Holy Murder

by Rodney Hobson

  Presumably patients exited out of the back of the building unless they needed to speak to the receptionist, for there was no sign of whoever had been with the doctor.

  Dr Austin was putting a file into her out tray as they entered. She was seated behind her desk and there was just one chair opposite her. Amos, despite being the senior officer, was about to allow courtesy to outweigh protocol but Swift outmanoeuvred him by striding into a corner and rescuing a second chair which she plonked down on unceremoniously a fraction further back from that now available to Amos.

  The doctor shuffled a few papers deliberately but aimlessly, apparently determined to be the one keeping the police officers waiting for a few moments rather than the other way round.

  Finally she looked up and asked calmly: “What can I do for you officers? I rather thought I’d answered all your questions on Saturday.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t think any such thing,” Amos responded tartly. “You didn’t, for a start, tell us you were Simeon Knowles’s doctor.”

  Austin clasped her hands in front of her chest, leaned forward slightly and responded: “You didn’t ask.”

  “I didn’t ask because I didn’t know,” Amos said testily. He was as annoyed with himself for not thinking of it on Saturday, in the haste to get through as many interviews as possible while memories were still fresh, as much as he was with the doctor for not volunteering a piece of information that was obviously relevant and was bound to surface sooner rather than later.

  Austin simply shrugged her shoulders.

  “There you are, then,” she said noncommittally.

  Amos, normally a patient man, was beginning to get riled by Austin’s attitude.

  “Right, let’s start at the beginning,” Amos said. “Can you confirm that Simeon Knowles was registered with your practice?”

  “Yes,” Austin said thoughtfully. “I think I can confirm that without breaching patient confidentiality. Yes, he was.”

  “And you are the only GP at this practice?”

  “Yes. I bring in a locum when I am away, which is not very often. I rarely take a holiday and I am never ill.”

  “And was Simeon Knowles often ill?”

  “Inspector,” Dr Austin said with an indignation that did not sound entirely natural, “I really am not prepared to discuss my patients – not even dead ones.”

  “For heaven’s sake,” Amos protested with genuine indignation. “This is a murder inquiry. I’m told that Knowles consulted you frequently. Was he ill or was he a hypochondriac?”

  “If your source of information is so well informed on medical matters, perhaps he – or she – can fill you in on the details,” Austin replied calmly. “For my part, I am not prepared to.”

  “A man has been murdered, cold bloodedly. Anything we learn about him could help us to trace the killer.”

  “I hardly think so. I shouldn’t think there is much doubt what he died of. Anything that I know about his past medical history is just that, history. It cannot possibly have any bearing on the case, certainly not to persuade me to breach patient confidentiality.”

  Amos tried another tack.

  “Did you know Simeon Knowles personally, apart from him being your patient?”

  “I hope you’re not implying anything untoward,” Austin replied, leaning forward again.

  Amos had, in fact, not implied anything untoward although the possibility was certainly in his mind. He was surprised that the doctor had seemingly taken offence so readily.

  “Let’s start with the entirely above board,” he said. “Did you know Knowles socially?”

  “Not particularly,” Austin replied warily. “Everyone knew him in these parts, of course, and I bumped into him occasionally.”

  “But you knew him well enough to suggest that he take part in the abseiling,” Swift interrupted. “When did you suggest it? I gather it was a last minute idea.”

  “I mentioned it to him quite some time ago, I believe,” Austin said sniffily. “Several months ago. That was just a reminder when I told him a week or so ago.”

  “That’s most odd,” Swift persisted. “We understand that the whole event was dreamt up comparatively recently. You couldn’t have known about it so long ago.”

  “Well I did,” Austin said, leaning back in her chair.

  “And you also suggested the bell ringing,” Swift persisted. “Was that a recent idea?”

  “I really can’t remember,” Austin said evasively. “I can’t rightly remember whose idea it was. I think it may have been Mr Knowles who came up with the idea. He was all for a dramatic show.”

  “The chief bell-ringer and one of the other campanologists say you suggested it first.”

  “In that case, why are you asking me if you already know?”

  “Because we’d like to know why you suggested it,” Swift said with a mixture of exasperation and insistence. She wondered whether Austin was deliberately taking her down a false trail.

  Austin shrugged her shoulders.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she replied nonchalantly. “It would attract a bit of attention.”

  “Or create considerable confusion, as indeed it did,” Swift said. “Was that the idea? Why tell them to start ringing when they did? It proved very convenient for whoever seized the opportunity to tamper with the harness.”

  “It was a complete misunderstanding,” Austin replied, leaning forward and engaging properly with the questioning for the first time. “I told them to ring later than they did. But that fool Herbert Townsend is always such a stickler for doing things by the book. They always start to practice the peal at the precise moment that the tide reaches its lowest point and that’s what they did.”

  “Why did you ask for that particular peal?” Amos interjected. “It’s meant as a warning of impending disaster.”

  “Well, it certainly proved appropriate,” Austin responded drily.

  Swift showed no sign of pursuing this line of inquiry further so Amos, a little puzzled, took up the cudgels once more.

  “If you didn’t know Simeon Knowles socially, and you decline to tell us whether he came to your surgery for medical complaints, real or imaginary, then there is one other possible reason why we have been told that he saw you frequently. Mr Knowles was, I understand, something of a ladies man. You’re about the right age group for his tastes …”

  Austin rose to her feet for the first time.

  “That’s quite enough,” she said angrily. “You are not only slandering the reputation of a dead man but mine also. You are well aware that GPs are not allowed to have affairs with their patients. I could be struck off for it. You also know perfectly well that you have not a jot of evidence to back up that innuendo.”

  Amos glanced at Swift, who gave the merest shake of her head to indicate not to continue.

  As the inspector rose to leave, Dr Austin pursued her advantage.

  “I’m not angry for myself,” she said in a calmer voice. “I can defend myself. But Simeon Knowles was highly respected, not least by the many people he has helped in their hour of need. I’ve no idea why you are treating this as murder. No-one would want to kill such a fine man.”

  Amos and Swift followed the exit sign and left by the back door. They walked round to their car in silence. Amos drove down the road and pulled into a layby where he was satisfied they could not be seen from the surgery.

  It was Swift who spoke first.

  “She was playing with us,” the sergeant pronounced.

  “By us, I take it you mean me,” Amos said.

  The absence of a direct response confirmed the answer as yes.

  Swift went on: “She was deliberately trying to make us suspect her by being evasive. At times she was very obviously lying. We all knew perfectly well that I was making up the bit about the arrangements for the abseiling going back months and she played along with it.

  “I think she’s trying to protect someone by leading us down the wrong path. I can’t s
ee any other explanation for her behaviour. It would account for why she was trying to make out that no-one would murder Knowles.”

  Amos shook his head thoughtfully.

  “I agree her attitude was strange, especially as she has to be the prime suspect. She was with – or at least near – Knowles all the time from when he put on the harness. Indeed, she had worn the harness herself earlier.

  “It’s true that several other people, some of whom we have not yet identified, had the chance to tamper with the harness in all the pushing and shoving but no-one had better access than Dr Austin.

  “And as far as we know, there was no-one whom Austin would particularly want to protect, at least not to the extent of endangering her own freedom.”

  “What’s the motive?” Swift asked, unconvinced.

  “Sex as usual,” Amos said bluntly. “I think she had an affair with him. If he finished it, that’s a clear enough motive. No-one else seems to have wanted him dead. Right now, though, it’s all pretty tenuous. We’ll let her stew for a while. Let’s get back to HQ.”

  Chapter 23

  As Amos returned to headquarters, he spotted Sergeant Jenkins on the desk and stopped for a word.

  “Good break?” Amos asked. “I gather you made it to Greece this year.”

  “Terrific,” Jenkins replied enthusiastically. “The family loved it. Best holiday we’ve ever had. And the most expensive, but never mind. Even coming back to work hasn’t taken the edge off it.”

  “What do you mean?” Amos asked, puzzled.

  Jenkins beamed broadly.

  “I’ve just heard,” he replied with enthusiasm, “about Simeon Knowles getting his just desserts. That man was a complete bastard.”

  Amos looked at the desk sergeant in astonishment. This was the first word of criticism that anyone had levelled against a man who was supposedly such a paragon of virtue that no-one, except perhaps a jealous lesser mortal, could possibly have wanted to kill him.

  “You didn’t know?” Jenkins asked in some amusement. “No-one had a good word for him. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to scrape him off the pavement. I hope it’s been disinfected since he splattered all over it.”

  The sergeant looked at his watch.

  “Look, I’m on a break in 20 minutes. Why don’t you join me for a cuppa in the canteen and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  This must be serious, Amos thought. Jenkins never discussed work on his break and would often leave the building and walk around rather than get drawn into a chat that would inevitable lead back to police business.

  Jenkins was a great believer that breaks were breaks, an opportunity to clear your mind. You came back refreshed and all the better able to do your job. He argued with some justification that putting work out of your mind allowed your brain to work on outstanding issues subconsciously. Those who found no escape in their working day, whatever their line of business, gradually functioned less and less effectively.

  Amos readily agreed to the meeting. That gave him just enough time to check on progress, if any, in the investigation and see that members of the team were gainfully employed.

  There was in fact some progress: a fair amount of information on the late Simeon Knowles had been unearthed. He was aged 71 and had lived all his life in the substantial house on the edge of Keele hill some 10 miles north of Boston, with clear views across to the Norfolk coast and easy access to the fens and the wolds.

  He had inherited the family home from his parents but he had a younger brother and it was not yet clear whether his sibling had also inherited from the parents or whether any such division had been equal.

  Knowles married at the age of 30 and there had been two children, a girl called Becky and a boy named John. The girl had married and emigrated to Australia. Word was still awaited from the Australian authorities as to where she was at the time of her father’s death.

  Mrs Knowles had died of a heart attack 10 years previously. The son had also died about five years ago from the same genetic defect that had killed his mother.

  Knowles was chairman of the Fens and Wolds Golf Club situated further west along the ridge from Keele. Amos knew of it, though he was not a golfer himself. He found that the end of the stick was too small to guarantee contact with the ball.

  It was not a highly rated course because most of the land that it ranged over was too flat but it suited moderate golfers with pretentions above their ability. Amos was well aware that among the pretentious were retired police officers.

  Knowles was also treasurer of a Lincolnshire-based committee that sent toys to orphanages in Eastern Europe.

  “Well done,” Amos said appreciatively. “We now have a picture of the man whose death was apparently so widely lamented.”

  He was in the canteen five minutes before Jenkins and had a mug of tea for both of them on the table ready.

  Jenkins was not, however, to be rushed and Amos fretted as the sergeant queued for a bacon sandwich. At last the two were sitting opposite each other, Jenkins looking very relaxed and not just because of his successful holiday.

  “Tell me about Simeon Knowles,” Amos asked simply as soon as Jenkins had settled into his chair. “I take it you knew him personally.”

  “Professionally,” Jenkins corrected before taking a huge bite out of his sandwich. There was a pause as he chewed contentedly.

  “Good bacon sandwich they do here,” Jenkins continued. “Best part of the whole canteen.”

  “Simeon Knowles,” Amos prompted.

  “How could I forget the name?” Jenkins asked rhetorically. “I was a young constable, a couple of weeks on the beat, down in Boston.

  “I saw this Range Rover shoot through the lights at red. It wasn’t even close. I counted three seconds after the lights hit red to him crossing the line. He had plenty of time to brake on amber and there was nothing behind to run into the back of him if he braked sharply, which he would have had to do the speed he was going.

  “I stepped out into the road and signalled him to stop. He damn nearly ran me over. I had to jump out of the way. Anyway, he did stop. He’d had to slam his brakes on to get round the corner but he was still another 20 yards past me before he came to a halt.

  “I walked up to him as calmly as I could but I was pretty shaken, I can tell you. The bastard leapt out of his car and started lambasting me, shouting about was I trying to get myself killed. I was inexperienced and badly shaken up so I’m ashamed to say he got the better of me.

  “I started stammering about him coming through the lights on red but he said forcefully that I couldn’t possibly have seen what colour the lights were for him because I was too far back from the junction. By now we were some distance along the road and it was impossible to prove exactly where I had been. Also a car coming from the same direction as he had done was now stationary at the lights and he claimed it had been right on his tail, which wasn’t true.

  “I insisted on seeing his driving licence, which he produced with some reluctance, and was writing down his details when he came the old ‘I’m a friend of the Chief Constable’ stunt. He knew the Chief Constable by name – it wasn’t Sir Robert back then, it was well before his time – and he went on about them being members of the same golf club, which he also named.

  “He claimed that he had used his influence as Club Captain to get the Chief Constable membership of what was a pretty exclusive club and if I caused trouble I would be in for it.

  “I told myself it wasn’t worth the hassle, me being new to the job and all that. So I rescued as much pride as I could from caving in and warned him to be more careful in future.”

  “You’ve nursed that grudge all this time?’ Amos asked. “That doesn’t sound at all like you.”

  “Nor is it,” Jenkins retorted hotly. “All that, I could have put down to experience and moved on. But the bastard hadn’t finished yet. Despite me letting it go, he still complained about me to the Chief Constable anyway. He didn’t know my name but he had made a note o
f my number, which I think annoyed the Chief Constable more because it meant someone had to look up who I was.

  “And he complained about me in front of other golf club committee members, making the Chief Constable look small and jeopardising his golf club membership. So I got a lecture and a black mark right at the start of my career. I couldn’t get promotion to sergeant until we had a new Chief Constable and by then it was too late to hope to progress to inspector.”

  Jenkins finished his bacon sandwich and downed the rest of his tea in silence.

  “I thought I had a chance to get him some years later. I was in a patrol car when we got an anonymous tip off that he had left the golf club after downing a couple of gin and tonics too many. This time there were two of us and we managed to intercept him just before he got home.

  “We got a lot of bluster and the usual threats about reporting us as he tried to waste time while he could breathe deeply and expel the alcohol. I wasn’t bothered because he couldn’t blight my career any worse and he was, to be honest, rather resigned to being over the limit.

  “But his belief that he can break the law with impunity was not about to be shattered. He registered just a fraction below the limit. My partner in the car and I would really have been for the high jump but, to my astonishment, he didn’t wait to take our names and he never did complain about us.

  “Instead, he leapt back into his car, swung it round – which took a bit of doing in such a narrow road – and nearly knocked us over in his haste to drive back to the golf club. I learnt later that he fired the manager on the spot for watering down the gin.”

  Then Jenkins pushed back his chair and stood up to leave.

  “The man was a real bastard,” he said as his parting shot. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  Chapter 24

  Amos had hardly got back to his desk when his telephone rang. It was Gerry Burnside at Boston on the line.

  “Where the hell are you?” Burnside barked out as soon as Amos answered. “All hell’s broken loose. We’re getting flooded out with calls, all asking for you. People are pretty narked when we say you’re not here. Some refuse to speak to anyone else.”