by Paul Charles
Not surprisingly, Burgess also possessed books about books, including How to Buy Rare Books by William Rees-Mogg. There were books on wine and, weirdest of all, a book about knots – the colourful, Complete Guide to Knots – clearly as an aide to Dr Burgess’ nautical pastime.
Above the book-shelf was a large autographed oar. Kennedy was trying to make out the names when Mrs Burgess returned.
‘Sorry, no tea. Hope coffee will do,’ she announced as she strode through the door with a tray in her hands. She closed the door behind her with her foot and Coles and Kennedy joined her at the table.
Kennedy was not really a coffee man, just now and again – actually, twice a year maximum, but he accepted it. ‘Very, very milky with two sugars, please.’
Mrs Amelia Burgess had also supplied delightful paper-thin shortbread. Kennedy desperately wanted to dunk the shortbread in his coffee but he could see, over his hostess’ shoulder, the image of his mother watching him and mouthing the words, No, you mustn’t do that.
As the coffee passed his lips for the first time, he felt another twitch and moved his legs closer together.
‘Well, Chief Inspector – what can I do to help you?’ she asked.
‘Detective Inspector, actually,’ smiled Kennedy, before continuing. ‘We’re investigating the murder of a colleague of your husband – a Dr Berry.’
‘Murder? Oh, yes, Spencer told me about that. He said that the police thought that it was murder but he felt it was either suicide or an accident,’ she suggested before adding, ‘so how can I possibly help you?’
Did you know Dr Berry at all?’
‘Vaguely. I met him several times at functions with my husband. I didn’t know him very well but he seemed a nice enough fellow.’
‘When was the last time you saw him, Mrs Burgess?’ questioned the detective.
‘Oh, let me see – several weeks back. Probably before Christmas. Yes, that would have been it, at one of the hospital’s horrid Christmas parties.’
‘So you were no more than an acquaintance and you hadn’t seen him since December,’ asked Kennedy, now crossing his legs to ease his discomfort.
‘No, we were no more than acquaintances and I had not seen him since December,’ she said indignantly before continuing, ‘and what on earth do you mean by that?’
‘Well, I don’t really know how to put this but…’ Kennedy really felt awkward, helped none by his need to visit the toilet.
‘Yes?’ she insisted.
‘It has been suggested to me, Mrs Burgess, that you and Dr Berry were…’ Kennedy uncrossed his legs again and pushed his knees very tightly together, ‘were… well, more than acquaintances.’
‘What? What on ear… oh dear, Inspector, are you suggesting that…’ She broke out laughing. ‘Suggesting that we are – sorry – were lovers?’
‘I don’t see what’s so funny about it, Mrs Burgess.’
Kennedy really did wish he had asked her for the use of the toilet when they arrived. He had fully intended to do so but the place was so posh he could imagine Dr Burgess coming home that night and on his first visit to the little-boys’ room shouting out, ‘Here Amelia, love – who’s been dribbling on my seat?’
Amelia Burgess was still laughing and Coles looked over at Kennedy nervously. He seemed to be twitching an unusual amount as well.
‘Well, I suppose I better tell you because you’ll find out anyway with all your sniffing around. Yes, Inspector, I do have a lover, but it was not, I assure you, your poor Dr Berry. You see, my lover is a woman. I’m gay, lesbian, homosexual – whatever you want to call it, you quaint man. My lover and my husband are both well aware of each other’s existence. My husband and I, we use each other. He wanted a pretty wife, another of his expensive possessions. He wanted me to be his caring, doting, darling wife and I wanted the lifestyle, the money and the freedom to be with my lover. So, Spencer and I… well, we worked out this arrangement.’
Kennedy wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on.
‘There are lots of unwritten conditions but as long as I don’t embarrass him publicly, he doesn’t mind what I do. My lover and I don’t mind my play-acting, we are genuinely in love but have never felt the need to be part of some exclusive club to prove it. So you see, Inspector – we each have what we want. But I’m sorry, Dr Berry did not fit into our cuddly threesome.’
She concluded just as Kennedy was about to burst.
He rose quickly and said, ‘I’m sorry, Mrs Burgess. Please forgive me if I embarrassed you.’
‘I assure you, Inspector,’ she smiled, ‘I’m not the one embarrassed.’
Chapter Thirty-Four
On returning to his office, Kennedy had two telephone messages – one from Burgess, who wanted Kennedy to ring him back, and one from ann rea, who was “out and about” and would call later.
Tea first, thought Kennedy, now a very happy man having made room (thanks to a quick toilet-stop at The Queens), for more tea. He brewed-up and managed to wolf down a couple of chocolate biscuits before settling down at his desk to phone Burgess.
‘St Pancras All Saints Hospital.’
‘Hello. Could I speak to Dr Burgess, please?’ Kennedy requested.
‘He’s on another call at the moment, sir. Will you ring back or will you hold?’ asked the hospital telephonist.
‘Ah – I’ll hold on for a while,’ answered Kennedy.
He spent the few minutes tidying up his desk and staring at his case noticeboard hoping for inspiration.
‘Dr Burgess is free now. Who shall I say is calling?’
‘Detective Inspector Christy Kennedy of Camden CID,’ Kennedy said quietly but confidently.
‘Putting you through.’
There was a click and a high-pitched voice barked into Kennedy’s ear. The noise was so unpleasant he couldn’t make out any of the words that were being shouted at him. He held the earpiece away from his ear but kept the mouthpiece in its functional position.
After a while, Kennedy called out: ‘Hello, if there’s anyone there, I have to tell you that I can’t make out a word that you may be saying, so if you would like to quieten down a few decibels perhaps we can talk. Until then, I’m not even trying to listen.’
The racket died down.
‘Dr Burgess?’ began Kennedy.
‘Yes,’ the doctor hissed.
‘What’s the prob–?’
‘How dare you? How dare you go into my house? How dare you question my wife and how dare you – you excuse of a policeman – how effing dare you accuse her of having an affair with Berry? Hey?’
Burgess wasn’t interested in Kennedy’s reply and continued pouring his anger down the phone line. It oozed like chocolate sauce over ice-cream.
‘How effing dare you? I’ll be speaking to Superintendent Castle. I’ll have you, you’ll see. I’m not just one of your plebs, don’t you know. You can’t pull me off the street and beat an admission out of me. I’ve got connections – you’ll see I’m connected. I can stop people like you trying to do this to people like me. Save that treatment for the poor people.’
Kennedy was nearly beginning to enjoy this.
‘And if I ever – ever – hear the slightest whisper of the fact that my wife is… well, you know what she told you. How did you prise that information out of her, the poor woman? What did you threaten her with? Hey? I’m telling you, Kennedy, if I ever hear anything about my wife being, you-know, I will personally have you thrown off the police force and back into the gutter where you so obviously belong.’
There was more.
‘It’s all our business – nothing to do with you, nothing to do with Dr Berry. Open your eyes, man, can’t you see that poor unfortunate man Berry botched up the diagnosis on that girl – that Collins girl – and if you had half a brain you would have realised that. But you’re too busy trying to make a name for yourself, sticking your nose in other people’s business. I don’t have to pretend that I like you – I don’t have to act scared of
you. I don’t need to be careful that I don’t upset you in case you look at me closer or harass me. My wife has not done anything wrong. I have not done anything wrong. I do not have to put up with you nosing around in my business, so clear off and leave us alone.’
Kennedy could hear that the doctor was breathing heavily. He let a near-silence fall between them. After all that barking the silence was paradise.
‘You there? Hello? Are you still there?’ the doctor asked hoarsely.
Kennedy answered in a soft, calm voice: ‘Have you finished now? Good. I’m afraid you lost me around the “I’m not a pleb” bit. But believe me, Doctor, I got the gist and I don’t need it repeated. But now, I’d like you to listen to me for a couple of seconds. It’s short and it’s simple. I questioned your wife and as a result of that questioning I have ruled her out of my inquiries.’
Kennedy continued softly, so softly, in fact, that Burgess had to strain to hear the words.
‘If you had half the class your wife has, you’d realise I do not need – or wish – to spread any information I may have learned while questioning your wife. If you wish to speak to Superintendent Castle, then I can let you have his telephone number. That’s all I have to say.’
Kennedy heard some more shouting in the earpiece as he returned the handset to its cradle.
Ten seconds later the phone rang again. ‘Yes!’ Kennedy snapped.
‘Kennedy?’
He was immediately remorseful. ‘I’m sorry, ann rea. I’ve just gotten off the phone with that pompous prat, Burgess from St Pancras.’
‘It’s okay, I understand.’ She was happy to see how quickly he had pulled out of his attitude once he had heard her voice. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking. We’ve been friends for nearly a day now and you haven’t asked me out to dinner yet.’
Kennedy took all of a split second to forget the pompous prat Burgess ever existed.
‘Yes, of course. Good. Let’s have dinner.’
‘You’ve such a way with words, Kennedy, you say the nicest things. I’ll pick you up at six thirty at North Bridge House, okay?’
‘Perfect.’
See you then, Kennedy.’
And she was gone. ann rea, the perfect tonic for pomposity.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Kennedy stood outside North Bridge House in the cold evening air watching Parkway wind down. It had been another frustrating day and nothing had really fallen into place. The day before had been a day of progress, today a day of marking time, but in a murder enquiry you have to rely on both kinds of days in order to solve the crime.
ann rea pulled into the car park in her Fort Popular, a mean, clean machine she was proud of.
‘Dinner at my place suit you, Kennedy?’
‘Sounds great to me,’ Kennedy replied, as he tried to figure out whether he should kiss her on her cheek or shake her hand. ann rea solved the problem by kissing the air a few millimetres from his face.
‘It’s a trick I’ve learnt at cocktail parties,’ she said after they’d climbed into the car. She eased the car into gear and headed off towards her home in Hartland Road in nearby Chalk Farm.
‘This is a bit nippy,’ said Kennedy as car zipped through the traffic.
‘Yes, it passes everything but a petrol station,’ she laughed.
Pretty soon, it was parked outside ann rea’s home.
‘Come straight through to the kitchen. You can make some tea and I’ll start dinner,’ she announced, throwing her car and house keys on to a shelf on the hallway hat-stand.
Persuading Kennedy to make a cup of tea doesn’t take a lot of work and soon he had filled the kettle and had the water boiling. ann rea systematically unpacked her Marks and Sparks shopping bags and stacked the contents into cupboards and fridge.
‘What on earth did Burgess say to you to put you in such a foul mood earlier?’ she asked.
‘Ah, I just hate people like that and all they stand for. Where do you keep your tea?’
Up there in the cupboard – directly above the toaster,’ she pointed. ‘But he must have really rattled your cage.’
She re-opened some of the cupboards and started to remove the ingredients for her dish of the night.
‘Well, I went to chat to his wife to see if I could find out anything about Dr Berry,’ he began, whilst heating the pot with a dash of water from the kettle to the point where it felt warm to his hands. He spooned in three teaspoons of leaf-tea, one for each person and one for the pot. When the water was boiled, he poured a dash into the teapot – not much, just half a cup-full or so – and swilled it around in the pot before adding the rest of the boiling water. Kennedy then set the teapot to one side and left the tea to brew. One of the many rules of tea-making he ascribes to is how important it is not to heat the pot at this point (as some people are wont to do), as this stews the tea. This is what happens in cafes and staff canteens in their endeavours to keep tea hot for long periods of time. Kennedy usually adds the milk to the cup before pouring the tea, followed by sugar, if required. Kennedy has two sugars, ann rea none.
‘Kennedy, you do know how to make good tea,’ said ann rea, taking her first sip. ‘This is exactly what I need at this time of the day. I never thought I’d be able to say that about anything non-alcoholic.’
She continued to sip her tea contentedly.
ann rea leant back against the work-top on which she had set out the food. She held her left arm across her chest, cupping the elbow of her right arm in her left hand. In this manner, she supported the cup of tea in her right hand, like a crane, and swung the cup of tea to and from her mouth.
Kennedy was sitting at the dining-table, feeling guilty at the fact that his eyes – lacking subtlety – were obviously drawn to the weight now supported by her left arm. If she was aware of his eyes, her body-language did not admit it. She almost smiled at him, but not quite.
‘So what did Mrs Burgess have to tell you about Dr Berry? What did she tell you that made her loving husband go so mad at you?’ she asked, sipping her tea.
‘Well, I asked her, was there any truth in the rumours going around the hospital that she and Berry had been having an affair and…’
‘Oh, you didn’t, Kennedy?’ she laughed in disbelief.
‘Yes, I have to try and find some motive for the murder. Jealousy is an obvious one, though in this case, it probably wouldn’t have done me a lot of good even if she had been having an affair with Berry.’
‘Why, Kennedy?’
‘Why? Because her darling, caring husband has the perfect alibi. He was on duty in the hospital at the time the murder was committed.’
‘So how did Amelia react to your subtle line of questioning?’
‘Well, she was amused, yes, amused more than anything else and she told me – you must keep this a secret, mind – that yes, she was having an affair but that it was with a woman. She has a long-time female lover and apparently Burgess is happy with the set up.’
‘Why on earth did she tell you?’
‘She said she thought I would find out anyway. She probably didn’t want me snooping around, kicking up dust. But you don’t seem surprised, ann rea?’
‘I already knew, Kennedy. Not everybody in the press has to print all the stories they have about people’s private lives. She’s not part of any gay movement or anything but she’s seriously in love with an older woman and they’ve been together and happy for about ten years now.’
Kennedy felt like a fool.
‘But enough of this gossip, Kennedy. Put some music on and open a bottle of wine – there’s some in the fridge. And I’ll start dinner,’ ann rea said, rinsing her teacup in the sink.
ann rea had a very impressive tape and CD collection but Kennedy didn’t hesitate in selecting Rubber Soul, another Beatles classic. He adjusted the volume for the opening chords of “Drive My Car”, before returning to the kitchen. He sat down and stared at ann rea.
‘The wine, Kennedy, the wine. The tea is great, I know, but I could do
with a little alcohol in my blood.’
‘Ah, yes, sorry.’ Kennedy plopped out the cork. ‘Where do you keep the wine glasses or shall we use two straws?’
‘Ho ho. The glasses are in the living-room.’
Returning with a pair of elegant wine glasses, Kennedy poured two generous helpings of wine.
‘So, how is the Berry case going? Have you much work left to do on it?’ ann rea asked, sipping her drink.
‘Now, there’s a thing. You see, you’ve just voiced a very popular misconception about the art of detection.’
‘What?’ she asked, surprised.
‘You know, once you’ve spent a certain amount of time on a case, you can solve it. I’m afraid that only happens in Inspector Morse. You know for a fact that by the end of Collin Dexter’s fine novels – or by the end of the TV show – Morse will have solved the case. The criminal will go to jail and Morse and Lewis will drive off in the red Jaguar in search of real ale. At least, they always do on the telly, drive off in a Jag, that is, it’s a Lancia in the books. Whatever, case solved – roll the credits.’
ann rea, still busy preparing dinner, smiled at Kennedy’s entertaining monologue.
‘A real case is a bit like life and a bit like a computer: you know that all the facts and details are there somewhere waiting for you to find them, all you need to know is which keys you need to press. Once you start getting some details, the rest falls into place. Until then, you just have to plod on, hoping for a little luck.’
Kennedy refilled the glasses. ‘This wine is great, you know.’
‘Yes,’ she smiled. ‘So, Kennedy – back to the case. Who looks the most likely suspect to you?’
‘Okay,’ he said, rearranging the HP Sauce bottle, the milk jug and the sugar bowl. ‘Here are my three main suspects.’
He moved the props one by one to the centre of the table.
‘Here,’ said Kennedy, pointing to the milk jug, ‘is subject number one. Mr Norman Collins. Motive: He thinks that through carelessness, Berry killed his sister, Susanne Collins. Opportunity? Well, he was certainly in London on the morning of the death, but he claims he wasn’t here until after the crime was committed. He could have caught an earlier train, which would have given him enough time to kill Berry and release his pigeons.’