The Coopers Field Murder

by Wonny Lea

‘As you know, my French is pretty good, and Lieutenant Beaumont speaks English quite well so we had no problems communicating. I got the message that although they are not chasing Lefevre in relation to what he called “red-collar crime” there is a general feeling amongst his officers that Lefevre is a nasty piece of work.’

  Matt pondered. ‘Red-collar crime is not a category we generally refer to, guv, and we do tend to consider all white-collar criminals as non-violent. However I did read a paper once where the researcher found that the majority of white-collar criminals do display violent tendencies, and many do become dangerous individuals, with some turning in desperation to red-collar crime.’

  ‘Let’s hope Lefevre doesn’t decide to display those tendencies during our visit,’ replied Martin. ‘I’ve got emergency numbers entered into my phone in case we run into any problems.’

  ‘Good thinking,’ responded Matt.

  ‘I intend telling Charlotte Lefevre and her husband that we’re following up on a missing persons report and are anxious to know the whereabouts of Mrs Daphne Mansfield, Charlotte’s mother. I very much doubt that she will be at their home and I suspect they will tell us that she’s being looked after in the nursing home. Only I know she is not!

  ‘As you know we have tried several times, without any success, to make contact with the Maison de Retraite but most of our calls have ended with the phone either being left off the hook their end or the receiver being replaced in the middle of a conversation. I don’t know what sort of place it is but thankfully I already have information that means we won’t need to go there to find out. I got the information as the result of one final effort to communicate by phone, and about four o’clock yesterday I actually spoke to someone who seemed to understand what I wanted.

  ‘Her name was Annette, and she remembered Mrs Mansfield as she had been on duty when the private ambulance arrived to take her to her sister’s home in Wales. She said that all hell broke loose when the owner of the home knew Daphne had gone, because he had a special arrangement with her son-in-law Monsieur Lefevre to keep her safe and alive. She couldn’t elaborate on that because she didn’t know what it meant.

  ‘I asked her if Mrs Mansfield was happy to be back and for a moment there was silence and I thought she had put the phone down. When she did speak she said if I had been given to understand that Mrs Mansfield was there, I had been misinformed. Mrs Mansfield was not there, she had never been back, and the last time Annette had seen her was the day she left in the private ambulance.’

  ‘So the maid lied when she said that Daphne Mansfield was outside the house and that the Lefevres were taking her back to the nursing home?’ queried Matt.

  ‘Maybe lied, or maybe just believed what she had been told: we will have to ask her,’ suggested Martin.

  There were some quite stunning properties in the area they were passing through, and according to the route calculations they were nearly at their destination. The house they pulled up outside was a converted stone barn, and it was obvious that the original building had been extended and the whole renovation had been done to a very high specification.

  It was not a recent project, and from the way the stone had weathered Martin guessed that it had been reconstructed about thirty years ago. The mature shrubs and trees in the garden fitted with that sort of timescale. It also fitted in with the time that the Lefevres, as a young married couple, would have moved to the area, and with the support of their respective families been able to build the house of their dreams. Whatever else they were going to find out about the family there was no doubt that they had expensive tastes.

  ‘Great property,’ said Matt. ‘Worth a bomb, I bet.’

  ‘Well, if you transported it in its entirety back to one of the suburbs of Cardiff you would be looking at well in excess of a million, and if you put it on Blackheath Common you could come close to doubling that – but it’ll be worth a lot less here. That’s the nature of the property market, and generally speaking house prices over here are much less than back home.’

  The two detectives were standing alongside Martin’s car and looking at the elaborate design of the property, but even as Martin was speaking it was becoming obvious that they were being watched from inside the house.

  Matt confirmed Martin’s suspicions. ‘Curtain twitcher on the ground floor – third window along – shortish woman with curly brown hair – probably late fifties.’

  Making certain they were not seen looking in the direction of their watcher, Matt opened the very heavy, burgundy-coloured iron-gate, and both men walked down a short path towards the front door. Martin rang the doorbell and after a moment rang it again.

  ‘I can’t hear it ringing at all,’ commented Matt. ‘Maybe it isn’t working, but we were definitely spotted coming towards the house so why doesn’t someone come to the door?’

  ‘Well we haven’t come all this way just to be left standing outside,’ said Martin and this time he used the heavy brass knocker bringing it down on its striker several times and ensuring that anyone in the house would have to hear it.

  A middle-aged woman with blue-black hair answered the door and in a high-pitched but very loud voice asked them what they thought they were doing. She spoke in French and Martin translated although Matt had already got a good understanding of what she had said just by her frantic gesticulation and the look of fury on her face.

  Both men took out their warrant cards and Martin, speaking in French, confirmed their identities and explained that they were there to see Monsieur et Madame Lefevre.

  This official action had an instant response and the woman suddenly smiled politely and asked them into the hall. She pointed to a couple of matching oak chairs on either side of a semi-circular table and then she hurried off towards the back of the house.

  Neither of them sat down and Matt wandered to the edge of the spiral staircase and looked up towards the first floor. The walls in the spacious hall and all the way up the stairs were wood-panelled and hanging on each of the middle panels was an oil painting. ‘It’s all a bit over the top for my taste,’ remarked Matt. ‘I couldn’t make a comment about any of the art as I’m no expert, but it looks more as if it hasn’t been bought to be appreciated for itself but more as just a statement of wealth.

  Martin knew exactly what Matt meant and was nodding his agreement when the woman, who they had both taken to be the housekeeper, returned. To the surprise of both men she spoke to them in English.

  ‘My name is Madame Sheldon and I am sorry I was angry when I opened the door, but we have had some bother recently and I thought you were here to make more trouble.’

  ‘What sort of trouble, Madame?’ said Martin, fishing for any information he could get.

  ‘Oh just business, just business,’ came the reply. Madame Sheldon was clearly already regretting having mentioned the word trouble. ‘I am sorry to inform you that there is no one at home at this moment, and I really have no idea when either Madame Lefevre or her husband is likely to return.’

  Martin chose to ignore what he knew to be a lie, but he made a mental note of just how easily this woman could lie on behalf of her employers.

  ‘That’s not a problem,’ he said. ‘You are also on our list of people to see, so if you are able to spare us a few minutes of your time we can take a statement from you while waiting for the others to return.’

  She was trapped by her lie and now looked a bit scared. ‘What do you mean, take a statement from me? I know nothing about Monsieur Lefevre’s business dealings or any of the people he deals with.’ She was wringing her hands now and getting more and more agitated. Martin realised that she thought they were there as part of the investigation Lieutenant Beaumont had told him about.

  ‘Madame Sheldon,’ he reassured her. ‘We also know nothing about Monsieur Lefevre’s business, and for the moment it is of no interest to us, but we are very keen to talk to Mrs Daphne Mansfield and for you to tell us when you last saw her. Is she living here?’

  Mada
me Sheldon brushed back her rather obviously dyed hair and with some difficulty got herself under control. ‘No, no. Madame Mansfield has not lived here for a long time – let me think. She came here with her daughter a few years ago and wasn’t here that long, possibly about three months, when her health deteriorated and as Madame Lefevre couldn’t cope the old lady went to a nursing home.’

  ‘I haven’t seen her since then but I know a couple of weeks ago the nursing home rang Madame to tell her that her mother had gone back to Wales.’

  ‘How did Madame react to the news?’ asked Martin.

  ‘Well, I don’t think Madame was too bothered, but she knew her husband would be angry and he was very …’ she tailed off.

  Martin was concerned that Madame Sheldon was realising she was saying more than she should, so he took another tack and tried good old-fashioned flattery. ‘You speak excellent English, Madame Sheldon, although there is no doubt from your accent that your birth place is France. Have you spent much time in the UK? – it’s definitely not American English’

  ‘No, I have never been to the United States, and in fact only once to England. On that one occasion I met Oliver Sheldon, a tailor from Sussex, and he followed me back to France and we lived here for the next twenty years. In all that time he never learned to speak French and so it was left to me to learn English. I was grateful for that, as when he died I applied for a job as housekeeper here and only got it because Madame was keen to take on someone who spoke her own native language.’

  Martin helped the conversation get back to where she had left off. ‘You were saying that Monsieur Lefevre was not pleased to hear that his mother-in-law had gone back to Wales.’

  This time there was no stopping her. ‘That’s the understatement of the year,’ she blurted out. ‘He was absolutely furious, and for hours I heard him shouting and smashing china and threatening Madame. He said he would go to her Aunt Elsie’s house and sort things out once and for all, but then in his usual way he calmed down and poured Madame a drink and asked me to join them. He can be a most charming man and it wasn’t long before Madame told me that they were both going to Cardiff to see if they could persuade her mother to come back to France. She even told me that her husband was going to make arrangements for Mrs Mansfield to live here and so I was really surprised when I learned they were on their way to the nursing home.’

  Martin stopped her. ‘Look Madame Sheldon, this part is very important – can you remember exactly how you came to know about the nursing home?’

  ‘Yes, it was a couple of weeks ago, on a Wednesday morning, and they had gone to Cardiff the day before. I hadn’t been up long but I had eaten breakfast, so it was probably about nine thirty. That would be right because when I asked Madame about it the following day she told me they had taken the overnight ferry from Portsmouth to Caen. Most people would take three hours from Caen to here but Monsieur Lefevre drives far too fast for my liking.’

  ‘So did they all call in here on the way to the nursing home, at least for a comfort break, or perhaps you made breakfast for them?’ suggested Martin.

  ‘Well of course I would have made them breakfast, but I didn’t get the chance. Monsieur Lefevre came through the front door and rushed to the study, that’s the room through that door,’ she pointed. ‘All he said was he needed the documentation for Mrs Mansfield to be readmitted to the home. Next thing I heard him starting his engine and I saw them driving off.’

  ‘Do you actually recall seeing Madame Lefevre and Mrs Mansfield in the car?’ asked Martin. ‘Please think very carefully because as I said it is important.’

  ‘Well, if I really think about it, then no, I didn’t actually see them but obviously they were there because Madame told me the next day about the journey.’

  ‘But at the time you didn’t actually see them?’

  ‘No – but why is that important?’

  ‘I’m not sure if it is,’ replied Martin. ‘I’m just trying to get a true picture of things as they happened. When you spoke to Madame Lefevre the following day did she tell you why there had been a change of plans? From what you said earlier the original thinking was to bring Mrs Mansfield back here to live, so why the change of heart?’

  ‘I asked that very question,’ responded Madame Sheldon. ‘At first Madame avoided giving me an answer but then I heard her talking to her husband and later she told me that her mother had made some very good friends at the nursing home and hadn’t wanted to leave them in the first place. It was only out of loyalty to her sister that she had gone back to Wales and according to Madame, all her sister, Miss Forrester, wanted her for was to pay the bills. Can you believe that? The poor woman is better off away from all the family and spending time with those nice friends she has made at Maison de Retraite, at least they don’t want her for her money.’

  Martin looked at the woman perched on the edge of the table and recognised that beneath the over-dyed hair and the prematurely wrinkled face was a kind and astute woman, and he wondered how she would fare when things went belly up for the Lefevres.

  ‘What would you say if I told you that Mrs Mansfield is not in the nursing home and that in fact no one there has seen her since she left to go back to Wales?’ As Martin spoke the words he watched closely for the response and when it came he was totally convinced.

  ‘But they took her back there, Monsieur said they were on their way there and Madame told me how pleased her mother was to see her friends again. I don’t understand what you are saying – it doesn’t make a scrap of sense.’

  Because she looked so shocked Matt took her arm and helped her off the edge of the table. ‘Is there somewhere more comfortable you could sit?’ he suggested. ‘Maybe you’d like a glass of water?’

  Still looking bewildered, Madame Sheldon led the men to a small lounge that she explained was the one she had prepared ready for Mrs Mansfield to use. ‘So where is she? Oh, I see. For one minute I thought something terrible had happened to her, but maybe you are here because she has made her way back to Cardiff. Is that it?’

  Martin shook his head. ‘We can’t be sure where she is,’ he told her. ‘She is definitely not at the nursing home and we had hoped to find her here but that is clearly not the case.’

  ‘No, she is not here,’ was the reply. ‘But there is at least one person who must know where she is and that’s Madame Lefevre.’

  ‘So will you fetch her for us, please?’ asked Martin and before waiting for a reply he added, ‘We saw her partially hidden behind one of the curtains as we approached the house – her resemblance to her aunt is too strong for it not to be her. Please Madame Sheldon – I really do need to ask her some questions.’

  ‘You and me both!’ said Madame Sheldon leaving the room and also leaving the detectives in no doubt that she would return with Madame Lefevre – whether her mistress was willing or not.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sarah Digs Deeper

  Sarah tossed and turned and then lay as still as she could in an effort to find what she desired most – sleep. It was useless. She had spent two hours before going to bed trying to make sense of what she had discovered that day and when she eventually went to bed there were still so many questions buzzing around. No wonder her brain refused to even contemplate switching off.

  She had last spoken to Matt Pryor on the phone on Tuesday evening and he had told her to be careful about stirring up a can of worms in Parkland Nursing Home, just in case there was something untoward going on. He had said he would have a word with his boss and come back to her but she had waited all Wednesday morning and heard nothing.

  Realistically she knew he would be deeply involved with the investigation of what the press were now calling ‘The Coopers Field Murder’, and the hundred-to-one possibility of wrongdoings in Parkland would be at the bottom of his agenda. But for her there were now too many small but compelling similarities between all the cases she and Maria had listed and she had an overwhelming urge to keep looking.

  After
lunch on Wednesday she had done a round of all the residents to ensure there were no problems and then hung around near the front of the reception area. As she expected, at exactly quarter past one, Anthony Cooper and Peter Doster made their way to the car park and a moment later she watched them drive off for their usual Wednesday afternoon meeting with the accountant.

  They wouldn’t be back until four thirty, and most Wednesdays wouldn’t see Mr Cooper return at all, he just dropped his administrator off and went home. Sarah knew that Peter Doster would be back because he was meticulous about completing a 5 p.m. accounts summary every day.

  The man was boring and Sarah didn’t like him, but the nurse in her had come to the surface when she had seen him leave with Mr Cooper. Sarah guessed that Doster was in his mid-fifties but the man she had watched looked years older and he looked as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders – or maybe something on his conscience was weighing heavy! Whatever the reason it was turning him into a wretched looking man and in spite of herself she felt a bit sorry for him. She wondered if perhaps Mr Cooper had some sort of hold over him: Sarah certainly knew that the owner could be a bully. He had got close to bullying Sarah when he barged into her office to find the police there, but there was a very good reason that he would not pick on Sarah.

  Just before Sarah had decided to work at Parkland the previous home manager had left and Sarah had been asked to take over the role. It wasn’t what Sarah had wanted, but it came with extra money and her flatmate had just left for London so she had all the rent to pay. There was no one else on the staff with the qualifications needed to meet the new requirements for a home manager that would be enforceable from the following January. Sarah was a first-level registered nurse with a degree in Healthcare Management, so she more than met the terms of the new regulations. For the present Mr Cooper needed her more than she needed him, but perhaps the hapless Mr Doster was in a more precarious position.

  Sarah realised she was probably letting her imagination run away with her but she had reached the point of no return and now only a thorough appraisal of the records relating to her list of deceased residents would put her mind at rest – or not!