Murder at Seething Wells (The Ralph Chalmers Mysteries Book 5)

by P. J. Thurbin

  ***

  That evening Ralph was trying to decide between going down to the Black Lion pub for supper and popping a lasagna in the microwave when the phone rang. At first he was a bit annoyed that someone would interrupt his preparations and was just about to give the caller what for when a female voice identified herself as Mary Roberts, a well known presenter who ran a weekly news programme on the local radio station. She said that she had been tipped off by a pal at the Surrey Comet about Ralph being at Seething Wells on the night before Mr. Chen was found dead and she wanted him to take part in a live telephone interview at 9 that evening. She told him that she wanted to

  link the interview to an ongoing student protest at the University against research

  involving the use of live animals. “People love any story that involves cuddly animals,” she explained. Ralph could see that red flag a mile away. It would not endear him to the powers that be at the University if he spoke publicly about sensitive areas such as animal rights.

  “I’m afraid that I couldn’t possibly comment on any policy issues regarding the University,” Ralph explained, hoping this would discourage Ms. Roberts from pursuing further efforts to tie him in with any political debates. However, she bowled on as if he hadn’t said a word.

  “The police seem quite concerned that Dr. Chen’s research at the University may have attracted militant groups who might be using the animal rights people to get publicity,” she went on.

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to go through the appropriate channels for any comment about the University’s position,” Ralph said. “I really must go.” Ralph hated to be rude, but he had been put on the carpet a number of times by the Dean for attracting unwanted publicity to the University.

  He had just about decided to abandon trying to sort something out for dinner and go down to the pub when the phone rang again. He toyed with just ignoring it, but then thought it might be Katie.

  “Simon Alford here, Surrey Comet. We met some time ago when you helped us with a piece on the Gypsy Hill murders. Sorry to bother you, Professor Chalmers, Ralph, but I’m putting a piece together and thought you might be willing to help?”

  Ralph cursed at his mistake in answering the phone. He decided not to say anything about Mary Roberts and the radio programme he had just turned down.

  “Oh, hello, Simon. Yes I remember the piece. What can I do for you?” As soon as he said it his instincts told him that getting involved in another sensational event linked to the University was not a good idea. Still, he could hardly be blamed for simply being at a University sponsored event at the Dean’s request even if Dr. Chen’s death was somehow connected.

  “Thanks, Ralph. I was putting together a story about Dr. Chen’s research before his unfortunate death. Now rumors are circulating that his death may not have been accidental. I’m trying to link that to the animal rights campaigners. I also heard that one of his staff was sacked recently and is fighting the University over it.”

  Ralph was getting a bit annoyed at having been dragged into all of this by the media.

  “Look Simon, I appreciate that you have to make a living, but the animal rights thing is a moral issue. We all have our views but I am not in a position to speak for the University.”

  “Well, can you tell me your own views?”

  “Personally I don’t believe that animals should be used to develop cosmetics and things like that, but if the experiments help to save human lives, then it seems justified to use animals in certain circumstances and under strictly regulated conditions.” Ralph groaned inwardly as he could almost hear the recorders whirring on the other end of the line.

  “Can I quote you on that Ralph?”

  “No, Simon. It’s too easy for a simple remark to be misinterpreted. If you want to find out what is going on in the Science Faculty then you need to speak with Dean Harriet Warner. I don’t even work in that area.”

  “Point taken, Ralph. But I heard that you were at the play at Seething Wells the other night?”

  “Yes, that’s right. I was hosting the Wellcome group from Oxford.”

  “Weren’t they there to meet Dr. Chen? That’s what I heard, anyhow.”

  “Well, I was hosting the group, but as far as I was concerned it had nothing to do with Dr. Chen’s work.”

  Simon must have realized that Ralph was either unwilling to talk or knew very little that would help with the article. After a few more pleasantries he made the usual offers to meet up and rang off. Ralph grabbed his coat and hurried out the door before the phone had a chance to ring again. He was looking forward to an evening where he could slide into the anonymity which the pub surroundings would offer.

  Ralph slipped into his favourite corner booth at the Black Lion. Having just finished off his grilled steak and salad, he was relaxing over the remainder of his pint when he recognized the couple approaching his table. It was Lance and Cynthia, friends and colleagues from the University.

  “Hey old sport,” Lance called out in his usual gregarious fashion when they were still several paces away. Ralph liked Lance and envied him his good natured easy style.

  Lance taught Marketing in the same Faculty as Ralph. Originally from Wellington University in New Zealand, he had been involved in some controversy over the slightly exaggerated qualifications that he had put on his CV, but Lance was now fully integrated into the teaching team. Cynthia was the curator of the University Museum at Dorich House. At work she was the picture of decorum but once away from her beloved museum she was known to be quite a raver. She drove a yellow BMW Sports and could be counted on to liven things up at a party.

  Ralph found her dual persona a bit difficult to cope with, but obviously Lance had no such qualms. At the museum she wore tweed skirts, sensible shoes and sported large horn rimmed spectacles which was in stark contrast to the short skirt and high heeled sandals she was wearing tonight.

  “Hey Ralph, where’s Katie? Does she know you hit the pubs when she’s not around?” Cynthia said with a laugh as she pushed against him. Moving swiftly to the side, he stood up and offered to buy a round of drinks.

  “Just orange juice for me,” Lance said as he waited for Cynthia to sit down across from Ralph before scooting in beside her. “Cindy has appointed me the designated driver tonight, but I expect she’ll want a gin and tonic; poor thing has had a rough day looking after loads of tourists traipsing around the museum.” Hopefully not in that outfit, thought Ralph, glancing at Cynthia who was now the centre of attention of all the men in the pub and most of the women. Once the bantering and joking had eased and Lance had regaled them with stories about the latest rugby union match where the New Zealand All Blacks had beaten Australia, Ralph asked if they had heard about Chen.

  “I should say so,” said Lance. “I was at the Cholera play the other night with a rugby pal from Chen’s department. Jack White. He’s, or should I say was Chen’s Deputy on that big research project. We’ve been to some matches at Twickenham with old Jack and he’s told us a few stories about Chen.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Oh, nothing specific. Just that Chen ran a pretty tight ship and was quite the martinet.”

  “Touch of the old anal retentive from what Jack told us,” Cynthia added without lowering her voice.

  Ralph winced inwardly. He had never got used to hearing that sort of remark from a woman, although Katie should have conditioned him to it by then.

  “So he was unpopular with his staff?”

  “That’s a bit of an understatement,” Lance continued. “Jack says that Chen fired one of his team for making a racist remark when they were having one of their weekly review meetings.”

  “You never told me about that, Lance,” said Cynthia as she took the drink the waiter handed to her.

  “Jack said that one of Chen’s team got so fed up with him acting so secretive about what was in the progress reports on the project that, according to Jack, the guy, Windham was his name, turned to Chen and accused him o
f acting like Dr. Fu Manchu, you know, the evil scientist in those 1930s thrillers. Evidently Chen didn’t like being cast as the stereotypical villain of the Yellow Peril. I guess it wasn’t exactly flattering, but it was a bit harsh Chen actually giving him the sack over it.”

  “I did hear something about that,” said Cynthia as she took a long swallow from her gin and tonic. “A friend of mine works over in Personnel and she told me that Richard Windham is taking the University to the Industrial Tribunal over it. What with Chen’s death and the animal rights trouble they are pretty worried about the story getting leaked to the papers and other media.”

  Ralph tried to look calm, but the recent attempts by Mary Roberts and Simon Alford to extract a statement from him were still on his mind. He had tried to distance himself from the events, but it seemed that he was slowly being dragged in. Lance and Cynthia had other places to visit, and after a few parting shots about him and Katie, they shouted their farewells and left. The pub reverted to its usual murmur of conversation and as the England versus Germany soccer match started on the big screen at the far end of the pub, Ralph decided to head for home. It had been quite an eventful day.

  _________________

  Chapter 4

  The police enquiries revealed that Dr. Stephen Chen had been working at the University in the Faculty of Science on the SARS virus project and his home address was at a new exclusive apartment complex on the riverside in Kingston, a short walk from the University. The University was also able to supply a contact address for Chen’s family in Singapore, but beyond that there was little else that the University administration could offer. Inspector Linham was not too surprised. In the past he had found University staff wary when it came to involvement with the police, especially where their enquiries linked a sensational crime such as a murder with the University. Inspector Linham and Sergeant Wilson took the short walk from their offices at the police station to the apartment at Charter Quay. The manager of the complex had been alerted and was there to welcome them.

  “Terrible news about poor Dr. Chen; such a shock,” offered the manager as he introduced himself as John McGregor and quickly showed them into what was by any standards an elegant apartment overlooking the river. The manager continued his quasi sales pitch.

  “We enjoy an exclusive clientele here at Charter Quay. We will, of course cooperate with the authorities in any way we can, but you do appreciate that we would like to minimize any publicity that linked that unfortunate business to our organization. The complex has the latest security systems fitted and we have a resident 24/7 concierge who responds to the requirements our clientele. It’s a very safe environment.” He looked at the Inspector expectantly.

  Inspector Linham reminded him that that the body had been found near Seething Wells and that there was nothing to indicate that anyone had breached the Charter Quay security system, and assured him that he would do his best to minimize any adverse publicity to the complex that might arise during their investigations.

  “But naturally our priority is to uncover the perpetrator of this terrible murder,” Inspector Linham emphasized with a slight admonishment to his tone.

  “Of course, Inspector,” McGregor agreed as he retreated from what he feared may have been interpreted as a rather unfeeling view about the situation. “We are, of course, eager to help in any way we can.”

  “We appreciate that, sir.” The Inspector removed some folded papers from his inside pocket and handed them to the manager. “But just to cross the Ts and dot the Is, this will show the extent of our examination of Dr. Chen’s home.” Mr. McGregor glanced at the search warrant and nodded.

  “I’ll be in my office if you require anything further from me,” he said as he walked briskly out and left the two officers to do their job.

  While the discourse between his boss and Mr. McGregor was going on, Sergeant Wilson was already taking in the surroundings and wondering how a researcher at the University could afford such a place.

  “According to this brochure I picked up when we came in, these apartments start at around 5 grand a month,” Linham said as he walked over to where Wilson was standing by the floor to ceiling glass doors that overlooked a wide expanse of the Thames.

  Wilson did a quick calculation. “A professor at the University would probably earn at most 50,000 before tax. That wouldn’t even cover the rent on a place like this.”

  Linham nodded as he turned to look at the photos that lined the mantelpiece.

  “Looks like he had a girlfriend,” Wilson observed as he picked up a photo of a pretty Asian woman in an expensive silver frame.

  “Or it could be his wife or daughter, Sergeant.”

  “On the back it says from Li Mei with love to Stephen. Mei means May and Li is the surname or family name. They put the surname first you see,” replied Wilson.

  “Thank you for that gem, Sergeant,” said Linham with a hint of sarcasm. But Wilson

  had already turned his attention back to their search.

  “There are some letters here from an address in Paris,” Wilson said as he rifled through a drawer of the mahogany writing desk that stood in the recess to the side of the fireplace. “They’re signed ‘your adoring Mei’, so it looks like they may have come from the girl in the photograph.”

  “That definitely sounds more like a girlfriend than a wife or daughter,” Linham agreed. “I certainly never got letters like that when I was courting Mrs. Linham.”

  “Shall I put them in the evidence bag?” Wilson asked.

  “Not for now, Wilson. Just make a note to get on to the authorities in Paris so that they can inform Ms. Li about Chen’s death. And we’d better make an appointment to get over to see her as soon as possible as well. She may be able to fill us in on some of the details of his background.”

  In another drawer they found a Chinese passport and some documents that appeared to have been downloaded from the internet.

  “Definitely Chinese, Sir. And these documents are about the Jemaah Islamijah.”

  “The what?”

  “They’re a radical group based in Singapore. They caused some trouble last year for the Government there. I believe they’re linked to Al Qaeda.”

  “You never cease to surprise me, Wilson. If our man was mixed up with this Islamic group then we’ll have to call in the Met’s Terrorist Squad. I don’t want to get distracted with all that terrorist stuff; and it’s not likely that this Jemaah, whatever you called them, jumped Chen on the Queens Promenade at Surbiton. And as he’s a Chinese National, we’ll need to notify the Chinese embassy, even if his family happens to live in Singapore. We’ll need to have official identification for the coroner’s enquiry and getting someone from his family in Singapore to come and identify the body could prove a nightmare for the admin boys.” They continued to search through the files in the desk.

  “Looks like his bank statements are all neatly filed here, Sir. By the looks of it there were some big money transfers made to his account at the HSBC from a bank in Beijing. Either someone was bankrolling his lifestyle or he has some rich relatives.”

  “Get the fingerprint boys over here to go over the apartment, Wilson. I have a feeling that our Dr. Chen may have had a visitor on the evening he was killed. The keys to the apartment were left on the desk by the front door. He may have come in with someone and just dropped the keys down, as you would. But why would he go out again and not take his keys with him? Either he left in a big hurry and forgot to pick them up or maybe he didn’t leave of his own free will.”

  “Maybe he was relying on the night porter to let him in, Sir.”

  “Well we can check that later. But there are no signs of a break in. There are two half empty whisky glasses on the table by the music console and a CD that has obviously played itself out. It looks like Chen was a Lang Lang fan,” he said as he picked up the empty CD case and looked at the cover. “I always find him too frenetic. The way he hits those piano keys I’m surprised he has any fingers left,” said
the Inspector as he walked towards the full length glass doors that opened onto the river walk. “You can almost see to that bend in the river where the body was found,” said the Inspector as he looked out over the sweep of the river and the trees on the opposite bank.

  “There’s an invite here to the Henley Regatta in July, Sir, with a badge admitting Chen to the Stewards’ Enclosure. That area’s only open to the rich and famous. The invite is from a Pharmaceutical Company called Kramer. I think that it’s one of the big ones.”

  As they left the apartment a quick check with the concierge confirmed that Dr. Chen had not been seen the night of the murder and there had been no unusual occurrences

  beyond some drunks carousing as they walked home along the riverfront late that night.

  Back at the police station over a cup of tea in the canteen, they talked to a constable who was investigating some suspected student pranksters who had stolen a classic skiff which was moored close to the Charter Quay apartments on the Friday night when Chen was killed. He told them that a cleaner who was working late at the nearby Riverside Vegetaria Restaurant saw the boat being rowed upstream and thought it strange as it was already way past dark, so he telephoned the police just to check it out. They made some enquiries, but as the owner hadn’t reported it, there was little more they could do. In any event, whoever took it had brought it back and tied it up safely, although they must have cut themselves because there was blood on the decking.