Dear Departed

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘Mm,’ said Slider.

  Despite anything Mackay could do, Mrs Hammick arrived in Slider’s office in a state of tension; though she still had enough self-possession to look round very sharply, and with an absorbent capacity that would have given her a real edge in the CID.

  ‘Thank you for coming in,’ Slider said. ‘I hope it wasn’t too inconvenient. There was something I wanted to ask you.’

  ‘Oh, no, it’s all right. I don’t mind. I do a lady in Devonport Road Tuesday afternoons, so it’s only a step.’ She looked at the mess of things on Slider’s desk as though it could tell her something. ‘I’ve never been in a police station before, not the upstairs bit, but it’s just like you see on The Bill, isn’t it? Have you found out who killed poor Chattie?’

  ‘We’re getting there,’ said Slider. ‘Mrs Hammick—’

  ‘Maureen, please,’ she said, as though this were a social visit.

  He smiled distractedly. ‘There’s something you said to me when I last spoke to you – when you so helpfully came in to the station to tell us you knew Chattie.’ She nodded. ‘I can’t remember exactly what it was, but you were telling me how kind she was—’

  ‘Oh, yes, there never was anyone so kind. Gave loads of money to charity, you know, and always ready to listen to your troubles.’

  ‘Yes, of course, but I think you said that when you were there one day she was talking to a young man with acne.’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she said promptly. ‘That was not long before – before that dreadful day. Was it Monday? Let me think. No, Monday was the day I caught Jassy in there, the little tramp, up to no good. I’d only just popped in with the croissants, and a good job I did, as it turns out. No, it must have been the Friday, because it was when I was there cleaning. Yes, that’s right. He rang the bell and I was nearest so I went and let him in. Poor young man! Nice-looking, he would have been, if it wasn’t for the horrible spots.’

  ‘Do you know if he had an appointment to see her?’

  ‘Well, I think he must have, because as I opened the door, Chattie came out of her office behind me and she said, “Oh, you must be …” whatever his name was, and he said yes and she said, “Come in, then,” and took him into her office.’

  ‘So you think it was a business call?’

  ‘I suppose so. She didn’t seem to know him. I mean, if it was social, she wouldn’t have had to ask, would she?’

  ‘No, that’s true. Did you hear what they talked about?’

  She looked offended. ‘Are you suggesting I eavesdrop?’

  ‘Not at all. I’m sure you would never do anything like that. I just thought you might have caught a few words inadvertently when passing the door that would give you an idea of the general subject,’ Slider said delicately.

  ‘Well,’ she said, giving herself away completely, ‘I was cleaning the hall at the time, while they were having their meeting, which is how I knew how kind she was being to him, because whenever I went past the door, she was looking at him and listening to him so attentively, poor young man, like the kind person she was. But as to what he was saying, no, I can’t say I heard anything that would help you.’ Something occurred to her, and she looked alarmed. ‘You don’t think he was the murderer?’

  ‘No, not at all.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to think I’d been feeling sorry for him, let alone talking to him, if he was a murderer.’

  ‘You talked to him?’

  ‘Well, I happened to be in the hall when they finished their meeting, and as Chattie and him got to the door of her room, the phone rang, so I said to her, “You take your call, dear, I’ll see the young man out.” Which I did.’

  ‘And you talked to him?’ Slider was not hopeful, given that she had only had the length of the hall to work in. ‘What did you find out?’

  ‘Find out?’ she bristled.

  ‘I know you were only passing the time of day,’ Slider soothed her, ‘but did you find out his name, or where he came from?’

  ‘As to his name, Chattie did say it when she saw him at the door, as I said, but what it was I can’t remember.’ She screwed up her brow. ‘Was it Bill something? Or John? Quite a plain name, I think it was. No, I can’t remember.’

  ‘If it does come to you—’

  ‘Oh, yes, of course, I’ll let you know. But as to where he came from, well, he worked in Boots, that I did find out.’

  ‘Boots?’

  ‘Of course, it might have been one of the other chemists. You see, as I was showing him out, I asked him was Chattie going to do some work for him, because she was very good and very efficient, and he’d not be sorry he’d come to her. Just to help her business along, you understand. I always said that sort of thing when I had the chance.’

  ‘Very good of you.’

  ‘Well, she was good to me. Anyway, the young man said no, that wasn’t why he’d come, and I asked him what line of business he was in, and he said he was a chemist. And I thought what a shame it was he should work in a shop all day surrounded by all those medicines and everything, and not be able to do anything about his face, poor man. But I didn’t say it aloud, of course.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘And in any case I wouldn’t have had the chance, because he was obviously in a hurry, because that’s all he did say – “I’m a chemist,” he said, and the next minute he was opening the door himself before I had a chance to and he said good morning, really quick, and away he went. Not running, but hurrying as fast as he could walk.’ She paused and looked at Slider, head slightly cocked, waiting for his reaction.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘Is that all you wanted to know?’

  ‘Yes, that was it. If you should remember the young man’s name, or if you remember anything you might have heard of their conversation, even a single word, you’ll let me know?’

  ‘Of course I will. But I don’t promise anything. I wasn’t really listening, you know. But if I recall his name …’ She thought of something. ‘It wasn’t in her diary?’

  ‘No,’ said Slider.

  ‘Oh. Maybe a last-minute thing, then. She always wrote appointments in her diary, but if he just rang on the off-chance and said, “Can I come round?” maybe she wouldn’t write it down.’

  ‘I’m sure that was it,’ said Slider.

  It was lunchtime when Tufnell Arceneaux called.

  ‘You’re not going to like this,’ he said, his roar muted with sympathy.

  ‘I’ve been expecting bad news,’ Slider said. ‘Tell me the worst. The blood on the hoodie isn’t Chattie’s. It isn’t even human blood. It’s the wrong clothes, this is the wrong case, and I’m in the wrong job.’

  ‘Dear me, you are depressed,’ Tufty said. ‘Time I took you out on the spree and showed you how to get the hang of life.’

  ‘Every time I go out with you I get the hangover of life.’

  ‘That’s because you lack practice. No skill is acquired without dedicated, repeated practice.’

  ‘Tell me what you’ve got to tell me and let me crawl away and die in peace.’

  ‘Well, it’s not as bad as all that. The blood on the grey top is human blood and the DNA profile matches that of your victim, so you’ve got the right clothes. There was also some of her blood on the outside of the gloves. On the inside of the gloves we found sweat containing skin cells, which we were able to profile. There was also a longish dark hair inside the hood, though there was no bulb to it so we could only get mitochondrial DNA from the shaft, but there were also skin cells inside the hood from the scalp, which we were able to process, to determine that the wearer of the grey top and the wearer of the gloves were the same person.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘It wasn’t your suspect.’

  ‘Toby Harkness?’

  ‘That’s the feller. Only he wasn’t the feller. I didn’t even need to do a comparison. It wasn’t any feller at all.’

  ‘What do you
mean?’

  ‘DNA, my old banana, is a wonderful thing, but as you know, all the profiles in the world won’t help a smidge unless you’ve got something to compare them with. About the only useful thing you can learn from unmatched DNA is the sex – or, not to be invidious, the gender – of the person concerned.’

  ‘You’re saying the murderer was a woman?’

  ‘Now, now, don’t put words into my mouth. I’m saying the wearer of the grey top and the gloves was a woman.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ll pretend you didn’t say that,’ Tufty said kindly. ‘I know you’re under a lot of strain. X marks the spot, old bean. Or, rather, XX. If it was a man, there’d have been a Y – if not a wherefore.’

  Slider gave a gasping laugh. ‘Tufty, I love you and I want to have your babies.’

  ‘You don’t know how many times I’ve heard that today,’ Tufty said gravely.

  ‘Well, well,’ said Porson. ‘So your hunch was justified. You thought it wasn’t Harkness, didn’t you?’

  ‘It was the manner of the killing. It didn’t look like a passionate frenzy.’

  ‘No,’ Porson said thoughtfully, walking up and down the space between his desk and the window. ‘Now you mention it, the MO was daft enough, it could only be a woman.’

  Slider concealed a smile. It was lucky that remark would never get beyond these four walls.

  ‘So, what have we got in the woman-suspect department? Henry Cornfeld left enough chaos behind him in his personal life.’

  ‘Yes, there are two ex-wives still alive and two other daughters.’

  ‘Not to mention, presumably, a scad of mistresses and outworn dolly birds. But then they’d surely try to murder him, not his daughter.’

  ‘And there are possibilities in Chattie’s life – jealous rivals, perhaps.’

  ‘I suppose,’ Porson said, pausing to tap his fingers on his desk – shave and a haircut, two bits, ‘I suppose the Brixton daughter is the best bet. She’s a bit of a loose canyon.’

  ‘Jassy and her mother are alibis for each other,’ said Slider, ‘and there’s nothing to suggest the mother’s anything but honest.’

  ‘When it comes to protecting her own daughter, though,’ Porson said wisely. ‘It’s best to take no chances. Better have a look at that alibi.’

  ‘We could get a sample from her and check it against the DNA on the gloves.’

  Porson tapped again, frowning. ‘Better get some sort of idea first. All this testing is expensive. Any other lines to follow up?’

  ‘Yes, there’s something I’ve been thinking my way through, but there’s a link missing in the chain.’

  Porson nodded, eyebrows raised, receptive; but Slider didn’t want to go through it yet, for fear of dislodging something delicate. He hadn’t completely worked it out himself. When he didn’t speak, Porson went on, ‘By the way, how is Hart working out?’

  ‘She’s good, and she fits in well,’ Slider said.

  ‘But?’

  ‘Oh, no buts.’

  ‘You sounded a bit muted. Not chucking bokays about.’

  ‘Only that I didn’t see the point, as she’s temporary.’

  ‘Ah, well, that was rather the point. I was sounding out Mr Wetherspoon, and it looks as though Anderson might be kept on for another six months.’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m afraid. Which would leave you two men down, seeing as you were a man short before Anderson got requisitioned. I told Mr Wetherspoon it wasn’t acceptable, and he agreed with me. In a way.’

  ‘In a way?’

  ‘Said yes, but didn’t offer any suggestions. I suppose everybody’s ear’oling him for more staff, and he’s only got so many bodies to go round. But then I heard a rumour that Hart might want to stay with us.’

  He may look like something escaped from Mount Rushmore, Slider thought, but there wasn’t much escaped him, one way and another. ‘I think she’d jump at the chance, sir,’ he said.

  ‘In that case—’

  Porson’s phone rang. He lifted a finger – the conversational pause button – and picked up the receiver. ‘Yes? Yes, he’s here. Yes. All right, put her through.’ He held out the receiver to Slider. ‘Your Mrs Haddock wants a word. Says it’s urgent.’

  Slider took it. ‘Slider here.’

  ‘Oh, Mr Slider? It’s Maureen Hammick. I thought you’d want to know straight away, seeing as you said it was important. I’ve remembered that young man’s name, that came to see Chattie on the Friday. It was Simpson. Bill Simpson. I knew it was something plain. And I’ve been worrying my brain about it while I’ve been Hoovering, and it suddenly came to me, because there used to be an actor called Bill Simpson, didn’t there? Or was that Bill Sikes?’ she tripped herself, troubled. ‘No, wait a minute, that was Oliver Reed, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Oliver Twist,’ said Slider, unable to help himself.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. Nasty piece of work, he was, a drunk and a bully.’

  Slider managed to stop himself asking if she meant Oliver Reed or Bill Sikes, and asked instead, ‘The young man who visited Chattie was called Bill Simpson? Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Yes, absolutely positive. I remember now. When I opened the door she came out behind me in the hall and said, “You must be Bill Simpson?” and he said, “That’s right,” and she took him straight into her room. Seemed very nervous, he did, but maybe it was just his spots, poor thing, knowing what he looked like. But she was wonderful with him, put him right at his ease, and the way she smiled at him and paid him attention, you’d never know he wasn’t Pierce Brosnan.’

  ‘Thank you very much,’ Slider said, anxious to stem the flow. ‘You’ve been wonderfully helpful, Mrs Hammick.’ He near as damnit said Haddock. Porson was catching. ‘Thank you and goodbye.’

  He handed the receiver back to Porson, who dumped it, and said, ‘Oliver Twist?’

  Slider made a never-mind gesture. ‘Mrs Haddock – Hammick – has just given me what I hope is the last link in the chain.’

  ‘Well, go to it,’ Porson said. ‘Sic, boy. Let me know if it works out.’

  Slider went, blessing Porson’s restraint and trust in him in not asking him for an immediate exposition.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Cloaca and Dagger

  Hart came to his door. ‘You wanted me, sir?’

  ‘Yes, a little job for you. I want you to find out if GCC has an employee called Bill Simpson. They must have a central personnel department.’

  ‘Human resources, guv,’ she said. ‘You ain’t allowed to call it personnel any more.’

  ‘He’s a chemist, so he’ll probably work in one of the labs.’

  ‘In this country?’

  ‘Of course in this country. I’m not asking you to trawl the world. It’ll probably be in south-east England, so if the personnel lists are divided by region, try that first. If you find him, I want his name, address and telephone.’

  ‘Okey-doke. Anyfing else?’

  ‘Yes, send Atherton in.’

  To Atherton he said, ‘You’re good at financial stuff. I want you to find out who bought Jassy’s shares. Is that a possibility?’

  ‘If they were bought as a block, it’s easy,’ he said. Anyone who buys more than three per cent of a company’s shares has to make a special declaration to the registrar. If they were bought by a number of people it will be more difficult. It’ll be a matter of comparing all the transactions at the time and tracking them down.’

  ‘Okay, see what you can do.’

  Atherton hesitated. ‘Can I know what, yet?’

  ‘Soon,’ said Slider.

  Atherton was back first, and he looked at Slider with what was almost admiration. ‘Bingo,’ he said. ‘Jassy’s shares were bought in a block – or, rather, ownership was transferred. One presumes she got payment for them. They were transferred to an offshore holding company in Guernsey, called Mobius Holdings. And the owners and sole directors of Mobius are David and Ruth Cock
erell.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Slider.

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘I didn’t know, I wanted to find out. I suppose she got into money trouble and approached him.’

  ‘She seems to have begged from everyone else.’

  ‘Yes. It might have been one of those times when the usual sources had got fed up and cut her off for a time. And he took the opportunity to get his hands on some more shares.’

  ‘I wonder what he paid her for them?’ Atherton mused. ‘Be interesting to know if it was market value. I’d take a bet it wasn’t. She may think she’s smart, but Jassy’s got the brains of a glass of water. So, that makes the Cockerells together the biggest shareholder after old man Henry, with twenty per cent between them. What’s your thinking?’

  ‘That timing is everything,’ said Slider. ‘But we’ve still got to find out what the meeting with Chattie was really about. Ah, this could be the missing link.’

  Hart had appeared at the door. ‘She doesn’t look a bit like an ape,’ Atherton said.

  ‘Wossup?’ she said, looking from one to the other. ‘Have I missed anuvver racist remark?’

  ‘Have you got it?’ Slider asked, seeing badinage in his colleagues’ eyes.

  ‘Yeah, boss. Bill Simpson. Research chemist. Works at the unit at Bedford. But I’ve found out something more. He’s been off work for a week.’

  ‘Has he, indeed? You interest me strangely.’

  ‘Yeah. He phoned in sick on Friday week past, and he hasn’t been in since. Said he had the ’flu. The person I spoke to at Bedford said he’d been looking a bit queer for a day or two before, so they weren’t surprised he’d gone sick.’

  ‘I wonder if anyone’s heard of him since?’ Slider said thoughtfully.

  ‘D’you want me to ask ’em?’

  ‘No, I don’t want to alert anyone. I’ll go round and see him. Where does he live?’

  ‘Luton,’ said Hart.

  ‘Well, I suppose somebody has to,’ said Atherton. ‘I hope you don’t want me to come with you.’

  ‘Can I come, guv?’ Hart said. ‘I ain’t picky.’

  ‘No,’ Slider said. ‘I’ll take Swilley. If I’m right, this could take sensitive handling.’ He got up and went briskly through to the CID room.