They finished soon after eleven and together took a photocopy along the corridor to Tanner’s office. He tossed it carelessly on to a brimming paper-tray. ‘There’s going to be a Senior Officers’ Case Conference on this investigation,’ he said.
‘A what?’ Kathy asked.
‘Senior Officers’ Case Conference,’ he repeated. ‘New management procedure. There was a memo about it a couple of months ago. Don’t you read the memos that come to you? To familiarize senior officers with significant cases and to help investigating officers deal with sensitive cases.’
‘Help?’ Kathy stared at him. ‘We don’t need any help.’
‘That doesn’t seem to be the general view, Sergeant.’ He lifted his eyes and looked her in the face for the first time. ‘Not the general view at all.’
She took a deep breath. ‘When … when is this conference going to be, then?’
‘Today. You’ll be called.’ ‘And meanwhile?’
‘Meanwhile, you sit in your office and do nothing.’
Towards one o’clock Kathy got one of the departmental secretaries to check with Tanner’s office and was told that they should get some lunch. When they returned there was a phone message taped to her door, saying the meeting would be convened at three o’clock in one of the small conference rooms, room 407. At a quarter to three another message arrived to say that it would be delayed for an hour and moved to room 518. At three-fifty they picked up their files, took the lift up to the fifth floor and found that room 518 was next to the Deputy Chief Constable’s secretary’s office. She showed them into the empty room, offered them tea which they refused, and left, closing the door behind her.
At four-fifteen the secretary returned and told them that the meeting would now be held in the Deputy Chief Constable’s own office. She showed them back through her room just as the door on the far side opened. Kathy was stunned to see Dr Beamish-Newell sitting inside. He was talking to someone out of view, and another man whom she didn’t recognize was standing nearby, looking down at him. He was tall, heavily built, with silver hair, wearing a silver-grey business suit. He was eyeing the doctor with a stony expression, and Kathy knew that she had seen his face before. A lawyer, perhaps. The man said something she couldn’t catch, then picked up a slim briefcase and came through the door, glancing briefly at her with a cold eye as he passed.
As they went into the room, Kathy saw that Beamish-Newell had been talking to the Deputy Chief Constable. Next to him was Inspector Tanner.
Long waved them to seats and waited for his secretary to leave. The chairs were low, designed for informal discussion around a coffee table, and made Kathy feel uncomfortably at a disadvantage.
‘I don’t propose to keep minutes at this stage,’ Long began. ‘We are here to review the investigation into the apparent suicide of Alex Petrou at the Stanhope Naturopathic Clinic, sometime during the night of 28 and 29 October. The aim is to dispel some of the confusion which appears to have accumulated around the conduct of this case.’
Kathy had not intended to speak until she understood better what was going on, but Long’s choice of words stung her.
‘Sir,’ she broke in, ‘if we are to review the investigation or conduct of the case, it is surely improper to have Dr Beamish-Newell present.’
Long raised his eyes to let her see his irritation, then lowered them again to his papers, letting the silence hang in the air for a moment. ‘Dr Beamish-Newell,’ he said quietly, ‘wishes to make a statement which will hopefully clarify matters a good deal. I was about to say that our aim is both to dispel confusion and to reach a resolution of the matter. I take it you would welcome that, Sergeant?’
‘Sir.’
‘Good. Now, doctor, perhaps you would repeat to the investigating officers what you told Inspector Tanner and myself earlier.’
Beamish-Newell said nothing for a moment, eyelids lowered, then his nostrils flared and he nodded. ‘Thank you, Deputy Chief Constable. I am very glad of the opportunity to set the record straight.’ His voice was sonorous. ‘I must confess to some embarrassment. I had no idea that such a matter - tragic certainly, but essentially rather straightforward, one would imagine - that such a matter could become so overcomplicated … take on the character of a major criminal investigation in fact.’ A faint, pained smile flitted across his face. ‘As it unfolded before my eyes, the simple tragedy was transformed into a nightmare. The peace of mind of dozens of people for whom I am responsible, the very balance and stability of the clinic, were threatened. I didn’t think as clearly as I should, and as a result I find I have placed myself and another member of my staff in an invidious position. I should like to clear up any possible misunderstandings now, and bring this whole matter to the simple conclusion that it should have reached on the very first day.’
He cleared his throat, adjusted his position on the chair and fixed his eyes on Kathy.
‘In my statements to you, Sergeant, at the beginning, I made certain simplifications, which in retrospect were counter-productive. I see that now, although at the time it seemed prudent to gloss over some matters which could stain the otherwise impeccable reputation of Stanhope Clinic. The fact is that Geoffrey Parsons and I did not call the police immediately after Mr Parsons found Alex Petrou’s body. At my instigation - and it was entirely my responsibility - we delayed in order to make certain adjustments to the circumstances in which we found him, which were, frankly, of an unpleasant and compromising nature.’
Kathy thought what a good salesman he was. He was immensely persuasive, using everything - his voice, his hands, his body and, above all, his eyes - to engage his audience and make them believe. The phrases were carefully prepared but delivered with an intensity that seemed spontaneous, straight from his soul.
‘When we found him, Petrou was wearing - I hesitate to call it “clothing” - a bizarre costume composed of straps and belts and the like. It apparently had some sort of perverse erotic significance - his genitals were exposed - although I must say we found it difficult to make that association at the time. The effect was quite grotesque and made more so by the fact that a leather hood covered his head, so that at first we didn’t know who it was, hanging there.
‘I simply felt that I couldn’t leave him to be discovered and exposed in that condition. One need only reflect upon the distress to his family and the unmerited taint upon the clinic if the tabloid press were to get hold of such a thing. I decided that it was my responsibility to save his, and our, reputation, even if I could not save his life. Together, Mr Parsons and I lowered his body to the floor and removed the things he was wearing. In the pocket of his tracksuit, which was lying on the floor with his sports shoes, I found his keys. I returned to the house and went to his room, to see if he had left a note. There was none, but I did find other things which I felt should be removed. There were a number of pornographic magazines - German, I think - showing pictures of people dressed much as Mr Petrou had been when we found him. I gathered all this together and put it into a sports bag which I found there in his room. Then I returned to the temple, where Mr Parsons had remained guarding the body. We redressed the body in the tracksuit and shoes and hanged him again, as best we could in the position we had found him in. It was an unpleasant task and we were in a hurry, anxious to get it over. I packed all the incriminating material into the bag, and when we had finished I put it in the boot of my car until we could dispose of it with the general refuse collection on the Tuesday. I returned to the house and called the police.’
He paused and looked around at his audience. ‘I realize we were wrong to do what we did, but I believe any normal, decent person would understand our motives and would have done the same.’
Kathy watched the Deputy Chief Constable nod sagely. Tanner’s expression said nothing.
Beamish-Newell spoke again. ‘There is something else. On the day before this tragedy, I became aware that Mr Petrou might be bringing drugs into the clinic for his own use. You can understand how shocked
I was to learn of this. The whole purpose of the clinic is to promote natural therapies, health without medical drugs of any kind. To discover the possibility of narcotics being brought on to the premises was appalling. When I confronted Petrou with my suspicions on Sunday morning, he was quite open about it and unrepentant. He was in many ways naive to the point of childishness, and seemed oblivious to the legal and other repercussions of his folly. He told me the name of the person from whom he had obtained the drugs, which he described as an “amusement”. I contacted that person and went to see them late on Sunday afternoon in order to ensure that the supply was terminated and that no other members of my staff were involved.
‘Again, Sergeant, I omitted information to you in describing my movements for that afternoon, in order to avoid having to implicate my dead employee in another unfortunate … vice. What didn’t occur to me until today was the possibility that his two peccadilloes might be connected - that his bizarre appearance in the temple and his accidental death by hanging might both have been the result of his being under the influence of drugs.
‘I should like to make a sincere apology to you, Sergeant, as I have to the Deputy Chief Constable, for any possible prolongation of your investigation which may have resulted from my reticence. As I said at the beginning, I had no idea that a straightforward case of suicide would be pursued in such a … may I say, obsessive manner.’
He leaned back in his chair, erect, and looked at Long, who nodded.
‘Thank you, doctor,’ he murmured. ‘I rather think we can let you retire at this point. Is there anything you would like to raise before the doctor leaves, Sergeant?’
Kathy hesitated, then looked Beamish-Newell in the eye.
‘Were you and Petrou lovers, doctor?’ she said.
There was a snort from Tanner, a stutter of protest from Long. Beamish-Newell’s eyes widened.
‘There’s no need to respond to that,’ Long said quickly, getting to his feet. He indicated the door and led Beamish-Newell away.
Kathy sat motionless, feeling numb.
When he returned, Long took his seat behind his desk, rather than with Kathy and Gordon around the coffee table. His eye-level was now eighteen inches above theirs. With his slender pink fingers he straightened two files on his otherwise empty desk, one the case file for Petrou, the other a green file from Personnel and Training.
The sense of unreality which had gripped Kathy from the moment she had seen Beamish-Newell sitting in the Deputy Chief Constable’s office intensified as Long now launched into a monologue that appeared to have no connection whatsoever to the Petrou case. Listening for some cue to link his words with what had just occurred, she found herself losing track of their meaning. She was conscious of the emphasis placed on certain phrases, best practice policing, quality assessment procedures and quality audits, desirable outcomes, client satisfaction and institutional goals, though quite what all this had to do with the body of a young man hanging in a deserted building in the middle of the night, with a hood over his head and semen stains on his legs, was not immediately obvious. Only at the words facilitated counselling did a small alarm bell begin to go off in her head.
Suddenly she realized that he was talking about Petrou. ‘Inspector Tanner and I are satisfied, however, that the account of events now tendered by Dr Beamish-Newell provides a complete and adequate explanation for the circumstances of his death.’
Kathy seized upon this glimpse of something solid through the verbal fog. ‘Well, I’m not satisfied, sir. Dr Beamish-Newell has now lied to us on at least four occasions - concerning the removal of keys from the body, concerning his search of Petrou’s room, concerning his movements on Sunday, and concerning his actions when the body was found. He is completely unreliable. His statement does not provide a complete, let alone adequate, explanation of Petrou’s death at all. It is highly improbable, for example, that Petrou died alone, whether his death was accidental or, as seems more likely, given the amount of covering-up that’s been going on, murder. Then there’s the forensic evidence -’
‘Inspector Tanner has thoroughly reviewed the forensic evidence with the pathologist, Sergeant …’ Long hesitated in his angry response, regretting being provoked into an explanation. His fingers gripped the green file as if trying to choke it. ‘Let me make this quite clear, Sergeant. You don’t seem to have been listening to what I said earlier. Whether you are satisfied with Dr Beamish-Newell’s explanation is now irrelevant. What is more relevant is whether we can be satisfied with your conduct.’
He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his fingers. ‘Inspector Tanner has my instructions to conclude this matter immediately and to prepare a report for the coroner. You and DC Dowling are to be assigned to other duties. You are to undergo counselling in investigative procedures and community relations. Now … you will please go with Inspector Tanner and conclude this briefing. I wish to hear nothing further on this matter.’
Stunned, Kathy and Gordon got to their feet and followed Tanner out of the room, along the corridor, into the lift down to level 2 and along to his office.
Tanner sank into the chair behind his desk, lit a cigarette, then indicated that they sit. He looked at Kathy expectantly. ‘Did you follow all that, Sergeant?’
‘No, I can’t say I did,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t follow how a case could be resolved without the participation of the two investigating detectives who were most familiar with it. I didn’t follow how a senior police officer who was himself a witness and involved in the financial affairs of the institution under investigation could assume control of the investigation and close it down without consulting the investigating officers. I didn’t follow how a principal witness who had lied to the police on a number of occasions could be privately briefed by that senior officer. And I didn’t follow how, after all that, I’m the one who needs counselling in investigative procedures.’
Tanner exhaled smoke upwards. ‘The fact is, you haven’t followed very much at all. Not from the very beginning of this case.’
‘Sir! I won’t have snide remarks about my competence used as a smoke-screen to mask a cover-up.’
Tanner smiled, pleased that she was so angry. ‘The only cover-up going on around here is the attempt by the Deputy Chief Constable and myself to hide the incompetence of an officer who can’t handle her job. In just three days you expended -’ he made a play of consulting some figures written on a memo pad ‘- 214 man-hours of police time. Yeah, 214!’ He raised his eyebrows in mock amazement. ‘And at the end of it the only thing you’ve proved conclusively that wasn’t obvious at the bloody start is that you couldn’t organize a piss-up in a fucking brewery.’
He gave her a big grin of satisfaction.
‘Oh, I tell a lie! There were other outcomes. We’ve had a small mountain of complaints. From Mrs Doris Cochrane, for example, alleging that you harassed and bullied her in order to get her to say that Dr Beamish-Newell was a monster. Her son is a QC, interestingly enough. In fact there were a number of distinguished members of the legal profession and senior public figures among the clientele of the clinic when you mounted your assault on the place on Monday morning, many of whom have written personally to the Deputy Chief Constable in support of the Director and expressing concern at the heavy-handed tactics of the police. I think “crass insensitivity” was the phrase one of them used. Apparently they didn’t appreciate all those little jokes at the expense of sick people.
‘Then,’ he shook his head wonderingly, ‘alongside your incompetence, there’s your homophobia, your obsessive -yes, that word suits you very well - your obsessive pursuit of some kind of gay plot. We’re still not sure whether we can persuade one gentleman not to go public on that - you know, the one you reduced to tears by pretending that his boyfriend had Aids?
‘You look pale, Sergeant. Not feeling well? Can I make a suggestion? And this applies to you both, because however much we may privately feel that Sergeant Kolla is the prime mover in all this, you, Dowl
ing, you dozy bugger, are also up to your ears in shit. If either of you still thinks you have a future in the police force, any police force, then you have some very serious rehabilitating to do. You will do what you’re told; you will go to counselling; you will keep very, very low; you will be very, very quiet and humble. Because if I see or hear one cheep from either of you again, I am personally going to insert all the paperwork from this case into your private orifices and set fire to it. Do I make myself clear?’
9
There was a little municipal park whose narrow entrance was squeezed between two buildings facing on to the long market-place which formed the heart of Crowbridge. It had been built on the site of the only building to be bombed in the town during the Second World War, a narrow-fronted terrace with a large rear garden which rolled down the long slope of the hillside. In the earnest spirit of the late forties, the town council had turned this single casualty into a public amenity, transforming a pleasant eighteenth-century garden into the functional patchwork zoning of dahlia beds, herbaceous borders and rose gardens which signified the beneficent arrival of the Welfare State.
Kathy sat on a bench watching a gardener tending the roses. In her present circumstances she felt a sharp envy for the simplicity and satisfaction of his work, which involved the severe pruning of a year’s exuberant growth to a foot or two of stunted stalk. There were a number of men upon whom she would have liked to practise similarly drastic surgery.
She sat for over an hour until the cold and gloomy atmosphere of the afternoon had soaked into her sufficiently to restore a sense of proportion. Then she climbed back up the winding path to the iron gates facing the market-place and returned to her car. She drove to Edenham and parked in the High Street, right outside the greengrocers’. Jerry wasn’t pleased to see her. She waited while he finished serving his customer.
‘I’m just closing. What do you want?’ he said.
‘I’d like some grapes, if they’re sweet and juicy.’
B&K02 - The Malcontenta Page 11
