The English School of Murder

by Ruth Dudley Edwards

  ‘Well, sir. If you’ll forgive me, I—’

  ‘All right, Layton. You’re probably right. We’ll have to assume murder. I suppose on the evidence that’s what the inquest is going to come up with.’

  Layton sighed with relief. ‘Sir, will I—’

  ‘It’s OK, Layton. You get back to those Kensington burglaries. I’m going to ask the boss to get the Yard to take this on. With all these foreigners, Interpol will probably have to be involved. Much better dealt with at the centre. Thanks for your help.’

  He left the room oblivious to having broken his DC’s heart.

  ***

  Amiss found his group rather hard work that Monday. Ahmed failed to arrive until noon, which meant he missed the film and could make no contribution to the discussion. He fell asleep for the last half hour and Amiss left him undisturbed until he began to snore.

  Fabrice and Galina seemed tired as well and instead of giving each other the customary flirtatious signals, studiously ignored each other. She concentrated on Amiss instead, he presumed in order to make Fabrice jealous. She was wearing a blouse cut so low that it was almost impossible to look at her and avoid staring at her generous breasts. He tried looking her in the eye and caught what seemed terrifyingly like amorous glances. He rang Rachel that night to complain he was being ogled.

  ‘Try looking directly at her nose.’

  ‘I tried that, but then I could see her mouth, and she was running her tongue over her lips until they were so shiny you could see your face in them.’

  ‘This sounds serious.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’ll be all right when she and Fabrice make it up. But I’m getting fed up with all this attention. Jenn was after me today to know when I was taking her out again.’

  ‘Do you think it’s Ellis’s clothes that have turned you into an homme fatal?’

  ‘Not at all. I’ve always had that raw sex appeal. It was just that I had to hide it in the Civil Service: they wouldn’t promote raunchy brutes. Now at last I’ve found the real me.’

  ‘Just be careful you don’t excite Ahmed.’

  ‘Judging by his performance today, the only thing that could excite Ahmed at the moment would be a boot up the arse.’

  Pooley was in a playful mood. He had had two good pieces of news that day and also a tête-à-tête lunch with Pardeep. As he talked to Amiss mid-evening, his toes were curling with well-being. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘The good news.’

  ‘It’s a murder inquiry.’

  ‘Oh, good. What’s the bad news?’

  ‘Central say they can’t handle the case and have passed it on to the Yard. So after all Layton’s efforts, he’s been dropped.’

  ‘What rotten luck! Poor sod. Without him there wouldn’t be an investigation.’

  ‘Right. Do you want the good news or the bad news?’

  ‘The bad news.’

  ‘The case has been given to Romford.’

  ‘That wally? You’re not serious.’

  ‘I am. Now do you want the good news?’

  ‘Oh, Ellis, for fuck’s sake get on with it.’

  ‘Oh, all right. Two good things. He’ll only be on it for a few days ’cos he’s being moved next week. And better still, I’m the DC on the case, or rather—wait a minute—the DS on the case.’

  ‘Ellis! Your promotion hasn’t come through at last?’

  ‘Confirmed this morning.’

  ‘I’d suggest opening a bottle of champagne when we next meet, only I’m sick of the stuff. How have your parents taken it?’

  ‘I haven’t told them yet. It won’t mean anything to my father. He won’t think I’ve got anywhere until I’m a Chief Constable.’

  Chapter 18

  Pooley had underestimated quite how frustrating it would be to work on the Nurse case with Romford. To have to pretend that he was starting from a position of equal ignorance was agony. All he was supposed to know was what was contained in the slim folder Romford tossed to him on Tuesday morning. Additionally he had the worry of wondering what would happen when Romford found Amiss in situ. Could he really be so unimaginative as not to smell a rat?

  ‘Just act dumb,’ he had told Amiss the previous night. ‘And bear in mind that he’s a sanctimonious prig.’

  ‘What would happen if you told him the truth?’

  ‘He’d try to have me busted back on the beat and he’d probably succeed. The Met’s not too keen on private enterprise.’

  ‘My head is beginning to hurt with the strain of remembering what to keep from whom.’

  ‘Just keep everything, but everything, from Romford.’

  ‘Maybe he won’t find out I’m here. He’s only got a few days.’

  ‘One of the positive things about Romford is his conscientiousness. You’ll meet him all right.’

  ‘I look forward to it. I’ll make a point of wearing my cloak and dagger.’

  ***

  ‘I’d say it’s an open and shut case, Pooley. Shouldn’t take us long to sort out. It’ll be the partner, you mark my words. It’s true about money being the root of all evil.’

  Pooley assumed a respectful look. ‘What do you think happened, sir?’

  ‘Maybe he was afraid Nurse would change his will. Who knows? Or he just got greedy. Couldn’t bear to share the profits. Anyway he slips the alcohol into his drink, hoping he’ll have an accident. If that hadn’t worked, he’d probably have staged another mugging, only this one would have been fatal.’

  They walked past Harrods. Romford stopped and gazed at a simulated drawing-room containing about fifty thousand pounds worth of furniture and inhabited by male and female dummies clad in equal splendour. ‘Take my advice, Pooley. Always remember that money doesn’t buy happiness. Nowadays…I don’t know. There’s all this materialism, not like when I was young…’

  To Pooley’s relief, Romford recollected he was not supposed to preach during working hours. He still smarted at the memory of the ticking off Milton had given him when he found him enjoining on three probationers the reading of the Bible. They walked on and took the first left.

  ‘Do you think he murdered Armstrong as well, sir?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt if there’s anything in that. No money involved. That was almost certainly an accident. No, as I say, this is a straightforward case.’

  ‘Just one thing worries me, sir.’

  Romford wondered if this boy were going to relapse into fancifulness. He’d thought him cured. ‘What?’

  ‘Why was he so insistent to Inspector Clarke that the alcohol couldn’t have got into Nurse’s drink accidentally? I’d have thought if he had any sense he’d have set up a party where a mistake could easily be made.’

  Romford was essentially a kind man. ‘Pooley, you’re still very new. When you’ve been in the force as long as I have, you’ll know that criminals are mostly very stupid. You’ve got the wrong idea from all those detective stories you used to read. You have given them up, haven’t you, son?’

  Mischief got the better of Pooley. ‘Yes, sir. “When I became a man, I put away childish things.”’

  Romford looked at him in open-mouthed delight. ‘I didn’t realise you knew your Bible, Pooley.’

  ‘Oh, yes sir. They were very strong on it at school.’

  ‘Ah, yes. That was the grammar schools for you. Now these modern comprehensives…’

  Within a few moments, to Pooley’s mingled relief and apprehension, they saw ahead of them the Knightsbridge School of English.

  Pooley identified the dapper little man with the black tie straight away: he seemed very subdued.

  ‘Here are two copies of the list you asked for of everyone who was at the party, Inspector. And here’s my office. I hope you and the sergeant will be comfortable here.’

  ‘This will do nicely thank you, Mr Rogers.’

  ‘You want to interview all these people?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Separately or together?’
<
br />   ‘Separately.’

  ‘Well, they’re all here at the moment, hard at it. The list is broken down according to the group they study in. It would make things easier if you took people as far as possible in the order in which they appear on the list. There’ll be havoc at lunchtime otherwise. They like to hunt in packs,’ he guffawed.

  ‘That seems satisfactory, Mr Rogers.’

  ‘Jenn, my secretary, will be out there in the lounge and will fetch people as you want them. She can also go out and get you sandwiches at lunchtime. But for now can she get you some coffee?’

  ‘How very kind. Yes, please.’

  ‘Goodbye, Inspector. I’ll see you later, then.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Rogers. We would like to see you last of all.’

  Romford read slowly down the list. ‘Do you speak any foreign languages, Pooley?’

  ‘French and German not very well, sir.’

  ‘Hmm…we’ll see. Pooley, I hadn’t realised what a classy place this was; there are two countesses and a princess on this list.’

  ‘So I see, sir.’

  ‘Well, don’t let them intimidate you, Pooley. Simple faith is better than Norman blood, isn’t that so?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘Ah, here’s the coffee. Thank you, my dear. Now, could you ask Miss Cath Taylor to come and see us.’

  Romford had little experience of talking to non-English speakers. He had never been abroad except to Germany on National Service, and since he avoided alcohol and disliked dancing, his exposure to the natives there had been mostly limited to canteen staff who spoke English. His inexperience was matched only by his lack of linguistic talent. Interviews that would have taken Pooley ten minutes took Romford forty: the foreigners and Romford floundered in a bog of malcommunication. A couple of times he speeded things up by asking Pooley to break a deadlock by explaining something in French, but for the most part he conducted the proceedings himself. While he seemed to be getting the facts they needed, the process took a terrible toll on everyone.

  By four o’clock there were still Rich, Jenn, Amiss and six more students to see. Romford mopped his brow and loosened his tie a little more. ‘I don’t know when I’ve been so exhausted. All that jabber, jabber. We’ll have to come back tomorrow, Pooley.’ He checked his watch. ‘We’ve time for three more, I’d say. Let’s finish off Miss Taylor’s group by seeing that Jap and then see the English ones. They’ll be a welcome change.’

  As they waited, Romford plunged into deep thought, pursed his lips and then pronounced, ‘I don’t think I can shake hands with this one, Pooley. Not after what our lads went through as prisoners-of-war.’

  ‘It’s a long time ago, Inspector. Yamaguchi can hardly have been involved.’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple. The sins of the fathers and all that, Pooley. These nips. They haven’t learned anything. Coming in and taking over our factories.’

  ‘They seem to be very good managers of people, sir. Very popular with their workforces in Britain, I hear.’

  Romford shook his head reprovingly. ‘Pooley, you mark my words: leopards don’t change their spots.’

  The leopard’s arrival coincided with Jenn’s delivery of tea for three, so to Pooley’s relief the absence of handshakes was unnoticed in the general flurry. He was most impressed at the attention to detail evident in the provision of two kinds of tea: Romford was made happy with strong Indian; Yamaguchi content with weak China. On the downside was Romford’s disgust at the way his interviewee slurped the liquid.

  The conversation ran true to form. On the frequent occasions when Yamaguchi failed to understand a question, Romford raised his voice. When that did not succeed, he made inept attempts at miming. Thus a question about how long Yamaguchi had stayed at the party involved Romford in stabbing his finger at his watch and repeating loudly, ‘How long, how long?’ It fascinated Pooley how his boss failed to learn by experience. Mr Yamaguchi, like several other students, maddened Romford by coming up with the helpful information that it was now four thirty-six.

  Just when Romford had about wrung his victim dry, he had a sneezing fit. Pooley and the Japanese gazed at him while he sneezed and sneezed and choked and sneezed some more. When the paroxysms wore off, Romford blew his nose furiously and said goodbye from behind his handkerchief. Pooley, out of Romford’s line of sight, bowed slightly. Yamaguchi reciprocated and left, but unfortunately for Romford’s peace of mind, he left the door slightly ajar. They heard Jenn’s piercing south London voice ask ‘How did you get on?’

  ‘Quite lewd man, Mr Lomufolu.’

  ‘What does he mean “lewd”?’ Romford was outraged. ‘I’ve never heard of such a thing. What’s he talking about?’

  ‘Er…I think he means “rude”.’

  ‘Ridiculous. I was politeness itself.’

  ‘The way you blew your nose, sir, I’m afraid. They tend to be rather more delicate about it. To his sensitivities it was as if you’d…well—’

  ‘“Well”, what?’

  ‘Excreted, sir.’

  Romford’s eyes flicked towards the pocket where he had stowed his handkerchief. ‘He’s not in Japan now. I’ve a good mind to tell him what I thought of the way he drank his tea. Noisy brute.’ He sulked for a couple of minutes, then brightened up. ‘We’ll have someone English now.’

  He looked down his list. ‘Bob Amiss. Amiss? I don’t suppose this could be the Robert Amiss who was at the BCC. Surely not. He had a good job.’

  ‘Couldn’t tell you, sir.’

  ‘It’d be a stroke of luck, wouldn’t it,’ said Romford unexpectedly. ‘He might be able to help a bit.’

  Pooley was astounded. He still remembered vividly Romford’s insistence in the teeth of the evidence that Amiss had to be taken seriously as a possible mass murderer.

  ‘Let’s see. Ask Jenn to bring him in.’

  Amiss entered wearing an expression that reminded Pooley of an amateur actor desperately trying to remember his lines.

  ‘Good-evening, Inspector Romford. I’m Robert Amiss. We talked on the telephone a few times when you were on the BCC case. And Constable Pooley. We met the night Superintendent Milton made the arrest. How nice to see you again. And goodness me, what a coincidence.’ Pooley felt a sense of almost paternal pride: his boy was word perfect.

  ‘Indeed it is, Mr Amiss. And I may say it’s a pleasure to meet you. I know you gave us some help with that terrible business. Dear me, the wickedness there is in this world.’

  ‘Shocking, shocking, Inspector. We must pray that there has been no wrongdoing on this occasion.’

  One of Robert’s problems, thought Pooley, was that he tended to throw himself over-enthusiastically into his roles. How would he manage if he had to talk to Rich and Romford simultaneously?

  ‘I fear there has been, Mr Amiss. It certainly appears that Mr Nurse’s drink was deliberately spiked.’

  ‘Dear me.’ Amiss shook his head. ‘It seems almost impossible to believe. Now how can I help you?’

  Romford took him through the key questions efficiently enough. It was clear that Amiss was an almost useless witness as far as the party was concerned, having known virtually no one there and been involved in conversation with a group by the bar for almost the whole time. ‘So you didn’t talk to Mr Nurse at all?’ Romford’s disappointment was almost palpable. Here was a witness he could both understand and trust, and he had seen nothing.

  ‘Hardly at all. He waved at me when he came in and called something like “Enjoying yourself, dear boy?” and I had the briefest of exchanges half-way through when I went over to the table near him to get some olives. But I don’t think he ever came over to our side of the room. I did see him gesticulating a couple of times.’

  ‘Was that normal behaviour for him?’

  ‘Don’t know, I’m afraid. I’m very new here.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Amiss. I’m sure we’ll see you again.’

  ‘Goodbye, Inspector. And good luck.’

  As Ami
ss rose, the door was flung open and in came a scantily-clad woman crying, ‘Bob, Bob, you come with me now.’

  ‘Excuse me, Inspector,’ said Amiss. ‘Galina, let me introduce Inspector Romford and Constable Pooley. Gentlemen, this is the Contessa Galina Domani.’ Barely glancing at them, she tugged Amiss vigorously by the sleeve and pulled him out of the room. ‘Come on, Bobby, come on. You come with me. We go somewhere nice, just us. I am tired of the others…so vulgar…so boring…’ Her voice receded into the distance.

  Pooley dared not look at Romford; he doubted his ability to keep a straight face. Eventually Romford said, ‘Well, so that’s a countess. Did you see what she was wearing? Or rather not wearing? And old enough to know better. I don’t know what the world is coming to.’

  This favourite refrain of Romford’s was more apposite than usual, thought Pooley, for if ever a man had no idea what was going on, it was he.

  It was a new experience for Pooley to feel sorry for Romford, but only a very hard heart could have withheld pity from the crumpled and pathetic figure who left the school at six. His interview with Jenn had produced what seemed like strong evidence that one of the few people at the party who could definitely not have spiked Ned’s drink was Rich. And from Rich he had got proof that his finances were in such an excellent state as to make his inheritance from Ned unimportant. ‘And there’s still all those other foreigners to interview,’ he said in the back of a taxi, itself an unheard of extravagance of Romford’s, who had strong views on saving public money. ‘I don’t know if I’m coming or going, to be truthful. I don’t see how that Rogers fellow could have done it but I can’t see who else would have wanted to. And anyway how are we to find out about what motives all those foreigners might have?’

  Pooley recognised the question was rhetorical. ‘Maybe it’ll all fall into place tomorrow, sir.’

  ‘And maybe not.’ And a chastened Romford left the taxi at Leicester Square and set off for the tube to Tooting.

  ***

  ‘Have you a minute, Rich?’

  ‘Always for you, Cath. How are things going?’

  ‘Bit tiring. The nip’s really hard going. Seems to be more keen on English than on enjoying himself, and of course that causes tensions within the group.’