by BK Duncan
Colonel Tindal grunted as if he wanted to take Dr Swan to task over this as well, but instead settled for dismissing him with a curt wave. May caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. PC Collier, who along with Mr Elliott had been waiting for them on their return from Limehouse, was motioning that he had something to contribute. She signalled that to the coroner by tapping on the court Bible with her pencil. He responded with a nod and May escorted the policeman over to the witness stand and swore him in.
‘Detective Inspector Beecham - unhappily now taken to his bed - asked me to conduct further enquiries in the course of which I heard talk of someone who might have seen something. I am hoping to be able to let the court know who that person is shortly.’ He returned to his seat.
May wondered if it had been worth the effort of the oath. But PC Collier had been right to raise it formally in front of the jury. Colonel Tindal hated surprises.
The coroner looked at his watch. ‘In addition to this mystery witness, on behalf of the jury, I instruct my officer to trace and issue warrants to all the friends and associates of the dead man who may have something relevant to contribute. This inquest is adjourned to be reconvened at a date to be announced.’ He stood. ‘God save the King.’
Chapter Sixteen
Much of the following day proved to be unremarkable. PC Collier came in with the details of his witness - a Chinaman who he said worked in a laundry in Pennyfields - and the rest of the time was taken up making a first stab at compiling the annual statistical report required by the London County Council. There were no new arrivals in the mortuary, and Colonel Tindal hadn’t been around to add to her workload. But she had been too quick to thank her lucky stars because he came in as May was gathering her things to go home.
‘I want you to accompany me to Epping. There is a taxicab outside. Mr Elliott has requested an interview which I have granted.’
‘My sister is appearing in a stage production and I promised to go through her paces with her this evening.’
‘If you’re not up to the job of coroner’s officer, Miss Keaps, then I will find someone who is.’
May could see that, for once, he wasn’t issuing it as an idle threat. Why was it so crucial she be there? In fact, why was he even going at all? It wasn’t unheard of for relatives to ask to see the coroner during an inquest - especially if they were rich or influential and wanted certain aspects of their lives to remain private - but he’d always asked her to write a formal letter of refusal. Why not this time? He was flushed and a little agitated but no more so than when he’d come back from one of his Coroners’ Society lunches. He was tapping his watch. She had to go. Alice would understand. Or rather she wouldn’t, but she’d just have to accept it.
***
The trip into Essex seemed to take forever. After two stops to ask directions, the cabdriver pulled into a long avenue of imposing houses with neat front gardens. May wondered what it would cost to live somewhere like this. Except Mr Elliott would no doubt trade every perfectly manicured blade of grass to have his son back. The thought jolted her out of her shallow preoccupations; Colonel Tindal was right, she had a job to do and this meeting might well furnish some valuable information about what had happened to Miles Elliott.
A maid showed them into a room furnished with high-backed leather armchairs, and shelves of books running around the walls. May suspected it was Mr Elliott’s domain; there was a painting of a three-masted schooner in full sail above the fire. She waited for Colonel Tindal to tell her whether he wanted her to take a deposition but he was pacing on the rug as if regretting his decision to come.
‘Sit. Sit. Do sit. Can I get you anything?’
Mr Elliott stood on the threshold for a moment before closing the door behind him. He looked to have shrunk since the inquest, the sleeves of his jacket were hanging over his hands and his stand-up collar floated around his neck. May perched on the edge of the chair closest to her. Colonel Tindal took the one opposite. Mr Elliott walked over to the sideboard then turned around brandishing a decanter.
‘Drink? I’m having one.’
May shook her head. Colonel Tindal accepted a large measure of something that looked to be whisky.
‘Thank you for journeying out here.’ Mr Elliott cradled his glass in his hand as he crumpled into the chair bedside the fireplace. ‘Since it happened I’ve not wanted to leave my wife for any longer than strictly necessary. She isn’t taking it well - not at all well. Would anyone? After all, it’s not what you ever expect to do, is it? A parent’s worst nightmare in fact, to have to bury their child. She’s under heavy sedation - doctor calls in twice a day. I don’t know what will become of her, really I don’t. Never been strong on nerves.’
It was as if words were the only thing giving substance to his presence. May wanted to tell him that it was all right, that she understood how he was scared he’d explode if he let any thought stay in his head for too long. Colonel Tindal drained his glass and held it out for a refill. Now she understood. This was why he’d had to come: to plug the gaping hole in his life with someone else’s pain. Two bereaved fathers together. She felt she should tiptoe from the room.
Mr Elliott poured the coroner more whisky then walked over to stand in front of May. He reached into his pocket and for one terrible moment she thought he was going to pull out a weapon - a razor or knife - to end his suffering. But it was a piece of paper.
‘I made a list. His friends. I told them you’d be contacting them. The only one I couldn’t get hold of was his ex-fiancée. They broke up a few months ago. She’s abroad visiting the Italian Lakes. But her brother, Richard Weatherby, will be available if you need him.’ He handed the neatly annotated sheet to May. ‘I thought that if I got things moving then maybe we could get this over as quickly as possible. She won’t have to come into court, will she? My wife, I mean. I don’t think she’d be up to that.’
May waited for Colonel Tindal to answer but he looked as though he hadn’t heard a single word since Mr Elliott had asked him if he’d wanted a drink.
‘No, I think that should be fine. Do you know when she last saw your son?’
His moustache quivered. May wanted to reach out and stroke his hand.
‘Miles was often away from home. Ships docking in the night, storms at sea, urgent orders to be fulfilled; all that sort of thing meant he had to be on hand and he’d sleep in the office for days on end sometimes. He was due for another long stint over a ship from the East - we import for the Barley-Freeman Company - but he came home just before.’
May recognised the name. They were the people sponsoring the talent show at the Gaiety. The son was impresario and director. She’d make a note to pay a visit when they were next rehearsing. Mr Elliott cleared his throat.
‘For a decent meal and a hot bath, he said. The next morning Elsie, our maid, took my wife breakfast in bed. Miles had packed a few clean clothes and left the house by then. The last thing he said was a joke about his mother being like the Lady of Shalott and life passing her by up in her tower...’
He went back and refilled Colonel Tindal’s glass for the third time. He hadn’t touched a drop of his own.
‘You’ve seen more of this sort of thing than me - obviously you have - but what I don’t understand is why he would have taken drugs. The doctor said he used opium, didn’t he? I don’t recall anything else about what he had to say but I do remember that. It’s one of the reasons I’d rather Mrs Elliott wasn’t there. I haven’t told her. I know she wouldn’t be able to bear a stranger saying that about her boy. I found it hard enough, I can tell you. Do you know why he did? Why people do? I just don’t see that he’d have a reason to. He was happy. Here with us. So much to live for, you see. I was grooming him to take over the business. “One day all this will be yours, son,” I said. And now it never will be.’ His voice broke. He coughed. ‘You might as well know I’m shutting up s
hop at Elliott Shipping. There’s no point any more, is there?’
‘You have so much hope for their future from the moment they are born.’
May had been wrong about Colonel Tindal not listening: he had felt every word. He stood up a little unsteadily.
‘The taxicab is waiting. Miss Keaps will set the inquest for Tuesday 30th in the afternoon. I promise we will see an end to this dreadful business by the end of next week. Tell your wife she shall have her son back then.’ He laid his hand on Mr Elliott’s shoulder. ‘Although you will grieve for him as much as you loved him, it will never be enough. If you live to see doomsday, it will never be enough.’
***
The driver gave her a funny look as May helped Colonel Tindal into the taxicab. As well he might; the coroner had tears rolling down his cheeks. May gave his address in Highgate as their destination but he insisted she be dropped off in Poplar first. She didn’t think it wise to argue.
They were on the road skirting Epping Forest when she decided she could no longer keep quiet about his promise to Mr Elliott.
‘It’s already Thursday and what with the weekend and the influenza, we might not have the toxicology report by Tuesday.’
‘What?’
‘You asked me to set the date for the inquest.’
‘So I did, my dear girl, so I did. Whatever the good doctors say won’t bring him back though, will it?’
He was no longer weeping but his voice held the sad defeat of so many men his age who’d seen too many wars come and go.
‘But the death certificate won’t be signed by the end of the week.’
‘A mother needs her son.’
‘Dr Swan wasn’t able to determine what killed him; we’ll have to call on expert testimony.’
‘He did it.’
‘Who?’
‘The Chink dope peddler with the fancy suits. I’ll indict him. I’ll say he did it and the boy can be buried.’
May was sure he didn’t mean that, he was drunk and upset. His face had turned puffy and was an unhealthy puce.
‘Are you feeling all right? Colonel Tindal...’ She took his hand in both of hers. ‘Would you like me to get the driver to stop somewhere so you can have a drink of water?’
‘A drink. Yes. That’s what I need, another drink.’
They were driving into the outskirts of Bow; May could see the hulks of the gasometers in the distance. She really didn’t feel comfortable leaving him like this.
‘Will Mrs Tindal be in when you get back?’
‘There is no Mrs Tindal. She died. Not long after.’
May hadn’t known that. Why would she? The only things she’d ever gleaned about his life away from court had been from the newspapers. Mrs Tindal’s demise hadn’t rated a mention. The poor man, no wonder he sought solace in a bottle.
‘Let me come back with you.’
He reached up with his free hand and stroked her cheek. ‘You’ll make a lovely wife and mother one day. Please don’t waste any of your concern on me; my housekeeper will make sure I get tucked up safe and sound. You see, I do know when I’ve had a little too much... it seems I’ve always had a little too much...’
He rested his head against the window and fell asleep. May leaned forward. ‘Can you drop me here? By the tram stop.’
The driver pulled over. May got out and handed him the fare, what she assumed was enough for the onward journey, and a generous tip.
‘Take the coroner home. And wait until you see him safely inside, will you? He’s not well.’
‘Don’t worry, ducks, I’ll take care of granddad. Reckon I’d be poorly, right enough, with that much inside me.’
May resisted the urge to tear him off a strip for his cheek. Instead she waited until the taxicab drove off and then joined the queue for the southbound tram to Poplar railway station.
Chapter Seventeen
In the morning, May was at her desk by seven-thirty. If she spoke to the woman at St Mary’s and reminded her of how understanding they’d been about that late pathology report on the soldier with a bullet in his guts then perhaps she would ask the chemical analyst to make Miles Elliott top priority. The warrants she would type up and get in the post by first collection. She could call around to each of the jury in person and tell them they would be required on Tuesday. Not forgetting PC Collier and his witness. She’d pulled together a non-preliminary inquest in less time than this before. Even though it was unlikely that a verdict could be reached by the end of next week, no one could say she hadn’t done what she could to move things along. The coroner had given his word and after last night it mattered to May terribly that he shouldn’t be seen to have been deliberately lying.
It was late afternoon and she was in the vestibule pinning up the official notification of the date and time of Miles Elliott’s inquest when the street door opened.
‘May, my dear.’
Dr Swan.
‘I’m glad I caught you. I wanted you to hear it from me.’
‘Alice?’
Was her name going to be forever first on her lips?
‘No, not Alice. But it isn’t good news, I’m sorry to say. Let’s go into what’s laughingly called your office; I think it best if you were to sit down.’
May felt her legs wobble. She was grateful for Dr Swan’s arm as he led her the few yards to her desk.
‘Won’t be a minute.’
He disappeared down the corridor to the coroner’s chambers. When he came back he was carrying a bottle of brandy and a glass.
‘Medicinal. Here, drink this.’
May was too confused, and distressed by all the awful things he hadn’t said, to refuse. The spirit was so smooth she hardly felt it on the way down.
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you that Colonel Tindal died in the night. I was called to attend him late evening but nothing could be done.’
‘I... I didn’t know you were his doctor.’
Why was that the only thing she could think of to say?
‘The old devil wouldn’t have anyone else, said he was overly familiar with the results of practitioners with butcher’s hands. It was all too predictable I’m afraid - he was fast approaching his allotted three score years and ten, was overweight, had gout, took no exercise, and drank too much. What we, in the business, with our gallows’ humour, call a death certificate waiting to happen.’
The taxicab ride together replayed itself slowly. May should have insisted on going back with him. At least tried to stop him accepting so much of Mr Elliott’s hospitality. She hadn’t realised he was that ill. But perhaps it wasn’t anything that would have responded to treatment. She remembered the look of hopeless misery on his face when he’d been referring to his son’s lost future. Was it possible not to want to live any more? Not to do anything about it like her father, but to allow yourself to die because the alternative contained nothing but years of unutterable bleakness.
‘Go home, my dear. Doctor’s orders. If there are any new arrivals, then your caretaker will only be able to slot them into the mortuary anyway until a substitute coroner can be tracked down. So there will be nothing you can do here. Lots of sweet tea - and sleep, if you can manage it. I’ll stay while you lock up then walk with you as far as the end of Chrisp Street. Mrs Stibbings has another baby she’ll need help delivering. The relentless circle of life, eh? Do try and see it like that if you can; trust me, it makes the whole messy process so much easier to deal with.’
***
It took a while for her to get the key to turn in the lock. She hadn’t gone home. With Alice at work there was nothing there to take her mind off what had happened. The workshop was gloomy and reeked of petroleum. May didn’t trust herself not to blow everything up by attempting to start the generator and wondered if she could open the large doors instead. Th
e bolts set into the holes in the concrete floor slipped up easily enough; she should’ve known Tom would never have allowed anything to succumb to the grip of rust. The doors swung on their pivots as she walked them aside. The Norton was uncovered in the centre of the room. With the wheels on and the footrest down it looked as if the rider had just hopped off for a cup of tea or bite to eat.
May found a pair of Tom’s overalls hanging over the end of his workbench and slipped them on. The arms and legs needed rolling over but they were baggy enough in the crotch to accommodate her skirt, and smelled of nothing worse than coal-laden smoke and stale coffee. He’d left a bundle of rags and a tin of metal polish for her. The tears that had been clogging her throat fought for release. It was the little kindnesses that always took her by surprise. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside the slender exhaust pipe and let them fall.
For a while she tried to pretend she was crying for Colonel Tindal. But she knew it was really for herself. For the way everything that had ever come close to fulfilling who she was got snatched away. First it had been the ambulance work in France, now her job as coroner’s officer - it was certain she wouldn’t be allowed to keep it. It wasn’t fair. The cold damp of the concrete set her muscles trembling until she was shaking and sobbing as she hadn’t since they’d received the news of Albert and Henry’s deaths. And even then she’d had to take herself away like a wounded animal to cry in private. The thought of never seeing her brother again had made her ache with a pain that dragged at the very centre of her being. They had shared so much together, including the affection of his best friend. She and Henry had never actually discussed the fact of marriage but they had both known it would happen in time. And now that future was gone. Everyone had left her. Everyone but Alice, and that would come soon enough.
