Cold Coffin

by Nancy Buckingham

  She understood how Kate was feeling, having had a large hand in her upbringing since her mother died when she was only thirteen. She’d watched with pride as her niece had determined on a career and applied to join the police, following in her father’s footsteps. With even greater pride she’d watched as Kate had overcome the shattering blow of losing both husband and young daughter in a horrifying accident, when they were struck down by bank robbers’ getaway car. Detective Chief Inspector Kate Maddox was a well-balanced, dedicated and extremely capable police officer. But there were times when the build-up of pressures brought her to snapping point.

  “Another couple of fingers, Kate? It’ll help you get a good night’s sleep.”

  Chapter Nine

  Inspector Massey followed Kate into her office when she arrived at the Incident Room on Sunday morning.

  “You’d better see this right away, Kate. It was dropped through the letterbox during the night.”

  The note was short, typed (very neatly) on an otherwise plain square of white paper.

  Why don’t you stop hounding honest, God-fearing people when there is a vicious killer right under your nose? A man with a record of unspeakable villainy and depravity! Ask Jessop what he and that woman were up to at midnight last Wednesday.

  “I wonder who the hell it’s from,” mused Frank Massey, re-reading the note over Kate’s shoulder.

  She didn’t need to ponder the question for more than thirty seconds.

  “My money’s on McEvoy, the chief clerk at Croptech. Among the people we’ve questioned he’s the only one I can think of who’d write this sort of crap. I’ve got him pegged as a narrow-minded type, all prissy virtue. You can almost feel the quivering outrage in this note, can’t you? Jessop and that woman. But the clincher to me, Frank, is who else at Croptech is likely to know about Jessop’s prison record? Duncan McEvoy would have access to all the confidential staff records.”

  Frank Massey dug into his index-file memory. “Didn’t he claim to be at home that night? And this was corroborated by his wife when DC Andrews visited her yesterday. So what was McEvoy doing observing Jessop at midnight?”

  “That’s exactly what we’re going to find out, Frank. Where the hell is Boulter? I told him to be here sharp at eight-thirty this morning.”

  “And it’s still only eight twenty-nine and thirty seconds, guv,” said Tim Boulter cheerfully as he walked in the door.

  “Don’t try to be clever, Sergeant. I want McEvoy brought in for further questioning, and I want it done now. Go and see to it. You can read this afterwards.”

  Kate was aware of Boulter’s silent exchange with Frank Massey over her head, though she pretended not to be. Yes, she was in a foul mood this morning. A restless night had left her with a headache which coffee and aspirin had failed to shift. It was totally irrational to allow the episode with Don Trotton to nag at her. Once having landed herself in that absurd situation last night, she hadn’t really handled things too badly. But the aftertaste was still acid in her mouth. Damn the man, damn him to hell!

  Honest, God-fearing people like the McEvoys wouldn’t be Sunday morning lie-abeds. Kate wasn’t surprised, therefore, that when Duncan McEvoy was brought in to her some forty-five minutes later, he was soberly dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and tie, with well-polished shoes. He looked perplexed, all of a fluster. But then, dropping his eyes from her hard stare, he took in the note lying before her on her desk. He turned pale. So, she’d been right.

  “Sit down, Mr. McEvoy. This interview will be tape-recorded. Two tapes will be used, one of which will immediately be resealed and retained as evidence in any court proceedings that may follow. Sergeant!”

  Boulter loaded the machine, pressed the Record button, and performed the necessary preliminaries ... time and place, those present. He then informed McEvoy of his legal rights, and cautioned him. “You do not have to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be given in evidence.”

  “Now, Mr. McEvoy,” Kate began, “I want you to tell me why you sent this anonymous letter about George Jessop.”

  “L—l—letter?” he stammered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I think you do. Of course, if you want to waste police time by forcing us to go through the tedious process of a forensic examination of the letter, then that is what we’ll have to do. It won’t be difficult to prove authorship.”

  This was a bluff. The likelihood of a forensic examination incriminating McEvoy beyond any doubt was far from certain. But luckily the bluff worked.

  “It’s true,” he insisted on a high-pitched note of defiance. “Every single word is true.”

  “So you admit that you wrote the letter?”

  He shrugged and looked sullen. Boulter said, “Please answer the Chief Inspector’s question.”

  “I don’t seem to have much choice, do I? All right, then—yes, I wrote it. But I don’t see why you’re treating me like this. You ought to be grateful to me, for putting you onto the murderer.”

  Kate fixed him with a direct look, and said, “When I interviewed you before, on Thursday, you stated that you’d spent the previous evening at home, except for going out to fetch one of your daughters from guides at around seven forty-five. Yet in this letter you refer to the activities of Mr. Jessop at midnight. How do you explain the discrepancy?”

  He thought about it, while his gaze was held trapped by Kate’s. Then he decided to bluster. “I don’t have to explain anything to you.”

  “That is your right, of course, but you’d be well advised to give me an explanation.”

  More time for thought. A hand came up involuntarily, the thin fingers hovering around his mouth as if to guard incautious words. Finally, he muttered, “I ... I had to go to the office for something I’d forgotten. I didn’t mention it before, it seemed unimportant.”

  “What was it you’d forgotten, Mr. McEvoy?”

  “Really, how can that be relevant? Surely it is what I saw that matters.”

  “Answer the Chief Inspector’s question,” came from Boulter again. “Remember that this is a murder enquiry, sir.”

  McEvoy still looked stubborn. Kate said, quietly but persistently, “If you refuse to answer, I’ll be forced to extend my enquiries. Do you really want my officers interrogating your wife again, and your daughters, your neighbours, and all kinds of people who might conceivably help us to get at the truth?”

  McEvoy’s frame shook with panic, and Kate felt a momentary compassion for him. She watched his inner struggle, saw his realization of defeat. Each word was brought forth slowly, kicking and screaming with reluctance.

  “I’ll have to tell you everything, I suppose. There’s nothing else for it. I am deeply ashamed to have to admit it, Chief Inspector, but I went to Croptech that night for an illegal purpose. In point of fact, to steal.”

  Kate stifled down her surprise. “To steal what, exactly?”

  He sighed, a deep, juddering sigh. “A few months ago an old barn standing within the Croptech grounds was demolished as being surplus to requirements and not worth the expense of repairing. The stone blocks were stacked for possible future use as walling material. My wife and I had often talked of building a decorative wall across our garden to divide off the vegetable plot, and these blocks of weathered Cotswold stone seemed ideal. As we should only require a relatively small amount and as the firm had no plan in mind for it, I ... well, I regret to have to tell you that I helped myself to a few stones from time to time.”

  Kate heard a stifled gurgle from Boulter, and she had a job not to burst out laughing herself. She asked incredulously, “Are you saying that you made a number of trips to Croptech in the dead of night for the purpose of removing some blocks of building stone?”

  “Yes.” He said it in a whisper. “You see, it’s very expensive to buy, Cotswold stone, and ...”

  She wanted to ask him why the hell he hadn’t just requested permission from Sir Noah to help himself to the stu
ff. But that wasn’t relevant to her enquiry.

  “And you went there on Wednesday night this week, the night that Dr. Trent was killed?”

  “Yes. I didn’t know about that then, of course, or I—”

  “Tell me exactly what happened. Tell me what you saw.”

  “Well, I left home about half-past eleven and drove to Croptech. There’s a side gate along the lane near Jessop’s bungalow. On Wednesday night his lights were still on and I didn’t want to risk his hearing me. So I parked my car a little way off, and waited for him to go to bed. But then his front door opened and the dog ran out, followed by Jessop and a woman. They were laughing.” He said that as if it were the final obscenity. A man and a woman laughing together.

  “Could you hear what they were saying, Mr. McEvoy?”

  “Oh no, I wasn’t close enough for that.” His voice had lost some of its deep sense of shame now that he was discussing the iniquities of others. “They walked over to a car that I hadn’t noticed before because it was parked round at the side of the bungalow, and they drove off in it with the dog.”

  “Could you identify the woman?”

  McEvoy shook his head. “A large car came by just then, with its headlights full on. I was dazzled for a while.”

  “Would the other driver have seen them?”

  “No, he couldn’t have, not the direction he was going.”

  “You got a glimpse before you were dazzled,” said Boulter. “Was the woman tall or short?”

  “About average, I’d say.”

  “What was she wearing? Is there anything you can tell us?”

  “No, not really. Just that she looked a bit of a ... well, a tart. You know, lots of hair and the way she was dressed.”

  “What did you think at the time about where they were going?” asked Kate. “What they were doing?”

  “Just that they were up to no good. I mean, a man like that.”

  “A man like that?” She let the query hang.

  “Well, he’s a gaolbird. Maybe you didn’t know that, but I looked the case up in the reference library. He was sentenced to three years imprisonment for killing a young chap, a pupil at the school where he was a teacher. It all came out at the trial that Jessop and this boy ... filthy stuff!”

  “We are perfectly aware of Keith George Jessop’s background, Mr. McEvoy.”

  “Oh!” His face fell with disappointment. “Well then ... you know what a depraved character he is. And now he’s carrying on with women. What I say is, if a man’s killed once, then why not a second time and a third time? It stands to reason.”

  “My advice to you,” Kate said, “is to keep your opinion of Mr. Jessop very much to yourself. Otherwise, you could end up in serious trouble. I shall probably want to talk to you again, but you can go for now.”

  He remained in his seat, looking at her anxiously. “What am I to tell my wife?”

  “That’s up to you. Just remember my warning.”

  “But ... aren’t I going to be charged?”

  “What with?”

  Bewilderment. “Theft, I suppose.”

  “We have had no complaint made to us about building stone being stolen from Croptech. However, I don’t like people who write vicious anonymous letters, though I’m not proposing to take any action on that issue. For the moment.”

  After he’d been escorted out, Boulter returned and said, “I’d call him a prize shit, guv.”

  “Agreed. On the other hand, Tim, the police would have a nice cushy job if there were no worse villains than he is.”

  “You believe his story, do you?”

  “I think he laid his soul bare to us. So, a further chat with George Jessop is indicated.”

  “I’ll have him brought in, then.”

  “No, we’ll go to him. I want to see how he reacts when we confront him with this. If necessary, we can bring him back with us.”

  A hullabaloo of barking greeted Kate and Boulter when they approached Jessop’s bungalow. From inside a sharp order silenced the dog. A minute later Jessop came to the door. No punctilious, God-fearing churchman he! Sunday morning found him slouching around in pyjama bottoms and a crumpled T-shirt. His yellowish-grey hair was still uncombed.

  “What do you want now? Can’t you leave a man alone?” His manner was belligerent, but Kate saw a trace of fear in his eyes.

  “I’ve a few more questions for you, Mr. Jessop. May we come in?”

  “Could I stop you?” he asked, and stood aside.

  The front door opened directly into the living room, where the dog, a cross-bred collie, had retired grumbling to an old blanket on the floor. The furniture in the room was minimal, shabby, obviously bought secondhand. Kate was a little surprised by the number of books around, stacked untidily on every ledge and dumped in piles on the floor. But perhaps it wasn’t to be wondered at, given Jessop’s background; books would be a solace for a man denied the more intellectual career for which he’d been trained.

  “Perhaps you’d like us to wait while you get dressed, Mr. Jessop,” Kate began politely.

  “Why? Are you taking me away?”

  “Not for the moment.”

  “Then I’ll stay just as I am, for the moment.”

  “As you wish.” He hadn’t invited them to sit down, and for this interview Kate preferred the formality of conducting it on her feet. “Mr. Jessop, I want to talk again about Wednesday evening, the night that Dr. Trent was killed. You told Sergeant Boulter that after doing your usual round of the Croptech premises at approximately eight o’clock, you returned here and watched television for the remainder of the evening, going to bed at about eleven-thirty.”

  “What about it?”

  “We now have evidence that this was not a true account. That in fact you were still up at past midnight, that you had a woman with you, and that you and she left here by car together, with your dog.”

  “Who the hell ...”

  “Go on, Mr. Jessop.”

  “Whoever told you that was lying. I was alone that night. I ... I might’ve gone to bed a bit later than I said. And I did take the dog out for a bit of a stroll last thing.”

  “Why didn’t you mention that to Sergeant Boulter?”

  “It didn’t seem important. It’s just routine. A dog must have exercise.”

  “And who was the woman?”

  Jessop glared at her. “I told you, there wasn’t any woman.” He gave a hollow, unconvincing laugh. “I should be so lucky.”

  “It’s women you go for nowadays then, Jessop, is it?” asked Boulter.

  “You’ve no right to let him talk to me like that,” he said furiously, to Kate.

  “It’s a fair enough question in the circumstances,” she said. “What’s your answer?”

  Jessop looked as if he’d like to hit her. The dog sensed this too, and gave a low, threatening growl. Jessop gruffly ordered it to be quiet. The interruption had given him a moment’s thinking time.

  “If you imagine I had anything to do with those two murders, you’re completely up the spout. Beyond being the one to find Trent’s body, I was in no way involved and I have no idea who killed them. That’s all I’m going to say.”

  “That sort of attitude isn’t going to help you,” said Kate in an appeal to reason. “If you’re innocent of these crimes, as you insist you are, then you have nothing to fear from our investigation. But we are intent on discovering the truth about that night. Just the truth.”

  “You wouldn’t have such touching faith in British justice if you were on my side of the fence.”

  Calmly, Kate reverted to her earlier question. “Who was the woman? You might just as well tell us, because we are going to track her down in the end. We’ll be discreet ... as discreet as we possibly can be. But we have to know who she is.”

  “I’m telling you nothing.”

  “You still deny there was anyone with you on Wednesday night?”

  “I’m telling you nothing. Now will you please leave?”

&n
bsp; Boulter was about to object, but Kate checked him with a raised finger. “I’m going to give you the rest of the day to think things over, Mr. Jessop. If you’re not prepared to be straight with us tomorrow, the consequences won’t be very pleasant. Good day to you.”

  Boulter asked, as they were driving away, “You want a surveillance put on him, guv?”

  “No, Tim. Leave him alone for the time being.”

  “You let him off pretty lightly, I reckon.”

  “Do you? The mystery woman might take a different attitude, when he tells her about our visit.”

  “Think he will tell her?”

  “I’m sure of it.”

  “And she’ll make him talk, is that your idea?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, I only hope you’re proved right.” His tone said that he knew she’d be proved wrong.

  Midday Sunday, Kate managed to get home for lunch. A rare treat! Stonebank Cottage was the one place she could relax. Felix put on cold chicken and various salads, with a bowl of ripe peaches to follow.

  “This is my sort of food,” said Kate, helping herself generously.

  “I’m glad you appreciate me, girl.”

  “Oh, I do ...”

  “But?”

  It followed logically for Kate to say, “I lost a house over at Ingram’s Green yesterday. Just because I was too tied up to keep an appointment to view. Damn shame, it sounded ideal for me.”

  Felix nodded her head, and a few more stray hairs broke free from her loose topknot. She tucked them back absentmindedly, jabbing home one of the pins. “So that’s what put you in such a disgusting mood last night.”

  “Mmm!” Kate’s grunt was ambiguous. She had no intention of telling the whole sorry story to her aunt. Don Trotton was best swept firmly under the carpet.

  “Something else will come along soon, girl.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder.”

  Felix took another spoonful of diced beetroot in sour cream. “Pity you had to snap poor Richard’s head off like that.”