by David Adkins
I sat back in my chair and studied the man in front of me. “Mr Smith, I was in the navy in the war. Perhaps my worst moment was when my ship the HMS Barham took a hit from German aircraft during the Battle of Crete. I was hurt but not badly and I survived when others less fortunate than me did not. Do you really think you can frighten me?”
“Perhaps not Mr Coulson, but we all have loved ones, parents, a wife, a girlfriend or children that we would not wish to come to harm.”
The audacity of the man was incredible but once again I calmed myself. “My parents are dead, I have never been married and have no children and I am not in a relationship. Your grotesque threats are wasted on me.”
“Every man has a weakness and it is my job to find it and I am good at my job.” He stood up. “If you do not do as I advise you will find yourself regretting it. Lucas is guilty. I will wish you good day, Mr Coulson.”
“I do not think so,” I retorted but he was on his way out.
When James re-entered the room he could see I was badly shaken. “Are you alright?” he asked.
“You would not believe it.” I said.
“Try me.”
“He just threatened to have me harmed or even killed or have my family harmed if I did not drop my investigations.”
“Good god,” he said in disbelief. “Was he serious?”
“I am not sure whether it was a threat to frighten me or whether the threat was genuine. He sounded genuine.”
“I think you have stumbled across something bigger than simply a robbery where a thief kills the householder in the resulting struggle which ensues when he is discovered.”
“That is exactly the conclusion I have reached, James. This also suggests that Max Lucas could well be innocent.”
“Do you intend to heed the warnings you have been given?”
“I cannot let an innocent man go the gallows,” I replied.
He stroked his chin. “If your decision is to continue the investigation then all I can do is to promise to give you the time that you need plus any legal support you require. Jenny is well able to cope in your absence.”
My shoulders sagged, and I slumped back in my chair as the tension left my body. “Thanks James, I was hoping you would say that.”
“Be careful though, for you don’t know what you are dealing with,” he advised.
“I know but I will definitely need some more time off.”
He smiled. “Take what time you need. If Max Lucas is not guilty then he needs saving.”
“What about Victor?” I asked.
“Leave him to me. Did Smith give any indication as to who he was?”
“No, he avoided the question except to say he was not the police.”
James paused, brow furrowed as he contemplated this information. “What do you intend to do next?”
“I will go to the police right now and tell them that I have some new information pertaining to the Lucas case.”
“Will you tell them you were threatened?”
“I think I might.”
He stood and held out his hand to me. “Good luck and once again be careful.” I promised I would and left, stopping by my desk to grab a few things I might need in the coming days.
I stepped out into the street into some light drizzle. I buttoned up my coat and started to walk towards the large Charing Cross Police Station. I hoped it would prove to be the station at which Chief Inspector Raymond Styles would be based. I had meant to phone from the office to make an appointment, but in the furore regarding Smith and Bruitt I had completely forgotten.
There were two officers seated at a large reception desk in the foyer. I spoke to the older one of the two. “Is Chief Inspector Raymond Styles based here?” I asked.
“He is but he’s out. His deputy Martin Solcombe may be in,” he answered gruffly.
“He went out with Inspector Styles,” the other officer informed him.
“It looks like you are unlucky.”
“When will they be back?” I asked.
He shrugged. “It is very difficult to say with them. Can I help you, sir? My name is Sergeant Bill Barrow.”
“Yes you may be able to. I am working on the Max Lucas case.” I handed him my card.
“Butler and Robinson,” he said.
“That’s right. I have some new information which is particularly pertinent to the case.”
“Are you able to tell me?” Barrow said picking up a pen and a notepad.
“Lucas said he saw a pretty, young woman with long dark hair in Nesterman’s apartment at the time of the murder. There was no evidence to suggest this girl ever existed and so it was ignored. Nesterman was seen in a bar in Russell Square with a pretty, young woman with long dark hair just an hour before he was murdered. This is important and the woman, like Nesterman’s friend Clive Deepdale, must be found.”
He wrote quickly. “Who saw them?” he asked.
I wrote some details down on the back of the card. “A barman in Pete’s Bar, just a few yards from Russell Square Station. He needs to be questioned urgently for confirmation of what I have just said. I am also writing my home telephone number on the card so you can inform me of progress if I am not in my office.”
“That will be done,” he assured me.
“I have also been threatened. I was warned to stop my investigations into this case.”
“Who by?”
“A Mr Smith, but I am sure that was not his real name,” I replied.
“I will get Inspector Styles to speak with you about that when he telephones you.”
“Thank you Sergeant, I was wondering if you had any personal effects belonging to Rupert Nesterman at the station.”
“We should have.” He started to get up, and glanced over at me. “Can you wait for a few minutes and I will check?” I nodded in the affirmative and started to pace up and down the foyer while I waited.
Sergeant Bill Barrow returned clutching a tin box and settled back behind the desk. “I cannot find Inspector Styles’ files on this case, so I can’t verify what’s been said about the woman. However, there is this,” he said putting the box on the counter.
I looked at the box curiously. “What is that?”
“Nesterman’s effects,” he said, opening the box and looking inside. “I am afraid there is not much in here.” He withdrew an envelope, opened it and read the contents. I waited patiently.
“Apparently there were a number of papers, documents and possessions but they have been sent for expert analysis.”
“Where to?” I asked.
“It does not say. The only other things in the box are his ration book and birth certificate.” He handed me the ration book.
I opened the book but all it told me was that it belonged to Rupert Nesterman and that he lived at the address in Russell Square. “This tells me nothing. Could I see the birth certificate, please?”
“I suppose you can for after all you could purchase it at the record office.” He handed it to me and I unfolded it and spread it on the counter and I started to read.
Born on the 18th January 1907 at 22 Mays Road, Wandsworth. Rupert son of Thomas Nesterman and Margaret Nesterman formerly Martin.
I stared at it for a few moments and then it registered. This was the birth certificate for the Rupert Nesterman I had found in the Index at Somerset House. This was the birth certificate for the child that had died two years later. Had the child really died? His father Thomas Nesterman said he had.
“Are you alright, sir?” I heard Sergeant Barrow’s voice.
“Yes I am but just a little surprised. Why do you think these items were left in the box?”
“Probably because they were of no importance,” he replied.
“Thank you for all your help, Sergeant Barrow,” I said. “Please be sure to get Inspector Styles to ring me as soon as possible.”
“I will,” he assured me. “Good day Mr Coulson.”
I walked out into the early afternoon sun and realized the
Lyons Tea House was just round the corner, so I decided to go get a bite to eat while I pondered on the events of the morning. The place seemed empty without Cassie and yet it had only been twice that we had eaten there together. It showed how my world had changed in the past week. The birth certificate was a mystery but it did not seem particularly important and so my mind went back to the earlier events of the morning. The effort of Nathaniel Bruitt to stop my investigation and have me sacked was bad enough but the threats of Mr Smith was something else. Was my life really in danger? I decided that was too implausible and that he had simply been trying to scare me but why?
It seemed that I had come to a natural halt in my inquiries, for in truth I was not sure what to do next. I had little chance of finding out more about Rupert Nesterman for all my efforts so far had brought few results. I was equally unlikely to be able find Clive Deepdale or the dark-haired woman without police help. I decided that it was now up to Chief Inspector Styles. I would wait to hear from him that he had reopened the case and then I would go to Pentonville and tell Max Lucas the good news. The only thing left to do was to go home and wait for Styles to contact me. I also hoped that Cassie would telephone me for we had made no arrangements when I left her at Russell Square. If she did not ring me by 11.30 I decided I would ring her. There was every prospect that a greater normality would soon be resumed in my life when the police renewed their investigations and I could then get back to office routine. However, I was determined to keep Cassandra Mitchell in my life.
I returned home at 2.30 and began the vigil by my phone. The telephone remained disturbingly quiet. It was about 7 pm when it eventually rang and it was not one of my expected callers.
“Steve Coulson,” I said expectantly.
“This is Cedric Bromley,” a voice answered. “I hope you don’t mind me ringing you at home.”
“Of course not, what is it?” I replied.
“Thought you’d be interested to know that this morning I spoke to Mr Brady before he left for work. You remember he was out both times you called.”
“I remember,” I said.
“I mentioned to Mr Brady that you were making inquiries about Mr Nesterman and Mr Deepdale and that you had missed him.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, Mr Brady is quite a sociable type and he often tried to engage Mr Nesterman and Mr Deepdale in conversation. He never really succeeded but he did learn one thing that might interest you.”
“What is that?” I was getting a little impatient but tried to hide it.
“Well, they did tell him that when they go on their trips they go to the countryside in the Midlands of rural England.”
“That is a big area,” I observed, feeling a little disappointed.
“Yes but one day he happened to overhear a conversation between them. Mr Deepdale was saying to Mr Nesterman that they had to make an extra visit to Tintree that weekend. It seems their trips are probably to a place called Tintree. I looked it up on the map and it is a small village in the country in the Midlands near Leamington Spa.”
“That is brilliant, Mr Bromley, thank you so much,” I enthused. This was a most unexpected but welcome snippet of information.
“I am glad to be of assistance, Mr Coulson,” he replied.
“Once again thank you for ringing. Goodbye Mr Bromley.”
“Goodbye Mr Coulson.”
I felt some excitement for I now had what could possibly be a priceless piece of information. I decided to ring Chief Inspector Styles without delay. It was 7 pm but it was possible he might still be in the station. I dialled the Charing Cross Road police station immediately.
“Charing Cross Road Police,” a voice answered.
“Is Chief Inspector Raymond Styles there please?”
“He is. Who is speaking?”
“My name is Steve Coulson.”
“Hold on a minute Mr Coulson.” I waited for several minutes and then the voice returned. “I am putting you through now Mr Coulson.”
“Thank you.”
“Styles here.”
“I am glad I have caught you,” I said.
“Yes, now Mr Coulson I followed up the information you gave my Sergeant earlier. I went to Russell Square and I questioned the staff in Pete’s Bar and nobody knew anything about you or your so-called conversation.”
“Then you did not speak with the person that I did.”
“I spoke with all three of their employees including the man and woman that were serving on Sunday evening. I drew only blank faces and denials of any such conversation taking place.”
I was rendered almost speechless. “This is crazy,” I uttered.
“I do not appreciate such a hoax Mr Coulson. If you ever waste police time like this again I will have you arrested. Is that clear?”
He had put the phone down before I could answer.
I was stunned. After the comparative euphoria of the call from Cedric Bromley I had been brought back to earth by the conversation with Styles. It was now obvious that the police did not intend to reopen the Max Lucas case and I was back to square one except for Tintree.
The telephone rang again just after 11 pm and I leapt to answer it. “Steve Coulson.”
“Hi Steve, it is Cassie. I just got back from the theatre. It was a great show this evening because I got an extra dancing spot and it went very well,” she enthused.
“Well done. You are a clever girl.”
“I am not a star yet, but it’s still progress.”
“You will be a star,” I assured her.
“You are a great boost to my confidence. Look, I wanted to say I am sorry about yesterday.”
“There is no need to apologise. You just said how you felt.”
“I don’t think I used the right words though. We are still friends?”
“Of course,” I laughed.
“What news do you have today?” she inquired.
“Good and bad. I was warned off by the Bruitts and the police refused to reopen Max’s case.” I did not mention Smith.
“How could they do that?” she interjected.
“I really don’t know, after what I told them.”
“But what about the dark-haired girl?”
“This is the thing. It seems the barman has changed his mind.”
“How strange,” she commented. “What is the good news?”
“Bromley rang because he had spoken with his tenant Mr Brady. It seems that when Nesterman and Deepdale went on their trips it was to a village in the Midlands called Tintree.”
“Perhaps we should visit Tintree, Steve.”
“Just what I was thinking,” I replied.
“I am working tomorrow but I get Wednesdays off so perhaps Wednesday?” she suggested.
“It might take more than a day, Cassie.”
“Then I would have to try and get Thursday off as well. I tell you what Steve, shall we meet at the Lyons Tea House tomorrow at 1 pm to discuss it?”
“What an excellent idea,” I agreed.
“See you tomorrow at one then. Goodnight Steve.”
“Goodnight.”
I had not told Cassie about Mr Smith because I did not want to frighten her. The day had begun badly with Bruitt and Smith and Styles had proved a lost cause but I still felt happy. The Bromley call was a piece of unexpected luck and the prospect of a couple of days away with Cassie was most enticing. I enjoyed a good night’s sleep even though my life had possibly been threatened.
Chapter 5
Tuesday 13th and Wednesday 14th February
Tuesday 13th February was a fine, sunny day though there was a chill in the air. It was the one week anniversary of my first meeting with Cassie. At 1 pm we would meet at the Lyons Tea House just as we had done exactly one week earlier and I was looking forward to seeing her once again. It was with this highly pleasant thought in mind that I sat on the train watching the South East London sprawl go by. Once leaving the train I hurried across the Strand, avoiding the large amo
unt of traffic that used this busy thoroughfare. I had arrived fifteen minutes early so I found a vacant table and ordered a cup of tea. I would order some food and another cup when Cassie arrived.
But Cassie never came.
I was sure that she normally had to be back in the Gaiety Theatre for rehearsals at about 2 pm so when it reached 1.30 I was certain that she was not coming. I was puzzled but decided that she must have been delayed for some reason and subsequently could not make it. I ordered some food and another pot of tea and dined alone. It was 2 pm by the time I had eaten and I was thinking what to do next. I thought about going straight to the Gaiety but she would be busy in rehearsal and anyway that looked a bit desperate. I decided that I would go to the Gaiety at about 7pm and catch her between rehearsals and the performance and find out what had happened. This gave me five hours and there were a number of things I could do in that time. I was still angry with Chief Inspector Styles and Charing Cross Police Station was just around the corner so I decided that was my first port of call.
Once again Sergeant Bill Barrow was sitting at the reception desk. “Good afternoon, Sergeant Barrow,” I said.
He looked up from his work. “Good afternoon, sir. I am sorry I have forgotten your name.”
“I am Steve Coulson of Butler and Robinson,” I reminded him.
“Oh yes it was about the Lucas case. Did the Chief Inspector ring you?”
“I rang him,” I replied. “Now I would like to talk to him in person.”
“He is in his office. I will give him a ring.” I walked up and down while the call was made and received a look of curiosity from an officer studying the notice board in the lobby.
“Mr Coulson,” Barrow called out.
I returned to the desk. “Yes?”
“Chief Inspector Styles does not wish to see you. He advises you to go home before you get into serious trouble.” He looked a little embarrassed as he passed on the message.
The officer who had been studying the notice board then approached. “I am Inspector Martin Solcombe,” he introduced himself. “I work with the Chief Inspector. What is the problem?”
“I gave Styles some new evidence on the Max Lucas case which I presume you know about but it was not followed up or at least not properly.”