Devotion to Murder

by Steve Eastwood

  After arriving back, Cooper walked into the main CID office and found Pratt sitting at his desk using the telephone. On seeing his boss, he replaced the receiver on its cradle, and gave him his full attention.

  ‘No joy with Mr Stockwell then, governor?’ said Pratt, who had worked with Cooper since they were constables and could almost read his mind.

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, you don’t look very happy.’

  ‘Yes, well, Stockwell doesn’t seem to think we have enough to justify a search warrant.’ He swore under his breath.

  ‘So, does that mean we’re not going to London to see the lovely Lady Fanny then?’ said Pratt, disappointed.

  ‘No, Brian, we’re still going. We’ll take Miss Collins with us as well. I think we’ll need a female officer with us, and she’ll benefit from the experience. Lady Fanny is a bit of a challenge, apparently.’

  *

  Within the hour, the three of them climbed into the Wolseley and headed off towards London. While in the car on the way up to town, Cooper briefed Pratt and Collins about the approach that he intended to take with her ladyship.

  ‘Even though we didn’t manage to get our search warrant, I still think it would pay us not to give Lady Roding any advanced warning of our visit,’ explained Cooper. ‘So, we’ll have to play it by ear and take a chance on her being at home. If she isn’t, we’ll sit it out for a while and just hope that she returns. I’m pretty sure if we were to go to the front door, speak to a member of staff and tell them the reason for our visit they would only find some way of tipping her off.’

  Cooper was soon to find out that Linda Collins was not only a strikingly attractive young woman, but that she also possessed a sharp mind. Certainly, he and Pratt were both impressed by her attitude, and were pleased to have her as a member of the team. There was just one thing troubling him about her.

  They got to Bedford Square and after a short tour around the adjacent streets, they finally found a parking space nearby.

  The Roding’s London residence was a large, white Georgian house of four floors (including a basement) with a portico at its front. It had black railings bordering onto the pavement, which had only recently been restored after having been commandeered by the Government during the war.

  Pratt pulled the triangular bell handle that hung down the wall next to the front entrance. He pulled it several times more as he was unable to hear any bell within. After what seemed like five minutes, the front door was opened by a young maid who was dressed in traditional uniform.

  The inspector introduced himself and his colleagues as police officers and asked to see Lady Roding. The maid admitted them to the hall, where they were required to wait while she disappeared off into the house to notify her mistress. About five minutes later, she returned and led them to the drawing room.

  After ten further minutes of waiting, Cooper was beginning to become rather impatient. He didn’t like being kept waiting by anyone. This was but one manifestation of the effects of four years spent incarcerated in a German prisoner of war camp.

  When Lady Francine Roding finally entered the room, politeness and respect prompted the two junior officers to get to their feet and join their inspector, who was already standing having been pacing the carpet.

  Her ladyship was a woman in her mid-thirties, tall and slim with blonde hair cut to shoulder length in a pageboy style. She was wearing a flared skater tea dress in navy blue, with black stockings and high heels. She was elegant, fragrant and beautiful. Both Cooper and Pratt were smitten. They might have been enamoured of the lovely Fanny, but the image was shattered as soon as Lady Roding opened her mouth. What came out was the sound of an affected upper-class accent covering pure cockney, which, as much as she tried to moderate it, kept escaping at the edges of her speech. It sounded ludicrous.

  Lord Roding had clearly married her for her looks. And who on earth could have blamed him?

  ‘Good afternoon, my lady. I am Detective Inspector Cooper; my colleagues and I are from Essex.’ He showed her ladyship his credentials.

  ‘We are investigating the murder of Sister Margaret at Beaumont Hall.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with me? I’ve been in London all week,’ said her ladyship loudly, and immediately taking a defensive position.

  ‘I appreciate that, my lady—’ said Cooper managing only to get out half of what he wanted to say before she interrupted him.

  ‘Listen, squire, don’t bother with all that “your ladyship” nonsense otherwise we’ll be here all bleedin’ day. I’d be a lot happier if you’d just call me Fanny.’

  ‘Well, we need to ask you a few questions, Fanny, and establish your whereabouts on the day in question. We are speaking to everyone connected to the estate, just to work out where they were and whether they might have seen anything suspicious.’

  ‘Which day was this?’

  ‘The murder happened on Tuesday of this week. Were you here, then?’

  ‘I was in Kensington running an art exhibition with my friend and business partner Marcus Devaux. We were there from 9.00am to about 8.00pm. Waste of bloody time, if you ask me. We didn’t sell a thing, although some people said they were interested; time wasters! Anyway, he can vouch for me.’

  ‘Anybody else?’ asked Pratt.

  ‘Obviously, Marcus knows the guests who were there, and I know most of the people, by their first names at least, but, I hope you’re not going to start bothering them and embarrass me?’

  ‘Well, we would be very discreet, of course. It is not our business to try to embarrass anybody, my lady.’

  ‘Inspector, I don’t want to be awkward, but I come from quite a humble background, as you probably realise, and it has taken a long time for me to be accepted by anyone in polite society.’

  ‘What about the press?’ said Collins with a flash of inspiration. ‘Would they have sent somebody along to cover the exhibition? Might they even have taken a few photographs?’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Fanny. ‘Quentin Smallpiece, the society reporter, was there from Tatler and he had a photographer with him.’

  ‘Good,’ said Collins. ‘How long were they at the exhibition for?’

  ‘They got there around 4.00pm and they both stayed until the end of the evening. Mainly because we were serving free cocktails, the greedy buggers. They took lots of photos and I’m sure you’ll find me in most of them because I spent all of my time working the room, speaking to people and trying to drum up business.’

  ‘Have you any contact details for Mr Smallpiece and his photographer?’

  ‘Marcus will have their details. I’ll have a word with him for you.’

  She left the room to use the telephone.

  Pratt took the opportunity to speak to his boss. ‘Governor, are we going to ask her about searching the house?’

  ‘No, Brian. I think I know what the answer would be if we were to ask her permission. Let’s just concentrate on her alibi for now and try to keep her on side. Oh, and not a word to her about the threatening letter. We’ll keep that for later.’

  Cooper decided he would question her about Sister Margaret, but in oblique terms.

  After a few minutes, Fanny returned. ‘He’s not answering his phone, Inspector. I’ll try him again later.’

  ‘Thank you for trying, anyway, Fanny.’

  ‘Did you know much about the nun, Sister Margaret, at all?’

  ‘No, not really. She was at the Hall for a couple of months, but as I don’t go there much these days, I didn’t see a lot of her. She was my husband’s guest really. Not mine,’ she said, dismissively.

  ‘Did you get on all right with her?’

  ‘No. She was a bit of a bitch, to be honest. I didn’t take to her at all. Just because she was a nun, she thought she was the bee’s knees and a cut above everybody else. Know what I me
an?’ Fanny flicked the end of her nose with her index finger.

  ‘Did she have any friends at the Hall?’

  ‘I don’t know. I doubt it. She spent most of her time either with my husband, on her knees praying or both.’ Fanny sniggered in what Cooper took to be a callous disregard for the victim. This Lady Fanny was a hard cow and no mistake.

  ‘Why do you spend so much of your time here in London and not at the Hall?’

  ‘Work mostly,’ she said. ‘That, and because I’ve got family and my friends here. People I’ve known since my days at the Windmill Theatre. It seems my husband doesn’t want to do anything these days except, pray, read the Bible and lie in bed, so I just stay here and get on with my own life. I go to Beaumont most weekends, though.’

  ‘Can you tell us anything about the sister at all?’ asked Collins.

  ‘One thing struck me as odd about her. For a nun, she didn’t go to church much.’

  ‘Perhaps, she preferred to worship in her own way,’ said Cooper. ‘You know what they always used to say at school. God is all around, and you don’t have to necessarily go to church to praise him.’

  Blimey! thought Cooper. Where did that come from? I must have been paying attention after all.

  ‘Well, they didn’t say anything like that at the school I went to, but anyway. She came from Italy; Rome, I think. She spoke reasonable English, I suppose. Certainly better than mine at any rate,’ Fanny laughed. ‘She was a very good artist. I will say that for her, and if she got rid of that religious garb she would scrub up quite well, I would imagine. She had a very pretty face and with some make-up, well… a bit of a waste, really.’

  ‘Fanny, I would be grateful if we could just put into writing what you have told us in the form of a witness statement,’ said Cooper.

  ‘I haven’t really got time to start writing statements.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have to write it yourself, Fanny. Sergeant Pratt here will take it down. It wouldn’t take long.’

  Her ladyship agreed.

  ‘There is also the small matter of our taking a set of fingerprints from you. These would be purely for elimination purposes and you could request to see them destroyed in due course.’

  Fanny allowed herself to be fingerprinted, and that surprised them all. She called for the maid and arranged for tea to be served to her guests.

  About three-quarters of an hour later Lady Fanny was being guided by Pratt as to where she should append her signature on the pages of the statement.

  ‘OK,’ said Cooper, ‘we’ll leave it there, I think. If you can, just let Sergeant Pratt have your friend Marcus’ contact details before we go. Please don’t talk to anybody else about our visit, particularly the gentlemen of the press. No doubt they’ll try to contact you at some stage.’

  ‘Well, they can piss off. I’m not talking to them.’

  Strangely, Cooper was quite reassured.

  Their business being at an end, Cooper thanked her ladyship and the maid showed them to the front door. They left Bedford Square and set out on the return drive back to Essex.

  ‘What do you think?’ asked Cooper.

  ‘Very attractive, governor, said Pratt.

  ‘Not really what I meant, Sergeant.’

  ‘The sergeant’s right, sir. She is attractive. But she’s also quite a tough customer,’ said Collins. ‘And she’s very forthright, but if she had murdered the sister, I don’t think that she would be able to hide the fact very easily.’

  ‘Hard, she is,’ said Cooper. ‘Anyway, let’s see how her alibi pans out.’

  *

  On the return journey to Colchester, not much, by way of conversation, passed between them. They were each subsumed in their own thoughts. In Cooper’s case, he was reflecting on the campaign that was being waged by Sadie, who was clearly intent on finding him a suitable mate. The name “Brenda” came back into his mind. He had been wondering about his young colleague, Is now an appropriate time to put to her the fact that she is the boss’s niece?

  ‘Miss Collins.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I need you to give me a few minutes of your time when we get back, please.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  Linda Collins was intrigued. She knew better than to question a senior officer and she was left to mull over the possibilities for the remainder of the journey. Instinct told her there was more behind the inspector’s request than mere work. She didn’t mind though. He was rather dishy, after all.

  *

  ‘You wanted to see me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, Linda. Come in and take a seat.’

  Linda Collins had come to Cooper’s office armed with two cups of tea, which he took to be a conciliatory gesture.

  ‘I thought I’d bring you a cup of tea, sir. I didn’t know whether you take sugar or not, so, I’ve sugared one of them. Hope that’s OK?’

  ‘That was thoughtful of you. No sugar for me, thanks.’

  Linda chose one of the cups and placed it on the desk in front of him. She then sat down with her cup in her lap, smoothing out her skirt with one hand as she did so.

  ‘I know that you’ve only been with us for a couple of days, but how are you settling down?’

  ‘Fine, thank you, sir. The team have been supportive, particularly Sergeant Pratt.’

  ‘Good. Linda, there was something that I particularly wanted to speak to you about, that has been causing me some concern.’

  ‘Really, sir. What’s that?’ A pained expression came across her face.

  ‘I understand from my aunt Sadie, who runs a greengrocer’s in the town, that she was at school with your mother. It seems that Sadie has been speaking to your mother recently, in the shop, and they came to the realisation that we both work together. Unfortunately, it’s a small world.’ Cooper withheld any reference to Sadie and her matchmaking.

  The penny dropped instantly with Linda, who could sense where the conversation was leading. She decided to volunteer some detail on her family background ahead of the inevitable question that was obviously coming her way. ‘Yes, she’s a local girl. Her maiden name was Stockwell.’

  ‘And, as I understand it, she has a brother named Tom.’

  ‘Yes, sir, that’s right. Superintendent Tom Stockwell. He’s my uncle.’

  ‘Hence, his interest in your career and your attachment to the CID.’

  ‘Yes. I know how it might look, sir,’ she said defensively, ‘but he would insist on helping me. I mentioned to my mum that I’ve always wanted to be a detective, and she went behind my back and spoke to him about it.’

  ‘Were you going to tell us about your connection?’

  ‘To be perfectly honest, governor, I hadn’t made my mind up what to do about it. I’ve been worrying about it since I started, and it’s left me in something of a quandary. Whatever I do, no matter how hard I work, if people know the connection, I could always be accused of benefitting from favouritism.’

  ‘I can see the difficult position you are in, Linda. The question is, what, if anything, do we do about it?’

  ‘I want to stay on the team, sir, but I don’t know whether to just tell people and have done with it. I don’t want to make things worse.’

  ‘Do you really want to be a detective?’

  ‘Yes, I do.’

  ‘It’s important, then, that you work hard and try to keep your contact with Mr Stockwell to a minimum. You know what it’s like. If your colleagues see you in his company, coppers being coppers, they’ll want to know why he’s taking an interest in you.’

  ‘Yes, I know, sir.’

  ‘Keep it to yourself for now and we’ll see how we get on. If you encounter any problems, come and speak to me. I’m sure you’ve just found yourself in an invidious position and didn’t intend to take an unfair advantage on the back of your family connections. I wi
ll mark Sergeant Pratt’s card so that he can watch out for you.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.’

  ‘You’ve made a good start on your attachment, Linda, and I’m pleased with your progress. I would hate for this to spoil things for you. If you get any problems, speak to Sergeant Pratt and then the three of us can talk about it. OK?

  ‘I will. Thank you, sir.’

  Cooper now had a decision to make. Should he raise the issue with Stockwell or keep it to himself? Whichever way it went, he felt quite protective towards her.

  6

  DAY SIX

  Sunday 17th July 1949

  The two men were strolling through the Giardini Vatican, the gardens of the Vatican City, with its baroque fountains and sculptures of Roman figures, who appeared to be monitoring their progress. It was a warm, balmy evening and there were very few people in the vicinity. Cardinal Pat O’Mara, head of the Vatican Special Assignments Unit, had a visitor. O’Mara was a very busy man and he had not welcomed the intrusion.

  ‘What is so important that you wanted to see me so urgently?’

  ‘I have received some unfortunate news from our man in London and I thought I should inform you, your eminence.’

  ‘Tell me, my son. What is the problem?’

  ‘Monsignor Tarquin Crecy died of a heart attack in London a few days ago, and, as if that is not enough, his latest project, Sister Margaret, has been murdered.’

  ‘That is very sad. Do we know who was responsible for her murder? Please tell me it wasn’t Tarquin Crecy?’

  ‘No, your eminence. It certainly wasn’t. The British police have no idea who was responsible. Apparently, they wrote a letter to Archbishop Mahoney, although it did not reach his office.’

  ‘Has anything appeared in the newspapers?’

  ‘Very little. The police have made no official statements on the matter.’