‘I thought that Special Branch would have a contact in most institutions,’ said Stockwell.
‘Yes, sir. We probably do in most institutions. But I must say that the Catholic Church is something else entirely.’
‘That’s true enough,’ said Cooper. ‘They’re not good at returning phone calls, for a start. We’ve been trying to get in contact with them for a couple of weeks now.’
We’ll just have to persevere,’ said Stockwell, who continued, ‘Being a murder enquiry, where a nun is the victim, there is no doubt that our investigation could be used as a cover to gather the information that you require, particularly as Monsignor Crecy was responsible for her coming to the UK in the first place.’
‘So, what would be your way in?’ asked Lloyd-Davis.
‘I’d suggest that the coroner’s officer dealing with Monsignor Crecy’s death should have a named point of contact with both the Church and the police. That would be our way in,’ said Cooper. ‘Best speak to the local CID who dealt with the case first.’
‘Yes, that does sound logical and we could have done that ourselves, but we need to stay one step removed.’ said Lloyd-Davis.
‘So, would you have any idea which mortuary covers the area where Crecy died, sir?’
‘Probably St Pancras,’ he replied and turned to his sergeant, ‘Frank, any idea?’
‘Yes, St Pancras, it is, sir.’
‘Sergeant Nattress was on CID at Cannon Row before he came to us, sir.’
‘Does the name Cardinal Pat O’Mara mean anything to you?’ asked Cooper.
‘No, that doesn’t ring any bells.’
Cooper explained the role that Cardinal O’Mara and the Vatican Special Assignments Unit had in relation to Sister Margaret’s passage to the UK. Also, the fact that she was there to assist Lord Roding in his conversion to Catholicism.
‘Vatican Special Assignments Unit – it sounds rather like the Spanish Inquisition,’ commented Lloyd-Davis.
Cooper reminded himself that that was exactly what he had made of it, in an earlier conversation.
The two sides agreed to liaise closely during the conduct of the investigation. Lloyd-Davis and his colleague then left to return to London.
18
DAY EIGHTEEN
Friday 29th July 1949
Cooper was sitting alone in his office and, unusually, he had his door closed. He was looking out of the window marvelling at the picturesque view across the rear yard to the bus station. Doris had been and gone, and he was carefully sipping from a hot mug of tea.
It had been a busy week, and he was allowing himself time to sit and get his thoughts and priorities into some sort of order for that day’s team briefing, which was due to commence shortly. Cooper was looking forward to the weekend, particularly Sunday. He was thinking of suggesting to Linda that they might go sailing together. But would she be interested? he wondered, Sod it! What’s the worst that can happen? She could say no, I suppose.
Cooper was starting to feel that they might be getting somewhere with the murder.
Special Branch having a wider interest might just provide the key to understanding the reasons behind the death of the victim. But their involvement created something of a dilemma. It was not that Cooper didn’t trust his team, of course he did, but they simply did not need to know of the Special Branch connection and heaven forbid that it should ever reach the ears of the press.
Cooper decided that he would carry out this aspect of the enquiry with Brian Pratt, so he called him into the office and gave him a brief outline of what Lloyd-Davis had said during his visit. ‘Thing is, Brian, we need to keep the involvement of Special Branch between ourselves and Mr Stockwell. Any actions that flow from what they tell us must be written up carefully and kept separately in my safe. As you know, information coming into an investigation needs to have an audit trail. So, we’ll have to convince the team that any enquiries they are instructed to make into Monsignor Crecy are a logical progression of some other action, otherwise they’ll question their validity and they’ll sense that there’s some other agenda.’
‘Understood, governor. Now, how would you like some more good news?’
‘Go on then, Brian. Spoil me.’
‘I spoke to the people at St Pancras mortuary, who put me on to the officer dealing with Crecy’s case. I’ve just been on the blower to Detective Superintendent Wiseman in Westminster and I took the liberty of making an appointment for us to see him at Cannon Row nick at 2.00pm.’
‘OK, and what’s the good news?’
‘Crecy’s belongings are still under lock and key in the property store at the police station. They haven’t yet got around to handing them over to the Church authorities. Not only that but they have his passport.’
At this, Cooper almost leapt out of his chair.
‘Brilliant, Brian!’
‘Thought you’d be pleased governor.’
‘Pleased! I’m fucking delirious!’
Just before 11.15am, Cooper gathered up his papers and made his way into the main CID office, where the team were all seated at their desks. They all appeared very alert and they had expectant looks on their faces.
‘Good morning, boys and girls. Smoke if you want to,’ said Cooper. Ian Mills and Tom Rogers lit up.
‘Day eighteen of our enquiry and our victim is getting more enigmatic, the more we dig into her, no joke intended.’
Everyone laughed regardless.
‘We now know that on 18th May of this year she entered the UK at Harwich, having got off the night boat from the Hook of Holland. But something even more interesting is that we now know that on the same boat was Monsignor Tarquin Crecy, the man, who you will recall, was the person with whom Lord Roding arranged the victim’s attachment to Beaumont Hall. I don’t think it unreasonable for us to assume that they travelled together.’
‘Do you think they shared a cabin governor?’ said Rogers.
‘Dirty little sod,’ said Janet. The team laughed.
‘No, Janet. For once, and probably quite by accident, Young Tom here may have stumbled on something relevant,’ said Cooper. ‘We do need to know whether they took a cabin, either separately or together. Will you arrange for an enquiry to be made with the shipping company, please, Ian?’
‘Yes, governor.’
Linda Collins put her hand up.
‘Yes, Linda. Your man at Harwich Immigration. I believe he was going to speak to the shipping company for you, wasn’t he?’
‘Yes. He was, governor.’
‘Fine,’ said Cooper, ‘Tom, you and Linda need to get your heads together after the meeting. Our friend ought to be able to find out about their cabin arrangements for you.’
‘Yes, governor.’
‘Anyway, to continue, we’ve still had no direct contact with the Church authorities, but, according to Lord Roding, they denied all knowledge of Sister Margaret when he called them to speak to Monsignor Crecy. We’ll have to pay them a visit. We need to go above Father O’Leary. I take it that Father Thomas has still not been in contact, Brian?’
‘No, he hasn’t, governor.’
‘Do we know how Monsignor Crecy died, governor?’ asked Collins.
‘Well, I’ll be going up to London with Sergeant Pratt to speak to the Metropolitan Police about Monsignor Crecy later today. I expect we’ll find out more specific detail then. What we do know, though, is that he was found dead in a hotel with a head injury. It was later put down to “death by natural causes”.’
‘Presumably they would have had dealings with somebody from the Church, wouldn’t they, governor?’ asked Mills.
‘Yes, I’m sure they would have. We’ll let you know how we get on.’
‘Have we got a date for the inquest yet, governor?’
‘No, Ian, but I’m sure it’ll be coming up soon. In the meantime,
we must establish a point of contact with the Church authorities. The buggers still haven’t answered Mr Stockwell’s letter, and the coroner will certainly expect us to have made contact, since, to all intents and purposes, they were her family.’
‘Linda, have you managed to speak to Mr Latham at Tilbury Immigration yet?’
‘Not yet, governor. Apparently, he’s back on duty this afternoon.’
‘Good. Tom, what about the taxi firms?’
‘I’ve been in touch with all of them, governor, and they’re going to speak to their drivers. I’ll give them a few days and contact them again, if that’s all right?’
‘That makes sense. I’m sure it’ll take a few days. Keep up the pressure though, Tom. If you make a bit of a nuisance of yourself, word will get around that much quicker, and we all know how good you are at that.’
‘Thanks, governor. I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Tom laughed, and the others joined him.
Cooper then addressed his remarks to Brendan Withers of Scenes of Crime who had managed to get away from his desk at Headquarters. ‘Brendan, have you been able to identify any of the fingerprints lifted from the victim’s room?’
‘We’re gradually working our way through them, governor. We fingerprinted the body after the post mortem, and, as one might expect, there were plenty of the victim’s marks present in the room. We also found one left by Raymond Jenkins. That was on a corner of the mirror on the dressing table. You’ll want to ask him about it, I’m sure. But, as you know, he’s the key holder for all of the rooms and has legitimate access anyway.’
‘Is that a full mark or a partial?’ asked Cooper.
‘A full mark.’
‘Thanks, Brendan.’
‘Right, folks, any other business?’
The replies being in the negative, the meeting was closed. As the officers filed out of the room Cooper called back Linda Collins. After satisfying himself they were alone he asked her a question, ‘Linda, did you do any sailing when you were in the Wrens?’
‘As a matter of fact, I did, governor. Especially when I was in Malta.’
‘Well, my parents live on Mersea Island and they’re away this weekend. I shall be looking after the place and they have a dinghy. I wondered whether you’d like to come sailing with me on Sunday?’
‘I’d love to, but won’t we be working?’
‘I’m hoping that, unless something momentous happens, the team will have the day off.’
She shifted her poise from one stockinged leg to the other and, drawing loose strands of hair behind one ear, she replied, ‘Yes. That would be lovely. Thank you, governor.’
‘I’ll let you know the details later.’
‘I’ll look forward to it.’
As she glided out of room, she was fighting to contain her excitement and expectation. God. I want this man. What took him so long?
*
‘Immigration. Mr Latham speaking.’
‘Good afternoon, Mr Latham. My name is Linda Collins, I’m a constable with the Essex Constabulary at Colchester. I was given your name and number by Justin Wood at Parkeston Quay Immigration.’
‘Yes, Miss Collins. Justin rang me earlier and explained to me what you were enquiring about. How may I be of assistance?’
‘Did Justin tell you that we are investigating a murder at a stately home in our area, then?’
‘He did. Murder of a nun, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes. The victim was called Sister Margaret. She came into the country from the Hook of Holland during May. According to the landing card, you spoke to her at passport control.’
‘Yes, indeed. I’ve been racking my brains, such as they are. I remember Monsignor Crecy. In fact, he’s a regular traveller. I do recall him coming in at Parkeston with a nun a couple of months ago.’
‘Do you remember what kind of passport she produced?’
‘I do indeed. A Vatican State diplomatic passport. They are as rare as hen’s teeth.’
‘Can you describe her?’
‘Yes. She was wearing a habit, obviously. She was very pretty, for a nun. Something you don’t expect. About twenty-eight to thirty years of age. Five feet six or so. Quite slim, although you can’t really tell a woman’s shape properly under a garment like that.’
‘I know that I told you the name of our victim, but, allowing for the possibility that she was a different person from the one you spoke to on passport control, would you have remembered her name?’
‘No. It was the type of passport that really stuck in my mind.’
‘Did she speak at all?’
‘Not much. I don’t think she spoke English. As I recall Monsignor Crecy mostly spoke for her. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it was enough to satisfy me to allow her entry.’
‘And Monsignor Crecy, what do you remember about him?’
‘Well, he was in his cassock. He’s a frequent traveller. He always says hello. A nice man. In fact, last Christmas he very kindly presented us with a bottle of Irish whiskey. That’s all I can say about him really, other than I know that he has something to do with Westminster Cathedral.’
Unfortunately, he’s now dead, thought Linda. But I think I’d best keep that myself. She thanked Latham and rang off.
*
After a torturous journey to London by British Railways that had involved two cancellations, Cooper and Pratt were sitting in the foyer of Cannon Row Police Station, waiting to see Superintendent Wiseman. If the scramble to get to Westminster on time was not enough to wind Cooper up, the ensuing twenty-minute wait made him decidedly pissed off. He had to have a serious word with himself to prevent him from airing his discontent. Finally, a side door was opened, and a young detective stood in the entrance, who asked ‘Mr Cooper?’
Cooper responded ‘Yes, and this is my sergeant, Brian Pratt.’ They showed the officer their credentials.
‘I’m DC Eric Cattermole, sir. Sorry to keep you waiting, but Mr Wiseman was unexpectedly called in to see the commander.’
Cooper nodded and said nothing in response.
‘If you’ll just follow me, please, I’ll take you upstairs to Mr Wiseman’s office.’
They were taken up two flights of stairs and along a corridor, which had windows facing out onto Whitehall. Eventually, they found the door of the superintendent’s office. Cattermole knocked.
‘Come in,’ said a disembodied voice.
They were shown into the room where they saw a giant of a man loom up from the other side of a desk, which was located almost immediately behind the door.
‘DI Cooper and Sergeant Pratt from Essex, sir,’ said the young constable.
‘Good afternoon, Mr Cooper, Sergeant Pratt; Nigel Wiseman, I am, for my sins, head of CID for Westminster. We spoke on the phone earlier, I believe, Sergeant.’
‘Yes, we did, sir.’
‘Thank you, Eric. Please take a seat, gents.’
The three of them were left alone in what was a particularly pokey little office, in dire need of a lick of fresh paint. Wiseman noticed that Cooper was examining his surroundings. ‘Please forgive the accommodation, gentlemen, but, at present, we’re being reorganised. Or so I’m told. I’ll probably end up with an even smaller office.’ He laughed somewhat philosophically. ‘Still. It’ll have to do for now. Anyway, how may I help you?’
‘Sir, you’ll recall we were speaking on the telephone about Monsignor Tarquin Crecy who was found dead in the Royal Horseguards Hotel.’
‘Yes, Sergeant. As I said on the phone, we thought that we had a murder to begin with. Bit disappointing, really. Murders are quite rare in the Westminster Division nowadays. I always find that it’s good for morale if we can get most of the team working on one case. Focussing on one job seems to do away with their moaning about trivial issues. Anyway, I digress. Monsignor Crecy was found lying on the f
loor with a head wound, by a cleaner. Not much blood, which surprised us at the time. But it was explained when the post mortem revealed that he had suffered a massive heart attack. He then collapsed, hitting his head on the wash basin as he fell to the floor. We treated it with a full Scenes of Crime examination, fingerprints, photographs and the like.’
‘How long was he at this hotel for?’ asked Cooper.
‘Well, it was a bit of a home from home for him, really. Apparently, he travelled quite a lot on behalf of the Church. Locally, they have a bit of a problem because their accommodation was bombed out a few years ago, and they haven’t replaced the building yet. So, their headquarters staff, if I may call them that, are all dispersed around the area. Some are in digs, some in other parishes and, of course, the very top people have their own houses. To answer your question, I think on this visit, he’d only been there for a few days.’
‘Was anyone else staying in the room with him?’
Wiseman laughed, ‘No. He was a good priest. He was quite alone.’
‘As I told you yesterday, we’re dealing with the murder of a nun who was known to Monsignor Crecy, and we’d be very interested to know who you liaised with from the Church on your job?’
‘Well, ironically, as Crecy was the assistant to the nuncio, it would ordinarily have been he, himself, in cases such as this. Or at least that’s what we’ve been given to understand.’
Wiseman opened the box file sitting on the desk in front of him and he rifled through various documents. ‘Ah, yes. I remember now. It was Father Michael Thomas. He’s based at Westminster Cathedral and worked closely with Monsignor Crecy. I believe he was nominated to deal with us by the archbishop of Westminster.’
‘What was he like to deal with? Helpful, was he?’
‘I only met him the once. Nice chap, though. He seemed to take it all in his stride. He came to the police station on the one occasion I met him. I gave him the findings of the post mortem. We’ve been meaning to give him back Monsignor Crecy’s effects and I believe we did make one appointment to do so, but, for some unknown reason, it was cancelled by one of their staff. We haven’t heard anything from him or the Church since. DC Cattermole has Crecy’s belongings in the office. I’ll take you down there, when we finish here.’
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