Cross Check: The second Posh Hits story

by Caron Allan

  There were a couple of sniggers at the back and I suppose it was quite funny in a way, but I was overwhelmed with sadness and embarrassment for Margaret who gently shushed him and gripped my arm even tighter. Where was Nadina? Why wasn’t she here to comfort her erstwhile mother-in-law?

  When at last we stood to leave, Margaret looked relieved it was almost over, and she asked me if she looked all right. I made a show of giving her a jolly hard, critical look before I nodded and said, “yes, you look perfect.”

  She relaxed immediately. Between us we managed to manoeuvre Bernard out into the Garden of Remembrance, spent ten minutes getting him into his coat and then Matt had to run back inside for his cap. We followed the herd to look at the flowers. I read a few of the cards out to Margaret and gave her a fresh batch of tissues. A number of people came over to have a word with her and finally when things were a bit quieter, I judged the moment right.

  “Where’s Nadina?”

  Margaret looked upset. ”She got a phone call Tuesday night and sad she had to go back to London. She said she’d be back yesterday, but … well, I can’t imagine why she didn’t come – something must have kept her – though what it might be, I can’t imagine. I mean, I thought she loved him. They’ve been together for years. I wouldn’t have thought it of her, I really wouldn’t.”

  She was getting upset again and I quickly changed the subject. It was a long afternoon, and almost six o’clock by the time we managed to get away. She squeezed my hand and thanked me for being so kind.

  When we left, she was standing all alone in the doorway of her little house, waving us off, her bewildered husband had wandered off into the house. She went inside and closed the door and as Matt and I drove away I wondered, how do you spend the rest of the evening when you’ve just buried your only child?

  Saturday 4 October – 12.30pm

  Tried ringing Nadina today – no answer. I’ve left messages. We’re back home but I’m beginning to wish we’d made a little detour and popped in to see her. I do hope she’s all right. Perhaps all the grief has made her come down with a virus or something.

  Or could she have been just too upset to face the funeral? Was she too upset to face Jeremy’s parents?

  But I can’t believe it of her; she’s always seemed so together and so dutiful. I could imagine her organising everything and only giving way to grief in private once it was all over.

  The more I think about it, the more worried I’ve become. We should have gone to see her last night. But I selfishly felt too tired and hadn’t been able to face dealing with another round of grief and misery, so we came home.

  Later same day – 11.10pm

  Matt – bless him – has seen how concerned I am. He suggested ringing the police. I had my doubts, but he insisted so in the end I rang the non-urgent enquiries number and got through to a nice-sounding female officer.

  “I don’t know if you can help me,” I began, “but I’m a bit worried about my friend.”

  At first she sounded politely sceptical, but by the time I’d explained about Nadina missing her murdered life-partner’s funeral, and the mysterious phone call on Tuesday evening, she was sufficiently interested to send a car round to check the flat. She took my details and said she’d let me know what they found out.

  It was a long wait, but I felt so much better knowing something was being done, though I was worried they would be cross with me for wasting their time if it turned out that Nadina was just in bed with the flu.

  I called the police again at four-thirty in case they’d forgotten to get back to me and the same woman promised to find out something and ring me back. It was nine o’clock when she finally did so. My main concern was that she was still on duty – what long hours they work!

  I think she’d done the How To Deliver Bad News training course, because she had on her serious voice and said, “following your first call, two officers went to the address you gave us …”

  Silence.

  “Ye-es?” I said.

  “And they went to the front door of the flat.”

  Silence again.

  “Ye-es?” I prompted again.

  “They found the front door to the flat was standing open.”

  I didn’t say anything this time. I was busy listening as hard as I could, waiting for her next words. Because surely she wasn’t saying …?

  At length she realised I was waiting for her to continue and she said, “I’m afraid they found your friend in bed. An ambulance was called, but there was nothing they could do. I’m very sorry.”

  I was silent for a moment, absorbing this. Or trying to absorb this.

  “She’s dead?” I turned as I said this and saw Lill and Sid had stopped what they were doing and were watching me. Matt was getting up from the table and coming over. He put an arm around me.

  “I’m so sorry,” the officer on the phone said again. She still hadn’t actually said it though. I needed to be absolutely sure.

  “She’s dead? Nadina? She’s … do they know how? What happened?”

  I could tell from her voice that she had gone into her Dealing With Hysterical Callers mode.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have any further information, Mrs Hopkins. Someone will come and speak with you in the morning, just to get a few further details from you. Will you be okay? Do you want me to call someone to be with you?”

  “No – no, it’s fine. My family’s here. Well – er - thank you.”

  “Once again, I’m very …”

  I didn’t want to hear her reading any more of her sympathetic phrases off the instruction sheet so I hung up. I turned to face Matt, he was looking grim.

  “She’s dead.” He said. I nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “How?”

  “Don’t know. Someone is coming to see us in the morning.”

  We just sat and stared at each other. I never liked Nadina – or Jeremy – all that much, but even so …

  Sunday 5 October – 10.00pm

  Oh dear! It all feels a bit too close to home. If I’m not careful – and lucky – these police officers will find out everything and I will end my days in prison.

  My instinct is to run, hide, just get away, somewhere, anywhere. But Matt – oh he is wonderful! – he seems to know just how I’m feeling and takes my hand and tells me to calm down and breathe.

  “It will be okay,” he said. “We don’t know anything, so just tell the truth, skirt round the ‘big’ events of the past and everything will be fine.”

  “I don’t think I can keep calm,” I said. It came out as a bit of a wail.

  “Then cry,” said Matt, “you’ve just lost your best friend right on top of losing her boyfriend. No one could expect you to keep it together – not even the police. In fact a few tears from a lovely mother-to-be will go down great with any macho policeman.”

  And so …

  It was clear from the outset that they were digging for more detailed information. They already seemed to have made up their minds about what had happened. They weren’t exactly hostile, but it quickly became clear they wouldn’t be so easily duped as police officers I’ve dealt with in the past. And certainly not bothered by a few tears.

  There were two of them, of course. And I wasn’t particularly surprised that one was female. I was perhaps slightly more surprised that it was the senior officer who was the female. And even though we live in more enlightened times, I couldn’t help wondering if, in spite of the fact that he looked about twelve, people generally made the assumption that the male officer was the senior in rank. Then I saw how pushy she was and realised she would never allow that to happen.

  I invited them into the sitting-room and offered them refreshments. Detective Constable Burgess declined and I wondered if I should offer him a glass of milk or some orange squash, and maybe a couple of biscuits. Detective Sergeant Carole Shirt accepted, “coffee please, strong and black”. I resisted the urge to add ‘how I like my men’. She didn’t look like a gal with a se
nse of humour.

  The drink served, we – Matt and I – sat on one sofa whilst the officers sat on the opposite one. It had begun.

  “I’m sorry to inform you that Nadina Cooper has been found dead in her flat. I believe it was you who raised the alarm, Mrs Hopkins?”

  “Yes,” I said, “it was when we were at the funeral of Nadina’s partner Jeremy. It just suddenly occurred to us that she wasn’t there and …”

  “Did she say she would definitely be there?” DS Shirt interrupted.

  “Well, not in so many words, but she had been staying with Jeremy’s parents, and making all the …”

  “So it was your assumption that she would attend the funeral?”

  “Well, I – er – yes. I mean, I just thought …”

  “But she didn’t? Were they close?”

  “Sorry? Were whom close?”

  “Nadina Cooper and Jeremy Patterson?”

  “Oh yes. They’d been in a relationship for several years. They were a devoted couple.”

  “But that’s your assumption, isn’t it? Surely none of us knows what really goes on behind closed doors, do we?”

  I was getting flustered. Charlie Rich was just taking his place at the piano again. And her tone! Her interruptions were upsetting me. I couldn’t figure out what she was trying to say. The young constable was rapidly noting down all my responses to the questions.

  “I suppose not.” I was forced to concede.

  DS Shirt swigged two-thirds of her coffee down in one. She had flecks of dandruff on the collar of her black jacket. Her grey roots were at least two inches long, and the hem was coming down on one leg of her trousers. Not a woman with attention to detail. I really didn’t like her.

  By contrast the DC was neat and tidy – but probably because his mum still dressed him and laundered his clothes. He looked a bit timid. His fingers were trembling as he made his notes. This had to be his first major case. Poor child.

  “Do you know if either Ms Cooper or Mr Patterson was seeing anyone else?”

  “I’m not aware of …”

  “What about financial difficulties?”

  I shook my head, “I don’t think …”

  “Is there anything you can suggest to explain why Ms Cooper would take her own life?”

  “She took her own life?” I asked, astonished. “But that doesn’t seem very …”

  “That’s the theory we’re working on, based on the contents of a note we found beside Ms Cooper’s bed.” She stood up, “well, I think that’s all I need, thank you. I’ll be in touch.”

  And they were in the hall and heading for the front door before I knew what was happening. I hurried after them but the DS simply said over her shoulder, “we’ll see ourselves out. Good day to you.”

  The DC nipped in front of her to wrestle the door open, DS Shirt swept past him and without so much as a word or a glance, he closed the door behind them.

  For some reason I was quite upset by the interview, and Matt was livid, adding at the end of his rant, “who still says ‘good day to you’ anyway?”

  We traipsed back to the kitchen to report to Lill and Sid.

  Mercifully the children were playing on the deck outside the garden-room, so they weren’t able to overhear anything we might not want them exposed to.

  “Sounds like she’s made up her mind Nadina killed herself out of grief.” Lill said.

  “I still felt as though they were keeping something back,” I said. “But I suppose they would hardly tell us everything, I just hate not knowing all the facts.”

  But later Jeremy’s mother Margaret rang me.

  “I expect you’ll have heard by now,” she said, and she sounded breathless, teary. I said yes, and how sorry we were, and how shocked.

  “I would never have thought it of her, she always seemed so strong,” Margaret said, “I mean, yes, she was obviously upset about our … but all her attention was focused on making sure I was all right, and helping me with Bernard. She was such a sweet girl, so kind, so eager to do everything for us. I just can’t believe …”

  And then she broke down. For a long time neither of us really spoke, she tried to compose herself and I felt so horribly helpless and far away. I was rather at a loss to think of something helpful I could say and I remember saying something stupid like “oh, Margaret, oh …” Very helpful! Plus I was rummaging for a tissue for my own tears.

  Finally she said, “and to do it like that, I would never have thought it of her. Not like that.”

  Hoping I didn’t sound too ghoulish, I said, “do it like what? How did she – er - ? I’m afraid the police didn’t actually tell us how …”

  “Cut her wrists. That awful policewoman came here. Told us all about it. And the note. ‘It’s all my fault’, she put, and that was all.”

  “It does sound as though things had been rather playing on her mind,” I said. What an idiot I am! Talk about understatement!

  “But to do it like that,” Margaret repeated. “I could imagine her – just about – taking pills. But nothing like that. Very squeamish she was, didn’t even like any blood in her steak. In fact she hardly ate meat at all, she was a bit of a sissy about it, to be frank. Think of all the poor little animals, she used to say. I’m afraid I got a bit impatient with her.” Margaret’s voice faltered and answering tears sprang into my eyes again. Damn my hormones. I said,

  “I was a bit impatient with her too, as it happens. As you say, she was so sensitive, I’m afraid I wasn’t always as understanding as I could have been.”

  I think that helped her a bit. We talked for a little longer but that was all the information I gleaned from her. And now she’d put the idea in my head, I had to admit Margaret was right, wrist-slashing was hopelessly out of character for Nadina. She had been a total ninny, as I have said on a number of occasions, and I just don’t see her doing such a thing, no matter how deep her grief. And as for the note – yes, it sounded despairing, possibly a bit guilty, but the few words hardly amounted to a full confession and as a suicide note it was unsatisfactory, especially for someone like Nadina who loved to talk. And talk. And talk.

  Friday 10 October – 10.50pm

  Am exhausted. Another four and a half hour journey yesterday afternoon – traffic was absolutely hell.

  Another Friday, another funeral.

  Matt is being an absolute darling, having driven me here (quite a nice hotel btw, not too expensive but still very adequate). Of course the worst thing about this whole nightmare situation is that we are both missing the children so much, and I feel awful keep leaving them. I do hope they realise life does not usually consist of constant departures and arrivals, poor little things. And of course, Sid and Lill have been wonderful to take care of them so much when we’ve been away.

  So, the funeral. Yes, it was a bit horrid actually. I felt so moved to see the coffin there at the front of the crem chapel so soon after poor Jeremy’s own service. I keep wishing I had somehow known and therefore been able to prevent this latest event.

  But I warned her about Monica. I’m sure I did everything I possibly could to try to ensure that Nadina knew just how dangerous Monica is and that it was imperative to avoid her as far as humanly possible. What on earth happened?

  Same old non-denominational chapel, same old sadly pretty non-denominational memorial gardens, with its little grassy patch roped off. Our floral tributes had been carefully placed there by the non-denominational staff and later – in a week or so – I imagine poor Nadina’s parents will sprinkle her ashes on the same patch of grass, knowing that Nadina and Jeremy will be forever entwined at least on a molecular level. And next year’s healthy sward will be a direct result of their love and union.

  Poor old Margaret. She was almost as upset this week as she was last week when she cremated her son. And Bernard – well, he was all right, off in his own little world - he barely had a clue what it was all about. I bet if I had told him the name of the deceased person he wouldn’t even have twigged
who that was.

  But the most shocking thing of all – Matt still thinks I’m imagining it – but I know I’m not, is that I’m utterly convinced I saw Monica at the funeral.

  It wasn’t very easy to tell because we were right at the front to support Margaret and help her with Bernard like we did last week, we were on one side of the aisle and Nadina’s parents etc were on the other side at the front. And you know, of course, that you can’t keep turning round at a funeral to see who’s come in. I mean, it’s not a school disco. So I only glanced back once or twice, but right at the back of the chapel, directly behind me but about twelve or more rows back, was a skinny woman in a black raincoat and an enormous black hat. There was just something about her bearing that made me think …

  And then after the service, whilst we were all outside, there was a bit of a crush by Nadina’s grassy knoll, and as you know I’m not exactly the tallest, so I was a bit surrounded. But just for a moment the madding crowd heaved itself apart and I glimpsed her from the side, just a bit of chin, a tendril of hair, an ear, as she turned and hurried off, and again I thought, yes, that was her, that was Monica. She was here, rubbing shoulders and commiserating with Nadina’s gawky cousins and her thin-faced, fleshy-eared Uncle (who resembled Nadina to a startling degree, right down to the five o-clock shadow).

  Matt says I imagined it. But he doesn’t say it with any real conviction. I think deep down he believes me. I didn’t say anything to Margaret though, she’s got enough to cope with.

  We all fore-gathered – or post-gathered in this case – at the same local watering hole for drinks and nibbles. Most of the mourners disappeared after half an hour or so.

  Margaret looked so tired and depressed. We took them home and made them tea and sandwiches and sat with them for a little while before making our way home too.

  Got home rather later than we’d hoped – an accident closed both carriageways for over an hour – but popped in to look at the little ones and to kiss them goodnight, even if they weren’t aware of us doing so.