The English School of Murder

by Ruth Dudley Edwards

  ‘I tell Bob I have important call. I wish to speak with you, Reech. I wish another picnic Sunday.’

  Rich came close to exploding. Were there absolutely no limits to the demands of this horrible bitch?

  ‘I’m sorry, Galina, but no. My mother—’

  ‘Stop about your mother, Reech. Look.’ She took from her handbag a diamond tie-pin. ‘You like this?’ She held it out.

  Christ, he thought, it must be worth thousands. ‘It’s very nice, Galina.’

  ‘A picnic, Reech?’

  Greed fought with self-disgust and won. Hating himself, Rich put out his hand. Galina smiled. ‘Good. I am pleased. But there is a condition.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘I wish Bob at the picnic.’

  ‘I can’t force him to come, Galina.’

  ‘You are clever. You will do it.’

  And putting the tie-pin back in her bag, she went back to join her class.

  ***

  Milton put the phone down.

  ‘I think we’re just about ready to start the interviews, Ellis. You’ve done a first-rate job on the reconstruction of the party. We just need to check it with the remaining people.’

  ‘Any news from Central, sir?’

  ‘I’m told Layton is making excellent progress. Which reminds me. Now that you’re a sergeant, there’s a vacancy for a DC with us. Would your friend Layton be interested?’

  ‘I’m positive he’d jump at it, sir. Doesn’t get a lot of encouragement where he is.’

  ‘Now there’s no guarantee he’d get it, but if he wants it he’d be in with a strong chance. I’m impressed by his dedication. Too many coppers look for opportunities to up the solved crime rate rather than insisting on making the figures worse because they are concerned with truth. I leave it to you. Speak to him if you think it a good idea.’

  Pooley’s heart was full. ‘Oh, sir,’ was all he could say.

  Milton looked at him in momentary alarm. This lad is too devoted, he said to himself. He watched Pooley as he returned to his labours and felt sad that one could inspire hero worship just by giving someone junior a bit of scope. ‘Right, Ellis. Off we go. Let’s be brave. Find Jenn and ask her to fetch the contessa. And may the Lord have mercy on our souls.’

  Chapter 21

  Somewhat to Pooley’s disappointment, Galina gave her evidence crisply.

  ‘Surprisingly straightforward,’ mused Milton. ‘She seemed preoccupied. Still trying to think of a way of getting her hands on Robert, perhaps.’ He sneezed. ‘Dreadful pong in here, Ellis. She certainly puts on enough perfume.’

  ‘It’s not just perfume, sir.’ Pooley prided himself on his discriminating sense of smell. ‘It’s the additional smells from all those cosmetics, not to speak of the hair spray.’

  ‘Well, I hope our next client doesn’t think we’re generating them. Ask for Ahmed, Ellis, will you?’

  It was an unwise move, for Ahmed also moved in a cloud of perfume—one of the macho brands, the sufferers assumed. He confirmed having had a brief conversation with Ned. ‘He is old,’ he said helpfully.

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘My family. I tell him I am brince.’ He waved his hand in a lordly fashion and the stones glittered in the evening sunlight.

  ‘Brince?’ Milton was momentarily mystified. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon. You are a prince?’

  ‘I am.’ Ahmed nodded. ‘I am brince of the royal house of Saud. Some trouble—the embassy come.’

  Milton felt an urge to congratulate him on his good fortune. Instead he assumed an expression of great gravitas. ‘There is no trouble, sir. We simply wish your help in finding out who put alcohol in Mr Nurse’s drink.’

  Ahmed gave a massive shrug. ‘Why? He is dead. Insh’allah.’

  ‘This is how we do things in this country,’ said Milton, rather stiffly. He observed that Ahmed was scarcely listening, but because his eyes seemed focused in opposite directions, he could not detect whether he was looking at him either.

  ‘Sir,’ he said more loudly, ‘I must ask you did you see anyone put any liquid into Mr Nurse’s drink?’

  Ahmed shook his head.

  ‘Did you see anyone put any liquid into the blue and white jug?’

  ‘No. Now I go.’ He jumped up and began to put on the red leather jacket he had brought in with him.

  ‘Wait please, sir.’

  ‘I go. I am sick. I see doctor.’

  ‘Very well, sir. But I may need to see you again.’

  Ahmed’s indifference was clear. ‘Insh’allah,’ he said, and slouched out of the room.

  ‘What a prick!’ said Milton.

  Pooley looked at him in slight surprise. Then he smiled. ‘Don’t you mean “brick”, sir? Shall I call the next one?’

  Milton felt pleased. Pooley was learning to relax with him at last.

  By the time Milton and Pooley finished interviewing Amiss’s group, they were able to put together a reasonably full account of Ned Nurse’s last few hours. He had finished prefab duties at five and gone to his and Rich’s office to mess around with some papers. Jenn had laid out all the alcoholic drinks for the party by four forty-five, but had not brought in the mixers and soft drinks until just before five. Most of the drinks were on the table beside the window, which was referred to as the bar. Since the drinks were cocktails, they had to be ordered at the bar, not as usual left for people to help themselves. So the only drinks on the table at the other end of the room were soft.

  Jenn stated that just before five she had taken from the refrigerator two unopened cartons of mango and kiwi juice and had decanted them into a large blue and white pottery jug that was always used for this purpose.

  Three people confirmed that Ned had come in about five thirty and had helped himself from this jug; two of them had understood him to say he had never tasted anything like it before.

  Everyone who had noticed Ned agreed that he had never moved from the far end of the room. That was typical, Cath and Jenn had confirmed. He was very shy of the BPs and tended to wait for them to approach him rather than initiating contact. The concern of the police was to eliminate anyone who was never near enough to the jug or Ned’s glass to spike his drink.

  Gavs and his group had been out for the whole day in Oxford, so there were only fifteen students at the party. Fabrice and Marcello, the volunteer cocktail-makers, had gone straight to the bar as soon as they arrived in the lounge and had stayed at it until the end.

  Of the remaining thirteen, there were five who would swear that they had been together from the very beginning, had stuck together throughout and never moved from the window area. Neither had Cath, who was also making cocktails.

  Davina had come in with Rich and had then latched on to Amiss. She had never been alone between five and seven.

  Rich had been seen greeting Ned when he arrived at about five thirty, but immediately afterwards had gone to the other end of the room and not left it until after Ned’s departure. According to the four people who saw them together, for him to have administered the alcohol would have been a mighty feat of prestidigitation.

  That left eight possibles among the students: Ahmed, Galina, Gunther, Karl, Alessandro, Simone and Mr Yamaguchi. Among the staff there was only Jenn.

  There was, of course, the slight possibility that someone had given Ned alcohol before or after the party, but it was so remote that Milton decided to ignore it. This was not the time to worry about such long shots.

  ‘OK, Ellis, let’s pack it in for tonight. The school’s shut tomorrow morning, and I think we’d better not come back until Friday. Until then, you sort out the paperwork while I talk to Interpol and Central and clear a bit of other work. If Layton has lined up any interviews relating to Wally Armstrong, we’ll start them in the afternoon.’

  ‘Sorry, sir, but weren’t you going to see Rich Rogers?’

  ‘I want a bit more information on his finances first, and I really don’t want to bother him on the day of the funeral
.’

  They gathered up their papers. ‘I’m anxious to talk to Robert about how things went with Rich,’ said Milton, ‘but I daren’t call him in again. Have you any idea what he’s up to tonight?’

  ‘Jenn mentioned that Gunther’s taking them gambling.’

  ‘Robert’s appetite for pleasure seems insatiable,’ said Milton. He shook his head. ‘Poor devil. I hope he’ll be able to get some sleep at the weekend.’

  ***

  ‘Robert!’ Rich’s tone was so friendly that Amiss decided the danger was over.

  ‘Yes, Rich.’

  ‘Do me a favour, old love?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Help me out on Sunday with an extra activity? I really need a man to balance the numbers and Gavs did it last weekend.’

  ‘The whole of Sunday?’

  ‘Best part of it, I’m afraid.’ Rich reflected on what Galina was requiring of Bob and added, ‘In fact, I’d write off the afternoon and evening. Sorry, but that’s the way it goes.’

  Amiss would have tried to get out of it, but he felt so anxious to get back on easy terms with Rich that he was prepared to put himself out considerably.

  ‘OK. What’s it involve?’

  ‘A picnic here at lunchtime.’

  Amiss was surprised at the modesty of this activity. Then he shrugged. Whatever turned them on.

  ***

  ‘Good-morning, Robert. This is Jim. How are you feeling?’

  ‘Atrabilious.’

  ‘I don’t know what the word means, but it certainly sounds unpleasant.’

  ‘It means full of bile, which is about what I am mentally and physically at the moment. I found the spectacle of very rich people frantically scrabbling to get richer very depressing and drank too much to compensate. Puts me in the right mood for a funeral, I suppose. How are you? How’s it going?’

  They exchanged news. ‘You did well with Rich. Congratulations.’

  ‘Thanks. About Ahmed by the way. He really did think he’s sick. He’s gone off to see the school’s tame doctor. Gavs tells me his speciality is giving hypochondriacs what they want.’

  ‘When can we meet, Robert?’

  ‘This evening for a quick drink? Then I’ve got to go home and sleep.’

  ‘OK. Where’s safe from civil servants, police, BPs and whoever else I’ve forgotten?’

  Amiss nominated a pub in Pimlico, off the beaten track.

  ‘I’ll be there at seven. Perhaps we can manage something longer over the weekend?’

  ‘Well, I’ve got Ellis coming to dinner on Saturday night, Jim. How would you feel about joining us?’

  ‘Good question. I’d like it very much but I’m not sure that I should do it.’

  ‘The three of us really need to talk things over sometime, don’t we?’

  ‘Yes. We do. But I had assumed we’d be in more formal territory.’

  ‘You know all this officers and gentlemen stuff is very difficult for me to accept, Jim. I think I understand why the police have to be run on quasi-military lines. But I find it hard to believe that I can’t invite two friends to dinner because one of them has the power of life and death over the other.’

  ‘You’re right, Robert. I’m being ultra-cautious. It’s really Ellis I’m trying to protect.’

  ‘And Ellis is trying to protect you. Do you know he always refers to you as the Super even when he’s talking to me in private? He’s terrified that if he thought of you as Jim he’d let it out some day in public and your career would be compromised.’

  ‘It is ridiculous, really, when you look at it from the perspective of outside. Bugger it. Of course I’d like to come. And Ellis is just going to have to learn two modes: public and private.’

  Chapter 22

  There were very few English people at Ned’s funeral: apart from Amiss, Gavs and Rich, there were no more than a dozen. The only BP to turn up was Gunther, who explained to Amiss that it was proper to pay respect to the principal. What was heartening was the sight of a substantial contingent of the tarts and waiters: clearly Ned’s gift for inspiring affection penetrated the language barrier.

  The church was small and elegant; the flowers discreet but exquisite; the organ music—mainly Bach—was splendid; the hymns were nobly sung, for Rich, perhaps anticipating a small turn-out, had hired a quartet of singers; and the vicar was well-briefed and talked about a Ned that Amiss recognised. Above all, Rich read with great dignity a lesson that suited gentle Ned Nurse very well, the passage from St Paul to the Corinthians that ends, ‘So faith, hope, love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.’

  The entire congregation melted away after the service and Rich went off alone with the vicar to bury Ned. Amiss and Gavs walked together towards the tube.

  ‘What are you doing for lunch, Gavs?’

  ‘Hadn’t thought. And you?’

  ‘Same. How about trying the pub beside the station?’

  ‘Sure.’

  It was a theme pub, a phenomenon of the 1980s that Amiss particularly deplored. This one had a library theme, which meant that a corner of it had subdued lighting, darkish wallpaper, a couple of button-back leatherette sofas, two similar armchairs and four rows of books that looked as though they were a job lot from a jumble sale. The rest of the pub was laid out more like an aircraft hangar; under strong white lights, ten people occupied a space that could have fitted a hundred with ease.

  ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Gin and tonic, please, Bob. I’ll get a table, shall I?’

  Amiss brought the drinks over to Gavs, who had commandeered the whole library corner by cleverly strewing his raincoat, briefcase and newspaper over all available surfaces.

  ‘Cheers,’ said Amiss, raising his pint of bitter. ‘To Ned.’

  ‘Ned.’

  ‘Lunch?’ Amiss inclined his head towards the glass and plastic food counter positioned what seemed like fifty feet away. They walked across and silently surveyed a display that gave pride of place to slices of processed cheese and rubbery ham. Around these were scattered lettuce, parsley, green and red peppers and tomatoes, all constructed out of plastic.

  ‘Can I help yew?’ The girl looked impatient.

  ‘Er…is this it?’

  Her irritation at their ignorance was barely contained. ‘There’s a menew.’ She pushed over a red plastic folder. ‘Everything hot’s off except the sausage.’

  ‘I’ll have two Scotch eggs with chips,’ said Gavs.

  Amiss stifled a grin. ‘And I’ll have the sausages and beans.’

  They paid and returned to their drinks.

  ‘Progress!’ said Gavs. ‘I can’t wait to get out of this fucking country.’

  ‘Where to?’

  ‘Kenneth—that’s my partner—and I, we’re buying a place in Morocco. We’ll run it as a small high-class hotel.’

  ‘Do you know Morocco well?’

  ‘Sure. Been two or three times a year for the last four or five. Kenneth can’t stay away from Arabs.’

  Amiss was rather nonplussed by Gavs’s directness. ‘Oh, really?’ was the only response he could think of.

  ‘Yes. Fortunately I don’t mind. If he wants to bring them along to join us now and again that’s all right with me. The important thing is having no hanky-panky on the side.’

  ‘You’re happy with troikas, you mean,’ said Amiss, trying to sound like a man of the world.

  ‘Well, I can take them or leave them, but it’s important to keep Kenneth happy.’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course. Absolutely.’ As the girl arrived and slammed down their plates, Amiss speculated on how Rachel would react if he asked her if she would mind the occasional threesome. His imagination was not up to it.

  ‘Mind you, I wish it didn’t always have to be Arabs. The Moroccans are all right, but I don’t like the Saudis.’

  Amiss murmured sympathetically as he tucked into his baked beans.

  ‘Ahmed was really rough.’

  ‘Ahmed!’
/>   ‘Oh, I thought you’d have known.’

  ‘But I’ve seen him all over women several times. And I’m sure he’s had his leg over with Jenn.’

  ‘Yeh, sure. He’s AC/DC. Probably does it with camels too. That boy just likes sensation.’

  Amiss ate some more beans. He felt too dazed to think clearly about what other information Gavs might be able to give him. Finally he asked, ‘Lot of sex goes on with the students?’

  ‘Oh, sure. With and among. Most of them are in the mood and we’re pretty cooperative. A romance every second group would be about the size of it. AIDS is cutting down the fun more and more, mind you. Though you’d be surprised how many of them still don’t believe it can happen to them.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought Cath—’

  ‘Oh, very selective, very, very. Nobody gets that baby cheaply. In fact, I don’t know if anyone has in the last six months or so. She says she’s got a steady. You had much action yet?’

  Amiss swung into the account of his rich, jealous girlfriend. ‘Cramps my style a bit, I can tell you. Galina’s not too pleased.’

  ‘I’ve heard. Another?’

  ‘Yes, please.’

  Amiss collected his thoughts. He remembered he was supposed to be focusing on the supposed murders rather than getting lost in details of other people’s sex lives. When Gavs returned, he asked, ‘Will Rich manage OK without Ned?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think Ned was a lot more important to Rich than the others realise. But then I understand about partnerships. And even though I don’t think they were what I mean by gay, they were more than just friends.’

  ‘What do you think happened to Ned?’

  ‘Search me. The only thing I can think of is that one of the students played a joke that misfired. Or Jenn. It’d be just the sort of idiotic thing she’d do. But I doubt if she’d ever admit to it.’

  ‘One of the fuzz asked me if I’d heard anything about Wally Armstrong’s death. All I knew was what I’d heard from you and Jenn.’

  ‘Well now, if you were looking for someone to murder, Wally would have been a serious proposition. I couldn’t stick him. It was a mercy Rich kept him out of things as much as he did. Wally would definitely not have approved of some of our goings on. Fortunately, he was too thick to see anything that wasn’t handed to him on a platter.’ He took another sip. ‘Mind you, people don’t usually get murdered just for being annoying, do they? It must have been an accident.’