‘About 5.00pm.’
‘Fine, 5.00pm. That’s settled then. Have an enjoyable time this evening. I will look forward to seeing you tomorrow when you come home. Perhaps, if you’d like, we can have dinner together. I will speak to the cook and get her to prepare something nice. Bye then, darling.’ Lord Jeremy replaced the receiver.
‘Now, Jenkins, it’s a lovely day. While I still have you here, you may take me for a spin around the garden.’ He released the brake on his wheelchair.
‘My lord, if I may crave your indulgence. Before we go into the garden, may I first just go and tell my wife the arrangements for later?’
‘Yes. How thoughtless of me, of course you must.’
Jenkins left the room to go back to his quarters. He knew that Adina was not going to be happy and by now she surely must be starting to suspect that his regular jaunts with Lady Fanny were indicative of a closer relationship. He had always managed to compartmentalise his life and keep his affairs discreetly separate; however, he was enjoying the thrill of it all and he no longer saw much of a future for himself with Adina. This was making him reckless.
*
Executive Officer Justin Wood of HM Immigration Service was sitting in his office at Parkeston Quay, Harwich. He had just put the telephone down after being informed that he had a lady visitor at the front desk. Wood examined himself carefully in the mirror and he made a few minor adjustments before leaving the room to walk the short distance to the front of the building.
There were a few people in the foyer, and, on seeing him come through the office door, the receptionist pointed out his young lady visitor, who was sitting on one of the benches. Wood strode across to her, and, by holding his head high and straightening his back, he tried to maximise his height of five feet five inches. He was a good-looking man, by conventional standards, but, unfortunately, he was vertically challenged. He made up for his lack of height in other ways. At least, that was what his mum had always told him.
On seeing Justin Wood approaching, Linda Collins got to her feet and immediately exceeded his stature by a good four inches. She extended a hand, ‘Mr Wood?’
‘Yes, PC Collins, I believe.’
The introductions having been made, Wood showed her through the connecting door and after arriving at his corner of the office, he offered her a seat. ‘Can I get you some tea or perhaps a coffee, PC Collins?’ asked Wood, anxious to make a good impression.
‘Yes, tea please, two sugars. And, please, call me Linda.’
Wood was happy to do so. She was rather lovely.
‘I’m Justin.’
Yes, I imagine you probably are, thought Collins.
Wood made a quick visit to the next room to order the drinks, and then he returned and sat behind his desk.
‘Tell me, how may I help you, Linda?’
‘We’re investigating the murder of a nun that was committed a couple of weeks ago in Beaumont. That’s just this side of Colchester. I don’t know if you know the place?’
‘Yes, I do. I live in Thorpe, actually, which is quite close by.’
Collins continued, ‘Yes, right, well, you’ll know where we are then. Essential to the success of the investigation is our knowledge of the nun’s background and how she came to be in this country. We have reason to believe that she was sent here from Rome and we’re seeking any information that might give us confirmation of the purpose of her visit. We know that she entered this country through Harwich Port.
‘I see, Linda. I’ll be happy to help if I can. Can you just let me have her name and some details?’
‘Yes. We believe that her given name was Irma Caro, but in the Catholic Church she was known as Sister Margaret of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. She was born in Graz, Austria, on 23rd March 1919.’
‘Have you got her passport?’
‘Yes, we have, but it’s locked away for forensic examination. I can tell you the details though.’ Linda consulted her notebook.
‘She had a Vatican State diplomatic passport.’
‘Did she really?’ said Wood, expelling a whistle of surprise, ‘We don’t see those every day.’
‘It was stamped on entry to Harwich on the 18th May this year.’
‘Which vessel did she come in on? Do you know?’
‘The MV Koeningin Wilhelmina from the Hook of Holland.’
‘That should give me enough, thank you, Linda. If you sit tight for a short while, I’ll see if I can find her landing card in the archive.’
Wood was inspired. He was always nervous around beautiful women and he was anxious to do his best to impress this one. He left the room with such élan that he almost collided with the admin assistant who was on her way in with the teas.
He re-emerged after about ten minutes and declared triumphantly, ‘I’m pleased to say that the system works. I found her card. It looks like the control officer was my old colleague, Bill Latham. The details are as you said. She was given three months limited leave to remain in the UK.’
‘When does Mr Latham come back on duty?’ asked Collins. ‘Only I need to ask him what he remembers of the woman.’
‘He won’t be. Well, at least not here anyway. He works at our Tilbury office now, so you would have to speak to him there. However, there’s one additional piece of information that I can give you.’
‘Really?’ said Collins, intrigued.
‘She wasn’t alone.’
‘Who was she with?’
‘One Monsignor Tarquin Crecy. I have his landing card here. It says that he’s based at an address in Westminster, London.’
‘Can I see the cards please?’
Wood passed the cards to Collins. On examining them she saw that they were indeed both dealt with by the same officer, and although Sister Margaret was travelling on a Vatican State diplomatic passport, Monsignor Crecy was on a more modest Irish passport. The dichotomy of their ranks and passports was a fact picked up by Linda straight away.
‘How do we actually know that they were together?’
‘Luckily, the cards for each movement are stored together in the archive. They were certainly both on the Wilhelmina and both cards were signed by Bill Latham, so we can assume that they were also in the same channel of passport control as they entered the country.’
‘Justin, I know that I’m splitting hairs here, but we can’t really be one hundred percent sure that they were together, without speaking to your colleague Mr Latham.’
‘No, I suppose that must be right,’ agreed Wood, feeling chastened and reduced in her estimations.
‘Justin, do you think you could let me have the telephone number for your Tilbury office so that I can contact him?’
Wood reached into his bottom drawer and withdrew the internal directory. After thumbing through it for a few seconds he wrote down the main telephone number for the Immigration Service in Tilbury on a scrap of paper. He handed this to Collins.
‘He’ll probably remember them. You don’t get many clergy and certainly not many nuns coming through the port.’
‘I don’t suppose you do.’
‘One other thing that I could do for you, if it helps, is to speak to the shipping line, and find out where the passage was booked and how it was paid for.’
‘That would be good. Thank you.’
‘It may take a day or so, but if you give me your number, I could phone you with the result,’ said Wood enthusiastically and with a sweet smile. Good. I’m on the front foot again, he thought to himself. Esteem restored.
‘That would be very helpful. Thank you,’ said Collins. Her complexion turning red. Is this man flirting? she asked herself. I’m never very sure about these things.
She then quickly channelled her thoughts and made a start on taking a witness statement from Wood. It would explain the system for the control of arrivals and formally producing the land
ing cards as exhibits. She was thankful for the fact that Wood could lay his hands on the cards. It did seem that they employed an old-fashioned system to store passenger records, but it was certainly effective, all the same.
After finishing with Justin Wood, Linda took the train from Parkeston Quay for the half-hour journey back to Colchester North. As the locomotive made its progress, she looked out of the window of the carriage, and, through the steam billowing out from the engine, she could see the beautiful sight of the Stour Estuary with its sailing boats and wildlife. She was saddened by the thought of Irma Caro making the same journey and seeing the English countryside for the first time. It occurred to her that, although in the company of Monsignor Crecy, she would probably have felt quite isolated and alone. Now the Catholic Church were denying her very existence. The idea of it made Linda angry.
*
On arriving back at the police station, she could not wait to seek out Cooper to pass on the information she had managed to glean. She went straight to his office. As usual, Cooper’s door was open. She knocked, and he looked up from his paperwork with a smile.
‘Have you got a minute, sir?’ she said shyly.
‘Yes. Come in, Linda. Close the door and take a seat. How are you getting on?’
She was bursting at the seams, ‘Fine thanks. I’ve just been making enquiries with the Immigration Service at Harwich and they have Sister Margaret’s landing card covering her arrival on 18 May. It basically confirms what we already know.’
‘Good, good.’
‘But they also have a landing card for Monsignor Crecy, who got off the same boat at the same time. I just need to confirm with the officer who checked their passports to see whether he can recall them, and whether they arrived separately or whether they were together.’
‘Brilliant! That’s good, Linda, well done.’ Cooper was so chuffed, he wanted to hug her, but he stopped just short. He was having trouble maintaining his dignity before his young colleague, but he was delighted for her and he knew that it would help raise her self-esteem as an investigator. ‘Do the landing cards say what types of passport were produced by them on entry?’
‘Yes. She had a Vatican State diplomatic passport, as we know, but his was a standard Irish Republic passport. A bit strange that. If anything, I would have thought it would be the other way around.’
‘Yes, I agree, Linda. I think it’s beginning to look like Monsignor Tarquin Crecy was more than just a consultant and that he was acting on behalf of Cardinal O’Mara to ensure that Sister Margaret was able to get into the UK. Hence, her being supplied with a diplomatic passport, which virtually guarantees entry.’
‘Sorry, sir, but who is Cardinal O’Mara?’ asked Linda, not quite up to speed.
‘He was the man who was named in Father O’Leary’s statement as the person who sent Sister Margaret to England to convert Lord Roding,’ explained Cooper, patiently.
Straight away she remembered the significance of O’Mara, felt silly and the florid complexion returned to her cheeks. Cooper didn’t mind. He had a lot of time for this girl.
‘Yes, of course, governor. Sorry, I remember now. And, of course, Monsignor Crecy died recently, didn’t he?’
‘Yes, Linda, he did. You know, it could all be quite innocent, of course, but, given the fact that we are investigating her murder, we need to know more about why she was here and not only that…’ Cooper hesitated, ‘It would do us no harm at all to find out more about Crecy’s death.’
‘Do you think that it was suspicious, then?’
‘Not necessarily, but we simply don’t know the circumstances surrounding his death, and, given that he was the catalyst for our victim’s arrival at Beaumont Hall, it would be logical to consider the possibility of the two deaths being connected in some way.’
‘Do you suspect that the same person or persons killed them both?’ asked Linda.
‘No, it’s just that I’d like to know what Monsignor Crecy did for the Church by way of a job. Was he just a senior priest or something more than that? The difference in passports looks very suspicious. Very suspicious, indeed. The problem is, and this might sound strange, who do we contact in the Catholic Church that we know we can trust?’
*
‘Stockwell speaking.’
‘Superintendent Stockwell?’
‘Yes, speaking.’
‘Good morning, sir, my name is Trevor Lloyd-Davis, I am a Detective Chief Inspector working in Special Branch at Scotland Yard. It has been brought to our attention that you are investigating a murder involving a Catholic nun. Is that correct?’
‘Yes. That is the case, Chief Inspector, and it’s no secret. It’s been covered by the national press consistently enough over the last couple of weeks.’
‘Quite so, sir. Our department has been monitoring it in the papers. The thing is, we have an interest in your case, but I can’t speak to you about it over the telephone, so I’d like to come and see you when it’s convenient, sir.’
‘Yes, of course. The officer in charge of the case is Detective Inspector Albert Cooper. A good man. When would you like to come?’
‘How about this afternoon sir, say, 2.00pm?’
‘Yes. Fine, as far as I’m concerned. I suppose I’d better check with DI Cooper to make sure that he’s available. I’ll have him call you later, Mr Lloyd-Davis,’ said Stockwell.
They exchanged details and then ended the call. Stockwell immediately telephoned Lloyd-Davis’s commander at Scotland Yard to confirm his bona fides.
*
That afternoon saw DCI Lloyd-Davis and his sergeant, Frank Nattress, sitting in the reception area of Colchester Town Hall. They were eventually shown into Superintendent Stockwell’s office by his temporary secretary, Lucy Bonney, an attractive redhead who had been moved across from the staff office at Headquarters. Cooper was already in attendance.
The introductions were made, and tea was served.
Stockwell began, ‘Well, gentlemen. Sorry to have kept you waiting, I was rather tied up on another matter. How may we help you?’
‘Well, sir, as you know, the raison d’être of Special Branch remains the protection of the realm and particularly our ongoing problem with the so-called Irish Republican Army [IRA],’ said Lloyd-Davis.
‘Yes, I appreciate that,’ said Stockwell impatiently. He was apparently having one of his “off days”.
‘We have, over a period of some years, been conducting an intelligence operation against certain individuals who, as we understand it, have been involved in the movement of people wanted by the authorities in Ireland. Central to the operation are certain members of the Catholic Church. One of our suspects was the late Monsignor Crecy, who I believe features in your case.’
‘So, you know that he died recently then, sir?’ said Cooper.
‘Yes. We were made aware of that.’
‘Forgive me for asking such a direct question, but how did you find that out?’
‘We have our confidential sources of course,’ replied Lloyd-Davis somewhat patronisingly.
‘Is your source anything to do with our investigation?’
‘No. They are quite separate, I can assure you of that.’
‘So, what precisely does your operation have to do with us?’ asked Stockwell, wishing that Lloyd-Davis would cut to the chase.
‘We have reason to believe that Monsignor Tarquin Crecy was doing the bidding of others more senior within the Catholic Church.’
‘In what way was he involved?’ asked Cooper.
‘Let’s just say that he was facilitating the movement of people from jeopardy to positions of safety.’
‘When you put it like that, it sounds quite the Christian thing to do,’ said Stockwell.
‘Well, if that is what he was doing, he is out of the game now,’ said Cooper.
‘Yes, that’s true,’
said Lloyd-Davis with a wry smile.
‘So how and where did Monsignor Crecy die exactly?’
‘Apparently, he died of a heart attack, although I am told that his death was initially treated as suspicious and it attracted the attention of the local CID. He was staying at the Royal Horseguards Hotel in Westminster,’ said Lloyd-Davis.
‘I see. Very nice too. Returning to my original question, though, Mr Lloyd-Davis, how may we help you?’ said Stockwell.
‘Sir, I think that the death of Monsignor Crecy and him featuring in your investigation are factors that present us with an opportunity. It gives us a chance to broaden our knowledge by using your case as a cover to make direct enquiries with those who worked with him. Not ourselves you understand, but, sir, with your permission, hopefully your officers acting on our behalf. If the name Special Branch were mentioned, I am sure that the Church authorities would withdraw any cooperation.’
‘What sort of information would you need my officers to collect for you?’ said Stockwell.
‘We could learn a lot from general information. For instance, we need to know where he laid his head and where he kept his belongings. It might seem naïve, but did he keep a diary? And, maybe as pertinent to your investigation as it is to ours, what stamps has he got in his passport? Who was he visiting and associating with at home and abroad? We know that he travelled extensively.’
‘Well, for a start,’ said Cooper, ‘We know that he came into Harwich from Holland on 18th May and we believe that he was travelling with our victim, Sister Margaret. That bit of information came from our enquiries with HM Immigration in recent days.’
‘That is exactly the sort of information I am talking about, Mr Cooper.’
‘Clearly your idea has some merit,’ said Stockwell, pompously, ‘It is good, sound thinking, and I am sure that we could be of considerable assistance. But, who would we approach within the Church to get access to the Monsignor’s worldly goods?’
‘I would suggest that you make your approach to somebody at a junior level. An approach to the office of the archbishop at this stage would most likely create a political situation that could get out of hand. That’s why we can’t make the approach ourselves,’ said Lloyd-Davis.
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