Windsor Red

by Jennie Melville

  ‘Well, a pair that fits their description did travel as far as Dundee on a long distance coach.’

  ‘Thanks for telling me.’ She decided not to tell Jack and Anny. Travelling by coach did not sound like her idea of Kate. ‘ What happened after Dundee?’

  Harold English shrugged. ‘Plenty of buses. Even a train. They could go on.’

  ‘Or they might just be a couple returning home after a visit to London.’

  She did not know what to make of the story, it did not seem as if he placed much reliance on it himself.

  He shrugged and sighed. ‘Now you’re being difficult.’

  ‘The pair I think I know aren’t the sort to travel on a coach.’ And she wasn’t sure she put much weight on the ex-wife’s tale, it might just be casual, hopeful malice. ‘ I’d like to be sure they are both still alive.’

  There was a silence between them. Finally, he said, ‘You’re not thinking that you’ll see the Cooper girl’s face on the mortuary table and not Dr Rivers’?’

  Charmian did not answer.

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. I want to see her face.’

  ‘Then there’s something I have to tell you. There is no head.’

  Charmian stared at him. ‘The bodies were headless.’

  With too much on her mind, Charmian walked back to Wellington Yard. All around it was peaceful; nutritious and traditional Sunday lunches were cooking. Smells of roasting beef and simmering cauliflower floated on the air. Molly Oriel had asked her to lunch so she was sure of a good meal.

  If she could eat it. At the moment, her appetite was minimal. Harold English’s news had sickened her.

  ‘I’m a hardened police officer,’ she told herself, ‘but I cannot deal with death. Not when it comes so close.’ She was going to keep out of the way of Anny and Jack for the moment, she was emotionally involved, and could be of no help to them.

  It was too early to arrive at the Oriels’ lunch party so she continued her walk. Anywhere would do. Down the slope of the hill, there was an art gallery which was having a private view of the work of a clutch of Thames Valley artists. Anny had had an invitation, but anyone was welcome. She would look in.

  But on the way there, she saw someone she knew. Her ‘contact’. But she had long since thought of him as a lot more than that, although she was still surprised it should be him.

  He seemed pleased to see her. But then he usually was. Perhaps it was just his professional manner. She did wonder, sometimes. Easy to be with, hard to know. Probably he could say the same of her. It might be why they seemed to find each other attractive.

  ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Got your usual companion, I see.’

  Jerome looked down at the pram he was pushing. ‘I’m just taking him for a walk. One way of keeping the little beggar quiet.’ His tone was fond. ‘Elspeth offered but she’s a bit broody about her own family prospects, and I thought better not. He’s on the fidget today and he’s usually so good.’

  ‘Is he teething?’ Charmian looked at the child who was asleep. In the way of young children he looked vulnerable and more babyish than his two years in his sleep.

  ‘No,’ said Jerome seriously. ‘ It can’t be that. He has all the teeth he should have for his age.’

  ‘Does he always do things by the book?’

  ‘He’s sort of average. Top average. But very advanced mentally, of course. And he’s usually such a little man.’

  ‘Oh I do love you, Jerome, only you could say that.’ She was sure the child was clever, though, but in some ways strange. Just as Jerome looked younger than the years she knew he had (that mop of curly blond hair did it), so his child often looked older, as if they were rushing to meet at some central point. You could not say that of many parents and children, usually they were moving apart at speed. Charmian herself had left her own mother behind years ago; her father had stayed closer for longer, but even he had dropped out of the running by now. It was the same with the Coopers and Kate, they loved each other but there was a deep divide.

  Jerome looked surprised but pleased. ‘Nice to be loved.’

  ‘Oh, everyone loves you, Jerome.’

  ‘That was what I was afraid of. Generalised love doesn’t count. I want something more particular.’ Then he looked down at his son. ‘Still, if that little codger loves me, then I’ve got that.’

  ‘Oh you have.’

  They continued together down the slope. Even on a Sunday the tourist invasion had started. An hour or two later than in the week, but now in full flood.

  ‘It’s a responsibility,’ said Jerome seriously. ‘Who would he have if anything happens to me? I’ve made his grandparents his guardians and taken out some insurance. You have to think about it. Can’t leave a mess behind. I mean if you go, that is.’ He looked at Charmian. ‘You ought to know all about that.’

  ‘In my job? Yes, I suppose we see more of the mess that can be left than most. As you know yourself. I can never think of you as a policeman, Jerome.’

  ‘I believed in justice.’

  ‘Not law and order?’

  ‘No, and it was when I discovered that they weren’t the same thing that I left. No, it wasn’t for me. Taught me a lot, though. How to remember faces, for one thing. For instance, although you don’t know, I had seen you before.’

  ‘Had you? When?’

  ‘On a course at Northolt. You were giving a talk on crowd control. You were good. You wouldn’t see me, but I saw you. You had your hair done differently. It suits you better this way, may I say. Yes, you’ve changed, but I never forget a face,’ he said with some pride.

  ‘Hence your information you were able to pass on.’

  ‘Oh that. Yes. Not much to that, but when I kept seeing Finch and Hooper around so much, I thought, Here, here, this wants watching. I knew them, you see, of old.’

  ‘They know you?’

  ‘Don’t think so, although you can never be sure. I saw them both come up in court, Hooper and Finch.’

  ‘On what charge?’ Charmian ran over the various crimes for which Nix and Laraine had gone down. She could not think of one in which they had stood in the dock together.

  ‘Oh, they beat up some man they said had been molesting Finch. I don’t know what the truth of it was, except that they didn’t like him and were prepared to do something about it. But they got away with it, because in the end the man didn’t really stand up as a witness. Ashamed, I reckon, because they’d really done him over.’

  ‘You don’t like them, do you?’

  ‘No,’ said Jerome. ‘No, I’d like to see them get what they deserve.’

  ‘Funny you should see them.’

  ‘All having a cup of tea together in The Brown Teapot next door to Woolworth’s. I went in to buy some shortbread and there they all were. Didn’t see me. Wouldn’t have known me or cared if they had, I don’t suppose.’

  It was true, Charmian thought, Jerome could be the invisible man when he liked.

  ‘What a witches’ coven, I thought,’ he continued. And that started me thinking.’

  ‘I came into it because of a friend of mine,’ said Charmian, thinking of Baby. ‘ Lines of communication do cross, don’t they?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jerome accepted the idea seriously. ‘It can be quite dangerous, sometimes.’

  Charmian looked at the clock on the tower. It was time to go to Molly Oriel’s lunch party. ‘I must hurry.’ She would have to give the picture gallery a miss.

  ‘I’ll push on.’ Jerome gave his pram an energetic shove. The child stirred and wailed. Jerome cast a mock-despairing look at Charmian and walked on.

  She watched him for a moment, touched by his devotion to his child. Sometimes he made her feel cheap, and selfish and mean, all of which she believed she was, but could usually manage to overlook.

  He turned and saw her watching. ‘Tell you what,’ he called out. ‘Come and have a meal one evening. At home with me, can’t leave the kid, but I’m a good cook. Do a cassoulet.�
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  ‘Love it,’ she called back. Then she went to lunch with Molly Oriel who was very bright and talkative, and Charmian found herself being bright and talkative back, discussing clothes with Molly, wine with her husband, and the prospects for Ascot with her neighbour, who appeared to have strong views on the subject.

  But all the time, she was thinking: No head, no head.

  ‘How very small they look without head or limbs.’ She turned away from the metal tray drawn out for her inspection.

  ‘They always look smaller.’

  Perhaps the dead always did. Or the white-coated mortuary assistant was being deliberately matter of fact. No doubt he had seen all shades of emotion on inspections such as this and did not care for any of them.

  ‘You can close the door now.’

  The great drawer slid forward in the refrigerated cave and a door slammed shut on it. One more put away for the night.

  It was always night in that room, with no windows and always shadowless artificial light.

  ‘Seen all you want?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’

  Seen enough to know that the quick recognition that it was or was not Kate wasn’t going to come. Seen enough to know she was not going to tell Anny of what she had seen.

  Outside she met the young policewoman, Dolly Barstow. ‘Oh, Miss Daniels, nice to see you again,’ said Dolly as if it was a surprise. ‘You’ve been in to have a look?’

  ‘Yes.’ She had the strong impression that Dolly had been hanging about waiting for her. ‘You too?’

  ‘Yesterday. Felt I had to. Not any good, is it?’

  ‘Not as a means of identification, no.’

  ‘Silly thing is, I felt I’d know. Be able to say, Oh yes, that is Dr Amanda Rivers. But I couldn’t. Didn’t feel a thing.’

  ‘I thought the same. And I’ve had a lot more experience than you. Ought to have known better.’

  Dolly shifted from one foot to another, betraying an unease not usual in her confident young life. ‘I heard you were coming in.’

  ‘Word does get around.’ So much for her visit being ‘under the rose’.

  ‘I’ve been told to go down to Amanda Rivers’ house and make an inventory.’

  Charmian raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Oh, of course, it’s been looked over, photographed and all that. But I’m to look at her personal things, women’s stuff, that kind of thing.’

  ‘Are you meant to be looking for anything specially?’ Dolly looked doubtful. ‘I don’t think so. Just notice what I can, I think. I wondered if you’d come down with me? Be a help if you would.’

  Charmian said nothing.

  ‘I know I shouldn’t ask,’ said Dolly apologetically. ‘Better forget it, eh?’

  ‘No. I’d like to come. I was just surprised, that’s all.’ She hesitated. ‘This would be just between us, I suppose?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ admitted Dolly honestly, ‘but if you did come up with something really important I think I’d have to say.’ She produced some keys. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘You’re probably safe there. I don’t think I’ve had an important thought for weeks.’

  ‘Not what I hear,’ said Dolly, giving her a sideways look. ‘ I’ve heard that you see things very sharp all the time.’ Another quick look. ‘ I know what you’re doing, of course.’

  ‘I suppose you all do.’

  ‘No.’ Dolly was clear on that. ‘I’m just good at catching on to things.’

  Charmian did not believe her but she let it go.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind doing a research degree myself,’ went on Dolly, as if that was all there was to it. ‘Later on, of course. I’ve got an ordinary degree. I’m career entry, you see, speeded promotion, and all that. But everything helps if you want to get to the top.’

  ‘And you do?’

  ‘Yes.’ A simple answer, short and clear. That seemed to be Dolly’s style.

  ‘I expect you’ll do it.’ Charmian was impressed by Dolly. ‘Depending where the top is.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve thought about that,’ said Dolly seriously. ‘For a woman the goals shift a bit. The goalposts too, for that matter.’

  They had arrived at the house. Dolly let them in, closing the door carefully behind her. ‘The neighbours watch all the time. Not that it’s been much help. Or was much help.’

  The house smelt stale and dead, as if it had taken a gulp of air some time ago and never expelled it. As a living organism, it was dead.

  Dolly nodded. ‘Does stink a bit. There was a mass of dirty laundry and rotting fruit and veg around. Don’t think Dr Rivers was much of a housewife.’

  ‘I suppose that’s all the smell is?’

  ‘I think they’ve had a look around for blood. No blood.’

  They went over the house. Dolly was right: Amanda Rivers had been a casual housekeeper. But not a dirty one. Her books might lie about on floor and chairs, while her clothes lay scattered around her bedroom as if she had just walked out, but everything was clean.

  The house must just be one of those houses that build up a smell of their own over the years, picking up a bit from every past inhabitant.

  In the bedroom, Charmian said: ‘I haven’t been much use to you.’ She looked around her. ‘She had nice things.’

  ‘Fat lot of good it did her.’

  ‘We don’t know that for sure.’

  ‘Agreed. But she certainly isn’t around. And she didn’t mean to stay away. I mean not for so long. She meant to come back on time from that holiday. That’s how I read the house.’

  Charmian sat down on the bed.

  ‘I see she stores her dirty laundry in a black plastic bag.’ There was such a bag filled with towels and underclothes by the window.

  ‘Takes it to a laundrette in one, I expect. I do it myself. I buy blue sacks, seem more cheerful somehow.’

  ‘Black bags are very common.’ Charmian was still looking at the sack.

  ‘There’s a pile of them in the kitchen,’ said Dolly. She added carefully: ‘A lot of people keep a few.’

  ‘Let’s just go and have a look.’

  The smell in the house seemed stronger as they went down the narrow staircase.

  ‘I don’t think the drains in this house work too well,’ said Dolly. ‘The lav doesn’t flush properly.’

  Charmian could see that the kitchen had been thoroughly searched and everything put back, but nothing in quite the right place. There was an old-fashioned coke furnace which looked as though it had seen good service. She went to the kitchen window and looked out, the usual sort of little garden. She stared out, thinking.

  ‘There are more ways than one of identifying the bodies, of sorting out who they are.’ Heads, faces weren’t so important. Useful, though. ‘Have they got the blood groups yet?’

  ‘I believe so. Both group A.’

  As was a large percentage of the population. Including Harry.

  She turned and went up the stairs to the bathroom, and flushed the lavatory. It did drain away exceedingly slowly. She walked back down the stairs to the kitchen and ran the water in the sink. This seemed to run away normally, but there was a smell as upstairs. You couldn’t say that the smell came from either source. It was just there.

  Dolly watched in silence.

  Charmian turned to her. ‘ Let’s take a look in the garden.’

  Together they unbolted the back door, turned the lock and went into the little back yard. An area of flagstones led to a tiny patch of grass with a few rose bushes. Dr Rivers hadn’t been a gardener either.

  In one corner was a manhole cover over a drain. The two women looked at each other.

  ‘Let’s get that up,’ said Charmian. Without a word, Dolly went back into the house and returned with a big steel poker from the boiler. By means of it they levered up the drain cover.

  In the bright sunlight they could see down the shaft which was neither very big nor very deep. At the bottom they could see a black plastic sack. From the drain rose a smell that was
sweet and thick and sickening.

  As Charmian turned away, she said: ‘Might be a good idea to tell your colleagues to have another look at the bathroom.’

  Chapter Eleven

  AFTER ALL , Charmian had to tell Anny and Jack what she had wanted to keep from them. There comes a point when you can’t keep things to yourself, when it would be wrong to try. She had reached that point.

  ‘No heads. There were no heads in those plastic bags. Just scraps of bone and tissue and blood. There had been quantities of blood.’

  It looked as though the bodies had been cut up in the bath, in the drain of which had been found traces of body tissues and fat, particles of bone and blood. More traces had been discovered in the lavatory drain and in the kitchen outlet. Anything not disposed of that way had been dumped in bags directly down the manhole.

  The other two took the news calmly. Perhaps they were not unmoved inside but they did not make a fuss. Charmian was glad about this quietness because she was very tired. It was the end of a long, hard day.

  They were sitting in the kitchen of the Coopers’ house at the big round table which Anny had designed herself and they had just eaten supper. Anny had taken one look at Charmian’s face when she arrived at their door and insisted she stay to eat.

  ‘Eat before you say anything. It’s bad news of a sort, I can tell, without you opening your mouth. We’d all be the better for a meal inside us.’ In spite of her brave words, she then looked at Charmian. ‘I presume it is not news of an absolutely final sort?’

  Charmian shook her head silently.

  ‘No, I thought not. We would have had a policeman in uniform down here if it had been that.’ She took a deep breath, it had to be with relief. ‘ Jack, get up a bottle of the good claret. It’ll do us good.’ A change of mood had come over both Jack and Anny. It was as if they had accepted something.

  A piece of spiced ham and a great pot of beans baked with tomatoes, rum and black treacle appeared from the oven. One of Anny’s famous meals for crisis times, the recipe was the legacy of a visit to an artists’ colony near Boston. Had the Founding Fathers really added rum to their baked beans or was this Anny’s own special contribution to the dish?