by Paul Charles
The kiss continued timelessly. They drank the waters of each other’s mouth, neither wanting the kiss to end.
But end it did.
In movie terms, it was a long face with their lips just brushing each other. When eventually their lips did separate, Kennedy kissed ach of ann rea’s closed eyelids.
They continued to hug each other. Kenned and ann rea didn’t talk. There was no need to talk, no use for words. They rocked gently, hugging for some minutes.
“I’ve got to go home, Kennedy,’ she said quietly.
I know,’ he replied and he helped her on with her coat and took her out to the car.
‘Speak to you tomorrow,’ ann rea said as she kissed her fingers and placed them on Kennedy’s lips.
Chapter Forty-Four
On his way to the office the following morning, Kennedy stopped off at Regent’s Bookshop in Parkway and asked for something on knots. Peter, the ever reliable bookseller had two such books in stock – This is the Colour Book of Knots by Floris Hin and The Complete Guide to Knots by Mario Bigon and Guido Regazloni. Kennedy recognised the second title – he’d seen the same book in Burgess’ study. He paid the eight pounds and ninety-nine pence and returned to his office.
Kennedy settled down behind his desk with his second cup of tea of the day and his newly acquired book. He browsed through it, not finding what he was after. He decided to re-read it more thoroughly.
Twenty minutes elapsed before he discovered exactly what he had been searching for. The knot in question was the Highwayman’s Hitch, also known as a Draw Hitch. It was the featured knot on pages sixty-four and sixty-five of this now very valuable book.
Content with his work, he placed another piece of paper on the case noticeboard. All he had to do now was work out the motive. Kennedy revised the information he had on Dr Berry, the information he had gained from his meeting with Sheila Berry. This turned up nothing new so he moved on to his notes concerning Burgess and his wife.
Kennedy wondered if Amelia Burgess’ lover could in some way be involved in this plot. Kennedy had not questioned her or even tried to find out anything about her. Had this been a mistake?
There were so many things going around his head, thanks to his productive time at the hotel. His mind returned to that eventful Sunday with ann rea. Pleasant thoughts though they were, Kennedy knew that, should he continue with them, he’d make no further progress on the case.
Time for a change of scene. He collected his coat from behind the door and headed off into the chilly morning.
Kennedy stood at the gate to North Bridge House for several moments trying to decide which way to go. His feet made the choice for him and five minutes later he arrived at Cumberland Basin. He spent a considerable amount of time trying to reconstruct the sequence of events that had taken place there on the morning of Berry’s death.
Kennedy felt sure that he’d worked out exactly what had happened on the darkened morning but he still needed to discover the why of the case. He walked around the basin at street level and, as much as he could, at canal level.
‘You’re very clever, mister – very clever. But I’ll catch you,’ Kennedy said to the canal. He threw in a stone and, before the ripples had died away, turned to walk back to his office.
Now Kennedy felt he was focused enough to return to his review of the case. He removed all the files relating to Norman Collins and William Jackson. A mistake, perhaps, but should he be proven wrong in his hunch, he could always return to them.
One of Kennedy’s main strengths as a policeman was that he was not scared of being wrong. He didn’t sit on the fence. He’d have an opinion on a matter and would act on it until such time as he, or someone else, proved his opinion wrong. At that point, he would start all over again. But he was always prepared to get on with it.
A couple of hours had passed and turned up nothing new. During that time, there had been interruptions from Irvine, who was cajoled into preparing a fresh pot of tea, and from Coles, who just wanted to see if there was anything she could do.
The posse were all of the opinion that Kennedy was about to crack the Berry case. He’d “gone quiet” on them and that was a usual sign.
Kennedy wished he was as close to cracking it as they seemed to think he was.
He liked – no, he insisted on, offering a full and final solution to all his cases. He didn’t like leaving the burden of proof to the judge and jury. Who said that a jury was always going to get it right? It’s a powerful-sounding name, but a jury only consisted of twelve mere humans. Twelve people with their own problems – financial worries, moving to bigger and more expensive houses, work problems, bad health, wives and husbands being unfaithful, troublesome children. Kennedy often marvelled at how people, with so many burdens of their own, could clear their mind and concentrate on the non-stop parade of boring, badly presented evidence. The system encouraged them to view the suspect uncritically – never mind that the lawyers had them carefully dressed and rehearsed for their appearance in court. What about the victim? If only he jury could see the victim at the time of the death, and the destruction and disintegration of the victim’s relatives. If, just once, the jury could go beyond the grave so that the victim could tell their side of the story.
No, much too scary to leave it to a jury, thought Kennedy. He preferred to have proof – proof that left absolutely no doubt in the minds of judge or jury as to who committed the crime and why.
And why?
But – and it was a very big but – he felt he was a long way from such a breakthrough. He felt sure that whoever committed this crime was not going to come running with his hands outstretched, begging for handcuffs, saying, Fair cop, guv, I did it. Kennedy thought that this particular murderer was going to be tricky to catch. No point in being brainy if you can’t show off just a little bit, was how Kennedy felt his suspect would think. No, he was going to have to catch this one and catch him in such a way as to leave no room for retreat.
Chapter Forty-Five
Naught, nil, zilch. Two days later and he was no nearer to solving the puzzle. Totally frustrating. Kennedy visited Sheila Berry, who was doing what a good person her position would do – getting on with her life in the best way possible under the circumstances.
He discussed the case with Superintendent Castle, who was, as usual, completely understanding and supportive.
But it was left to ann rea to be the light in his life during those two dark days.
‘Kennedy,’ she began, as they sat down to dine in NB Restaurant, in Princess Road. ‘What happens when, like in this Berry Case, the investigation grinds to a halt with the case still unsolved? If nothing new turns up, will they take you off it and put you on something else?’
‘Well, it would depend,’ he began. ‘The Super would call me in for an appraisal of the case. He would make a decision based on the information I had just given him, assessing the current work-load and the likelihood of the case being successfully solved.’
‘So, would that case still remain in your file or is there a special place for unsolved crimes?’ she asked.
‘You mean, like a home in Worthing?’ he laughed.
‘I’m serious, Kennedy,’ she chastised.
‘Sorry. No, it would stay with me so that, should there be any new breaks or updates in information, I’d be best qualified to see how it changed the big picture,’ he answered.
‘How long would it remain an unsolved case? Do they ever close an unsolved case?’
‘No, they never close a case these days. It’s entered on the computer under different headings and can be cross-referenced with other cases in the future, just in case they link up or are in some way connected.’
‘I sense a story here, Kennedy… or even a series, don’t you think? How would I find out about these cases?’
‘I don’t really know. I suppose you could approach the Super or the press office. If you presented your idea to them in the right way, you might be in with a chance,’ Kennedy re
plied.
‘You think they’d go for it, then? ann rea quizzed.
‘Well, I suppose some publicity for some of these old cases might be good. You may trigger somebody’s memory and bring in some new relevant leads. Or you could even reach witnesses who missed the coverage first time around, because of holidays or whatever. It could be good, ann rea. It could help to rid us of some of the unsolved files. But you need to approach it that way; not, “look at all these cases your local police have failed to solve”. Don’t do that and it could be good,’ he said encouragingly.
‘Yes, I can see that. I think I’ll try and convince the editor that it would make a fascinating piece and let me make a series out of it. I’ll make a couple of calls tomorrow,’ she smiled.
Kennedy got stuck into his tuna fish bake and ann rea tucked into her vegetable strudel – as ever, both were delicious.
Kennedy lowered his knife and fork to the table and took a sip of his cold, crisp white wine. He was terrible at remembering the names of wine, the vintages and the whole palaver but, fortunately, the waiter-cum-owner knew exactly what Kennedy liked and didn’t make a fuss serving it.
‘ann rea,’ Kennedy began, as the wine washed down his last mouthful of food. ‘About this friendship thing, I must admit I’m quite getting into it, particularly after the weekend.’
ann rea smiled.
‘So, I was wondering – what happens next?’ Before she could answer, he quickly took another mouthful of wine.
‘I bet you were, Kennedy. Look, I like you and not as in, I only like you. The more I know you, the more I like you and the more I want to know you more. I want to be sure, Kennedy. I want to take time… take time to make sure it’s right. I want you to desire me, Kennedy. If we get together, I need you to look at me the way you looked at me on the Sunday in the hotel…’
Kennedy smiled as the memory flashed before him.
‘I want to have romance. I don’t want to get into a relationship with you where I take you – or your pot belly, or your Ghandi shorts, or your spilt toothpaste, or your shaving-gear lying around – as part of the deal. I don’t want you taking me lying around, or vegetating, or dressing badly, or wearing careless make-up, or stale underwear, and so on, as part of the package. If we get it together, Kennedy, it has to be forever. If not, I’m not interested.’
‘I don’t have a pot belly, do I?’
‘No, of course not. And I don’t want you to, either. I want you always to be as attractive and as fresh to me as you are at this moment. I want to keep that, Kennedy; I need to keep that. I want you to always want to get to know me more. I want always to want to know more about you. I don’t want to reach the stage where we meet for five minutes at the end of each day, jump on each other’s bones at the weekend and spend hours on Sundays with each other, sitting in complete silence, me reading the Sundays, you off in your own world. If we get together, I want us to be together.’
Kennedy made as though to speak. But he could see that ann rea hadn’t finished, so he took another sip of wine.
‘We may, or we may not, make love. Don’t you like that mystery, that romance? I don’t know if it will happen, Kennedy. I don’t know and I don’t want to know until it does happen – or not, as the case may be. And if we should make love, I don’t want either of us to take it for granted that it will ever happen again. That way – hopefully – if it does happen again, it’ll be just as magical as the first time.’
She smiled and her eyes warmed his heart and turned his knees to jelly. Kennedy took another gulp of wine.
‘So, Kennedy – you’re the other half of this duo. How do you feel about it? How do you feel now you know my dreams?’
‘You don’t ask little questions, do you? All right, I’ll tell you: I’ve never, ever, known anyone like you during my life. I wasn’t looking for anyone and then you came along and you… you became so important to me. And I feel great about it. It’s like you came from nowhere and now you’re my best friend and, if I’m honest, I think that if we start from friendship we might have a chance. But most of all, I think it’s going to be fun hanging out together.’
‘Okay, cool.’ She lifted her glass. ‘To friends and to fun. We never need to discuss it again. Let’s not talk about what’s going to happen, let’s just let it happen, eh?’
‘Friends and fun!’ Kennedy said, as he helped himself to another drink of wine. ‘And forever,’ he said under his breath.
‘I’ll drop you off on my way home, Kennedy. I want to do some work on this unsolved crimes thing.’
‘Good,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’ll be home in time to see Northern Exposure.’
Chapter Forty-Six
‘Shit!’ Kennedy shouted at the top of his voice. It was early the following morning and he was in his office, engrossed in the Berry case files, taking advantage of the rare quietness of North Bridge House.
Irvine, responding to the noise, ran into the office with panic in his eyes.
Kennedy was grinning from ear to ear. ‘It’s here, it’s all here. It’s been here all the time,’ he exclaimed.
The detective sergeant continued to stare at Kennedy, hoping for an explanation. Kennedy’s eyes remained transfixed on the file before him.
‘I’ve been checking through the rosters that we collected from Staff Nurse Butler, God bless her cotton socks. I wanted to check the time Burgess had come on duty on Wednesday 20th January. I was also interested in the time he spent on duty during the next forty-eight hours. I was trying to find some connection between Burgess and Berry and I had a hunch it might have something to do with Susanne Collins’ death.’
Irvine was on the edge of his proverbial seat.
‘So, I wanted to find out how soon after the death of Susanne Collins our Dr Burgess would have learnt about Dr Berry’s problem. One of my suspicions was that maybe Burgess discovered the facts and was blackmailing Berry. I wondered if Berry was about to admit what had happened – via his appointment with his solicitor – thus exposing Burgess as a blackmailer. In that case, Burgess would have been forced to murder Berry so as to avoid being exposed. But no – it’s much simpler than that, Jimmy. It’s been here all the time, and I missed it. I made a fatal mistake – I made an assumption and carried on with the investigation based on that false assumption.’
‘What was that, sir? What on earth have you found?’ Excitement was getting the better of Irvine.
‘Well, I assumed that Berry was the doctor on duty when Susanne Collins was admitted to the hospital. This assumption was easily made, Berry was the doctor on duty when Susanne Collins died. But Burgess was on duty when Susanne Collins was admitted.’
‘So, it was Burgess – not Berry – who made the wrong diagnosis on Susanne Collins,’ returned Irvine, as the penny dropped.
‘Yes, Jimmy, Dr Spencer Burgess made the false diagnosis that led to the death of Susanne Collins. Motive – that’s his motive – that’s what’s been missing. I’m pretty sure I know how he did it. I just didn’t know why he did it. Obviously, Berry knew that Burgess was the one who’d made the mistake – that’s clearly what had been troubling him – obviously the point of the scheduled appointment with his solicitor,’ Kennedy speculated.
‘You’re right, you’re absolutely one hundred per cent correct,’ the detective sergeant gasped.
Kennedy’s mind was racing. ‘If the true circumstances of the Susanne Collins situation came out, it would have dealt a death-blow to Burgess’ illustrious career – the end of his promotion line. He couldn’t have afforded Berry telling the truth.’
‘But why didn’t all this come out in the hospital report?’ inquired Irvine.
‘Good point. Our friend, Alexander Bowles, has a few more questions to answer. Let’s check his statement.’
Kennedy rummaged around his desk for a few moments until he found the statement and proceeded to read.
‘Clever, very clever. But I should have noticed it,’ Kennedy smiled to himself. He coul
d afford to now that he had solved the case. ‘Look here, at the beginning of the report, when he’s referring to the “admitting-doctor”, he acknowledges him merely as the “doctor”. But by the time we reach the end of the report, the doctor in attendance is referred to as Dr Berry.’
Kennedy rose from his chair. ‘Let’s go round and see Mr Bowles, shall we? No, even better, why don’t you send someone down to the hospital and bring him in for questioning. And have a separate car pick up Burgess, bring him in, as well. But we’ll let him stew for a bit, shall we?’
No sooner said than done.
Thirty-seven minutes later, the very same Alexander Bowles was seated before Kennedy and his sergeant.
‘So,’ began Kennedy in his soft voice, ‘you weren’t exactly forthcoming with the truth last time we spoke, were you, Mr Bowles?’
‘I didn’t tell you any lies, Inspector Kennedy.’
‘Maybe not, but I’m sure I could make a charge of “obstructing the police while in the course of their duty” stick.’
‘How so, Inspector?’
Kennedy looked at the ceiling and breathed a large sigh, a very large sigh.
‘Well, sir,’ Irvine cut in, ‘while in the course of our duty to apprehend the murderer of Dr Edmund Berry, you intentionally withheld information from us and distorted the truth. You, in your own way, have helped hide the identity of the murderer. I’m afraid we hold a very dim view on such actions.’
‘But I told you all I knew at the time,’ answered Bowles, clearly stalling in an attempt to find out the extent of their knowledge.
‘Can we keep the bullshit to a minimum, please?’ snapped Kennedy, moving in until his nose was about three inches from the no-longer proud hooter of Alexander Bowles.
Bowles wasn’t used to this treatment.
‘I’ll spell it out for you, Mr Bowles. One – you knew that Burgess was the doctor on duty and the admitting-doctor of Susanne Collins. Two – you knew that, because he incorrectly diagnosed the illness, his treatment or lack of proper treatment – his sin of omission – led to the untimely death a few days later of Ms Collins.’