The Coopers Field Murder

by Wonny Lea

  ‘Then there’s the issue of the entry Dr Shaw has made in the notes of Enid Prosser,’ continued Sarah. ‘I obviously didn’t get the chance to read it properly, but it looked like a request from Dr Shaw, made on behalf of Enid, regarding her wishes not to be admitted to hospital. There’s no suggestion of her needing to be admitted – she’s got dementia but she’s physically quite fit. Has she had any visitors since she was admitted?’

  ‘No. I remember being told that she hasn’t been living in this area for some time and that her stepson lives abroad … Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Maria. ‘I’ve suddenly realised the possible significance of Mr Cooper’s interest in the nurses’ duty rota. If you’re off duty for four days it may be that on your return Enid Prosser will no longer be here. It would be possible for her to collapse on Friday and after a couple of days of treatment, but no hospitalisation, she could die well before you return to work next Tuesday. Oh bloody, bloody hell!’

  ‘Calm down, Maria,’ said Sarah, even though her own thoughts had already taken the route Maria was suggesting. ‘I’ll speak to Detective Sergeant Pryor tonight, and I’m trying to make up my mind at what point I speak to Care Standards and possibly my professional organisations. I don’t want to make a fool of myself and there may well be perfectly simple explanations for everything we have been talking about. On the other hand, there is no way I am going to sit back and do nothing and have the premature death of a fantastic old lady on my conscience.’

  Maria nodded in silent agreement and then asked Sarah if there was anything she could do to help.

  ‘We’re both working tomorrow so we can be extra vigilant,’ suggested Sarah. ‘But as for actually doing anything: that’s a no with a capital ‘N’.’

  That was the last thing Sarah had said to Maria, but she knew that there was every chance that Maria, like herself, was having a sleepless night.

  Knowing sleep was impossible, Sarah got up to make herself a drink. Part of her frustration stemmed from the fact that she had not been able to speak to Matt. It sounded from the response she was getting from his phone that he was in an area where the signal was poor and she wasn’t even sure she had reached his messaging service.

  If she didn’t hear from him by the end of her shift on Thursday, she would have to speak to someone else – there was no way she was going off on a four-day break without ensuring the safety of one of Tiger Bay’s oldest daughters.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A Confession

  Martin checked his watch and realised he hadn’t made the one-hour adjustment: it was still displaying UK time. Was it possible that it was now just 3 p.m. on Wednesday – and had it really only been first thing Monday morning when the Coopers Field body had been found?

  The timespan seemed more like a couple of weeks than a couple of days and, when driving to Cardiff from home on Monday morning, Martin could not have dreamed that he and Matt would be in France by mid-week. Somehow he had even found time for a night out and to declare his undying love for Shelley – how he wished he were with her now instead of opening a can of worms in this quiet suburb of Nantes.

  Matt paced up and down the hall and opened doors at random making ad hoc comments about the possible cost of some of the pieces of artwork.

  ‘Look boss,’ he said to Martin. ‘There are lots of gaps – see there on the panels going up the stairs. It’s obvious that there were originally paintings on all the panels, but now it’s just the middle panels that are adorned. What does that tell us?’

  ‘Could be anything,’ replied Martin. ‘However from the background we have received from Miss Forrester, it’s likely that the missing paintings have been sold to raise funds – possibly to pay off gambling debts.’

  ‘Just what I was thinking – and I’m also thinking it’s taking far too long for Madame Sheldon to find the mistress of the house. I know it’s a big place but she’s been gone for almost ten minutes, shall we try and find them?’ As if answering his own question, Matt walked through the door which led to a very large lounge, its wooden floors partially covered with Persian rugs. Here again the gaps were noticeable. There were two places where the floor had changed colour because until fairly recently the area had been covered, presumably with the missing woven masterpieces.

  There was no one in the room and Martin called out loudly, ‘Madame Sheldon,’ and receiving no reply tried again. ‘Madame Sheldon – is everything alright?’

  Both men listened for a response, but the house was as quiet as the grave. Unwilling to wait any longer they began determinedly looking for the two women.

  They entered a small study, lined from floor to ceiling with books, and were offered a choice of another two doors as possible exits. ‘It’s unusual for a room of this size to have three doors,’ remarked Matt as he headed for the one nearest him, and was surprised to find nothing behind it but a flight of stairs. ‘There’s that magnificent sweeping staircase in the hall and then there’s this hidden staircase – how intriguing.’

  The door that Martin had opened led into what any self-respecting estate agent would describe as ‘a classic French country kitchen’. The stucco walls were painted a butter-yellow, with a more mustard-coloured yellow on the ceiling. Some large exposed wooden posts, stained a dark brown, were positioned in the corners, and matched the criss-crossed beams of the ceiling. It was an impressive design, and along almost the whole of one wall was a stone-built structure housing bread ovens and a fireplace. Today was a warm summer day and the logs were just arranged along the hearth, but Martin could imagine coming home on a cold winter’s evening to the sound of wood crackling and the smell of bread coming from those ovens.

  A rustic farmhouse-style table occupied the centre of the kitchen, surrounded by ten rush-bottomed, ladder-back chairs made of wrought iron. In the middle of the table was a huge copper jug filled with lavender, and lots more copper utensils hung on hooks suspended from the ceiling.

  Finding no one in the kitchen, Martin called out again and this time he thought he heard someone responding. ‘Did you hear that?’ he asked Matt. ‘It sounded like Madame Sheldon to me, but I can’t quite work out where the voice is coming from.’

  ‘It’s not inside the house,’ replied Matt. ‘I’m pretty sure it’s coming from the garden, but I don’t think we can get to the garden from here – what about that door there?’

  As he spoke Matt made his way towards a door that was almost hidden by a large freestanding wooden cupboard. He opened the door, and beyond it was a short stone path which continued towards a much heavier external door. That did indeed lead to the garden.

  It really was a beautiful afternoon, and the garden was at its very best, its emphasis being on small trees, flowering shrubs, and masses of herbs. Unlike the typical English garden, there was no real plan, and plants seemed to have decided for themselves where they wanted to settle. Martin liked the effect and wished that the business they had come to conduct could be more in keeping with the surroundings. They heard a voice – Madame Sheldon; but she wasn’t speaking in response to the call Martin had made. In fact, she wasn’t really speaking at all – she was shouting at Charlotte Lefevre.

  As the two men approached, Madame Sheldon turned towards them and shrugged her shoulders. ‘There’s no budging her,’ she said. ‘Not only is she not moving, she’s not speaking either. I’ve explained who you are but all she has done for the last ten minutes is sit on that seat and stare into space. I’ve never seen her like this; maybe I should ring Monsieur Lefevre and ask him to come home. I don’t relish doing that as I’ve only done it once before, when some men came here to get a couple of paintings.

  ‘I was told they had gone to be cleaned, but that was months ago and there have been three more paintings removed since then. Anyway, Monsieur Lefevre was not happy when I rang him at work, and I vowed I would never do it again – but look at her … what do you think?’

  Martin looked at Charlotte and was about to sit down next to her when Matt’s phone cam
e to life and a series of bleeps and buzzes heralded the arrival of several messages.

  ‘Sorry about this,’ said Matt. ‘Obviously coming out into the garden has given me a signal – I’ve had nothing since we got on the ferry.’ As he spoke Matt scanned through the seventeen messages his phone indicated had been received and just as Martin was about to turn his attention back to Madame Lefevre he was once again stopped.

  ‘Guv – you will want to see this!’ exclaimed Matt and he stood beside Martin so that both of them could see one of the messages Matt had received. The message was from Prof. Moore and contained an attachment that Matt had opened. The image on the phone screen had been created as a result of the work done by Professor Henrietta Van-Bruggen.

  Martin looked from the phone to the woman on the bench and then back to the phone and he was left in no doubt that what Matt was showing him was a likeness of Charlotte’s mother. He now knew beyond doubt that the body in Coopers Field was the murdered remains of Daphne Mansfield, and it was down to him to discover who had killed her and how.

  Martin realised he had not responded to Madame Sheldon’s question regarding whether or not she should contact Monsieur Lefevre, and before doing so he took another look at the man’s wife. If she needed her husband to be there then Martin would suggest he was sent for – but at the moment it was impossible to access her needs and Martin really wanted to initially speak with Charlotte alone. He sat on the bench beside her but not too close, although it didn’t seem as if she had even noticed his presence.

  ‘Madame Sheldon,’ he asked the housekeeper politely, ‘would it be possible for you to get us all something to drink? You will know best what Madame likes, and maybe her drink could contain some extra sugar, or even a drop of brandy, as she is obviously in a state of shock.’

  Grateful to have something to occupy her, Madame Sheldon hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, and for several minutes the garden was peaceful, with only the occasional sound of birdcall.

  Martin had no idea how much time they had before Monsieur Lefevre was due to return home, and he couldn’t risk putting his discussion with Charlotte on hold any longer. He hoped it would be a discussion and not a series of unanswered questions and he started out very gently.

  ‘Madame Lefevre, I am Detective Chief Inspector Phelps and my colleague here is Detective Sergeant Pryor. We are here because your aunt, Miss Elsie Forrester, reported her sister – your mother – missing a couple of weeks ago. We would like you to help us trace her whereabouts or tell us anything you can that may help with our enquiries.’

  There was no response and Martin hadn’t really expected one so he continued. ‘We know that you and your husband went to Cardiff to see your mother on July the fourteenth, and the following morning your aunt discovered she was missing. Miss Forrester tells us that she rang here and was told that your mother was going back to Maison de Retraite …’

  Madame Sheldon had come back and she interrupted. ‘I spoke to Miss Forrester on the phone,’ she said, but before elaborating on the phone call she turned to Matt for help. ‘If you can carry that table from over there I will put this tray down and give Madame her drink.’

  Matt did as he was asked and Madame Sheldon sat down on the other side of Charlotte and managed to get her to take a sip of the drink she had prepared. The sip was obviously to Charlotte’s taste, as she soon emptied the glass and looked to Madame Sheldon for a refill. Martin wondered what the housekeeper had put in the drink, but was grateful that it had produced the first hint of any response and hoped the second glass would loosen the tongue.

  Martin spoke across Charlotte and asked Madame Sheldon if she could remember the gist of her telephone conversation with Miss Forrester. She said that initially Charlotte’s aunt had been very angry – demanding to know what had happened to her sister.

  ‘She rang not long after Monsieur Lefevre had called in for the papers he needed and I told her all about that,’ she continued. ‘Then she demanded to know the exact whereabouts of Madame Mansfield. I told her I didn’t appreciate being shouted at and that family feuds were none of my concern, but I did feel a bit sorry for her. I told her what Monsieur Lefevre had told me. Madame and her mother were in the car and he was taking them to the nursing home.’

  ‘But Madame and her mother were not in the car!’ rasped Madame Lefevre.

  For some reason Martin was expecting the voice of Charlotte Lefevre, when it emerged, to be quiet and gentle, but this was the sound of pure venom. ‘No Madame … no mother … but then when did I last have a mother … or ever have a mother come to that. What mother brings a daughter into the world knowing that she’s destined for years of pain and suffering – she deserved all she got.’

  The one most shocked by this revelation was Madame Sheldon and she got to her feet and made a dash back into the house but not before Charlotte had relieved her of the third glass of the truth-revealing liquid and drank it with a single swallow.

  Matt switched his phone to voice record and told Madame Lefevre he was doing this, but she was oblivious to him or anyone else. Martin prompted her. ‘What do you mean when you say she deserved all she got?’ he asked, but unfortunately Charlotte had returned to her world of silence.

  Martin decided to put all his cards on the table and tell her what he believed had happened. ‘We know of the serious financial situation that you and your husband are in and of the way you have extorted money from your mother over many years. From what we have gathered your husband has a serious gambling addiction and you needed to be in control of your mother’s affairs to ensure his creditors were kept at bay.’

  ‘Gambling addiction ... gambling addiction! – you can say the words so easily, but you have no idea what they mean … what hell they describe … what absolute purgatory.’ Charlotte shouted the words that she had probably wanted to speak for years but Martin didn’t want to listen to her woes he wanted to know what had happened to her mother.

  ‘Tell me what happened on the morning you last visited your mother in Cardiff,’ he persisted. ‘We know what your aunt has told us but we would like to hear your version of events.’

  ‘Well, she’s got that wrong to begin with,’ scoffed Charlotte. ‘It wasn’t the morning, it was early afternoon before we got there. We went to England first because my husband’s brother, Claude, lives in style in Sussex and they are quite frankly filthy rich.’

  ‘Frederick has tapped his brother lots of times for money and he has helped out – Claude’s wife stepped in and said “no more”, but we still had to try. How desperate is that?’

  ‘Needless to say we were not made welcome, and we only stayed long enough for Frederick to help himself to whatever he could stuff into my handbag in the way of jewellery from his sister-in-law’s dressing table. They know we took the stuff, but they aren’t reporting it because we’re family – but we have been told never to darken their doorstep again. Can you imagine how ashamed that makes me feel?’

  Her shame was of no relevance to Martin, and he urged her back to what was relevant. ‘What happened when you were with your mother?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, the usual,’ came the flippant reply. ‘Frederick tried his charm offensive in an attempt to get her to come back to France with us, but I could see it was no use. Her beloved sister had obviously persuaded her to stay in Cardiff and pay the bills for the house that by rights should be mine, and hopefully soon will be.’

  Matt couldn’t help butting in. ‘Perhaps your mother wanted to stay with her sister rather than return to rot in the place for the living dead you had in mind for her.’

  Charlotte glared at him. ‘Shows how much you know. My husband had promised that my mother could come back to live with us, and who in their right mind would choose a backstreet in Cardiff in favour of all this.’ She dramatically lifted her arms and pointed to the garden and the house.

  ‘What made your mother change her mind and come back with you, if that’s what she did?’ asked Martin.

&nbs
p; For a few minutes Martin thought his luck had run out and Charlotte had decided to return to silent mode, but then she shrugged her shoulders and continued.

  ‘My mother didn’t change her mind, and we all just sat around for hours. Eventually Frederick said he was going out for some air and left me with instructions to talk some sense into my mother. My aunt stuck her head around the door when she heard Frederick go out and asked if we wanted anything to eat. We said we didn’t and when I heard her stair-lift thing taking her up to her bedroom I knew that was the last we would see of her that day.’

  ‘My mother and I said nothing. We haven’t had anything to say for years and when Frederick came back he took over where he had left off. The conversation got more and more heated and Frederick was more furious than I have ever seen him. He called my mother a spiteful bitch and she had the audacity to laugh. I think that’s what did it – the laugh. He picked up her walking cane and pushed it towards her, trying to threaten her into changing her mind. That’s all he was doing – but the metal end of the cane flew off and struck my mother on her temple and she instantly fell back onto her pillow. It was an accident – he didn’t mean to hurt her and he certainly didn’t mean to kill her – it was an accident!’

  There, she had said it, and she knew there would be no going back – and in any case she was relieved to have shared her secret and sat with her head in her hands, no doubt expecting the world to feel sorry for her.

  Martin had hoped for, but not expected, some sort of confession, but now he was on strange ground – not to mention foreign soil – and was not absolutely sure of his legal position. He covered himself by informing Charlotte of her rights in the way he would have done if they were in Cardiff, but in any event she waved his words aside and continued.

  ‘There wasn’t much blood – hardly anything really – and for a moment we were both unsure of what to do. There was no point in calling an ambulance, and we thought about calling the police – but who was going to believe it was an accident? You must understand, Inspector, there was no love lost between me and my mother, and so I wasn’t sitting there devastated by her death. To be honest, my husband and I have not been very close for some time, and I suspect he has a mistress, but for a few hours after my mother died we worked together as we had when we were first married and came up with a plan.