by Peter Murphy
Arnold stood and walked over to the window slowly, hands on hips.
‘Possibly,’ he replied. ‘But my money is on someone who wanted to be part of the Rosemary D scene and was feeling left out, rather than someone who was a regular visitor.’
‘Someone who wanted to join in the fun and was watching, biding his time?’ Willis suggested.
‘Exactly. Besides, we have to start somewhere. We don’t want to frighten them off. We need any help they can give us. Obviously, if one of them gives you any reason to suspect him, see if you can find out more. Ask about his movements on Saturday. See if he will give you his fingerprints, so that we can eliminate him. See how he reacts to that.’
‘Leave it to me, sir,’ Willis said. ‘They’re all local lads. I know how to approach them. I’m likely to know most of them, anyway. But if something doesn’t feel right I’ll pick up on it and let you know.’
‘I don’t doubt it for a moment,’ Arnold replied. ‘I also want a list of everyone within the same 20-mile radius who’s been convicted of a sexual offence during the past ten years.’
‘Some of them will still be inside,’ Phillips said. ‘The perfect alibi.’
‘The more serious offenders, yes’ Arnold agreed. ‘But I’m not thinking about them. Something happened here to make our man react to this couple with massive violence. There was probably a sexual motive, but these offences resulted mainly from extreme rage. Remember: our theory is that he wanted to be part of the Rosemary D scene, but couldn’t for some reason. He may be inadequate – unsure of his ability to perform sexually. He may never have gone as far as rape before. He may not have a record at all. But if he does, what kind of offences would this man have committed?’
There was a silence for some time.
‘I see what you’re saying,’ Willis replied eventually. ‘Something like indecent assault – nothing too serious, groping, feeling a girl up, that kind of thing; or even indecent exposure.’
‘Soliciting prostitution,’ Phillips added.
‘Yes,’ Arnold replied. ‘And check anything to do with pornography – books, magazines, films, whatever.’
‘I’ll need some more help,’ Willis said.
‘I’ll put the call out,’ Arnold said. ‘I’m not sure how many more men we can divert from Cambridge. But we’ve got Huntingdon – after all, it’s on their patch. And the Chief Constable can put the word out to other forces that we need help with this one. That’s what chief constables are for. It will give him something to do, make him feel useful.’
‘Speaking of making yourself useful,’ Willis said, in the direction of the door, ‘where do you think you’ve been? You were supposed to be back long before this. I have a couple of inquiries for you to make.’
The uniformed figure of PC Hawthorne had appeared in the doorway. Far from appearing uncomfortable at being derelict in his duty, he seemed rather pleased with himself.
‘Sorry. I was interviewing a witness,’ he replied proudly.
‘Oh, yes?’ Willis replied. ‘And where would you have run into a witness, Hawthorne?’
‘At Mr Brown’s corner shop. It’s on Priory Road,’ Hawthorne replied. ‘He sells cigarettes and newspapers and…’
‘Yes, Hawthorne, I know. I’ve known Joey Brown since before you were born. What does he know about this?’
‘He doesn’t,’ Hawthorne replied defiantly, taking his notebook from the top left pocket of his uniform jacket. ‘But his daughter Mavis does.’
He opened the notebook at the page he wanted, but seemed unsure of whether to continue.
‘Go on, officer,’ Arnold said encouragingly.
‘Mavis was in the shop on Saturday night,’ Hawthorne began, studying the notebook intently. ‘It was just before 11 o’clock. She had been doing some stock-taking and she was about to lock up for the night and go upstairs. They live above the shop, you see…’
‘Go on,’ Arnold said again.
‘Yes, sir. Just as she was about to turn the lights out she saw a young couple at the shop window. They wanted to buy some cigarettes. She opened up for them and sold them two packets of Woodbines. When they left, they were walking towards the meadow. She didn’t see them again. But she did give me a description.’
‘Jennifer and Frank both had Woodbines with them,’ Phillips said.
‘Well, I’m damned,’ Arnold breathed. ‘Well done, lad. You’ve probably found the last person to see them before it happened. I want you to bring her in tomorrow morning. I would like to test her memory a bit more.’
Hawthorne positively beamed. ‘Yes, sir.’ He paused. ‘Actually, there is more…’
Arnold nodded encouragingly.
‘Well, sir, Mavis also saw a man pass the shop just a minute or two after the couple. She had put the lights out by then, and she could see him clearly under a street light. He was walking in the same direction as the couple, towards the meadow. She also gave me a description of this man. He was about the same height as her dad…’
‘Five seven, five eight,’ Willis interjected.
‘He was wearing a raincoat, open, a dark jacket and a red and white checked shirt. He had a dark woollen hat on, so she couldn’t see his hair or eyes. He had heavy brown shoes. She noticed that the shoes looked dirty.’
Hawthorne turned over to the next page of his notebook.
‘And he was whistling a tune.’
‘Oh, yes?’ Arnold asked.
‘Yes, sir,’ Hawthorne replied. ‘She recognised it from a programme on the radio, and she whistled it for her dad when she got upstairs, and asked him what it was. It was the Lincolnshire Poacher.’
Willis had been leaning on the table in front of the desk at which Arnold was sitting. But now he suddenly pushed himself up, quickly, firmly, holding up one arm as if to request silence, and walked over to the window. For some time he stared outside. Eventually, he turned back to Hawthorne.
‘Is she sure about that, Hawthorne?’ he asked. ‘Is she quite sure about that?’
Hawthorne nodded. ‘Positive,’ he replied.
‘Bloody hell,’ Willis said.
10
30 January
PC Willis turned the black Humber Hawk police car off the tow path and drove slowly across the muddy ground to park in front of the lock keeper’s house, at right angles to the house, just to the left of the front door. He switched off the engine and turned towards Detective Superintendent Arnold, who occupied the front passenger seat.
‘This is the house, sir’ he said. ‘If he’s not here, he will be down at the lock, I daresay. We can walk down to the lock in a minute or two if we need to.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost lunch time. He will probably be making his way back to the house about now.’
They climbed out of the car and surveyed the house. DI Phillips, getting out of the back of the car, joined them.
‘He wouldn’t spend all day at the lock then, in case there are boats wanting to use it?’ he asked.
Willis shook his head. ‘There’s not the volume of traffic for that. He will have his regulars, and he will know roughly what time to expect them. A lot of the traffic depends on the tides, anyway, and he knows all about the tides. But if anyone else comes unannounced, a leisure boat, say, on no particular schedule, they just have to ring the bell and wait for him. They have no choice, really. He would get there quickly enough unless he’s upstream, doing maintenance.’
‘Let’s see if there’s anyone at home,’ Arnold said. He approached the front door and knocked loudly three times. There was no response. Arnold knocked again. This time, he shouted out. ‘It’s the police. Is there anyone home?’
Again, there was no response from the door. But a small, thin woman made her way cautiously around the side of the house from the rear. She wore a clean blue dress with a design of white leaves, and flat blue shoes. Over the dre
ss she wore a white apron, tied at the back; and over the apron, hanging down between her small breasts, she wore a striking gold cross on a chain. She paused at the corner of the house, as if uncertain whether to approach any further.
‘Can I help you?’ she asked timidly.
Willis, the only one in uniform, walked over to her quietly. He had noticed her hesitancy, and had no wish to alarm her.
‘I’m PC Willis, from St Ives, Miss Cottage,’ he said. ‘It’s Eve, isn’t it?’
She nodded silently.
‘These gentlemen with me are plain clothes officers from Cambridge, Detective Superintendent Arnold and Detective Inspector Phillips. We would like a word with your brother, Billy. Is he at home?’
She shook her head, again silently.
‘Are you expecting him back? Do you know where we might find him?’
She seemed lost in thought for some seconds.
‘He’s at the lock,’ she replied. ‘There was a long unpowered barge due in, mid-morning. He has to open the lock and walk the horse. They take some time to deal with, those long ones. Then he was due home for lunch. But those unpowered barges are often late. It can be the weather, the currents, you know, or some problem with the horse. You never know. He’s probably been held up. Would you like to come in and wait?’
‘Thank you,’ Willis replied.
She left her refuge by the wall and led the way slowly to the front door, which was unlocked. She pushed it open and walked into the living room. The officers followed. She stood still in front of the battered oak sideboard on the far side of the room, arms folded, looking down at the floor.
‘Would you like some tea?’ she asked, mechanically, without looking up.
‘No, thank you, Miss Cottage. Don’t let us stop you if you have things to do. We will be perfectly all right here until Billy gets back.’ Willis replied.
He turned towards Arnold and Phillips, who were looking around the room. It was cluttered and untidy. A bottle of Dewars, half empty, stood on a small table at the side of the armchair, next to a single dirty glass. On the dining table were two white candles in cheap wooden candlesticks, the candles burned most of the way down, and around the bases of the candlesticks, pools of solid candle wax, attached like rough white limpets to the yellowing lace table cloth. Looking at Arnold, Willis diverted his gaze to the gold cross and back again, no more than a second or two. An almost imperceptible nod from Arnold told him he had not missed it.
Eve raised her head slightly and smiled nervously. ‘I’m sorry the house is such a mess,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been into town, shopping, this morning. I haven’t had time to clear up.’
‘Not to worry, Miss Cottage,’ Arnold said. ‘You weren’t expecting us.’
Her head sank back down. ‘No,’ she replied.
Arnold took two steps towards her, as if to get a better look.
‘I hope you don’t think I’m staring,’ he said. ‘That’s a beautiful cross and chain you have. It reminds me of one I’ve seen before, in a photograph. Have you had it long? Family heirloom, perhaps?’
She unfolded her arms to take the cross in her left hand. She looked at it intently before looking back up at Arnold and smiling, less nervously now.
‘Billy gave it to me,’ she said proudly. ‘He takes good care of me, he is very nice to me.’
‘I’m sure he is,’ Arnold replied. ‘When did he give it to you? For Christmas, your birthday?’
‘No. My birthday is not until May. He gives me things all the time. He gave me this on Tuesday.’
‘What, this Tuesday, just gone?’
‘Yes.’
Phillips had also approached.
‘I bet that cost a few bob,’ he said, introducing a hint of jealousy into his tone. ‘I wish I could afford something like that for my wife. On my salary I’d have to save up for it for years.’
She laughed out loud at their ignorance.
‘He didn’t buy it,’ she explained. ‘He found it. He finds all kinds of things when he’s working, doesn’t he?’
‘Oh, does he?’ Phillips asked. ‘That must come in handy. Where does he find things, what kinds of places?’
‘Everywhere,’ she said. ‘At the lock after a boat has passed through; on the banks of the river after they’ve had a picnic; in town; on the banks of the river, mostly. Billy says people leave all kinds of things there. He says you’d be amazed how careless people can be.’ Her head sank again. ‘I suppose I should have taken it to the police station really, shouldn’t I? But… am I in trouble?’ Her voice was quiet again now, sad.
Arnold smiled. ‘Not from us,’ he said. ‘And I’m sure Constable Willis understands.’
‘No need to worry about it,’ Willis agreed soothingly.
‘But, Eve,’ Arnold said, ‘I think I may know who lost this cross and chain. As I say, I’m sure I’ve seen a photograph of it. It’s quite valuable, and it’s of sentimental value to the owner – it belonged to her grandmother. I’m going to have to take it to see if it’s the one she lost. If not, I’ll bring it back, I promise.’
For some moments, Eve clutched the cross desperately, looking stricken. But then, with a look of resignation, she lifted the chain up over her head and held it out in front of her, offering it to him, giving it one last squeeze. Arnold took it gently from her, wrapping it in a clean white handkerchief.
‘Did she lose it on the bank of the river?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ Arnold replied. ‘Well, close to the river.’
‘She must be very sad. I hope she will be happy to get it back.’
‘I’m sure she will,’ Arnold said.
The front door opened behind him. A male voice, calling out loudly.
‘Eve, I’m back. Where’s my lunch?’
Arnold turned towards the door.
‘You will be having lunch with us today, Billy,’ he said.
Billy Cottage stared blankly at the intruders in his house. Eve tried to make herself as small as possible in front of the sideboard.
‘Who are these people?’ he demanded of her. ‘If they need the lock they can ring the bell and wait, can’t they? They are not supposed to come to the house.’
‘I’m sorry, Billy,’ she said. ‘I…’
‘You shouldn’t have let them in.’
‘I’m sorry.’
Then Billy saw PC Willis in his uniform and froze.
Phillips took one arm. Willis approached and took the other.
‘Billy Cottage,’ Phillips said. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of…’
He looked at Arnold.
‘Larceny by finding,’ Arnold said. ‘For now.’
‘…on suspicion of larceny by finding. Do you wish to say anything? You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be put in writing and given in evidence.’
‘I don’t know what you are talking about,’ Billy replied.
Phillips jotted his response in his notebook.
* * *
Billy sat between Arnold and Phillips in the back of the Hawk as Willis drove them back to St Ives police station. Billy made no further statement, but the officers distinctly heard him singing to himself, softly, under his breath.
When I was bound apprentice in famous Lincolnshire,
Full well I served my master for nigh on seven years,
Till I took up to poaching as you shall quickly hear,
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.
Success to every gentleman that lives in Lincolnshire,
Success to every poacher that wants to sell a hare,
Bad luck to every gamekeeper that will not sell his deer,
Oh, ’tis my delight on a shiny night in the season of the year.
11
St Ives police sta
tion had only one room that could be used for interviews, and it was far too small for the purpose. As he lowered himself carefully on to the hard wooden chair, square and solid, with its straight back and hard padded seat, and placed his file of papers on the small wooden table that separated him from Billy Cottage, Detective Superintendent Arnold reflected that this was hardly surprising. They probably didn’t have too many long interviews to conduct in St Ives during a normal year. But this was not turning out to be a normal year at St Ives police station. Instead of its normal complement of two or three officers, the place was swarming with uniformed officers from Huntingdon and Cambridge. They went out periodically to comb the river bank by the Rosemary D, and to make inquiries in town, then returned to hand in their reports to PS Livermore. The sergeant had been recalled urgently from leave, and was none too pleased about it. But he was now working with DI Phillips to coordinate and analyse the information obtained. Mercifully, Arnold’s chief constable had so far kept Scotland Yard at bay, but Arnold had to phone in reports on a regular basis to allay the concerns that went up to a very high level in any case such as this. The hours of work put in by so many officers were beginning to pay off. Arnold now had some solid information, and the time had come to ask Billy Cottage some questions.
‘As you already know, Mr Cottage, I am Detective Superintendent Arnold, from Cambridgeshire Police. We are working with Huntingdonshire Police on this case. My colleague here, Detective Inspector Phillips, will be making notes of this interview. First, I must remind you of the caution you were given earlier. You are not obliged to say anything unless you wish to do so, but what you say may be put in writing and given in evidence. But whether or not you wish to speak to me, I will now put certain questions to you. First, can you confirm that you are William Cottage, and that you live at the lock keeper’s house at Fenstanton, near St Ives?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Cottage… It’s Billy, isn’t it? Do you mind if I call you Billy? It will make it easier, won’t it?’
