‘Good, good. Let us hope that it stays that way. Do you think this will bring a problem to our door?’
‘No. I think it is most likely to have been one of the villagers who murdered the sister. A domestic matter, so it will be solved locally.’
‘She was put in place by Monsignor Crecy, was she not?’
‘Yes, your eminence, she was.’
‘Then the party line must be that the Church has no knowledge of her. Make sure our man in London knows this.’
‘I understand, your eminence.’
‘Tarquin Crecy’s death will be a major blow and he will not be easily replaced. But at least the real reason for her being in place will die with them both. Thank you for telling me, my son.’
7
DAY SEVEN
Monday 18th July 1949
‘I’m sorry, governor, but you’re not going to be very happy with this when I tell you,’ said Mills.
‘Go on then, Ian. What have we done now?’ said Cooper with a tone of resignation.
Mills spread out a newspaper on the desk before him and read aloud, ‘“East Anglian Recorder – Murder team visit Lady Fanny Roding.
“The enquiry in relation to the murder of the Catholic nun who was found in the gardens of the Roding estate at Beaumont Hall appears to have taken an interesting turn, according to our correspondent, with the police searching the London address of Lord Roding where his wife, Lady Fanny Roding, spends much of her time. We are given to understand that no arrest was carried out. An attempt was made by the Recorder to contact Lord Roding; however, he was unavailable for comment.
“Readers might recall that, during the war, Lord Jeremy Roding married the former actress and society beauty, Fanny Dyson at St Bride’s Church in Fleet Street after a whirlwind romance. Lord Roding’s first wife, the late Lady Bettina Roding, died under somewhat strange circumstances, and, following an air raid, her body was found in the auditorium of the Windmill Theatre. In April of this year, Lord Roding’s only son and heir, the Honourable Edward “Teddy” Roding, was tragically killed in a motoring accident.”’
‘Bloody hell! That’s all we need. Does Mr Stockwell know about this, Ian?’
‘We haven’t heard anything from him yet, governor, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time before we do.’
‘How the hell did the Recorder get hold of this?’
It was a rhetorical question anyway, but Mills and Pratt were certainly not going to offer an answer. They knew that suspicion would inevitably fall on the team. Not only that, it did not reflect well on the force; Lord Roding would most likely complain to the chief constable and pressure would surely come from above to call in the Metropolitan Police to continue with the investigation.
Cooper grabbed the paper and read the article for himself. He then threw it down in exasperation.
‘It’s not bloody right, anyway. We didn’t search Fanny’s house and we didn’t make any suggestion to her that we were going to.’
‘It won’t have come from her then, governor, will it,’ said Pratt.
Cooper got to his feet and straightened his tie. ‘Right! Nothing else for it. Let’s seize the bull by the horns and go and see Stockwell before he comes to us.’
Cooper marched along the High Street towards the town hall and found that it was raining heavily. He ignored the rain. He was on a mission. By the time he had arrived, and to make his day complete, he was drenched from head to foot. He took the stairs to the superintendent’s office and he approached Mavis, who was sitting behind her desk absorbed in something she was typing on her typewriter. She looked up at him as he entered the office, and she appeared to be quite pleased with the distraction.
‘Is Mr Stockwell in, Mavis?’
‘No, he isn’t, my lovely. He’s gone to Headquarters for a meeting. Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘No thanks. It’s an operational matter, really. Bit of a decision required. How about Chief Inspector Hopkins, is he about?’
‘No, he’s not. He’s taken a day’s leave. They’re both back in the office tomorrow morning, though,’ she looked at Cooper. ‘Oh dear, Albert, I’m not much help to you, am I? May I get you a towel or something?’
Cooper ignored the offer, ‘Not to worry, Mavis. It’ll keep.’ Cooper remained business-like and tried not to let his face express his frustration. He knew that Stockwell would catch up with him sooner or later.
He returned to his office and to the briefing, where he related details of the visit to Bedford Square. He explained that, in the absence of a warrant, they had, in fact, been unable to conduct a search of the premises despite what the East Anglian Recorder had declared.
The team didn’t appear at all surprised by what he had to tell them, thereby giving Cooper the impression that they had all read the article for themselves.
‘Rest assured, I have no doubt in my mind that the information being churned out in the Recorder is not coming from this team. I want you all to know that.’
Despite his reassurance, the team were resigned to the fact that they were bound to come under suspicion from some quarters.
‘Anyway, boys and girls, it’s not all bad,’ Cooper continued, ‘It seems there are photographs in existence that were taken by journalists showing Lady Fanny at an art exhibition in Kensington. The event was held while the murder was being committed at Beaumont Hall. If we can verify those, we can eliminate her as a direct suspect. So, enquiries are needed with her colleague Marcus Devaux. Apparently, he has the contact details for the photographer and the journalist who were present on the day. Brian, I would like you and Linda to go back up to London to see Mr Devaux. Give me a call with the details of the journalists when you get them.’
‘Do you want us to pay the Tatler a visit while we are up there, boss?’
‘No, Brian. We need to hold off and consider our position before we go to see them. I just want to speak to Mr Stockwell about the kind of approach we are going to take, bearing in mind that, whatever they call themselves, we’ll still, basically, be dealing with the press. I only hope to God that they don’t feel free to share what we tell them with Reuters or start to become a nuisance. If that happens we’ll have to try to get a court order. Give me a call later and let me know how you get on.’
Cooper then continued with other more mundane matters.
‘Boss, there is one other unfortunate development,’ said Mills, ‘It’s the usual anonymous letter, probably from a crank. It was received this morning at the station by post. It bears a Colchester postmark and is addressed to you by name. Do you want me to read it out loud?’
‘Oh no! What have I been up to now?’ said Cooper in mock horror.
The team laughed.
‘No, it’s nothing against you, boss.’
‘Go ahead then.’
Mills began, ‘I quote, “About the murder at the Hall. You should know that the boy James was caught a couple of weeks ago, by the nun; he was snooping around the house in an area where he shouldn’t have been. He said he had seen an intruder. He is not to be trusted.”’
‘Is that it, Ian?’
‘That’s it.’
‘Well, we won’t lose a lot of sleep over that then, will we? But we’ll bear it in mind. Ian, will you raise a job for a member of the team to have a word with the lad about it, please?’
The meeting over, the team dispersed to carry out their various tasks. Pratt and Collins went to the rear yard of the station, and, having fired up the Wolseley, they set off in the direction of London.
*
Jenkins waited until after breakfast before going into the study to make the telephone call.
As usual, he had taken a tray up to his master with his copy of the Times, but the East Anglian Recorder that had also been delivered he had left in the kitchen. His lordship hadn’t missed it and Jenkins was grateful
for the small respite that this afforded him. There had been an unfortunate and disturbing article in the Recorder. Beryl Aldis was the first to have spotted it and she had drawn it to his attention. The butler knew that, if his master had read it, it would have angered him and would probably have gnawed away at his pride for the rest of the day. Luckily, for now, Jenkins had managed to suppress the information. However, there was one other duty that he needed to perform.
Having satisfied himself that he was quite alone, he picked up the receiver and called her ladyship at the Bedford Square address.
‘Morning, my lady. Everything all right with you?’
‘Yes. Why shouldn’t it be Raymond?’
‘Well, there’s an article in the East Anglian Recorder about the police going to London and searching your house to do with the murder. I wanted to make sure that you were aware of it.’
‘What? No! The bastards! The police did no such thing.’
‘Not true, then?’
‘No, it’s not. Yes, they came to the house to see me. They asked me about the nun and they wanted to know my whereabouts for the time of the murder. But, as for a search of the house, that’s complete tosh!’
‘Where do they get this rubbish from, then?’
‘No idea. Does his lordship know about it?’
‘No. I’ve managed to keep it from him for the moment. He’s in bed having his breakfast. I only took the Times up to him, but I expect that sooner or later he’ll want to know why he hasn’t got the Recorder.’
‘Good. I suppose I had better speak to him about it first, before he finds out from someone else. He’ll be quite calm about it, I expect, if it comes from me. I’ll explain what really happened and I’ll play it down a bit.’
‘I’d better go and get him ready then.’
‘Yes. If you can get him into his wheelchair in about an hour’s time, I’ll phone him. Thank you, Raymond, darling, I had better get my backside in gear and get ready myself.’
Jenkins replaced the receiver. Good girl, he thought. She took that rather well.
Since taking up his position as a “gentleman’s gentleman” at Beaumont Hall, he and Lady Fanny had forged something of a bond. He wasn’t too sure about her at first, but Jenkins had made himself available to her as a source of comfort and support. Now, he was slowly cultivating their relationship and exploiting the situation by stealth. As for Fanny, she made good use of him in return, creating reasons for his presence at the house in Bedford Square to do her bidding. The relationship between Fanny and Jenkins was now becoming more than that of employee and servant.
As for Adina, she seemed to be quite content with her husband’s frequent trips to London. There was a benefit for her in that they occasionally provided the opportunity for her to get a lift in the Rolls Royce to Shoreditch, where she would meet a friend. A “Romanian exile” who worked in the City of London.
Adina and her friend would meet for lunch, and she would pass over a sum of money to be sent to her mother in Romania. The remittances were never large, but they were sufficient, given the parlous state of the Romanian economy, to ensure that Adina’s mother could sustain herself and live in relative comfort.
Jenkins knew about the arrangement and the fact that she was meeting her friend to pass over the money, but he did not realise that there was more on the agenda than his mother-in-law’s subsistence. The “friend” was part of an organisation that had a global reach.
*
Cooper was seated in his office, mulling over various documents and making entries in his policy book. He had just reread the anonymous letter, mentioned at the last briefing, and he was now considering it, along with the narrative of a telephone log of an anonymous call that had been reported to him by the control-room sergeant. He read the dialogue to himself:
“Received at 13:25 hours on Friday 15th July 1949.
“Caller: Anonymous Female.
“Receiver: PC 2030 Smithers, Essex Constabulary HQ, control room.
“Caller: ‘About the murder at Beaumont Hall – I’ve just read the local paper and you lot are barking up the wrong tree!’
“PC Smithers: ‘Can I have your name please?’
“Caller: ‘No. Just listen to what I have to say. The butler, Raymond Jenkins, is a smarmy so and so who thinks he is God’s gift to women. He was fascinated by Sister Margaret and he paid her rather too much attention, in my opinion. He probably thought that he could tempt her into betraying her vows. Pervert! Also, it might pay you to ask why Jenkins often stays overnight at the Bedford Square house with her ladyship.’
“The caller hung up. The call was made from a telephone kiosk. Apparently, it was from a woman who spoke with a London accent.”
Cooper suspected that, since she had referred to various “goings on” at Beaumont Hall she was likely to be a member of staff. But what was her motivation? She had pointed the finger of suspicion at young James Davidson and at Raymond Jenkins, and she had also made an oblique reference to the report in the local paper. Things were starting to become rather messy. He would have to make it a priority to identify and interview the woman caller and find out who it was that was leaking information to the press. Could they, in fact, be one and the same person?
He was amazed that he had still not heard anything from Superintendent Stockwell or Lord Roding regarding the anticipated complaint. Cooper decided to just bury himself in his work and attempt to put them both out of his mind, lest paranoia should set in. He was still in the office when he received a telephone call from Kensington Police Station. It was Pratt.
‘We’ve been to the art gallery to see Mr Devaux, governor, and we took a short statement from him. Strange cove, bit light on his feet. Know what I mean? Certainly, no chance of him being a love interest for Lady Fanny. Makes you wonder what makes some people tick.’ Pratt continued to describe Devaux in disparaging terms and he was starting to go into a rant.
Cooper became impatient, ‘OK, I get the message, Brian. Spit it out mate. Did he have the details of the photographer or not?’
‘Yes, governor. Both employed by Tatler. Quentin Smallpiece is the journalist and the photographer’s a bloke called Harry Grimes. I have their office number. Are you sure you don’t want us to call and see them while Linda and I are up here, governor?’
‘No, I’m sure. Just pass their details over for now, thanks, Brian, and I’ll call them in due course. I’m going to have to square it with Mr Stockwell first and he might even decide to speak to the chief. If you and Linda want something to do, you can go to Westminster Cathedral and see if Father Thomas is available.’
‘Will do, governor.’
‘Then, when you’re done, you make your way back. I’ll see you in the office first thing tomorrow morning. By that time, hopefully, I shall have managed to speak to the superintendent, and maybe he’ll have given me a decision.’
Cooper called Mavis. ‘Is he back yet, Mavis?’
‘He’s been and gone I’m afraid, my lovely, but he’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning for a few hours, then later in the day he’s got to go to a meeting about this year’s Oyster Feast. He tells me that, this year, they’re trying to get Tommy Trinder.’
‘That should liven things up a bit. I heard that the Oyster Feast can be a bit boring with some of the stuffed shirts that get invited.’
Mavis laughed. ‘Anyway, darling, what are you up to this evening? Doing anything nice?’
Cooper found her interest unnerving and he hesitated before giving her a reply. ‘No, I shall be at work for the entire evening,’ he lied.
In truth, he had planned an early departure from the office, and he had promised himself fish and chips followed by a couple of pints in the Hole in the Wall. He certainly wasn’t going to get involved with her, if that was what she was hinting at.
‘Have you been invited to the Oyster Feast?’
<
br /> ‘No, Mavis. I’ve never been to it and I don’t think I ever will either. It’s not really for the likes of me.’
The Colchester Oyster Feast was an annual event held at the town hall to celebrate an important part of the local fishing industry. Hosted by the mayor, it was attended by the “great and the good” with a smattering of invited guests from the world of entertainment. As for Tom Stockwell, he was expected to be there and would most likely be one of the last to leave. It was an integral part of his position as the local chief of police and seemingly a perk of the job, although, in Cooper’s opinion, his boss did tend to “tear the arse” out of the many opportunities that came his way.
Cooper left the office and wandered off along the High Street in the general direction of his digs. He stopped in Head Street for some fish and chips, which he took around the corner to sit beneath “Jumbo”, the huge water tower that dominated the Colchester skyline. He opened the newspaper wrappings and tucked in, wolfing down what he realised was his only meal since his two rounds of toast that morning. He scolded himself for the fact that he wasn’t looking after himself properly. Then, having lined his stomach, he walked the short distance to the pub.
On entering the saloon bar of the Hole in the Wall, Cooper was greeted by some of the regulars, most of whom he had known for a few years, but only on first name terms. Cooper had always tried to make it his practice not to ask unnecessary questions or pry into people’s lives when he was in the pub. He was only there to relax, and he had developed a style of conversation management that was friendly but superficial. The other regulars knew what his job was, and they would, on occasion, seek his advice on matters that might be troubling them, but they usually just let him be. But then there was always the local toe rag known as “Nobber” Gibbs.
‘You caught that nun murderer yet, Cooper?’
‘Not yet,’ answered Cooper.
‘Lord Roding was giving her one, I expect,’ said Gibbs.
This was proclaimed at the top of his voice for the benefit of everyone in the room. Some laughed, but most were appalled at his ignorant outburst. Cooper felt compelled to defend his lordship’s honour and that of Sister Margaret.
Devotion to Murder Page 9
