‘The Lord.’
‘Lord Roding?’
‘No. Don’t be a blooda fool! He’s already married to that Fanny woman! What are you loik?’
‘Who then?’
‘The Lord Jesus.’
‘You’re a bloody idiot!’
‘I know. Thank you. Good night, boy. Nice talking to you.’
With that, Cooper downed the dregs of his pint, walked out of the bar and made his way home.
10
DAY TEN
Thursday 21st July 1949
‘I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, Sergeant, but I wasn’t expecting any visitors. How may I help you?’ Father O’Leary was rather flustered. A large man of well over six feet in height, he was somewhat overweight. He was wearing a black suit, the jacket of which he would have struggled to button up, even if he’d wanted to. Below a thick head of black, curly hair, he had a ruddy complexion, and beads of sweat had broken out across his forehead. A Dubliner, he had been the parish priest at St Saviour’s for over twenty years. He was obviously an ardent drinker.
‘I’ve been given to understand that you have had contact with a Carmelite nun called Sister Margaret. Is that correct?’ asked Ian Mills.
‘Yes. My housekeeper informed me, only yesterday, that she has been murdered. It’s so very sad. I’ve only just come back from a retreat in Norfolk, where I was totally cut off from the world for a week or so, and I’ve only been back a day. I had no idea about this tragic situation until she told me.’
‘How did you know Sister Margaret, Father?’
‘I was contacted by Cardinal Pat O’Mara of the Vatican Special Assignments Unit and told to expect her arrival.’
‘The Vatican Special Assignments Unit? What do they do, Father?’
‘I must say, I have no idea really. Special projects for the Vatican, I would imagine. But I have known Pat O’Mara for many years. We were young priests together in Dublin.’
‘So, why did she come to Beaumont in the first place, Father?’
‘To help Lord Roding with his conversion to Catholicism. I did think that it was somewhat unusual, but I supposed that, as a lord, he must count as a special project. Tell me, Sergeant, how was she killed?’
‘She was attacked in the grounds of Beaumont Hall by a person or persons unknown and beaten to death with a garden spade.’
‘Good Lord. The poor girl. How terrible. I do hope that she didn’t suffer. Do you know who was responsible for the attack?’
‘No, Father. We don’t have any idea at present, but I can assure you that we’re working on it, and that we’re using the maximum resources at our disposal. Can you tell me where she came from or anything about her?’
‘She was sent to us from the Vatican.’
‘Did you know of her before she came to this country?’
‘No, Sergeant. I had never met her or heard of her. You will appreciate the Catholic Church is a vast organisation.’
‘Can you tell me how she got here?’
‘Yes. In the event, she arrived at the parochial house by taxi and I took her by car to introduce her to Lord Roding.’
‘But how did she get to the UK?’
‘I seem to recall her saying something about arriving at Harwich by ferry.’
‘What did she tell you about herself?’
Father O’Leary was silent for a few seconds and was obviously considering the question. ‘She was born in Switzerland. She told me that. She originated from the Italian part. She had only been a nun for about four years. Oh, and her given name was Irma Caro. That was told to me by Pat O’Mara, and, come to think of it, on the phone he said that she was Italian.’
‘Did she sound Italian?’
‘I’m terrible with accents. I thought she sounded Italian.’
‘What role were you expected to fulfil in respect of your dealings with her?’
‘My role was to provide spiritual and logistical support for the duration of her stay. She was due to be here for about three months.’
‘Did she make any mention to you about having any problems when she was at the Hall?’
‘No, none. She never reported any problems to me, anyway.’
‘What did you make of her?’
‘She was quite shy. An earnest young woman, anxious to do well, I think.’
‘Why didn’t she stay with you at the parochial house?’
‘Apparently, Lord Roding wanted her to be available on tap, so to speak, and, anyway, we simply would not have had the room to accommodate her. She would have had to share a room with me and the Catholic Church does rather frown on that sort of behaviour,’ said Father O’Leary tongue in cheek.
‘Did you ever visit her at the Hall?’
‘I had no reason to. She did pay me one visit here at St Saviour’s, but she only came to tea and she didn’t mention any problems then.’
‘Did Cardinal O’Mara come to see you?’
‘No, he only spoke to me on the telephone. Apparently, he was in London at the time. I said before, I have known Pat O’Mara since we were ordained as young priests. He’s done well for himself and now occupies an influential position in the Vatican. It is said that he has the ear of His Holiness the Pope.’
‘Can you recall the date of Sister Margaret’s arrival?’
‘Yes, Sergeant, I remember exactly when she arrived. It was my housekeeper Mrs Maloney’s birthday: the 19th May.’
There being no further questions or information, Ian Mills took a witness statement from the priest.
11
DAY ELEVEN
Friday 22nd July 1949
Cooper made sure that he got to the office bright and early, as today was the day that he would launch his operation to flush out the person responsible for making unauthorised disclosures to the press. He had agreed a plan of action with Stockwell after much discussion, and, although they had more than one suspect in mind, for that day’s operation, there was one primary target. Hopefully, this suspect would not be able to resist the temptation of divulging the details of the gift that was about to be placed in front of them.
Buoyed up by the prospect of success, he went about his duties with a smile and took the opportunity to call young Miss Collins into his office to check on her morale.
‘Close the door and take a seat, Linda.’
He noticed that she was wearing a white, open-necked blouse, which showed a hint of cleavage, above a dark-green pencil skirt. She was gorgeous.
‘How are things?’
‘Fine, governor. Though, I still can’t help thinking that I ought to say something to the others about my relationship to my uncle Tom.’
‘I’ll leave it to you to decide whether that’s necessary. But Sergeant Pratt and I are both happy with your work. I would give it a bit more thought before saying anything.’
‘I’m wondering whether I should speak to him about it.’
‘I wouldn’t do that yet, Linda. We don’t want him thinking that there is a problem when there isn’t one. And I wouldn’t want him to replace you with somebody else.’
Linda smiled and tilted her head slightly to one side, coquettishly. ‘Thank you, governor. That’s nice.’
‘Anyway, we’ll leave it there for now.’
Linda thanked him again and she left the room. He did indeed need to leave it there. He was finding it very hard to remain dispassionate and professional. Cooper knew, deep down, that, somehow or other, the team would have to be told about her relationship to the boss and it would be best if that fact was divulged by Linda herself. However, the timing was troubling him, as was the possibility that the team would suspect that she had been fed in by Stockwell to spy on her colleagues in relation to the leaks.
Cooper later left the police station to walk to the bus station café where he had arranged to meet
his old colleague and mucker DI Arthur Brown. Arthur was a contemporary of Cooper, both at school and within the force. They were recruited by the Colchester Borough Constabulary at the same time and they had cut their teeth together as junior detective constables (DCs). Arthur was about six feet in height and, in boxing terms, one would describe him as a “light heavyweight”. He had black hair that was in crew-cut style. He was a wily customer who possessed a ready wit, and Cooper trusted Arthur as much as he ever dared trust anybody. He had worked at Colchester Police Station in the past, and he was well known by staff and locals alike. The café seemed the best place to meet to avoid the inevitable questions that would be asked of Arthur, by his former colleagues, about his reason for being there.
After a lengthy chat and some careful planning, they walked to the office of Superintendent Stockwell.
On their arrival, they entered the outer office where they were met by Mavis, who was sitting behind her desk, painting her nails. Cooper detected that, today, she had quite a different fragrance about her and she was dressed as if she was going out on a lunch engagement. Clearly the boss had left her with little work to be getting on with and she appeared to be taking advantage of the fact.
Cooper greeted her and made a point of introducing Arthur. She quickly acknowledged him, but she did so with a rather dismissive tone. Cooper then reminded himself that she and Arthur had worked together in the past. It occurred to him that Arthur might have been yet another one of her failed romantic targets, and that her bitterness and disappointment were now being manifested.
‘Mavis, I know that the boss is away at Headquarters this morning. I need to discuss some sensitive cases with my colleague DI Brown. Mr Stockwell has agreed to our using the office in his absence so that we can get some privacy. Did he tell you?’
‘Yes. He told me about it first thing this morning, then he went straight out for a meeting with the chief constable,’ said Mavis.
‘Any idea when he’s likely to be back?’
‘I have no idea. He doesn’t tell me everything, you know,’ she said, moodily.
Cooper realised that all was not well with her. She was speaking in clipped tones, trying to affect an air of superiority, and she was behaving in an unnecessarily defensive manner. As Cooper’s landlady, Pearl, would have said, “She’s putting her parts on!”
Her demeanour was not soothed by Cooper’s next request.
‘Fine, we’ll crack on then. Any tea going?’
Mavis put on her best “I’m not your sodding tea lady” face, but nevertheless she put the kettle on and supplied the two detectives with the necessary beverages. They closed the door, separating Stockwell’s room from that occupied by Mavis, and they carried on their sensitive case meeting in “secret”.
‘Well, I must say, Arthur. I’m bloody grateful to you for your help, mate. We were struggling badly. How did you get to find out that it was this man Bernard Connelly?’
‘I must admit that it wasn’t due to classic detective work. I’d love to be able to claim that it was. But it was down to the fact that, having committed the murder, he couldn’t live with himself and his conscience got too much for him. He went to see a friend of his who is a Salvation Army captain and he made a full confession.’
‘Well, he couldn’t very well go and see a Catholic priest about it, could he?’ Cooper laughed, irreverently.
‘No, I suppose not,’ Arthur continued, ‘That put the Salvation Army bloke in a difficult position, see. After a while he talked Connelly into going with him to the police station so that he could confess and get it off his chest. It fell to me to deal with him and I gave him a quick cursory interview, before he had a chance to think about it and change his mind. Oh, he’s your man all right and he told me how it all came about. I didn’t want to go too deeply into it, with my limited knowledge of the case and confuse the issue, so he’s sitting in the cells in Braintree for you to take over, mate.’
‘So, Arthur, what has this bloke Bernard Connelly said to you about the way that the murder was committed?’
Brown explained, ‘Apparently, he is something to do with maintenance in the graveyard at St Saviour’s Church in Beaumont. A gravedigger or some such thing. That’s where he met her, and, apparently, he came to the Hall to pay her a visit.’
‘A bloody gravedigger! What the bloody hell was she doing getting involved with a gravedigger?’
‘Well, apparently, he’s a bit of an amateur artist himself and she had told him about a summerhouse, in the grounds of Beaumont Hall, that she uses as a studio. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Yes, it does. She was murdered in the summerhouse.’
‘Well, it seems she invited him to visit her so that she could show him her paintings, and he wanted to take her up on the invitation. So, they arranged for him to visit her at the Hall that afternoon.’
‘For her to show him her etchings, I wouldn’t wonder,’ said Cooper laughing aloud.
‘Something like that. Anyway, he said that she told him to come straight around to the back and she would meet him there. So, he did. He fancied her, and he thought that she was giving him the old come on, so he tried it on with her. She started to scream, he panicked and shut her up in the only way that he knew how.’
‘And how was that?’
‘With the first weapon that he could find.’
‘Yes, and what was that?’
‘I didn’t tell him anything about the murder myself. It had to come from him.’
‘For Christ’s sake spit it out, Arthur,’ said Cooper raising his voice, almost to a shout.
‘He said that he was so mad at her that he punched her around the head with his fists.’
‘Is he a time-waster, or do you think he actually did it?’
‘Oh, I think he’s your man all right.’
‘Is Bernard Connelly known to the police in Braintree? Does he have any previous convictions at all?’
‘No. No convictions,’ said Brown, ‘but he does come from a large family, and one or two of his brothers have been done for drunkenness and fighting. His father was a wrong-un. He was from County Cork originally, and came across with the army.’
‘Thanks Arthur. I am very much obliged, mate. You’ve saved us a lot of leg work, I reckon. I just need to get hold of my sergeant; we’ll be over there with you this afternoon, and we’ll carry on with him.’
They then had a brief discussion about procedure, Connelly’s home address and the possibility of recovering the blood-stained clothing.
After a session that had lasted some thirty minutes, the meeting was finished.
Arthur left the building and Cooper, who was close on his heels, returned to the police station, where he sought out Pratt, and allocated him a task to take him out of the division for the rest of the day. Cooper then busied himself in his office. He received periodic updates on the phone from Arthur, who, with his team, was carrying out surveillance on their suspect. This whole business of the leaks had recently dominated Cooper’s thoughts to the extent that it had diverted him from concentrating on the murder enquiry. He looked forward with eager anticipation to finally nailing the person responsible and closing off the problem.
12
DAY TWELVE
Saturday 23rd July 1949
Cooper and Pratt were sitting at one end of the canteen having breakfast. Pratt was busy demolishing a plate of egg on toast and Cooper, who was merely nursing a mug of tea, was looking on enviously. He was fighting the urge to order a sausage sandwich, having already breakfasted at Fred’s, but, on reminding himself that he had not been eating regularly of late, he placed his order.
They had been discussing the progress of the murder enquiry, or at least, the lack of it. They were now well into the second week and it seemed, to Pratt at least, that they were no further forward. No real suspect. No motive, no hypothesis. To add to t
heir frustration, they were now coming under pressure from other departments for the return of their staff. They were joined at the table by Ian Mills.
‘Morning Ian. Everything done at the school?’
‘Morning governor. Yes. I spoke to them yesterday afternoon and it’s all sorted. It does make sense to shut up shop there now. We weren’t getting any more callers at the incident room, and local enquiries have all but dried up. We can carry on back here at the nick.’
‘OK, Ian. Will you remind me in due course that we send along a bunch of flowers and a force plaque to the headmistress? Perhaps Linda and Jane would do the honours.’
‘Will do, governor.’
Cooper appreciated Mills’ reassurance that his earlier decision to close the incident room had been the right one, but his heart still sank with regret.
‘The other problem was,’ continued Mills, ‘that I was having my earhole bent by uniform, because they’re so short of staff and were having to provide security for the school at night.’
‘We’re due a large slice of luck, I think, governor,’ said Pratt. ‘But at least the Recorder has left us alone for a few days.’
‘Yes. That’s probably because if we make no progress, there’s nothing to be leaked. And, anyway, they don’t go to press at weekends,’ said Mills.
‘God, Ian, you can be a miserable sod at times,’ said Pratt.
‘Now, now. Play nicely, children. Let’s not get too downhearted. There are still things that we can be doing. At least we now know the victim’s real name. That gives us something to go on. Anyway, apart from that, as things have gone a bit quiet, I think it gives us an opportunity for us all to take tomorrow off. I’m sure we could do with a break, and then on Monday we can all come back to work refreshed and crack on.’
‘Yes. I like that idea, governor,’ said Pratt, ‘It’s not as if, after twelve days, we’ll lose anything by it.’
‘No. And it’s not as if Sister Margaret and Lord Roding will be going anywhere now, is it?’ said Mills.
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