‘Yes, governor,’ said Pratt.
‘What a woman. What is it they say? You can kiss a nun once, you can kiss a nun twice, but you mustn’t get into the habit.’
Brian was just staring out of the window. Even black humour wasn’t going to shake him from his reverie.
*
Cooper and Pratt entered the mortuary twenty minutes late, and they were hit by the sickly-sweet aroma of death, which gripped their throats. The mortician issued each of them with a gown and mask and led them to the examination room. Already present was Arnold Fairweather, forensic pathologist and all round pompous arse. He was not in the best of moods.
‘Ah, Inspector, I’m so glad you could grace us with your presence. We have waited long enough, so I have already made a start.’
‘Good afternoon, sir,’ said Cooper not rising to the sarcasm. ‘This is my sergeant, Brian Pratt. We were unavoidably detained.’
Fairweather spared Pratt a nod.
They turned their attention to the cadaver laid on the table before them. Clearly female, as evidenced by her genitalia, she was without discernible facial features as her scalp had been pulled forward over her head. The rib cage had been cut open and the vital organs had been removed.
‘I am just about to remove the top of the skull.’
They were subjected to the tormenting whine and grind of the electric saw as the pathologist cut into the bone. It set Cooper’s teeth on edge, and he could smell and almost taste the decay emanating from Sister Margaret’s body.
Cooper made a point of checking on Pratt and observed that, although he was wearing a slightly pained expression, his colleague had a stoic countenance and had clearly decided that the best approach was to try to take a professional interest in the proceedings.
Cooper had often wondered how the mortuary staff could become so inured to the horrors of their workplace. He recalled an occasion when, as a junior detective, he had witnessed a pathologist eating a ham sandwich, at the body, while conducting a post mortem. The very thought of it caused the nausea to flow back and tighten his throat.
Meanwhile, adding to the unpleasantness, Cooper caught the full putrid smell as her organs were being dissected and examined by another assistant at a separate table.
‘An interesting one this. A Carmelite nun, was she?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, she’s not typical. Not typical at all.’
‘Why so, sir?’
‘You might be surprised when I tell you that I have already established that she was no longer virgo intacta.’
‘Jesus Christ!’ said Cooper, ‘I didn’t expect that.’
‘I know she was a “Bride of Christ”, Inspector, but I don’t think it could have been him. Probably more recent than that,’ said the pathologist, laughing at his own blasphemy.
‘Does that mean she’s had sexual intercourse at some time in her life?’ asked Pratt, who was catching up fast.
‘Yes, Sergeant, that’s exactly what I mean. Obviously, they didn’t teach Latin at your school,’ sneered the pathologist. ‘I can also tell you she has given birth to at least one child, possibly even two.’
Cooper was quite taken aback by this revelation. He wanted to be sure that Fairweather was not in error, but he didn’t dare question the professional expertise of a pathologist. Particularly not this one.
‘There’s one other thing you might be interested in, Inspector. There is some old scar tissue inside her left arm. I must say I’m a bit dubious about it.’ Fairweather grabbed the sister’s left wrist and pulled the arm up into a vertical position. He then indicated the scar tissue, covering an area roughly measuring one inch in width and three inches long, in an irregular oblong shape.
‘What do you make of it, sir?’ asked Cooper.
‘It’s difficult to say with any certainty. Although we do see a lot of bodies bearing a variety of scars caused by wartime bombing. I suppose nuns were just as susceptible as any other members of the population. This is several years old though and can’t have been caused at the time of death.’
Fairweather dropped the arm unceremoniously, as though he was dealing with a lamb carcass in an abattoir.
The great man carried on with a lengthy and thorough examination of the sister’s body, making various observations that were rigorously recorded by a junior colleague for the report.
‘Time of death I would put between 4.00pm and 6.00pm yesterday. Cause of death was due to a stroke / cerebral haemorrhage following trauma to the left temporal lobe of the skull. This is entirely consistent with blows from the edge of a heavy instrument. I have been shown the garden spade (BP/1) found at the scene and I can say that this item, given my findings, could well have been used to inflict the fatal blows. I will let you and the coroner have my full report as soon as I can.’
‘Thank you very much, sir,’ said Cooper, who had to admit to himself that, although he was a nasty piece of work, Fairweather knew his stuff.
Cooper and Pratt left the mortuary for the car park and climbed back into the car to return to the office.
‘Blimey, governor. Would you Adam and Eve it? She was a right little minx, wasn’t she?’ said Pratt.
‘Not necessarily, Brian. Yes, this development does raise a lot of questions, but nuns don’t always enter the Church straight from school or even as young women. She probably took holy orders having had a different kind of life beforehand. Perhaps there’s even a husband somewhere.’
‘And what happened to the child?’ mused Pratt. ‘I would imagine they’re probably back in Italy with the father, or some relative or other.’
‘Or maybe they were even killed during the war. Who knows?’
‘Hopefully the Church can help us with that.’
‘By the way, do you fancy stopping off at Fred’s for a bacon sandwich?’ said Cooper, laughing.
‘Not bloody likely, governor!’ said Pratt.
3
DAY THREE
Thursday 14th July 1949
Cooper had put on weight recently, mainly due to alcohol consumption, and living on a diet of fish and chips. He had decided a keep-fit regime was needed, and, that morning, he had jogged the half mile to work and even this short distance had proved to be a bit of a struggle. He resolved to start small and build the distance up gradually. One thing he did find irritating was that, following his shower, it took him twice as long as the duration of the run to stop sweating and cool down before he could get dressed for the day.
He was finally engaged in the business of changing his shirt and doing up a tie, when Pratt put his head around the office door.
‘I’ve just been passed an urgent message from the control room for you, governor. It’s from Lord Roding who requests that you telephone him urgently on a matter of some importance.’
Cooper reached for the telephone and spoke to Raymond Jenkins, who told him that his lordship would be available to see him at 11.00am.
*
At the appointed time, Cooper and Pratt arrived at the Hall. They were shown to the dining room, where they found his lordship sitting in his wheelchair. He was holding a large glass of Cognac. He greeted the officers with the offer of “a snifter”, which they both politely declined. He had what looked like tear stains on his puffy cheeks.
‘I’m afraid I have some grave news for you, Inspector. My old friend, Monsignor Tarquin Crecy passed away a couple of weeks ago; I have only just learned of the fact. To pave the way for your enquiry, so to speak, I telephoned his office at Westminster Cathedral and I was told the sad news by one of his colleagues.’
‘That’s unfortunate.’
‘Yes. I agree, Sergeant.’
‘Do you know how he died, my lord?’
‘Some type of seizure, apparently.’
‘Do you know where it happened?’
‘No, ot
her than the fact that he was in London at the time,’ Lord Roding continued, ‘Although the thing that surprised me almost as much was that the person I spoke to was adamant they had no knowledge of Sister Margaret or any arrangement that might entail a nun being posted to stay with me. I just cannot fathom it.’ He shook his head.
‘With the greatest of respect, my lord, are you sure you weren’t speaking to the wrong person about it?’
‘No, no, I’m quite sure. I spoke to his former colleague, Father Michael Thomas, who is a priest himself, and he assured me he had no knowledge of a nun called Sister Margaret, or indeed any other nun, being sent to help me with my conversion.’
‘Well, we were intending to follow this up and make our own enquiries with the Church in the next day or so,’ said Cooper, ‘but this presents us with something of a quandary.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does, Inspector.’
‘My lord, do you know what Monsignor Crecy’s job actually entailed at Westminster Cathedral?’
‘I don’t know, specifically. I took it that he was just a high-ranking priest. He did tell me he’d been in Africa earlier in his career, doing missionary-type work and he’d been in the Vatican throughout the war.’
‘How did you come to meet Monsignor Crecy again after so many years?’
‘It was quite strange really, Inspector. I ran into him quite by chance in Covent Garden when I was up at the RAC club in town a couple of years ago. “Tarkers” and I go back a long way. We were at Marlborough School together, you know. He’s from a noble Irish family. The Crecy’s have estates in the west of Ireland.’
‘So, it was just by way of a chance meeting in the street then, my lord?’
‘Yes, it was. Why he should have gone into the Church and even become a senior clergyman puzzled me, since he was a bit of a rogue when we were at school. Up to all sorts of mischief. That would have been the last occupation I’d have thought he’d take up. Anyway, we started to meet for drinks whenever I was up in town. Tarkers always liked a drink. He could certainly tuck it away, for a clergyman.’
‘What about Sister Margaret? Did she tell you anything about herself? Her family? How she came to the Church?’
‘No, Inspector, she didn’t say a lot, really. She played her cards very close to her chest. I used to think she was rather a shy person. She didn’t like to talk about herself at all and she was rather evasive on the subject. It was almost as if she felt her life was of no importance in the general scheme of things. She seemed to regard herself as a non-person.’
‘Did she tell you where she was during the war?’
‘She did tell me she’d been in the Vatican during the war and that was where she had first met Tarquin.’
‘What about where she was from originally?’
‘She told me she was brought up in Switzerland. The Italian part, around Lake Lugano, I believe.’
‘My lord, can you think of anyone who might have had an axe to grind with Sister Margaret?’ asked Pratt.
‘No, not all.’
‘What about your wife, Lady Fanny? How did she get on with her?’
‘Oh, Fanny, yes.’ Jeremy went quiet for a few seconds as though in contemplation. Then he rallied. ‘Well, Fanny has her moments, it’s true, but she wouldn’t hurt a fly, really. She’s absolutely no time for religion, that’s for sure. She thinks it’s all mumbo jumbo. But as she spends most of her time up in London anyway, she wasn’t too troubled by Sister Margaret’s presence at the Hall. Out of sight, out of mind, I suppose.’
Jeremy went silent again and stared out of the french windows.
‘Anyway,’ he asked, with a sudden tone of impatience in his voice. ‘May I ask how long your officers will be at the Hall, Inspector?’
‘We still need to take statements from one or two members of staff, my lord, and some fingerprints for elimination purposes. Why do you ask?’
‘I simply ask, Inspector, because I want things to get back to normal as soon as possible. We are all finding the situation rather difficult.’
‘I appreciate that, my lord, but would you really have us do half a job?’
‘Don’t be impertinent, Inspector,’ said Lord Roding, with menace.
‘I am not being impertinent, my lord. As I am sure you know, I am bound by law to do my duty. Whether you find that convenient or not is neither here nor there. Thank you for your information. I’ll let you know when we have completed our enquiries with the staff. Good day.’
Cooper turned on his heel and marched out of the room with Pratt trailing in his wake. They went back to the car.
‘What the bloody hell was all that about, governor?’
‘He seemed to suddenly turn nasty, didn’t he?’
‘He appears to be a worried man, all right.’
‘Did you take note of the name of the priest his lordship said he’d spoken to?’
‘Yes, governor. Father Michael Thomas.’
‘I think we need to have him seen. Not only that but we must give them formal notification of the death of Sister Margaret, in the form of a letter signed by Mr Stockwell. Will you compose something for me please, Brian, as soon as we get back to the nick? I just have to run a short errand in the town.’
‘Righto, governor.’
*
On arrival back at the police station, Cooper left Pratt at the rear door and walked off into the town centre. He was intent on getting to the bottom of the woman “Brenda”, as the intrigue was beginning to dog his thoughts.
He made straight for the greengrocers to see Sadie.
‘Hello, ducks. Unusual to see you here this time of day.’
‘Yes, Sadie, I know. I wanted to speak to you about this girl Brenda.’
‘Haven’t you found her yet then?’
‘No, I haven’t. You know, it might help if you were to give me a clue. A surname would be good.’ Cooper didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but on reflection he realised he probably had.
‘Well, let’s see. I was at school with her mum, what was her maiden name? It’ll come to me in a minute. She married Arthur Collins. So, Collins. Will that do?’
‘It’s a start. But I can’t think of a Brenda Collins. Maybe she’s a recruit.’
‘Anyway,’ said Sadie, ‘it shouldn’t be too hard to find her; her uncle Tom works for the police as well.’
‘Where?’
‘Colchester, of course.’
‘Mum’s maiden name?’
‘Yes. Yes, it was Stockwell,’ she said triumphantly.
The shock hit him, as he made the connection, with the likelihood that Brenda was in fact Linda.
‘Sadie! For heaven’s sake. What have you got me into?’
‘Do you know him then?’
‘Do I know him? He’s only my divisional commander, that’s all!’
‘See, I told you she was from a good family, didn’t I?’
She just didn’t understand the significance of her revelation.
Cooper had. The hair was standing up on the back of Cooper’s neck, and, after visiting Sadie, he left feeling as nauseous as he had been at the post mortem. Sadie had obviously confused the name Brenda with Linda. He would have to be very careful indeed.
Cooper walked back to the police station in something of a daze. He climbed the stairs to his office, shut the door and sat at his desk. Remembering that he had a quarter bottle of Scotch in his draw, he fished it out and poured himself a sensible measure. It was only just after 1.00pm, but he felt the need. After he had barely managed one swig, a knock came on the door. He hid the glass under the desk.
‘Come in.’
The door opened. It was Brian Pratt. ‘I’ve done the letter, governor. Thought you’d like to give it the once over.’
‘Come in, Brian, and shut the door.’
Brian handed over the draft
letter, which was written in his own hand.
‘Sorry, governor. I know my handwriting’s not the best, but I thought I’d write it out first and agree the content before attempting to type it. Do you want me to read it to you?’
‘Good idea, Brian.’
Brian could tell that Cooper was not in a good frame of mind but kept it to himself. ‘I quote, “Addressed to His Eminence Archbishop Mahoney, Westminster Cathedral, Victoria Street, London SW1.
“Dear Archbishop Mahoney, I am writing to convey the sad news that officers of this force are investigating the murder of Sister Margaret of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. The murder was committed on the estate of Lord Jeremy Roding at Beaumont Hall, Beaumont, Essex, on Tuesday 12th July 1949. The investigating officer is Detective Inspector Cooper, who is based at Colchester Police Station. We understand that Sister Margaret was seconded to Lord Roding, for a period of three months, to prepare him for his conversion to the Roman Catholic faith. Furthermore, the secondment was arranged by the late Monsignor Tarquin Crecy, a friend of Lord Roding. The body of Sister Margaret is presently resting in the mortuary of the Essex County Hospital, Colchester, Essex. To enable our officers to investigate the murder, and bring the murderer(s) to justice, we need information and assistance from the Catholic Church. Furthermore, the coroner will require details of a Church representative with whom we can liaise over this sad matter. We look forward to hearing from you. Yours sincerely, Thomas Stockwell, Superintendent.”
‘Good. I think that hits the mark all right, Brian, don’t you?’ said Cooper.
‘Yes, governor.’
‘Right. Get one of the girls to type it for you. In fact, better still, give Mavis a ring at Mr Stockwell’s office. He’s got to sign it, so she may as well type it. When that’s done, I want you to deliver it this afternoon. We need a response from them ASAP.’
Brian withdrew and went on his way, wondering what was troubling his old friend.
4
DAY FOUR
Friday 15th July 1949
Devotion to Murder Page 5