A Death in Autumn

by Jim McGrath

  ‘OK lads, jump out,’ said Clark. ‘This is where we take over. Thanks for all yowr work.’

  It only took a minute to reveal the black hair of Claire Lafferty. She was still wearing the same dress as she had been in the photo. Other than the broken neck there were no obvious marks on her body or face.

  ‘Well, Mickey, seems as if yow were right for a change.’

  ‘Law of averages, Clarkee. Law of averages,’ said Collins with a sad smile.

  ‘I think it’s time we went to see Sir Charles Endbury again. And this time I ain’t going to be on me best behaviour,’ said Clark.

  ‘I was thinking just the same. But first I have to deliver the bad news to Mrs Lafferty.’

  ‘OK. I’ll wait for you back at the station when I’m finished here.’

  Four Oaks, 19.54hrs

  Collins and Clark were exhausted. Clark had spent most of the afternoon at the cemetery and had to put up with the ever-delightful Mr McEwan. Meanwhile Collins had spent a difficult ninety minutes with Mrs Lafferty in Coventry. Then it had been back to the station and report writing. Like twins, two murders did not create twice as much work, they created three times as much aggravation. It was now nearly eight, and they still had to interview Sir Charles Endbury before they could head for home.

  ‘Have yow finished that report?’ asked Clark.

  ‘I’m on the last sentence.’

  ‘Good ’cause I’d like to get home before midnight.’

  ‘You’re on overtime. What are you complaining about?’

  ‘Having to listen to yow 12 hours a day for a start.’

  Collins held up two fingers and said, ‘Finished. Let’s go and see Endbury.’

  ‘At last.’

  Endbury lived in a six-bedroom house in Four Oaks, the most expensive part of Sutton Coldfield. If the rest of the residents in Sutton looked down on Solihull, those who lived in Four Oaks viewed their near neighbours in the ancient town of Sutton Coldfield as very poor relations. Clark drove slowly down the tree-lined avenue. The front gardens were so large that it was difficult to read the house numbers in a street that was without lights, unless they were shown at the front of the lawn or on the gates that protected many of the driveways.

  ‘It’s about four doors down on the right,’ said Clark. As he spoke a dark coloured Ford pulled out of Endbury’s drive, fishtailed and sped away without lights. ‘He’s in a hurry.’

  Collins did not respond and instead turned onto the drive. The house was lit up with lights on in two downstairs rooms plus the hall and landing. The stained-glass window over the front door depicted St George slaying the dragon and saving a woman who appeared to have lost most of her clothes. The sexually confused beast lay dead at the brave knight’s feet. Collins used the brass horseshoe-shaped knocker to announce their arrival.

  ‘Do yow reckon that the door will be answered by a butler or just a run of the mill lackey?’ asked Clark.

  ‘I think the lackeys just made a dash for freedom in the Ford.’

  ‘Well then, wem fucked. We might as well go home. Sir Charles and his lady wife are unlikely to answer the door to the likes of us.’

  Collins smiled and knocked again, only louder. After the third round of unanswered knocking Collins said, ‘Let’s have a nose around.’

  Collins went left and Clark right. Peering through a small window next to the door, Clark saw a woman lying in the hall. ‘Mickey, we’ve got a body on the floor.’

  Both men ran to the front door. Fortunately, the deadlocks were not engaged, and the door flew open on the second shoulder charge.

  A well-dressed woman lay beside the telephone table in the hall. On the floor beside her was the phone. In her left hand she had two crumpled and bloodstained six-by-four photos. She had been shot twice in the back and blood was still oozing from her wounds onto the royal blue carpet.

  Clark knelt and looked for a pulse in the neck. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I’ll check the other rooms,’ said Collins and moved into the room opposite where the body lay. It was obviously an office-cum-study. Two walls were covered in books. On the third was a display of antiquarian maps in tasteful light oak frames. The fourth was decorated by a range of photos showing Sir Charles meeting famous people including the Queen, and Prime Ministers Winston Churchill, Harold Macmillan, and Alex Douglas Home. Unfortunately, they were now splattered with Sir Endbury’s blood, brain matter and skull fragments.

  Sir Charles was slumped over his desk, a hole the size of a cricket ball in his skull. A .445 Army revolver lay next to his right hand. Scattered across the desk were several more photos. Collins knew it was a waste of time, but he still checked for signs of life before he looked at the pictures. Some of them showed Sir Charles and Christina engaged in sex. Others were solo shots of Christina and revealed exactly how she had been killed – hung from the chandelier’s hook in the ceiling.

  Collins stared at the gun and the hand that rested beside it. The right index finger was at an odd angle. He lifted the finger gently and felt the bones of the middle joint grind against each other. Broken, he thought.

  At the side of the desk lay one of the victim’s Italian-made slip-ons. Checking the floor, Collins saw where Endbury’s heels had disturbed the nap of the carpet and created two roughly parallel lines.

  Clark appeared at the door. ‘What yow got?’

  ‘Murder. What about you?’

  ‘Murder. But not by that poor bugger.’

  ‘Five minutes earlier and we would have had the bastards.’

  ‘Ten and wi might have saved them,’ said Clark. ‘But yow can’t think like that. We dain’t know that the discovery of Murray’s body and our search for Lafferty would panic someone like this.’

  ‘True. I’ll call the locals.’

  ‘Bang goes another night’s sleep.’

  As they waited for the SOCO and the Sutton police to arrive, Collins and Clark continued to search the rooms with their eyes. They touched nothing. It was not their crime scene.

  ‘What do yow think happened?’ asked Clark.

  ‘Same as you. Someone, probably Reece, used the photos to blackmail Endbury. When he discovered that we had found Murray’s body he was scared that Endbury would reveal all. He had him killed and tried to make it look like a case of murder and suicide.’

  ‘But from what wi know about Reece he’s a professional. He, or his boys, cleaned up the flat a treat, so how come he used a pair of amateurs to stage this?’

  Collins looked at Endbury’s body, then walked into the hall and examined Mrs Endbury. The phone cradle was resting in the middle of a table that measured four foot by three. Even if the table had been knocked, the handset would have remained on the table. Realisation dawned on Collins. ‘She had the phone in her hand when she was shot. She was trying to call the police.’

  ‘Yow could be right. She were upstairs, heard what was going on and tried to call for help.’

  ‘Yep. And when they heard or saw her, they couldn’t be certain if she had got through to the police or not and panicked. They killed her and hightailed it out of here.’

  ‘Before they had a chance to finish setting the scene or tidying up the giveaway signs like the carpet trails. It makes sense, Mickey lad. It makes sense.’

  In the distance, they heard police sirens and went outside to meet Sutton Coldfield’s finest.

  Part Two

  Friday 27th September 1968

  Handsworth, 11.58hrs

  Collins had finally fallen into bed at five in the morning. As always when he was late in, he had slept in his old room so as not to disturb Agnes. On waking, he took in his old surroundings and smiled. A lot had changed since he had first slept in this room. Stretching, he yawned and shook his head and with consciousness the events of the previous night came flooding back.

  Both Collins and Clark had breathed a sigh of relief when they saw that the inspector in charge of the investigation was Dave Archer. Inspector Archer was a thirty-year veteran who
had a reputation for honesty, hard work and loyalty to his men. He had turned down more than one chance for promotion because as he said, “I’m a thief-taker and that’s what I want to do, not shuffle bloody paper.” He was liked and respected by everyone and no one had a bad word to say against him, not even those he had disciplined. After inspecting the crime scene, he told the SOCO what he wanted him to concentrate on. He then spent nearly an hour with Collins and Clark discussing the events that had led them to Endbury’s home that night.

  ‘Bloody hell lads, four corpses in two days. That has to be a record even for you pair.’

  ‘Na we’ve done better than that before now,’ said Clark.

  Archer smiled and said, ‘Write up your statements and get off home. You must be knackered. I’ll give you a call tomorrow and we can have a chat on where we go from here.’

  Flipping back the bedclothes, Collins checked the time. He had two hours before he needed to be at the station. Stretching, he stood up and moved off to the bathroom.

  Agnes heard Collins moving about upstairs and when he finally emerged, dressed and shaved, a bowl of porridge and two slices of brown toast and jam were awaiting him. He kissed Agnes and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Thanks, darling. Just what I need.’

  ‘What time did you get in?’

  ‘About five.’

  ‘I thought you just had the exhumation to do. What happened?’

  Collins quickly described the events of the previous night and waited for Agnes to comment.

  ‘Someone is trying to contain the situation,’ she said.

  ‘And they might have succeeded if the goons who killed Endbury and his wife hadn’t messed up.’

  ‘Are you certain that Endbury didn’t kill the girl?’

  ‘Ninety-five percent.’

  ‘I’ve got no meetings this afternoon. Do you mind if I have a look at your file?’

  ‘Mrs Winters, you know that I’m always happy for you to look at my file.’

  Agnes smiled, cocked her head to one side and asked, ‘When did you say you had to be at the station?’

  ‘Two.’

  ‘Well that gives us plenty of time,’ and taking him by the hand Agnes led him back upstairs, his breakfast forgotten.

  On arrival Collins found a note from Clark on his desk. A meeting to discuss recent events was in the Superintendent’s office at two fifteen and Inspector Archer would be there. Just time to grab a brew, he thought. Fifteen minutes later he knocked on the Super’s door, cup in hand, and waited to be told to enter.

  ‘Afternoon, Sir,’ said Collins as he pulled up a chair to join Acting Superintendent Thatcher, a thirty-five year veteran who had planned to retire the previous summer but had stayed on to fill the gap left by Jock Wallace. He had a reputation for backing his officers and enjoying a good laugh, even if it was at his own expense. Chief Inspector Hicks, and Inspector Archer, along with Clarkee and a young WPC he had never seen before, sat around the Super’s small conference table.

  ‘This is WPC Arlington. She’s on secondment to my team,’ said Archer.

  Collins nodded at the WPC and said, ‘Glad to meet you,’ and sat down.

  ‘You’ve not missed anything, Collins,’ said Hicks and lit up a Gauloise, which prompted Archer to take out his pipe.

  Wonderful, thought Collins, I’ll be choking within five minutes.

  ‘It seems blatantly obvious to me that your investigation on behalf of the Super into corruption in Birmingham is linked to the murders of Endbury and his wife. All agreed? asked the Superintendent.’

  Everyone murmured, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now I take it that you lads don’t want to hand the corruption case over to Central?’ Again, Collins and Clark nodded in agreement. ‘What the Inspectors and I have agreed is that you pair will continue to investigate the murder of the two girls and see what crawls out of the woodwork as far as the corruption angle goes. And Inspector Archer will conduct a separate murder inquiry into Endbury and his wife on the same basis. But, and this is important, there will be full sharing of information and regular briefing meetings between the two of you. Is that clear?’

  ‘Yes, Sir,’ said Collins.

  ‘Good. In that case I want you to give WPC Arlington a copy of all the files you have on the corruption and she’ll photocopy them. Likewise, Inspector Archer will copy all his documents to you.’

  For the first time Clark sat up straight in his chair and said, ‘If wem going to keep what we’re doing under wraps from the centre and the press, we need to be careful about who we share information with at our stations. There’s always some little sod who wants to pile up brownie points with the top brass or make a few bob from the press. Wi need to keep what we’re doing under wraps.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Archer, and puffed on his pipe. ‘I’ll square what we are doing with my Super and brief my team accordingly.’

  ‘Well that’s settled, then. Anything else?’

  ‘While Arlington does the photocopying, I’d like a full briefing on the corruption case please,’ said Archer.

  Ten minutes later, back in the CID room, Collins and Clark outlined everything they had on the corruption investigation to Archer. Much of it had been included in their statement but they all knew that a verbal briefing was invariably better, as it provided opportunities for questions and digressions. Archer listened without interruption, making the odd note in a small unofficial pocketbook.

  ‘OK, let me get this straight. ‘You think that Reece, or possibly someone else, was blackmailing Endbury in order to get the land at Birchfield. However, when the girls’ bodies were found, Reece was afraid that Endbury wouldn’t stand up to prolonged police questioning. So he and his wife were topped and it was meant to look like a murder/suicide. But the boys sent to kill the Endburys ran when they thought she’d called the police and the car you saw hightailing it out of the drive was the killers.’

  ‘That’s about it, Sir,’ said Collins.

  ‘No other theories?’

  ‘Me and Mickey ain’t great ones for theories, Sir. What wi’ve outlined might be accurate. But it could be a crock of shit. What wi have to do is go and knock a few more heads together before we can say what’s really going on.’

  ‘Fair enough. What’s your next step?’

  Before either Collins or Clark could respond, WPC Arlington pushed the door open with her foot while she balanced a large wodge of photocopies in her hands. ‘Sorry I couldn’t knock, Sir,’ she said and deposited the papers on Collins’ desk. The papers began to slide and both Collins and Arlington made a grab for them, bumping heads as they did so.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asked Collins, rubbing his temple.

  ‘Fine, it was only a tap.’

  As Arlington split the pile of papers into the originals and copies, Collins became aware for the first time that she was wearing perfume.

  ‘These are yours, Sergeant,’ she said handing over the originals wrapped in a new manila cover on which she had written Navarone.

  ‘What’s this “Navarone”?’ Archer asked.

  ‘Well you said that you wanted to keep the investigation quiet. I didn’t think constantly referring to the corruption case was a good idea. I thought we could give the case a code name. You can change it if you want.’

  ‘No that’s fine,’ he said and sat down.

  ‘What are you going to call yowr murder case,’ asked Clark.

  ‘I was thinking, “Eagle”,’ Arlington shot back.

  ‘Well someone likes Alistair MacLean,’ said Archer. ‘But as I was saying before, what’s your next move?’

  ‘We were thinking of interviewing Reece again, and his mate Thorne,’ said Collins.

  ‘Why him?’

  ‘Because he runs the muscle for Reece, any killing would be done by him and his mates,’ said Clark, ‘but I think wi might have to leave it until Monday’

  ‘Why?’ asked Collins.

  ‘’Cos our mate Mr McEwan called earlier and said he needed to
see both of us this afternoon about Mitch Williams. He said it were important.’

  Collins’ heart missed a beat. If McEwan wanted to see him, it was a pound to a penny that he had found something which would reflect badly on him and he wanted to twist the knife.

  Birmingham, 15.28hrs

  Collins had found several reasons not to rush off to see the esteemed pathologist but by half-three he’d run out of ‘urgent jobs’ to do. As he slipped his jacket on, Clark stood up and did the same.

  ‘It’s all right, Clarkee. Whatever McEwan says you don’t have to come.’

  ‘But I want to. I want to be there the day yow finally deck the irritating bastard.’

  ‘Well I don’t think today is that day.’

  ‘In that case I fancy a drive.’

  ‘Well, we’re taking my car.’

  ‘Now there yow go again. Yow always have to spoil it.’

  A parking space opened as Collins turned into Whittall Street and he parked just a few yards away from the General Hospital’s Accident and Emergency entrance. From there it was less than two minutes’ walk to the city mortuary, situated on Newtown Street at the rear of the Coroner’s Court. The receptionist recognised Collins and Clark and waved them through. In passing Clark asked, ‘How’s yowr lord and master today?’

  ‘Same cunt as usual, Clarkee,’ replied the retired policeman with a straight face.

  There were no bodies on the steel tables in the morgue and everything looked as if it had just been freshly washed down. The door closed behind Collins and Clark and both men looked to the glass cubicle at the end of the room which acted as the doctor’s working office in the mortuary as McEwan looked up. He had far more palatial accommodation on the first floor that reflected his position and standing in the community.