Stone Cold Dead

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘I was wearing my anorak, and it was in such a mess that my wife’s thrown it away. We’ll have to rescue it for you, Sergeant. If you want it.’

  ‘I most certainly do. But you did get my point? If the chain was unfastened, then the suggestion is that it was done to give a bit more room...I’m trying to say, it suggests she was shoved in this way, not toppled from the bridge parapet. From here.’

  ‘Good point,’ I said. ‘Listen. How long before you’re through, here?’

  ‘Oh...a few minutes.’

  ‘Right. Now—you see those lighted windows, over there?’ I pointed. ‘Get closer and you’ll see the words Public Bar on them. It used to be a bargee’s pub, but now it’s private, but looks like a pub bar inside. I’ll go along and see if I can rustle up some hot coffee or the like, and these people living here are a good lot, so I wouldn’t be surprised if a drop of brandy or the like doesn’t get spilled into your glasses—if you all happen to have one in your hands at the time. Get my point? And I’ll locate the anorak for you.’

  ‘Give us ten minutes—and by heaven I’ll personally tear up your next ten parking tickets.’

  I slapped him on the shoulder and marched away, almost as though it was my house, my kitchen, and my brandy.

  ‘Now what, Richard? You look as pleased as a dog with two tails.’

  I told Amelia about it. ‘Six of them, absolutely frozen and miserable. D’you think your good friend Ruby could fix something up? I realize it’s a bit of a cheek, but I happen to know only too well what it’s like to be absolutely chilled to the bone.’

  ‘She won’t mind. Ruby’ll love it.’ She turned away.

  ‘Oh...and sweetheart,’ I called after her, ‘what did you do with the anorak?’

  ‘It’s in a black plastic bag, just outside the door where we came in,’ she called back.

  ‘Right. I’ll get it.’

  The access to this door, which I remembered how to locate, led me, I discovered, right past the kitchen. In there, Amelia and Ruby were already chattering away, arguing as to whether or not to use the percolator, as there were...They saw me passing.

  ‘How many did you say, Richard?’

  ‘Six.’

  Ruby looked round and smiled at me. ‘It’d better be mugs, I’d say, so we’ll make it artificial coffee, as dear Gerald calls it, though they do say on the jar that it’s made from real ground coffee, but for the life of me I can’t see how they do it. Do you know, Richard?’

  ‘Know what?’

  ‘How they make this quick coffee stuff from real coffee.’

  ‘I’m not sure. They probably percolate it first, and do some magic trick of drying it. The mysteries of modern technology are way beyond me. But as long as it’s hot, I doubt you’ll get any complaints.’

  ‘And hot milk,’ said Amelia.

  I left them to it, and recovered the bag from outside the door. It seemed that my absence had not been noticed, because, as I passed the kitchen door again, Ruby was saying, apparently to me, And if you’ll look behind the counter—or is it bar? I never know. Anyway, you know where I mean. You’ll find plenty of spirits. Brandy and whisky and the like. I’m a duffer at names, because I don’t drink spirits. It’s not really ladylike, I feel, though I do believe that gin and lemon doesn’t taste too bad. I hope nobody wants gin and lemon, because we’ve got no lemons.’

  ‘I’ll tell anyone who fancies gin that they’ll have to take it as it comes,’ I assured her. ‘I don’t imagine there’ll be any complaints.’

  Then I took the bag back into the bar, half lifting the anorak out. It was, indeed, beyond all possibility of reclamation. I saw then by the change in the light beyond the windows, that the team was packing it in, then, after the minute or two it took them to stack away their specimen wallets (clear plastic with a sealing edge) and their lights, they stumped in, preceded by Sergeant Berry’s head. There was much flapping of arms.

  ‘This where you meant?’

  ‘It is,’ I told him. ‘Come along in. Coffee in a minute, and I’m looking to see what we’ve got in the way of spirits. I ought to explain to the rest of you that this is a private residence, and the reason for all the booze is an engagement party we’ve been having. Plenty left...ah, here’s your hostess. Mrs Fulton. Ruby. And my wife, Amelia.’

  They swept in, each with a tray, one bearing mugs, cream and sugar, and a huge jug of steaming hot coffee, and one bearing sandwiches, which they’d whipped up somehow in the short time available.

  Ruby said, ‘Now, you’re not on duty any more. Do take those yellow things off, they must be most uncomfortable, and I’m sure you can all find seats.’ She stood, smiling as they slipped out of over-trousers and slickers, and Ruby cried out, ‘Why, one of you’s a woman!’

  The girl laughed. She couldn’t have been more than in her mid-twenties, a well-built young woman with sharp features and dark eyes, and, I saw when she whipped off the hat—very much like a fisherman’s—dark hair that cascaded down to her shoulders. She shook her head, and it swirled out the full width of her shoulders.

  ‘There are women in the force now, you know,’ she said. ‘And I rather like this job. It’s like scientific detection, and I got my degree in science.’

  ‘Well...things are different from my days,’ I told her. ‘Now...coffee for all of you, and you’ll have to help yourselves to cream and sugar, and sandwiches. And brandy—is there brandy, Ruby?’

  She nodded, smiling. I would plead ignorance when Gerald blamed me for wasting his oldest and most revered brandy on a gang of those pestilent police, as he no doubt considered them. To Ruby, they were half a dozen people who needed warmth and kindness. She was enjoying herself immensely.

  It was when Sergeant Berry was duly satisfied, two mugs of hot coffee inside him and a brandy in his hand, that he decided he had to offer collective thanks to Ruby. He got to his feet.

  ‘I’d like to say, ma’am, that we would all wish to thank you most sincerely for the sandwiches and the rest, and if my super finds out I’ll probably be back in the ranks tomorrow, but that’s tomorrow, and for tonight—thank you most sincerely, ma’am.’

  The rest of the team joined in. Inspector Slater would have had a fit. As far as he was concerned, this was a house absolutely full of suspects, not to be approached for any reason whatsoever.

  Then it was that Mellie walked in, closely followed by Ray. They stopped abruptly, faced by a small pack of strangers. Strangers, rather, to Mellie, though Ray would probably know most of them.

  ‘You here, Ray?’ said the sergeant, surprised.

  I put him in the picture. ‘The drinks are lying around because this evening we’ve had a party. I think I told you, Sergeant. A party to celebrate the engagement of Mellie, here, and Ray Torrance.’

  Berry was still on his feet. ‘But I thought you were getting engaged to...’ He stopped, and took a sip from his glass. Perhaps at my expression, or catching the flip of my hand.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Berry finished it. Then, confused, unwilling to look Mellie in the eyes, he raised his glass to his lips again, to put a full-stop to his sentence, then raised it higher to eyelevel, and said, ‘Our best wishes to both of you. And now, we must get off. Ready chaps? You, Jennie? Good. Oh...this the anorak, Mr Patton?’ He nodded round in all directions. ‘Good-night, all.’ And he ushered out his team ahead of himself. I heard him call out, ‘Who’s fit to drive?’

  I realized I was still wearing the duffle coat and the strange cap, which was beginning to give me a headache. Something was, anyway.

  Chapter Five

  Breakfast, the following morning, was a rather disorganized meal. We had not been told when or where. So, while Amelia was completing her preparations for facing the world, I nipped down and scouted out the situation.

  It was to be in their capacious kitchen, and was being prepared by Ruby and Mellie. Ruby was busy, chattering away to her daughter and receiving no responses. Mellie had her head down, and was occupying herself with cutle
ry, moving it here and there, and back again without any obvious gain or loss. She darted me a quick glance. It might have been make-up, but her eyes seemed bruised and too bright. But not evening make-up so early in the morning, surely.

  Eventually noticing my presence, Ruby said, ‘A quarter of an hour, Richard.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll tell Amelia.’

  Again Mellie’s eyes were raised to mine, questioningly, even imploringly. But without a direct question I couldn’t do much about answering, so I nodded. No response. Tried a wink. She looked away abruptly.

  I didn’t know whether Ray had stayed here the previous night. It did seem, though, that he was on duty this morning, though he’d mentioned two days’ leave. He had left behind him a number of unanswered questions, because Mellie had not been able to put them into words, more than likely, and had sought for explanations of what she could only feel, and not express.

  But I was fantasising again, and on very little evidence. It was a habit I seemed to have acquired lately, and really, I would have to control my imagination and stick to logic and facts.

  With my mind, therefore, firmly clamped on realities, I returned to Amelia and told her how things stood.

  ‘Really, Richard, I ought to be down there, helping. Oh...why didn’t you tell me?’

  She rushed out of the room before I could exercise any of my logic on her.

  It was a bright and sunny morning, the hills the other side of the valley apparently swaying as mist patches lifted, drifted away, disappeared. Two tiny dots moved on the bracken-strewn slopes. A man...a dog. I saw no sign of sheep, so that was exactly what it was, a man and his dog—though it could have been a woman—taking their early morning walk. As I would be doing at home at around this time, with our two boxers, Sheba and Jake. Except that we had the river Severn on which to look down, and here there was only the canal. Brindley would be turning in his grave at my use of the word: only.

  And down below, I saw, at the locks, was Colin. Was it part of his duties as lock-keeper, I wondered, to take a morning patrol around his empire, checking that everything was as it should be? He would no doubt consider it so, in any event. His responsibility, it was, and everything had to be correct. This morning, too, he would have to make a special check, that the intrusion of a woman’s body, and the subsequent invasion by the police squad, had left nothing out of its proper place or disturbed the precise levels in all three locks and the two pounds.

  Nodding to himself gloomily, he tramped round and round, earning his right to occupy this house on this site. He would resent the interference. Something decidedly distressing and unpleasant had cast a shadow over his placid life.

  I went back downstairs, put my head inside the kitchen door, and was greeted by Amelia asking, ‘Where have you been, Richard? You’ll have it all go cold.’

  And Colin followed me in, looked round, smiled bleakly, and said, ‘Early breakfast, isn’t it, ma?’

  ‘Your father wanted to get away to his office.’

  It’s Saturday. He doesn’t go in on Saturdays.’

  ‘He said he wanted to.’

  ‘Then why isn’t he here, fussing and grumbling—’

  ‘He’s here now,’ said Gerald from the door, gently closing it behind him. ‘And I’d like a little more respect from you, my lad, if you don’t mind.’

  Colin grinned at me, and winked. I shook my head. Gerald was clearly not in any mood to accept a ribbing this morning. He’d had enough of that from Ray, over the port the previous evening.

  Ruby at last could sit to her own breakfast. ‘Must you really go, Gerald?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You know...surely you must realize...those policemen are sure to be here this morning again.’ She was quietly pleading with him, but shrank from intruding anything unpleasant into the atmosphere, which was taut with overtones already.

  ‘I’m sure Richard can handle things, better than I could, anyway.’

  Gerald looked across the table at me. There were hard vertical lines between his eyes, and a muscle twitched in his left cheek. ‘But I’d like a word with you, Richard, before I leave. If I may?’

  It was only as an afterthought that he managed to convert it from an instruction into a request. And it had been an effort to make it.

  ‘Of course,’ I said.

  ‘Before I leave.’

  ‘I’m available any time.’

  So it was reduced to the simplicity of my sitting there, imbibing tea until he was ready, asked to be excused, got to his feet, and nodded to me. I slipped a wink to Amelia and she looked down quickly, then I followed him out.

  He had a study. I had to accept that he was the kind of man who would, though probably no work was ever done in that room. No studying. Certainly, there was no evidence of a rewarding occupation, no filing cabinet, a desk that was a table pretending to be a desk, a blotting pad with leather corners, and nothing in the way of mirror-image words visible on its surface. A wickerwork wastebasket was empty beside the swivel chair, in which he might sit and do no more than swivel. I could see no sign of legal tomes. This, no doubt, was why he wanted to retire to his office in town. He wanted to read up the law of evidence, and the right to silence, perhaps. There had been recent talk of abolishing this right, but he might find he had to resort to it in the near future. Oh yes, I could understand what he had in mind. Trepidation.

  He did, however, have facilities for two people to sit comfortably in his study—two leather, studded, easy chairs. He gestured now towards one of them, politely waited until I’d slumped into it before he took the other, then he said, ‘I rather wanted a private word with you, Richard.’

  ‘I did realize that.’

  ‘Then perhaps you can understand why?’ He looked mournful, pitiful. It was costing him a great deal to defer to a policeman, even though only an ex-one.

  ‘It did occur to me’, I admitted, ‘that you’d like to know how you’re going to handle an interview with Inspector Slater.’

  ‘Yes.’ He looked surprised at this inspired guess.

  ‘And you realize you’re in a rather difficult situation...’

  ‘It’s not that,’ he cut in. ‘I really do have to call in at the office.’

  I took him up on that briskly. ‘How often do you need to go to your office on a Saturday?’ I asked.

  ‘Well...’ He waved a hand vaguely.

  ‘Never?’ I didn’t wait for an answer. His eyes told me all I wanted to know. ‘But today? Well now, let me make a guess. You find you’ve got to get away, by yourself as I said, in order to work out how you’re going to behave when Inspector Slater turns up and starts to ask questions.’

  ‘I’ve already said—’

  I still wouldn’t allow him to go on. ‘And perhaps you’re wondering whether your future son-in-law would think it his duty to remind Inspector Slater of that little upset you had in court with the dead woman—Clare Martin?’

  I paused there to allow him to put in a word or two, but he was silent. His cheeks were grey. I could see his jaw moving as he chewed away at nothing, unless it was anger.

  ‘I wouldn’t be surprised,’ I told him, trying to be kind, ‘if you still have that cutting from the newspaper, locked away in your office drawer.’ I saw that this was so. His eyes wouldn’t meet mine and he licked his dry lips. Once. ‘And you want to go through it again, just to check whether it reads the same. Whether, in fact, the incident could constitute a valid motive for something as serious as murder. Isn’t that what you’ve thought?’

  ‘It was wicked of him,’ he whispered.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ray, of course. Wicked to toss that at me. I was never keen on him as a suitable husband for my daughter, I’ll tell you that for a fact. But I’ve kept silent about it. And then...for him to throw it in my face as he did!’

  I had my own opinion of Ray Torrance, but I didn’t think it wise to express it, just at that time. In practice, I found myself excusing him, or at least just
ifying his outburst. ‘He’d drunk too much, in the bar and during the dinner, and he knows you don’t like him. He resents it, and it’s been bubbling away inside him—then suddenly he saw his chance to get back at you...to denigrate you. And after all, it was to no one else but your son, Colin, and myself. It was still a tight little secret, if that’s how you’d like it to be. At the worst, it was a tiny incident from the past.’

  ‘But...’ He shook his head, unable to take it on.

  ‘But the young woman is dead,’ I said for him, ‘and here, on your doorstep.’

  ‘What would she have come here for?’ he asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I lied. ‘She was here, and you can’t get round that. But it’s a weak sort of motive you’re thinking you’ve got.’

  He held up his hand, almost as though in protest. ‘But it’s there. A reason...a motive, and you know very well, Richard, that a motive isn’t a fixed thing. Good or weak...to a person who kills, their motive is what matters. And I haven’t been able to get that woman out of my mind...to this very day.’

  He shook his head, shook himself to silence, and wouldn’t look me squarely in the face.

  There is such a thing as too much righteousness. A man who prides himself on his probity, who builds his very life on an exacting code of correctitude, has to stand very firmly on his self-erected pillar of dignity, because the higher he builds it the more easily it will topple, and it takes very little to shake the confidence that maintains the balance. Clare Martin had reached out, that day in court, and the pillar had shuddered. To him, it would seem to be a terrible attack on his very existence, and he would not realize that it could constitute only a little amusement in his social circle, and then be forgotten.

  Yet still the degradation would gnaw at him. To Gerald Fulton, he had a true and strong motive for having killed Clare Martin.

  I smiled in an attempt to encourage him. ‘It’s not really acceptable as a valid motive,’ I assured him. ‘How long ago was this court incident?’