Amos, in the front passenger seat, shuffled through the notes provided by the thorough team at Boston police station.
“According to the information we have, she was stewardess at the Fens Golf Club for two years up to about 18 months ago. It would be interesting to learn why she left and what sort of terms she was on with Knowles.”
The latter part of the journey was absorbed in the task of finding her home. Even with the aid of a detailed map it proved difficult. Brickhouses Lane was unsigned and unadopted, a rough track that was half soil, half stones.
They followed a small red car cautiously up the lane, dodging as best they could the worst of the potholes. It turned out that the driver was Janet Sutcliffe.
“You’re lucky to catch me,” she remarked, after the two police officers had identified themselves. “I work in Boston. I’m not usually back this early.”
Amos looked at his watch. It was 5pm. They had got through a lot that day and this would be the last interview.
“We’re investigating the death of Simeon Knowles,” Amos announced.
“Yes, I assumed you were,” Sutcliffe replied. “I’ve no reason to help you. He got what he deserved. Good luck to whoever did it. I’m not helping you to catch them.”
“I’m afraid you are,” Amos responded sternly. “You can do it here or at Boston police station, which will be considerably less pleasant. You had the opportunity to do it and from the tone of your remarks I take it you also had the motive.”
The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Sutcliffe cracked first.
“You’d better come in,” she said with bad grace.
Sutcliffe locked the car and, using the same bunch of keys, opened her front door and walked through into her lounge without looking back, leaving the officers to close the door behind them.
“I’ll offer you a seat but not a cup of tea,” she said abruptly. “I don’t want to prolong this any more than necessary. I’ll cooperate as far as I must and no further.”
Amos nodded to show he understood, then asked: “You were photographed entering Boston Parish Church last Saturday morning, just before Simeon Knowles climbed the tower. Why were you there?”
Sutcliffe stared at the floor in deep thought for several moments before replying: “I went to see Knowles. And I mean see – not speak to – and for him to see me.”
“And why was that?”
“I wanted him to see I was prepared to stare him straight in the face.”
“How did you know he would be there?”
It was not the question that Sutcliffe was expecting. She had assumed that Amos would ask why she wanted to confront Knowles.
“There was a notice in the doctor’s waiting room,” she replied hesitantly.
“That would be Dr Austin, I take it,” Amos said. Without waiting for confirmation he continued smoothly: “Did she draw your attention to it?”
“No, it was the receptionist,” Sutcliffe responded, a little too hurriedly. “Dr Austin never mentioned it. The receptionist told me Simeon Knowles was taking part. She seemed very proud of the fact that someone who attended the surgery was involved.”
“We understand that you went right up to him and touched him,” Swift intervened.
Amos tried not to let his astonishment show on his face. Swift was really pushing her luck. They had no such information.
“I didn’t touch him,” Sutcliffe said indignantly, inadvertently admitting by inference that she had approached him.
“So why did you go up to him?” Swift demanded.
“I wanted to spit in his face. And I did. But I didn’t touch him.”
“And what prompted this display of petulance?” Amos asked.
Sutcliffe sat back and avoided his stare, realising that she was being drawn into saying more than she wished. Amos let the awkward silence continue to increase her discomfort.
This time it was Amos who broke first.
“You’d better tell us what happened at the golf club,” he said simply.
Chapter 31
Sutcliffe swallowed hard and decided there was no point in stalling any longer. It was clear that Amos already knew quite a lot about her.
“I was manageress at the golf club,” she began, “and I really enjoyed it. I’d run a couple of restaurants in Boston so I knew what I was doing. Though I say it myself, I was good at the job. You can see my references if you don’t believe me.
“Then Simeon Knowles took over as chairman. I don’t deny something needed doing. The place was running at a loss. It wasn’t all that popular with serious golfers because the course was too flat and uninteresting so the membership was made up of sloggers – people who couldn’t afford proper golf lessons.
“So the fees were pretty low, the greens were not kept in best condition and the clubhouse was shabby. It was a downward spiral. But the members were pretty decent people who made friendly patrons in the clubhouse.
“Then Simeon Knowles arrived. Apparently he’d been chairman before, many years ago, but had lost interest and rarely showed his face. Once he was back, he brought in his mates and quickly took control of the place. He really enjoyed lording it over everyone and no-one stood in his way because no-one else wanted the task of getting the club back on its feet.
“He turned it more into a social club than a golf club. We were pretty out of the way so I daresay a lot of members drove home down the back roads over the limit. Funnily enough, your lot never stopped them. Knowles always boasted that he knew the Chief Constable.
“Knowles was always trying to impress his contacts – and that included bullying me. He would deliberately belittle me in front of them just to show how much power he had. I was just about getting to the end of my tether when he pulled a real stunt.
“There was some very expensive wine in the cellar. I think Knowles had bought it and laid it down when he was chairman previously. He tried to force me to sell it to him at a fraction of the real price. I couldn’t do that. It would have meant falsifying the accounts. So I refused. He went ballistic – in private of course. No-one else knew about this.
“The atmosphere between us was so poisonous that a couple of days later he ordered me to resign. He said if I didn’t go quietly he would see I never worked in Lincolnshire again. I didn’t have much choice. I threatened to go to an employment tribunal but he said he would know the people on the panel and it would only make matters worse for myself.
“In the end I left quietly. I was paid monthly and I’d worked one week into the next month but he refused to pay me for it. He wouldn’t give me a reference either. It took me some time to get another job and for a while I had to work part time but I’m finally back on my feet. So yes, I feel pretty bitter about him. I’m glad somebody got him.”
“Did Knowles make advances to you of a sexual nature?” Amos asked.
Sutcliffe shook her head.
“No, I can’t put that on him.”
“In my experience,” Swift intercepted again, “women who feel so bitter about a man have usually had a fling with him.”
Sutcliffe was outraged.
“How dare you,” she spluttered. “That man was loathsome. I wouldn’t have touched him with a barge pole. I’m glad he’s dead.” Then, realising what she had said, she added quickly: “I’ve rebuilt my life and finally got a full time job again. I just want to forget I ever met him.”
Chapter 32
The phone rang on Amos’s desk first thing the following morning. When he picked it up, the inspector immediately recognised the voice of Brian Slater.
“You’re in luck,” the pathologist announced cheerfully. “I’ve got a slot, as they say in the airline industry. As a personal favour to you, I’m going to chop up old Saint Simeon. Someone’s got to do it and it might as well be me. In fact, it has to be me since there’s no-one else and there’s nothing I like better than a nice martyrdom.”
Amos was already on his feet, shuffling round the desk while holding the phone to
his ear and having to lean forward as the telephone cord pulled tight.
“When?” he demanded.
“You want to see if his blood turns to wine or some such miracle? Better be quick.”
Amos had not the least objection to seeing Simeon Knowles dissected at last. He would happily have wielded the scalpel himself.
“Don’t start without me,” he said.
“You’ve got five minutes,” Slater replied. “And don’t you dare tell the Chief Constable. He’ll find me some paperwork to fill in for his latest campaign.”
Slater had the naked body laid out on the slab by the time Amos arrived.
“I’ve done the preliminaries,” the pathologist announced. “Height, weight, the usual stuff. Pretty average, bit of middle age spread but remarkably fit for his age. No marks on the body except for the effects of falling from a great height.”
Slater indicated the manner of Knowles’s demise by raising his right arm and plunging it down sharply, fingers first, with a chuckle.
“No scars so I take it he’s never had an operation. He looks disgustingly well – apart from being dead, that is. Let’s see how many bones he broke.”
Slater began his grisly work, whistling enthusiastically but tunelessly. He stopped cutting and whistling suddenly.
“I didn’t reckon on that,” he announced perfunctorily, putting his scalpel down.
“Reckon on what?” Amos demanded irritably.
“On cancer,” Slater replied. “This is one nasty looking tumour. Wow-ee.”
“He must have known about it, surely,” Amos said, half statement, half question. Was the case about to close in dramatic fashion? Had Knowles committed suicide spectacularly and publicly? A last grand gesture to maximum effect?
“You realise this puts an entirely different light on the case,” Amos went on. “It could be suicide after all if he knew he was dying. Wouldn’t he have been in pain?”
“Not necessarily,” Slater replied. “Cancer’s a funny thing. Often there’s no pain, at least until the very final stages. That’s why it’s so difficult to spot it early enough to treat it. He’s probably had some discomfort, and felt listless, but not necessarily pain.
“We’ll have to do tests to see how far its spread but I’d be surprised if there aren’t secondaries. From the size of this tumour, he’s probably riddled with it. You’d better ask his doctor. She must know if he’s been in for tests.”
“Dr Austin has some explaining to do,” Amos said grimly.
Chapter 33
As soon as he was back in his office, Amos rang Gerry Burnside at Boston. Despite the initial decision to exclude him from the inquiry, it seemed somehow that there was no way of managing without him and he had a way of inveigling his way back in. Burnside could be very persistent, one reason why he was an effective detective.
“Gerry, Amos here,” the inspector said quietly. “I’ve a tricky job for you. Are you up for it? You’re entitled to say no.”
“Course I am,” Burnside responded with gusto. “Up for it, that is.”
Amos had hardly expected otherwise.
“It may take you all morning,” he said. “Are you clear?”
“I’m clear.”
“I want you to go to Dr Austin’s surgery but first I need you to ring up and find out from her receptionist when Austin will be leaving to start her home visits. It’ll need careful handling but I’m sure you can use your legendary charm with the ladies.”
“No problem,” Burnside hastened to assure the inspector. “I’m nearer than you. I’ll be there well before she’s finished her surgery.”
“No, no,” Amos said hurriedly. “I want you to get there after she’s left. She won’t be helpful, even though this may help her. But I need someone she won’t be suspicious of and she’s already been interviewed by me and Juliet.
“Ring the receptionist and say it’s nothing important but you just need to check something. In fact, you could say it’s about the Chief Constable’s anti-drug campaign and you need a bit of guidance. If the receptionist asks, at least you can say you’re not on the team investigating Simeon Knowles’s death, which technically is true.
“Ask what time the surgery is likely to finish but in case you get delayed there’s no need for Dr Austin to wait for you, it will do another day. Get there a bit early and park somewhere inconspicuous where you can watch for Austin leaving. And give her a minute or two in case she’s forgotten something and comes back for it.
“In the reception are two filing cabinets with all the patient records. K is in the bottom left hand drawer according to the labels. That means you can get down to it while blocking off the receptionist so she can’t stop you extracting Simeon Knowles’s file.
“Get a quick look at it. I need to know when Knowles last saw Austin and whether there is any indication that either of them knew he had cancer. Cause as little fuss as you can, Gerry, and don’t try to keep the file. I know it’s a tall order and when Austin finds out and hits the roof, as she inevitably will, I’ll take the responsibility.”
“No worries,” Burnside responded cheerfully. “I’m a big boy and I’m well out of Fletcher’s firing line down here. I can take the raps.”
“No,” Amos said firmly. “That’s not an option. The Chief Constable is interested in this case. Everything comes back to me. I hope that’s understood, Gerry, otherwise you’re off the case completely.”
“Okay,” Burnside responded reluctantly. “If you say so.”
“I do say so. There’s one other thing. If you can, ask the receptionist why she was telling the patients about the abseiling and encouraging them to go. Was it all patients or just selected ones? That’s less important than the medical file though. Good luck, Gerry. See what you can get. But don’t attempt to remove the file. Just memorise as much as you can.”
Chapter 34
Amos and Swift reached Boston police station to find that Burnside had already returned a few minutes earlier. Any concern that he had failed in the task was allayed as he triumphantly ushered them into his small office rather than the incident room where they could be interrupted by phone calls.
“I thought I was going to have to ditch the project before I’d even started,” Burnside admitted. “Surgery was due to finish at 11 o’clock but I reckoned on it running beyond that – GPs always run late.
“I found a house near the surgery and persuaded the retired couple there to let me park on the front drive. Don’t worry,” he added hastily on seeing Amos’s concern, “I didn’t let the cat out of the bag. They thought I was watching for a lorry load of illegal immigrants being transferred from one field to another. They liked that, I can tell you, stopping them from pinching Lincolnshire jobs.”
“Gerry, please get on with it,” Amos said with exasperation. “You’ve obviously found something out so would you like to share it with us.”
“Just setting the scene,” Burnside said, a little peeved. “Anyway, I watched the last patient go in and the last two come out so I knew there was only Dr Austin and the receptionist in the surgery.
“It was another quarter of an hour before Austin came out and drove off. I was afraid she was waiting for me. Luckily I’d left orders that if she rang the station to see if I was still coming they were to say I’d gone off somewhere else on an emergency.
“Finally she came out and drove straight past me – and that’s when I thought the game was up. She looked right at me as she came past and for one moment I thought she’d recognised me from the Stump on Saturday but she drove straight on so I don’t think she could have.
“I wandered into the surgery quietly and there was no sign of the receptionist. It turned out she was in the back and she’d carelessly left the keys to the filing cabinet on her desk so I was able to unlock it, open the drawer and pull out Knowles’s file before she heard me. I got a good look at it before she snatched it out of my hands and threatened to call the police until I produced my warrant card.
&n
bsp; “Don’t worry, I managed to placate her by promising I wouldn’t tell Austin she had let me look in the files. I pointed to the notice about the abseiling that was still up in the surgery and she admitted that Austin had told her to mention it to people and had given her the names of some patients who were to be told to go. If they weren’t booked in for an appointment the receptionist was to ring them up and stress the importance of being there.”
Amos shifted in his seat.
“So what did you see in Knowles’s file?” he demanded.
At last Burnside got to the nitty gritty.
“Simeon Knowles went to see Dr Austin about a month ago complaining of listlessness, which apparently was not like him as he was quite an active man. Austin noted that he was pale and had a slight temperature. She gave him a full examination and noticed that his lymphatic glands and spleen were enlarged. She took a sample of blood for analysis to see if it was an infection but the results, which came back three days later, confirmed her suspicion that it was leukaemia.”
“I thought that was a childhood illness,” Amos said, surprised.
“Not necessarily,” Burnside went on, feeling rather pleased with himself and glancing across at Swift in the vain hope that she was suitably impressed. “We looked it up in Black’s, the medical dictionary, just before you got here. Chronic lymphatic leukaemia can occur at any age from 35 to 80 so Knowles was well within the age range. It’s actually most common in the 60s and men get it more than women. The prognosis isn’t good, though the medics are working on new treatments.
“However, Austin did not tell Knowles he had cancer, definitely not at that stage. It seems that the good doctor pulled a few strings and got him into St Bart’s in London for an MRI scan. Usually Knowles would have had to put up with an X-ray but St Bart’s got this new-fangled scanner a few years ago and it’s much better.
“Dr Austin got the report back last week, just a few days before Simeon Knowles met his fate. According to the report, he was riddled with cancer – a tumour in the stomach, an enlarged liver that is probably cancerous, signs of secondary cancer in his bones and small tumours on the brain. He probably had only a few weeks to live, if that.”
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