Dead Suited

by Jean G. Goodhind

  Heart pounding, she wetted her dry lips and waited. After half a dozen rings, a young woman answered.

  ‘Police. Can I help you?’

  ‘Am I through to Manvers Street Police station?’

  ‘Yes, madam. Can I help you?’

  Although the girl sounded pleasant enough, Edwina still felt an urge to close the connection, plus her head was beginning to ache with the worry of it all. Was she doing the right thing? Perhaps she was wrong. Or perhaps you’re right, said a little voice in her head.

  She forced herself to plough on and asked for Detective Inspector Doherty.

  ‘I’m sorry. He’s off duty at present. Can anyone else help?’

  ‘No! No,’ said Edwina. She made a huge attempt to pull herself together. He wasn’t there. In a way that was easier than speaking to him and telling him what she suspected.

  ‘Can I take a message,’ asked the pleasant voiced young woman.

  ‘Yes. You can. Tell him I think I know who murdered Nigel Tern. It was somebody I saw at the hospital you see. I saw this person again in the shop when Detective Doherty was interviewing everyone at the shop. Tell him my name is Edwina Cayford and I think I have evidence that could wrap the case up. Tell him that, will you?’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Early that evening, just as Edwina Cayford was taking delivery of a thirty two inch television set that she did not recall ordering, Rachel Doherty and Carl Tompkins turned up at Steve Doherty’s home in Camden Crescent.

  If Rachel hadn’t been feeling so nervous, she might have noticed the avarice in Carl’s eyes as he eyed the building in front of him. The avarice was still there when he looked over his shoulder at the terrific view which took in many handsome buildings all the way down to the city centre. If Rachel hadn’t been blinded by what she perceived as love, she might have questioned the covetous way he looked at both the house in Camden Crescent and the view spilling out before it. She might have construed that he looked as though it all belonged to him or was at least planning that it would be.

  Rachel got out her bunch of keys and quickly found the one that fitted the main door. She was about to put it into the lock when Carl’s hand landed on hers.

  ‘No. That would be rude. You should approach your parent in a formal fashion seeing as you haven’t seen him for a while. Press the intercom.’

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I know so.’

  Rachel did as he’d ordered her to do.

  ‘He might not hear it,’ she said once the keys were back in her bag.

  ‘If he’s keen to see his long lost daughter, he’ll be waiting to hear the bell. Trust me.’ He kissed her on the top of her head. At the same time he squeezed the nape of her neck.

  She didn’t see his self satisfied smile or the triumphant look in his eyes. He had her where he wanted her and that was all that mattered.

  Carl Tompkins prided himself on his ability to judge people. Being able to judge the people he’d worked with had been a definite plus in the world of high finance, the trading of stocks and shares. In their case he knew what they wanted to hear and had done his damndest to make sure he spewed out the right words. Whether or not they were the absolute truth was another matter. Not that many of his superiors or colleagues questioned either his ability or his results. He got the right results – or at least they thought he did.

  At first sight Rachel’s father reacted exactly as he’d expected; his face lighting up at the sight of his daughter. Once that greeting was over with, Rachel introduced the baby faced young man standing by her side.

  ‘Carl Tompkins. Delighted to meet you, sir.’

  He made sure his handshake was warm yet firm, his smile, though friendly, touched with just the slightest hint of nervousness. Potential father-in-laws expected their daughter’s boyfriends to be in awe of them. He didn’t feel that way of course, but he knew how to play the part. He knew what was expected.

  The room Rachel’s father took them into had high ceilings which still retained their original plasterwork. A cornice ran just below ceiling level all around the room. From the window he espied a splendid view of the city. Like the decor, the furniture and furnishings erred towards traditional, and looked comfortable rather than ostentatious.

  Carl Tompkins felt a warm glow of satisfaction on detecting the unmistakable smell of furniture polish and air freshener. Rachel’s father had been busy preparing for his daughter’s visit.

  Carl’s feeling of satisfaction intensified. He was in no doubt that Rachel’s father had put himself out to prepare for his daughter’s visit. Putty in my hands, he thought to himself. He had it sussed. There was nothing the old man wouldn’t do for his daughter. They’d be alright here, at least until something better came along. In the meantime, the old man wouldn’t see his daughter without the wherewithal to arrange a wedding. Getting an upfront advance towards the wedding arrangements was why he was here. He’d done the sums. A really decent white wedding was likely to cost around forty thousand pounds and that didn’t necessarily include the cost of the honeymoon. This was Bath. The price of properties here wasn’t far behind that of London, especially properties in Georgian crescents like this one.

  Whilst Rachel’s father made tea and sandwiches in the kitchen, Carl urged her to go out and speak to him.

  ‘You know what to say?’

  She said that she did. ‘But...I mean...are we really getting married?’

  Poor kid. She looked so nervous and at the same time so happy.

  ‘Rachel. Darling.’ He placed his hands on her shoulders and kissed her forehead. ‘Did you think I was joking? Of course we’re getting married. Nobody is going to stop us.’

  Her face shone with joy. She looked so happy he couldn’t help but pity her. Life was a lottery. She needed to learn that. He had. You bet he had!

  ‘Dad?’

  ‘I’m not doing too much for now. I’ve booked a table at Graze. It’s next to the railway station. You might have noticed it when you arrived.’

  She shook her head. ‘I can’t say that I did.’

  Doherty poured the steaming water into each mug. ‘You did say coffee?’

  He looked at her. She nodded.

  ‘And for Carl?’

  ‘Yes. Black. Not too strong. Two level teaspoonfuls. No more.’

  ‘That’s very exact.’

  ‘Carl is very particular. He hates anything second rate. First class for everything.’

  Steve Doherty hid his disquiet. He was a man used to judging people on first impressions. His first impression of his daughter’s boyfriend was not good.

  Give him the benefit of the doubt, he told himself. Let’s see how things go.

  ‘How about you do it?’ He passed her the sugar bowl and the teaspoon, at the same time giving her a reassuring smile. He watched as she carefully levelled each teaspoonful before putting it in the coffee.

  ‘I’ve invited Honey and her daughter, plus her daughter’s boyfriend – whatever his name is. I think she told me. I can’t remember.’

  It wasn’t usual for Doherty to feel lost for words with anybody, but he couldn’t shed the feeling of unease. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen Rachel for a long while. ‘You do recall Honey Driver?’

  ‘Your girlfriend. I remember.’

  He saw no sign of hostility in her face and was relieved. He related the basics.

  ‘Yes. She’s still my girlfriend. We talk about marriage now and again, but going on the way we are seems to suit us well enough.’ He shrugged. ‘I suppose it’s an age thing. I mean, we’re hardly likely to start a family at our age, are we?’

  He laughed.

  Rachel managed a smile. ‘That would be strange, you know, having a baby brother or sister.’

  She couldn’t believe how difficult it was to tell him what she wanted to tell him. It seemed silly. After all he would be so happy for her. His little girl getting married.

  As it was it all came out in a rush.

  ‘C
arl and me are getting married, dad.’

  Her father took the sugar bowl and placed it to one side.

  ‘Your mother said you were engaged.’

  ‘That’s right. We are. But we had to tell you first. Anyway, you’re the one who’s got to give me away aren’t you.’

  For a moment he said nothing, just stared at her as though seeing her for the first time; no longer a child, but a woman.

  ‘That’s right. Does your mother know?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘She knows about us being engaged, but she doesn’t know we want to get married in the next year. Anyway, we wanted to tell you first. I mean, it’s going to be quite an expense...’

  He nodded. ‘And it’s the father who foots the bill.’

  Rachel blushed, not just because of what Carl had told her to say, but because her father couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  ‘You’re in love with him?’

  ‘Of course I am.’

  ‘And do you like him?’

  ‘Like him?’ She looked puzzled. ‘I’ve just told you, I’m in love with him.’

  ‘It’s best you like him first. Love grows over time. You do know that don’t you?’

  ‘Of course I do!’

  For a brief moment he saw something of the old defiant Rachel resurface.

  ‘Then I’m happy for you.’

  He kissed her on the cheek.

  All was quiet in the living room. He couldn’t help wondering if Carl was opening the drawer or lid of his writing bureau. A genuine guy wouldn’t do that, but he couldn’t help suspecting that Carl Tompkins was not a genuine guy.

  Carl was not dipping into drawers or bureaus, but standing in front of the window admiring the view.

  ‘I hear you want to marry my daughter,’ said Doherty after setting down the coffee and sandwiches.

  Carl spun round, his face beaming with confidence.

  ‘That’s right, sir. I do hope you’ll give us your blessing.’

  ‘Are your parents in favour of you marrying my daughter?’

  ‘My parents were killed in a car crash. I have nobody to tell, except for my sister. She lives in Australia. I prefer to do things in the old fashioned way. I believe it’s customary to ask the permission of the father of the bride before anything else. I insisted that we meet up first. I shall personally phone Rachel’s mother once we have your blessing, then I will phone my sister.’

  Doherty took in the tailor made suit, the crisp white shirt, the shoes polished beyond an inch of their life. That had been his first impression of Carl Tompkins; everything about him was polished, including his manner.

  Doherty flicked a thumb across his nose, glanced at the floor then offered his outstretched hand.

  ‘Rachel is over eighteen years of age. All a poor father can do is to wish the pair of you the best of luck.’

  Doherty had purposely left his mobile phone switched on so wasn’t surprised when he heard it ringing.

  ‘It’s work. Sorry.’

  After apologising, he went out into the hall way and along to his bedroom.

  Carl turned to Rachel. ‘It all went well, I take it. What a clever girl you are.’

  In response to his praise, Rachel positively glowed.

  ‘He’s very pleased for us.’

  ‘Good.’ He looked around the room. ‘Well it does look as though he’s willing to splash out on a decent wedding for his only daughter. We don’t want to scrimp on the arrangements do we? A white wedding with about two hundred guests I think. At least that. Let’s make it three hundred, shall we?’

  Rachel’s cheeks reddened. She hated the way he outlined his plans without ever bothering to ask her.

  ‘I’m not sure he could afford that big a wedding.’

  Carl looked disappointed. ‘You do want to get the most out of him, don’t you? You deserve it after the way he treated you, leaving your mother when you were small. And here he is, doing it all over again.’

  Rachel bit her lip. At first she’d told him her father was a civil servant before telling him the truth. Her mother had told Carl that his profession was a very selfish one that destroyed their marriage and left her alone with a child to bring up.

  He’d commiserated with her. Later he’d asked Rachel why she’d thought to lie to him.

  ‘Just because he’s a policeman? Do you really think I’m frightened of a policeman?’

  ‘No...I...well...it’s just that people think once a policeman, always a policeman...and feel...well...awkward about it.’

  He’d enveloped her in a rib crunching bear hug.

  ‘Let’s get this straight, Rach. I’m not intimidated by anyone. Get it?’

  She’d protested that he was squeezing the breath out of her. She couldn’t breathe. Eventually, he’d let her go.

  The civilian telephonist at Manvers Street Police station was out that evening on a hot date. Calls received and made had been properly logged. The call from Edwina Cayford had been written on a slip of paper for forwarding on to Detective Inspector Doherty. Unfortunately, when she snatched her bag from the drawer, she didn’t see it flutter to the floor. The hot date awaited her. Once the door of the office was shut behind her, she tended to shut her mind to everything that had happened that day. Loose bits of paper didn’t count for anything.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  ‘His name’s Drury and he’s a bit older than me.’

  Honey was getting ready to go out. Lindsey was already dressed in a purple velvet skirt, a green and purple shirt and a pair of Roman style sandals with feathers floating around the ankles.

  So, thought Honey. At last I know.

  ‘Where did you meet him?’

  Lindsey brushed imaginary dust from the back of the sofa she was standing behind. She hadn’t told her mother about Drury for obvious reasons – not until she was sure – or almost sure of her feelings for said man. She’d now decided their relationship was quite serious so the time had come to introduce him to her mother.

  ‘He’s a civil servant.’

  ‘I see. I didn’t think there were many left in Bath.’

  ‘There are still some.’

  The MOD had been called the War Office when it had first come to Bath during World War II. Back then it had taken over a large hotel and a lot of land converting the hotel into offices and erecting lots of rough looking buildings on land on the outskirts of the city they had compulsorily purchased from local farmers and landowners.

  The sites had been dispersed in recent years, the offices turned into flats, the land auctioned off for housing development.

  Honey presumed Drury was one of those civil servants remaining.

  She eyed her daughter sidelong. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind coming along?’

  Lindsey smiled. ‘Are you sure you don’t mind me coming? I’ve never met Rachel, but she hasn’t exactly endeared herself to me so far. I mean, what daughter visits her father only once in a blue moon. If I had a father...’

  She stopped. Her father had left her mother when she was young. She could barely remember him. And anyway, there was no chance of reconciliation. Carl Driver had been a keen yachtsman, his favourite passage being the North Atlantic. Unfortunately the ocean he loved the most was now his final resting place. He’d drowned and his all girl crew with him.

  Honey stopped brushing her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. Her bone structure was good and her hair was glossy. Behind the thoughtful look in her eyes she congratulated herself on bringing up such a considerate girl.

  ‘There’s no need to be sorry. My marriage to your father was doomed from the start. I should have known better.’

  ‘I still feel sorry for Steve. I mean. He was only doing his job. It doesn’t sound as though Rachel’s mother was very supportive.’

  ‘I’ve never met her, so I’m disinclined to throw aspersions,’ said her mother.

  Lindsey held her head to one side. Her expression had turned thoughtful. ‘Do you think it may have some bearing
on his preference to being called Doherty?’

  Honey stopped brushing her hair. ‘I didn’t know it was a preference.’

  ‘Didn’t you? How many people do you know who call him Steve?’

  Honey thought about it. She couldn’t come up with one single person who called him by his first name. She certainly didn’t. Doherty seemed...well...somehow more fitting.

  ‘There. I thought so,’ said Lindsey. ‘His name is as much part of his law keeping identity as his police ID. That’s who he is. Doherty the policeman.’

  In an effort to further the cause of community policing and interactive sympathy, Doherty was persuaded by the Chief Constable to pay a visit on Mr Arnold Tern.

  ‘Just so he feels we haven’t forgotten him,’ said Mumford, a man who prided himself on having come up through the ranks, mainly because he took on board the current fashion in modern policing.

  It was no good arguing that he had better things to do, like chasing Gunther Mahon, locating and questioning the deceased’s many girlfriends, and pinning down the true use for the gallows. He had his suspicions as to its true use, but there was no actual evidence. Even then, would his sexual predilections have any direct bearing on the case? Who knows.

  Then there was his domestic arrangements. Carl and Rachel were staying at his place. He was feeling a real up to the minute father because he was allowing them to share a bed. His bed as a matter of fact. The one he only shared with Honey Driver.

  He wasn’t comfortable with his daughter’s choice of fiancé, and couldn’t ever see himself warming to him. Honey had told him to stay cool. ‘After all, when they are married, are they likely to live close by?’

  He found himself hoping they would not. If they did, then he visualised himself being an interfering father-in-law. He loved his daughter and his unease had not gone away.

  So he headed for Arnold Tern’s big old Edwardian pile with the window open all the way. Hopefully it might clear his head. He didn’t usually suffer from headaches, but today he had a humdinger – and it wasn’t a hangover!