baker, the new Chief Constable was going to be looking for someone else to deflect the blame. She hoped it wasn’t going to be her career which was being considered for the sacrificial altar. After the departures of Sobers and Spilsbury that would give Dent a hat trick of dismissals…

  ‘I’d plump for the rub-a-dub killings, Sir,’ she answered, ‘we’ve now had three killings we can link to the nursery rhyme, whilst our killer could never be certain that Maggie would do them a favour by winning three elections in a row.’

  ‘Four elections if we count this leadership one, ‘harrumphed Dent.

  ‘Exactly, sir, but there were no murders in 1979 that we could connect to these killings and so I’d say the link is between this latest killing and those in ’83 and ’87.’

  ‘And what of Constance Baker?’ Osborne asked.

  At least the DCS didn’t seem unafraid of voicing the one question which hung heavy in the air, thought Jane. He probably had less to lose than Dent over that one.

  ‘We felt the evidence in the case of Calum Baker made her the prime suspect and DCI Spilsbury had no faith in the idea that there might be a link with the Kellow case.’

  She was trying to be as diplomatic as possible, without making it seem she was dumping everything on Spilsbury. That wouldn’t have looked good. The service still valued loyalty, even if it was misplaced.

  Osborne though was a step ahead of her.

  ‘And you did think the two cases were linked?’

  ‘I thought it was a reasonable possibility.’

  She felt the stares of the three senior officers on her; she hadn’t felt this uncomfortable at an interview since flailing around trying to form a coherent answer to a question about the success of Louis XIV’s foreign policy when applying to read History at Bath.

  ‘And what of her acquittal, did you think she was guilty?’

  A sudden agitation on Dent’s normally composed face, gave her a breathing space. She wasn’t the only one being put out by Osborne’s line of questioning.

  ‘As you’ll be aware, there was a lot of pressure at the time to get a result. We had had a strong circumstantial case; however when our star witness perjured himself we lost the faith of the jury.’

  ‘Would you say some of that pressure you spoke about might have been applied to getting your witness to testify against her?’ pressed Osborne.

  ‘I wasn’t the senior investigating officer, sir.’

  With three children and a husband to support, she was not going to sacrifice her career over a decision she had bitterly opposed – loyalty had to stop somewhere.

  Yet Osborne’s line of questioning and the reference to Nigel Byrne’s fabricated account of taking Connie back to her house on the night of the murder seemed to be causing more anxiety to Dent than to her, which may have explained his next sudden outburst:

  ‘Did you think she was guilty? A simple yes or no will suffice.’

  ‘No.’

  Clearly this did not suffice.

  ‘And yet you went along with the decision to charge her!’

  The Chief Constable’s usual mask of equanimity and sangfroid had been replaced by a face more animated than her children’s old Disney videos. Yet when she saw this uncharacteristic and vile display of raw emotion on his face, she knew that if this was a poker game then she had won.

  ‘Am I here to assist in these enquiries, or to answer questions about my professional conduct in another case?’ she flashed back. ‘If DCI Spilsbury and I were under any undue pressure to gain a conviction it came from above our pay scale.’

  In her anger, she had lost all fear and respect for the man who glowered across the desk at her in the brief authority of his recent promotion.

  DCS Osborne having recovered from his surprise at the recent turn of events, came in with the skills of a born mediator – ‘I’m sure we’re all feeling the pressure of trying to solve these shocking crimes, DS Hawkins and I know the Chief Constable welcomes any insight you can bring to bear on the previous cases, especially given the sad circumstances surrounding DCI Spilsbury’s recent death.’

  For a moment Jane thought she had misheard.

  ‘Death?’

  ‘I’m sorry, we assumed you knew?’

  The anger building up in Jane had evaporated. A sense of shock was beginning to replace it.

  With a kindly look DCS Osborne continued –

  ‘Former DCI Brian Spilsbury died of cancer of the colon a fortnight ago. According to his wife it seemed he’d left it too late to get it treated. By the time it was diagnosed he had just weeks remaining.’

  Shame was now fighting with grief in a bid to master her emotions. Had she been speaking ill of a dead man? It wasn’t as if they’d been close friends, but they had been close colleagues and in the service that was never anything to be treated lightly.

  Even Dent seemed to be trying to be ni
ce to her now. He had made a clumsy attempt to offer her water, nearly pushing the crystal carafe on to her and then over doing it further by pulling out one of those monogrammed hankies. As if she was going to cry in front of that bastard!

  ‘That’s why we need you to help us understand if Constance Baker could still have been connected to the murder of her husband. We can’t try her for that one again, but if she’s guilty of either of the others we may still have a case to make against her. It might help prove that your former boss was right after all – we all know juries can get it wrong…‘

  In her head Jane was selecting which flowers to send to Felicity as a belated tribute to her old boss, even so she was still able to compose a reply to Osborne’s diplomatically phrased question.

  ‘There was no motive as far as I could see. Despite her cheating on the husband, she claims it was done with her husband’s full knowledge.’

  Dent raised a quizzical eyebrow, but kept his counsel. Even so she felt the need to elaborate.

  ‘And I believe she loved her husband. The amount of time and care she gave Calum after his injuries was phenomenal. She also had the money in that relationship, being Daddy’s little pampered princess before she spoilt it all by marrying a commoner. Even their house was bought with the proceeds of her trust fund.’

  She paused. Thinking about the case acted as a temporary anodyne to focussing on her thoughts about Spilsbury.

  ‘I really don’t believe she was guilty. I think the jury got this one right.’

  Dent’s lips pursed.

  She watched in surprise as he pushed himself up from behind the table. The others seemed more used to his moods though and remained seated whilst he made a performance out of walking to the window and staring dramatically into the distance. The hands he clasped behind his back were surprisingly dainty and feminine she noticed.

  Having given them the full benefit of this Churchill like moment, he turned to face the assembled company. He was probably enjoying the temporary height advantage thought Jane.

  ‘Right, I’m calling a press conference for this afternoon!‘ he announced to no-one’s surprise.

  He then barked out a series of instructions. She was rather surprised to see she was still included in the plan of campaign. He was either trying to take her mind off the sad news she had just learnt, or still favoured the idea of having a scapegoat at the ready.

  ‘DCS Osborne will co-ordinate an investigation into all three deaths. DCI Jordan will head up the team investigating Mallowan’s murder. DS Hawkins, I would like you to liaise with DCS Osborne and keep him abreast of any possible connections with the earlier murders. DCS Osborne and DS Hawkins will accompany me to the press conference. Neither of you will have to say anything, as my DCC. will prepare a short statement for me to read to the press. You’ll need your dress uniform Sergeant, as we’re going to have the eyes of the world upon us.’

  As Jane got up to go, Dent turned to her –

  ‘My condolences,’ he said and offered her an awkward and clammy handshake. Well at least he hadn’t tried to kiss her. Perhaps Judas had taken out a monopoly on those?

  ‘Thank-you, ‘she muttered.

  ‘Wasn’t there a coloured chap who led the original investigation? A poof?’

  ‘That was D.I. Sobers, sir,’ replied Jane defensively.

  ‘Of course. Pity things didn’t turn out well for him, as he had the makings of an excellent officer.‘

  Dent turned to his P.A. ‘See if you can find some photos of Sobers to give out to the press, it’ll be good to show that a force like ours has senior coloured officers.’

  ‘Had,’ said Jane to herself as she left, ‘and the word is black.’

  She made a mental note of the fact that neither the DCC, nor D.C.I. Jordan had said anything throughout the interview. That must be how you got ahead she decided. And the only reason she was going to have to go through the palaver of dusting down her dress uniform was so that she could be Dent’s token woman at the press conference. She wondered if he was going to have Derek’s picture blown up into a cardboard cut-out of him, which would then be placed strategically in front of the assembled media, in a vain attempt to show how progressive the force had become under his leadership…

  Despairing of Dent’s PR games, she went to order a wreath.

  ****

  ‘Scandalabra’ stood just off Cathedral Close in Exeter. Or what was left of the premises did. The fierce blaze had completely gutted the shop which stood in one of the few surviving medieval parts of the County Town. Exhausted fire crews had been fighting a desperate battle in the ancient streets to stop the blaze spreading to other shops and cafés in the vicinity.

  The badly burned body of Gerald Mallowan had been found in the remains of a first floor office above the premises. At least they presumed it was him, dental records would have to confirm it. The property developer had so far been identified only by his Rolex watch. The alarm had been raised at two a.m. and the fire crews had finally got the blaze under control at just after seven o’clock that morning. Early indications were that Mallowan, if indeed it was him, had died sometime between those hours. Their medical expert had given an educated guess as to smoke inhalation being the cause of death; albeit a hopeful guess.

  ‘Rub a dub dub three men in a tub,’ Jane gazed at the burnt out shell,’ the butcher, the baker and now our candlestick-maker.’

  ‘Remind me again, who was who?’ requested D.C.S. Osborne.

  Given his solicitous attitude towards her, she was more than happy to answer the new Super’s questions; though part of her wondered if he was just being kind, as he did not strike her as a man who ever needed much reminding.

  ‘George Kellow was the butcher, Calum Baker was nominally our baker and now we’ve got a likely fit for our candlestick-maker.’

  ‘Unless we’re still investigating the line of inquiry linking them to the elections…’ mused Osborne as he peered at the ruined remains of the timber framed building which supporters of English Heritage were going to be mourning the loss of far more deeply than that of its late owner.

  The badly damaged shops on either side had certainly been on the exclusive side if the smoke damaged signs above their blackened fronts could be believed. One had been a boutique which sold haute couture and another had been an expensive gallery. The scraps of fabric and burnt canvases which could be glimpsed in their wrecked shells must once have cost thousands in Osborne’s estimate. He hoped they’d had adequate insurance, as he couldn’t see much worth salvaging. The only thing he could make out in the debris of ‘Scandalabra’ was a twisted, iron candlestick holder.

  Beyond the police cordon which had closed the narrow and dark street, stood the Gothic glory of Exeter Cathedral. Unlike Coventry’s medieval masterpiece, it had survived Hitler’s Baedeker raids of 1942 which had deliberately targeted England’s prettiest cities.

  ‘I think the Maggie Murders were just a fortuitous link for our killer, there’s no way whoever did this could have predicted she’d still be in power today,’ remarked Jane.

  ‘I don’t know, it feels to me like she’s been there forever and I don’t think she’ll be stepping down now.’

  ‘But that’s looking at it with the benefit of hindsight. And if there is a link, then why didn’t she start in ’79?’

  ‘Perhaps our killer was only interested in elections they thought Maggie would win? Or maybe we’ve missed something?’

  ‘I’ve trawled through all the deaths by fire in the UK on the night of the ’79 election and there’s nothing to go on.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t a death by fire?’

  The idea had crossed Jane’s mind before, but checking every single suspicious death in England on that night would have taken far more resources than she had on offer. Checking the ones which had taken place in East Devon had been time consuming enough.

  They watched as Gerald Mallowan’s charred remains were removed from the premises in a body bag.

  ‘I
tried to tell Spilsbury back in ’87 that they were connected, but he wasn’t having any of it.’

  ‘I’m not surprised, although from what I hear Dent was putting a lot of undue pressure on your boss to get a result.’

  Jane looked more searchingly at Osborne. He was already four rungs up the ladder from her, despite being only a couple of years her senior and yet he seemed to wear his rank lightly and to value her insights. His face invited candour.

  ‘He was going to retire. Serve out his last few years in some sleepy, rural backwater and then take the wife to Spain. Trouble is he ended up hitting someone, someone who deserved to be hit in my view, but it gave Dent leverage, ’she explained.

  ‘And he allowed that dodgy mini-cab driver to perjure himself?’

  ‘We both felt his statement was a load of rubbish, but as you say Dent wanted a result and to be fair to Spilsbury, he did think Connie was guilty.’

  ‘Well I wouldn’t worry about that. Water under the bridge and all that. From what I hear our Chief Constable is beginning to get a reputation for having gained quite a few unsafe convictions on his watch, so I think it’ll be his pension pot giving him sleepless nights from now on.’

  ‘Too late for Spilsbury.’

  ‘Come on, let’s get a coffee. From your local knowledge you should be able to find a place near here selling coffee at police prices, rather than tourist prices.’

  Pleased by Osborne’s affability and his willingness to acknowledge he was no fan of Dent, she put aside any lingering jealousies she had over his rapid rise to a rank she would never hold and led him to one of her favourite cafés hidden away behind the bus station.

  Chapter 22

  Stepping down from the London coach, Debbie Rowe hefted her rucksack on to her shoulders and wondered where would be a good place to stay. Even if Exeter coach station was as uninviting as any of the other municipal coach stations she had seen, it felt good to be back in Devon – well good in a weird sort of way.

  She probably should have told her Mum sooner that she was coming down; however the life of a freelancer was never that well planned and she’d only been able to sell the idea of an in-depth piece on the Devonian backdrop to the Maggie Murders to a friend on the Sundays last night. This might be the break she needed; a piece in the nationals where her local knowledge might pay off!