Fear of Drowning

by Peter Turnbull

  ‘Oh, I should think so. More than one, really. Can’t fully sanitize a crime scene, very difficult, oh yes, oh my, yes, very difficult.’ Partridge twitched nervously, rodent-like.

  ‘You’ve made your point.’ Hennessey found Partridge’s nervous, excitable eccentricity difficult to take. That he was due to retire in a few years’ time and would thus avoid Partridge when he, Partridge, would be in his thirties and forties and presumably even more unbearable than he is found to be at present, was a thought which was a source of some great comfort to Hennessey.

  ‘Little, little … little.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Specks … little … little … little … but everywhere.’ Partridge waved his arms about as if conducting an orchestra. ‘Tiny … tiny … specks.’

  ‘Of?’

  ‘Oh, blood. Oh yes … lots of them. The bleach has clearly cleaned up most of the mess, but blood has a habit of getting into the smallest of cracks, the most minute hole will be a home for a spot of blood. Found a lot under the carpet.’

  ‘A lot?’

  ‘Microscopically speaking. Under the edge of the carpet. A little in the cracks between the skirting board and the floor. There are two main areas of blood. Here in the hallway where we stand, at the entrance to the main bedroom. A lot of blood … microscopically speaking, we found around here … in all directions … the other main area is in the living room, just through here.’ Partridge pushed between Yellich and Hennessey, a small figure between two towering police officers, and stood in the centre of the living room. ‘Goes up as well as down,’ he beamed.

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Blood. See.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘The person who cleaned this area of the home looked down, and all around, but didn’t look up. There.’

  ‘I don’t see anything.’ Hennessey looked at the ceiling.

  ‘Well, there isn’t anything to see.’

  ‘Dr Partridge…’ Hennessey growled.

  ‘With the naked eye.’

  ‘But with the aid of a lens held at close quarters, small specks of blood have been located.’ He smiled an aren’t-I-clever, smile. ‘Taken samples, of course, sent them off to the forensic science laboratory at Wetherby. Of course.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Went off by courier just before you arrived, boss,’ Yellich explained. ‘We’ve also got a latent.’

  Hennessey smiled.

  ‘It could belong to one the Williamses, but it’s worth checking. Plenty of evidence that the person or persons who ransacked the house wore gloves, but there’s a very recent-looking latent in the bathroom.’

  ‘Very recent,’ Partridge said. ‘Noticeably more recent than any other latent and also different. The latent in question is a “loop”, being one of the four classifications of fingerprints: “loops”, “whirls”, “arches” and “tented arches”.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Well, all the other prints in the house are “whirls”, as if the Williamses, as a family, all had “whirls” as their fingerprint type, but the recent latent was made by someone with prints of the “loop” category. I pointed it out to your Scene of Crime Officer, he’s lifting it now.’

  ‘It’s a promising point, boss,’ Yellich said defensively of Dr Partridge. ‘We have a house full of fingerprints of the “Whirl” type, a lot of prints made with gloved hands, and then one, just one, “loop” print in the bathroom.’

  ‘If it was our man, who’d want to search a bathroom? What could be hidden in a bathroom?’

  ‘Either he was being thorough, or he didn’t search it. He took advantage of the facilities while he was in the house. It’s been known before, burglars having loose bowels during a burglary, induced by the fear and tension of the act.’

  ‘I’m aware of that, sometimes they even use the toilet.’

  ‘I’ve known felons do more stupid things than take their gloves off for a second or two.’

  ‘Yes…’ Hennessey sighed. ‘Indeed. So what was being searched for?’

  ‘These.’ Yellich held up a cellophane sachet containing photographs.

  ‘I thought you looked pleased with yourself, Yellich.’

  ‘Found them in the garden shed, sir.’

  Hennessey took the photographs out of the sachet and held them carefully at the edges, making sure he prevented his own fingerprints getting on the surface or the reverse of the prints. ‘Had a pleasant time together, didn’t they?’

  ‘Aye…’ Yellich said. ‘I recognize the bungalow in some of the photos, but the other location … it’s like a studio … hardly any furniture … just a mattress on the floor.’

  ‘It’s the house Richardson built for Max Williams – I’ll tell you the story. But it’s clear from this that Mrs Williams and Tim Sheringham used it as a love nest.’

  ‘Shall we pick Sheringham up, boss?’

  ‘Not yet. Let’s process that latent, if he’s got track and if the latent is his, then we’ll fondle his collar. Time for cautious treading, Yellich.’

  ‘Anything you say, boss. How did you get on with Richardson?’

  ‘Well, he’s got a motive. Williams looks like he’s destroyed his business.’

  ‘Motive enough. I’ve known people murder for less.’

  ‘So have I. He didn’t say anything to implicate himself, but he didn’t say anything to enable us to strike him off the list of suspects. He’s still in the frame, as is Mr Sheringham. But mainly Sheringham.’

  ‘Does he have an alibi for the time window?’

  ‘Not for Sunday or the Monday or Tuesday evenings. His wife, very conveniently, was in Ireland. She arrived back this morning.’

  ‘How convenient.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Give me an alibi merchant every time. If we can break the alibi we’ve won. No alibi means the heavy burden of proof rests on our shoulders. But he’s a volatile man and he’s got a lovely motive.’

  ‘Love that word,’ said Partridge. ‘Lovely. It’s a lovely word.’

  Hennessey and Yellich glanced at each other. They had forgotten Partridge’s presence.

  * * *

  That evening at home, Yellich was kneeling near an alcove in his house putting up shelves, as had long been requested by his wife, when his son approached him.

  ‘Hiya, Jeremy,’ Yellich smiled.

  Jeremy beamed at his father.

  Yellich held up a nail. ‘Nail,’ he said. ‘Nail.’

  ‘Nail,’ repeated Jeremy. Yellich held up a hammer. ‘Hammer.’

  ‘Hammer.’

  ‘Good boy.’

  Jeremy Yellich walked away, looking pleased with himself. A few moments later he returned to where his father was working and picked up the hammer and said, ‘Hammer.’

  ‘Good lad.’ Yellich put his arm round his son and kissed his forehead. ‘Good, good boy.’

  * * *

  The younger man toyed with Oscar’s ears as the dog allowed his head to rest on the man’s lap. Hennessey put the coffee pot, and tray of milk and sugar and cups, down on the kitchen table.

  ‘Names?’ said the younger man, looking over the list of names that Hennessey had written.

  ‘Something I thought I’d do out of interest. You see, I went through school from the age of eleven to sixteen with the same form, some left, one or two came, but to all intents and purposes, the thirty-two that finished were the same thirty-two that started. Each morning of every school day the register was taken, each morning the same thirty-two surnames were read out. I thought I’d try and remember them. As you see, I’ve recalled all but five or six.’

  ‘You’re getting old, Dad. You’re looking back.’

  ‘No, I’m not, I’m convincing myself my memory is still intact. He poured the coffee. So you’re in Leeds tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I’m going NG to the case you’ll have read about, bloke set fire to his council house to force the council to give him another tenancy. Killed his two infant children in the process.’

  ‘Yes, I read
it.’

  ‘The bloke says he’s a victim of local hostility, and vigilantes tried to burn him out. The Crown case against him is overwhelming, but he belongs to that mind-set which, from childhood, believes that if you deny something you’ll get away with it. It’s far better to play with a straight bat and make a clean breast of things. As it is, he’ll get two life sentences. He’s told his solicitor to enter a NG plea, so his solicitor has instructed me and I dutifully take instructions and will have to challenge the Crown’s case, which is not challengeable. But that’s how our criminal justice system works.’

  Hennessey sat down. ‘What would happen if a felon were to say to a barrister, “Look I did it, but they can’t prove it, so I want to plead not guilty.”’

  ‘Show him the door. If you went along with that you’d be misleading the court, wilfully so. You’d be finished as a silk.’

  ‘I thought that. It’s a pleasant evening, shall we have coffee on the lawn?’

  Sitting on the wooden garden furniture chairs, the younger man said, ‘You should have got married again, Dad.’

  ‘Nothing could replace…’ Hennessey smiled. ‘I mean, no one could replace Jennifer.’

  ‘But it couldn’t have been easy for you, bringing me up alone.’

  ‘It wasn’t, and I loved every minute of it. And I had help; Mrs Last used to help a lot, I couldn’t have done it without her.’

  ‘I remember her. I was quite saddened by her death.’

  ‘Well, you and she bonded with each other. It would have been quite a loss for you. But that’s it, I’m not a needy person. I can live without a partner more easily than I can live with the wrong partner. And like I said … if I couldn’t have Jennifer … we were very much in love, you know, your mother and I.’

  ‘I know you were, Dad.’

  ‘She planned the garden, you know.’

  ‘You never told me that.’

  ‘She did. When we moved into this house, the entire garden, the back garden, was just a greensward, a swathe of grass, could play a game of cricket on it. That’s why I won’t leave this house, not just because her ashes are scattered here, but because this garden is her design.’

  ‘Well…’ The young man watched a swallow loop and swoop.

  ‘She was heavily pregnant, couldn’t do anything except sit and read, and one day at the kitchen table she designed the garden. Reduced the lawn to half its original size, planting a privet from left to right with a gateway set in it, a potting shed and an orchard beyond the privet, and a waste area with a pond in the very bottom. The first apple trees were planted to coincide with your arrival, at least Jenn saw that. She used to walk with you amongst the saplings. Took me fully five years to complete it to her design.’

  ‘The trees are as old as me then? Thirty years.’

  ‘The oldest ones are, apple tree saplings are quite expensive and so we … I had to plant the orchard over time.’

  ‘Still, you ought to have found someone.’

  ‘Oh, I have.’ Hennessey smiled at his son. He relished his company.

  ‘Well, all the secrets are being exposed this evening. This is news.’

  ‘It’s a recent development. Still new.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  ‘She’s a professional woman, divorced, three children who are old enough to know that their mum needs a partner and are not possessive of her. They’ve welcomed me into their family. I help out with the homework, and the like. Love it. She has three children, a high-powered, demanding job, a horse and two rabbits, so we’ve worked out that I come eighth on her list of priorities.’

  Charles Hennessey smiled. ‘You haven’t lost your dry sense of humour, Dad. I think that has carried you through.’

  ‘Probably has.’ Hennessey glanced up at the crimson sky.

  ‘Magnificent sunset.’

  ‘Isn’t it.’

  ‘Tell me about Mum.’

  ‘What can I say … a lovely, lovely woman … all she could do was give of herself, nurture things, husband, son, a garden, house plants … she just gave and gave and gave, and all she seemed to want in return was to see that the things she gave to thrived. That was all the reward she wanted.’

  5

  Thursday morning

  … in which a suspect is quizzed and a double life is exposed.

  The twin spools in the cassette tape recorder spun slowly, silently. The red light glowed.

  ‘The date is Thursday, the eleventh of June, the time is ten-fifteen and the place is Micklegate Bar Police Station in the City of York. I am Chief Inspector Hennessey. I am going to ask the other people in the room to identify themselves.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant Yellich.’

  ‘Nathan Samual of Samual, Samual & Kileen, solicitors.’

  ‘Tim Sheringham.’ Said in a resentful, surly manner.

  ‘Mr Sheringham, you have been arrested in connection with the murder of Mr and Mrs Williams.’

  ‘So I understand.’

  ‘Did you murder Mr and Mrs Williams?’

  ‘No.’

  Hennessey looked at Sheringham, such sudden long shots had paid off before. ‘Thought you’d say that.

  ‘Did you know Mr and Mrs Williams?’

  ‘No.’ Sheringham smiled. ‘I didn’t know them.’ He emphasized the word ‘them’.

  ‘Did you know Mr Williams?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know Mrs Williams?’

  ‘Yes. Very well indeed.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean sexually. I knew her sexually. We had an affair. She enrolled at the gym. Things went from there.’

  ‘I see. How long did you know Mrs Williams?’

  ‘About two years, maybe longer. I didn’t keep a diary.’

  ‘When did the relationship finish?’

  ‘Last week.’

  ‘Why did it finish?’

  ‘Because my wife was getting suspicious.’

  ‘How did Mrs Williams react?’

  ‘As you’d expect.’

  ‘Mr Sheringham, I’ve been a police officer for many years, pretty well all my working life, and I have learned not to expect anything. So, how did she react?’

  ‘Badly. She threw a tantrum. Screaming about the place.’

  ‘The place?’

  ‘Her little house.’

  ‘The house or the bungalow?’

  A pause. Then Tim Sheringham said, ‘The house.’

  ‘Did she threaten to tell your wife?’

  ‘Probably. She was angry. I didn’t really listen. She was angry because she’d spent a lot of money on me. I was her “boy”. She bought me gifts and meals in upmarket restaurants. I showed her a good time. I gave her a good time. She gave me money and things.’

  ‘She gave you money?’

  ‘Yes. She bought my body. Why not? Men do it all the time. And anyway, wouldn’t you want my body if you were a fifty-something woman with a drunkard for a husband?’

  Hennessey didn’t reply.

  Sheringham smirked. ‘I suppose you wouldn’t really understand that, not being married and all, I mean, would you, Chief Inspector? You know the first time we did “it”, it was at the bungalow. He came home earlier than expected, in a taxi, entered the house and curled up on the sofa, drunk as a lord. We just carried on and then went for a meal. He wasn’t aware of anything going on at all. She told me that had been the first time she’d done “it” for many years, she said she had a lot of catching up to do.’

  ‘And you helped her catch up?’

  ‘Well … yes. Is there anything wrong with that? Look, I am not a Christian but that doesn’t mean I’m a bad guy. She had money, she could afford it.’

  Hennessey said nothing, but the word ‘credit’ crept into his mind. ‘You didn’t always spend time with her at the bungalow?’

  ‘No. We met at a house her husband had had built. They had money. I told you. We started to use the house as soon as it was complete because she thought her
neighbours were getting suspicious.’

  ‘And she didn’t take it too kindly when you broke it off?’

  ‘Like I said, very unkindly. I mean, I was her possession, she’d take me to restaurants not just to buy me a meal, but to show me off. She used to enjoy the envious looks she’d get from other women.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘We went away once … a weekend … a hotel near the coast. Not actually on the coast itself, that was too near bed and breakfast land for her … but just inland, a mile or two inland from Scarborough. She paid.’

  ‘She would by the sound of it.’

  ‘Well, she’d have to, the gym is paying its way but only just and anyway, my wife and I have a joint account, I couldn’t hide spending money on Amanda. I’m in trouble as it is. I don’t know how I’m going to explain this.’

  ‘How did you explain the weekend away to your wife?’

  ‘Said it was a business trip. Anyway, we were not married then. I enjoyed it, we were both something on the side for each other, that was part of the fun … but she was getting too indiscreet … showing me off too much … I felt it was getting dangerous … coming to the gym very frequently. Daily almost, so I blew her out.’

  ‘Then what did you do?’

  ‘Got on with living my life. Running the gym.’

  ‘So why did you go back to the bungalow after she and her husband had been murdered?’

  Sheringham glanced at Nathan Samual, who said, ‘Can you explain that question, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘I’d be happy to. Your affair, Mr and Mrs Williams were murdered, their home was ransacked. We know that the house was sanitized after the murder, but we got a fingerprint from the bathroom.’ Sheringham caught his breath.

  ‘Remembering something, Mr Sheringham?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything.’

  ‘You see,’ Hennessey continued. ‘You see, not only was the house sanitized after the murder, it was kept in a fastidiously clean manner. Cleaned daily, I should think, especially the bathroom. And your client freely admits that latterly he was rendezvousing with Mrs Williams at a newly built house, not at the bungalow, so his fingerprints could not be in the bungalow by lawful means.’

  ‘Accepted,’ Nathan Samual said. He was a small, thin-faced man, dwarfed, it seemed to Hennessey, by the powerfully built Tim Sheringham whose T-shirt stretched over a muscular chest and revealed muscular arms.