by Jim McGrath
A Death in Autumn:1968
A Collins & Clark Story
Jim McGrath
What readers have said about previous Collins & Clark books
‘My husband and I read this book on holiday and both found it a great page-turner. I loved the relationships in the book as well as the plot. The characters fit well within the location and time and there was a delicious sense of humour running along a serious story. An easy but clever read what’s not to like? Would make a great TV series.’
Polly
‘This was a very good enjoyable read. The banter between colleagues is very funny and fits well into this book between the serious parts.’
Neil Mullins
‘What a joy this novel is to read. There is non-stop action and intrigue to keep you turning the pages and two very likeable protagonists with some good repartee to keep you warm and amused.’
Elaine Tomasso
‘Clive, Michael, and Agnes make a great team in this British procedural. It’s sometimes easy to forget what it was like for police in the days before CSI, DNA, and surveillance cameras everywhere but McGrath has written a cracking good mystery story that reminds you of the basics.’
Kathleen Grey
For Martina Cole, who does not know me from Adam, but whose work, especially The Ladykiller, inspired me to write.
Contents
1968 Police Attitudes, Terminology and Equipment
Prologue
Part One
Friday 20th September 1968
Saturday 21st September 1968
Sunday 22nd September 1968
Monday 23rd September 1968
Tuesday 24th September, 1968
Wednesday 25th September 1968
Thursday 26th September 1968
Part Two
Friday 27th September 1968
Saturday 28th September 1968
Sunday 29th September 1968
Monday 30th September 1968
Tuesday 1st October,1968
Wednesday 2nd October 1968
Thursday 3rd October 1968
Friday 4th October 1968
Part Three
Friday 4th October 1968 (continued)
Saturday 5th October 1968
Sunday 6th October
Monday 7th October 1968
Tuesday 8th October, 1968
Wednesday 9th October 1968
Thursday 10th October 1968
Friday 11th October 1968
Saturday 12th October 1968
Sunday 13th October 1968
Thursday January 3rd, 1969
Epilogue
A Death in Birmingham
1968 Police Attitudes, Terminology and Equipment
Terminology
Separate forensic teams did not exist in the 1960s. Usually a single officer in each division was designated as a Scenes of Crime Officer (SOCO) and he (it was nearly always a he) could enlist the help of other officers as and when required. The same officer was also responsible for photographing the crime scene.
Geography, dialect and poetic licence
Birmingham lies to the south of the Black Country and Handsworth marks the border. Although they are neighbours the differences in attitude, accents and customs remain significantly different. Simply put, if you want to insult someone from the Black Country you call them a Brummie.
The Black Country has no clearly defined borders, but it is usually defined as “the area where the South Staffordshire coal seam comes to the surface”. This includes Brierley Hill, West Bromwich, Oldbury, Blackheath, Cradley Heath, Old Hill, Bilston, Dudley, Tipton and Walsall but not Wolverhampton. However, using other criteria it is accepted by many people in the region that Wolverhampton is part of the Black Country. If they didn’t, we would be unable to have the Black Country derby match between West Brom and Wolves.
Each town has its own version of the Black Country dialect and none of them share any resemblance to the typical “Brummie” accent. The following few words are used by Clark and other characters throughout the book to give a poor impression of how a person from West Bromwich might sound.
Ain’t = will not
Wi = we
Bostin = good/great
Wiek = week
Dain’t = did not
Wem = we are
Kidda/Matte = friend
Yow = you
Summut = something
Yowm = you are
Tarrar or tarrar a bit = goodbye
Yam Yam = person from the Black Country
Many readers have remarked on the accuracy of the Birmingham locations used. So as not to mislead anyone, I need to say that while most of the streets, locations and buildings referred to in my books do/did exist, I have also invented a few of my own when the story required it.
Prologue
Monday 3rd June 1968
Birmingham, 11.30hrs
Sir Charles Endbury was fifty, looked forty and had the energy of a thirty-year-old. He prided himself on being able to work harder and longer than anyone in his engineering company, but today he was finding it difficult to concentrate. He had read the Council reports twice for the meeting he was due to attend at two pm, but nothing had registered. His thoughts kept returning to the previous Saturday night.
He had been introduced to Christina Murray by Councillor Hill at a Council reception for a Saudi prince, who was interested in investing in Birmingham. After a few drinks they had retired to her flat in Moseley where they had both enjoyed a night of energetic sex. Now he found it impossible to get her out of his mind. Such smooth skin, beautiful long blonde hair, a lovely smile and the best arse and legs he had encountered in the last ten years. Wonderful.
Thank God Claire’s away, he thought. I have plenty of time in the next three weeks to discover all of Christina’s many charms. He felt himself grow hard at the thought of what was in store. Of course, he realised that when his wife returned from holiday his meetings with Christina would have to be less frequent. But he would ensure that she had plenty of spending money and would be only too happy to have her describe in glorious detail her experiences with her other special friends. A smile of expectation spread across his lips. Christina’s other encounters would provide the perfect excuse for why she should be soundly punished.
He was still thinking of the wonderful description she had given him of how she had lost her virginity to an oily biker who had bent her over his beloved BSA, when his secretary knocked and entered. ‘I know you don’t wish to be disturbed Sir Charles, but this parcel has just been delivered by courier. It is marked private and urgent. So, I thought I should bring it straight in.’
‘Thank you, Sylvia. It might be concerned with today’s Council meeting. I’ll look at it in a moment. Could you make me a cup of coffee please?’
‘Of course.’
Endbury started to open the package. It was very securely wrapped, with almost as much Sellotape wound around it as paper. Irritated, he took the scissors from his desk and cut away the packaging. Inside was a small plastic box and a pack of photographs wrapped in a typed note. Laying the letter aside, he turned over the first photo already fearing the worst. It was a poor-quality picture of Christina on her knees, eyes closed, her face buried in his crotch, while he beat her with a short black leather whip. Blackmail. The little bitch, he thought. She will not get away with this. The next nine photos showed how the evening had progressed to the point where he was shown having intercourse with Christina while restricting her breathing with his hands over her mouth and nose.
The last three photos were solo shots of Christina. The first showed her badly bruised and beaten. In the second, she was naked, spread-eagled and tied to the four corners of the bed. The fear in her eyes was real and pitiful.
The third picture showed Christina hanging by a noose. Her eyes were bulging, and it was obvious that she was near the point of death.
His secretary knocked on the door, and as she entered Sir Charles quickly turned the pack of photos over.
‘Are you all right, Sir Charles? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.’
Fighting to control himself, Sir Charles said, ‘I’m fine. You were right to bring the parcel in. It is from the Clerk’s Office. Some additional information and photos about the new development we’re looking at.’
Sylvia placed the coffee on her boss’s desk and left. With a shaking hand Sir Charles picked up the letter. It simply read, Change your vote or else.
Twenty minutes later Endbury left his office and walked down the road to the Queen Victoria pub where he ordered a large gin and tonic. He drank half of the colourless liquid, then, with glass in hand, walked to the back of the pub and into the telephone box that was housed beneath the stairs. Closing the door, he took out a scrap of paper on which he had written a telephone number. With a trembling hand he picked up the receiver and started to call the man whom he thought had ordered Christina’s death.
Part One
Friday 20th September 1968
Handsworth, 09.20hrs
Clark bustled into the CID room and dropped a file on his desk before asking Collins, ‘Are yow all set for our meeting with the Super this morning?’
‘Yeah,’ said Collins without any enthusiasm.
Like most coppers Collins hated sitting in the office. He wanted to be out on the streets, but he was not looking forward to visiting Superintendent Wallace. The Super had been off work since the last week in July and everyone knew that he would never return. The stomach and bowel cancer had raced through him and had already eaten away a third of his body weight and was spreading fast. But he had always been a fighter and he was still fighting.
Every officer in the station including Collins and Clark had visited him regularly, but today’s visit was different. He had contacted Collins and asked if he and Clark would see him about a case he had been investigating on the side for nearly two years. He stressed that he did not want anyone else to know the reason for their visit.
‘Are you ready for it?’ asked Collins, standing up.
‘Yeah, I suppose so. But it’s bloody terrible to see a good man go out this way. If I were him, I’d finish it.’
‘Well, we’ll all get the chance to make that decision in time.’
‘And what will yow do?’
‘I’m with you. I think we all have the right to end it. But I don’t want anyone else making the decision for me or helping me do it.’
‘Not even me?’ asked Clark.
‘Especially you.’
Streetly, 11.50hrs
Mrs Wallace showed Collins and Clark into the lounge where a single bed had been set up for the Super. He looked even worse than Collins remembered. In just two weeks he had lost another stone. His skin was gossamer thin, stretched over the bones of his face and hands it had assumed a dirty yellow hue. It’s eating him alive, thought Collins. Poor bastard.
‘Thanks for coming, lads. I appreciate it.’
‘Can I get you a cup of tea?’ asked Mrs Wallace.
‘No, wem fine,’ said Clark, remembering what an atrocious brew the lovely lady made.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to it then,’ she said and gave her husband a shadow of a smile.
‘I know you’re busy, so I’ll make this quick, lads,’ said Wallace. ‘Give me that file on the chair and I’ll explain what it’s all about.’
Collins picked up a heavy black lever arch file from the fireside chair and handed it to his boss.
Tapping the file with a bony finger the Superintendent said, ‘This is something I’ve been working on. It’s my secret. My last case.’ His voice for a moment sounded melancholy. ‘It’s about corruption, blackmail and murder and I’ve got virtually nowhere with it because I couldn’t investigate it officially.’
‘Why not?’ asked Collins, even though he already knew the answer.
‘It involves councillors, local government officials, and men who could buy and sell the three of us with the change in their pocket. There’s probably a few MPs in there as well. I knew I’d be crushed if I went public. I collected what information I could on the QT. It doesn’t amount to much. The best stuff came from that Irish lass who you sent down for conspiracy last spring. It’s sparse at best. Mostly it’s innuendo, hearsay and a few names but no real proof.’ He lay back and closed his eyes. The pain was etched on his face. For thirty seconds he fought down the enemy. Then it was gone. But he knew it would return soon, stronger than ever. Then, eventually it would stay and not leave until the darkness came.
Both Collins and Clark could see the effort that the dying man was making, and it was Clark who stepped in first. ‘So wem here because yow want a couple of loony bastards to go through the file and start shaking a few trees and see what wi can find. Is that about it, Sir?’
The Superintendent smiled for the first time since Collins and Clark had arrived. It was the smile of a skeleton. But his eyes were still bright, alive and combative. ‘Aye, that’s it. I wanted the best pair of bright, obstinate bastards I could find but you two will have to do. See what you can find out. See what you can do before I go. Please.’
Handsworth, 13.56hrs
When Collins and Clark returned to the station, they found Chief Inspector Hicks getting ready to go to court, ‘How was the Super?’ he asked.
‘Slipping fast, Sir,’ said Collins
‘That’s a damn shame. What did he want you for?’
Collins quickly outlined the Super’s request and when he finished Hicks nodded and said, ‘Fine. Have a dig around but do it on the quiet. I don’t want the powers that be giving me a good kicking with their clodhoppers. But remember you’ve still got four unsolved burglaries on the patch to look at.’
‘Will do, Sir,’ said Collins as Hicks walked out the door.
Left alone, Clark asked, ‘Have yow still got the burglary file?’
‘Yeah,’ and rummaging in his desk drawers Collins pulled out and handed over a blue manila file.
‘What did yow make of it?’ asked Clark.
‘Very professional. In and out with the minimum mess or fuss. Same MO on all four. Small window at the back of the house removed or hole cut in it and catch released. If that didn’t work, the window pane was removed, allowing a smallish guy to wriggle through and open the door. All break-ins done at night with people sleeping in the house. In every case the owners were old age pensioners and there were no kids or dogs on the premises. They’re taking a risk with the owners in the house but they’re so bloody quiet no one’s heard a thing. From your long and illustrious career, covering many years, does it ring any bells?’
‘From the way yow talk yow’d think I were bloody ancient.’
‘If the shoe…’
‘Don’t, I’m warning yow.’ Collins smiled but said nothing. ‘I’ve got a couple of guys wi should look at’’ said Clark. ‘Alf’s checking the records to see if them’s out at the moment and where them staying.’
‘When will you get the list?’
‘Probably Monday or Tuesday.’
‘OK.’
‘Anyways, are yow heading off early tonight?’
‘No. Agnes is at a meeting in London and won’t be back until around seven. She’s agreed I can pick up some fish and chips for our supper.’
‘Yam starting to pull her down to yowr level. Next she’ll be after faggots and peas in thick brown gravy.’
‘Up yours.’
‘I don’t know how a lady like Agnes puts up with yow. Are you sure she’s still going to marry you in February?’
‘Why the interest?’
‘If it’s still on I’ll need to visit Burtons and be measured for me suit. Anyways what yow going to do this late in the day?’
‘As soon as you piss off and give me some peace and qu
iet, I’m going to have a look at the Super’s file.’
‘OK. Call me if yow find anything interesting.’
As the door closed Collins opened the Super’s lever arch file and started reading. The Super had been right when he said that the file was long on speculation and hearsay and short on facts and proof. Collins quickly identified why; no interviews had been undertaken with the suspects. All the Super had been able to do was compile intelligence on local builders and councillors who were connected to a range of council committees. To move the investigation forward Collins knew that he and Clark would have to rattle a few trees and annoy several people who belonged to that august British club known as “the great British upper class.”
Collins extracted a foolscap notepad from his desk, found his favourite pen and started to make some notes.
Handsworth, 20.15hrs
Agnes dried the last plate and put it away in the cupboard while Collins rinsed the sink clean of Fairy Liquid soap bubbles, then dried his hands.
That was nice,’ said Agnes and brushed a stray strand of auburn hair away from her face. The action caused Collin’s heart to miss a beat. ‘It’s a while since we had real fish and chips.’