Devotion to Murder

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Devotion to Murder Page 18

by Steve Eastwood


  ‘Do you know what kind of role Monsignor Crecy performed for the Catholic Church sir, as the assistant to the nuncio?’

  ‘Well, he certainly moved around quite a bit. I know that. Apparently, he’d just come back from Ireland. I suppose you might call him a liaison officer, or even some kind of public-relations man.’

  ‘Did he have an office at the cathedral?’

  ‘Yes, he did. I believe he shared it with Father Thomas.’

  ‘Did you visit them at the cathedral at all, sir?’

  ‘No, we dealt with Father Thomas here on just that one occasion and he identified the body at the mortuary. Given the choice, I wouldn’t go there myself, anyway.’

  ‘Why is that then, sir?’ asked Cooper, intrigued.

  ‘Well, our family name is Weismann changed to Wiseman. And as a good Yiddisher mensch I wouldn’t want to, if I didn’t need to. Know what I mean? And, to be perfectly frank, I can’t stand churches and places of worship of any kind. I don’t even attend my own synagogue these days. Not since the war, anyway. Like a lot of people, I’ve rather lost faith in the whole shebang.’

  ‘I see. Obviously, we must go there ourselves, sir, and I’d be obliged if you would give me the telephone number you have for Father Thomas, please? We’ve been trying to get in contact with him for a few days now, but we’ve had no success at all.’

  ‘Certainly, Albert. We had the same difficulty with them ourselves. They appear to operate on an extended timeframe, to put it kindly.’

  Wiseman opened the file, found the number, wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it across the table to Cooper.

  ‘Do you think we could see Monsignor Crecy’s personal effects now, sir?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I’ll take you down to see young Cattermole. He’s got the boxes ready in his office.’

  Wiseman led them along the corridor to another room, which was not much larger than his own. It contained enough desks for six occupants. As they entered the room Wiseman was, once again, apologising for the state of the place.

  ‘As you can see, gentlemen. The lads are even worse off than me. There are six desks in here for ten detectives. They have to indulge in what they like to call “hot desking”!’

  Cooper looked around the room and compared it to their own accommodation, he realised that he and the Colchester team had been truly blessed.

  ‘Yes. Welcome to our humble abode, gentlemen,’ said Cattermole.

  There were two cardboard boxes on the table in front of him. Both of which lay open. There was a large box that contained items of civilian clothing and vestments. A smaller box contained personal items such as a pipe and tobacco pouch, papers, and sundry books, including a 1949 diary and an Irish passport.

  ‘Would you be happy for us to take some time to go through these, sir? Only, it would save us from having to take away items that have no real relevance to our case.’

  ‘Yes, feel free. Shortly I must go to a meeting at Scotland Yard, so you’re more than welcome to use my office in my absence. If you feel that there’s anything of value for your investigation and you need to take anything away with you, please speak to DC Cattermole here and he’ll let you have the items against signature.’

  ‘Very much obliged to you, sir,’ said Cooper. They all shook hands and Wiseman left the room. Ten minutes later, Cooper and Pratt were examining the contents of the boxes in Wiseman’s office.

  They started on the clothing and made a list of the garments. Each was searched thoroughly in case something had been missed or left. There was nothing found in the pockets, and the garments were of no interest.

  ‘Now for the documents,’ said Pratt.

  They examined the passport, which was stamped as having been issued in Dublin. The face of a handsome man in his early fifties stared back at them from the page. The details were listed as “Tarquin DeVere Crecy, Born: 5th January 1895 in Co. Wicklow, Occupation: Clergyman”.

  Cooper thumbed through the pages of the passport. It contained date stamps galore, each providing evidence of visits to various countries in Europe, including the Vatican State. He examined the stamps on the last page and, although there was some smudging, he could make out entry and exit stamps for the Netherlands. They were identical to those they had seen in the passport that had belonged to the victim. Same dates and the same border points. This provided them with conclusive evidence that they had travelled together.

  The next stamp, going back in time, was an entry stamp to Wien Flughafen (Vienna Airport) dated 14th May 1949. An adjacent stamp showed that the passport holder had left Rome on the same day.

  ‘Bloody hell, governor. He certainly got around, didn’t he? I wonder what he was in Vienna for. He seemed to have an exciting life.’

  ‘I would hope that, in due course, the Church might be able to tell us, if it becomes relevant. It wouldn’t be a bad idea for us to get someone to draw up a schedule of his travel movements using the diary and the passports as the source documents. Certainly, Special Branch would find it useful,’ said Cooper.

  ‘I’ll get onto it when we get back, governor,’ volunteered Pratt.

  ‘Brian, as we need to take them with us we ought to prepare a receipt for DC Cattermole. Will you go and see him, explain what we intend to take and borrow a typewriter?’ said Cooper.

  ‘Yes, governor, will do.’

  ‘And while you’re doing that I’m going to phone DCI Lloyd-Davis at Special Branch. I think we should go and see him, and tell him what we have found, before we get the train back to Colchester. I think he’s going to be chuffed.’

  Pratt opened his briefcase. He pulled out a folder containing stationery and, ever efficient, he produced a blank receipt bearing the Essex Constabulary heading. He then went along the corridor to see Cattermole.

  Within half an hour, they were sitting in the Special Branch office at Scotland Yard sharing the product of that day’s enquiries.

  ‘Blimey. You have done well, Albert,’ said Lloyd-Davis in a slightly patronising tone.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t call me Albert, please, Trevor. Only my mum calls me that, and normally only when I’ve been a naughty boy.’

  ‘And, so does Mr Stockwell, it seems,’

  ‘Yes. That’s right. I’ll have to have a word with him about that,’ said Cooper laughing.

  As they spoke, the diary of Crecy, and the passports of both Crecy and Sister Margaret were being examined by Special Branch officers, and all details were recorded. Copies were also taken of both passports, using some modern technology that had recently been made available to their department.

  ‘Good result though, Alby?’ said Lloyd-Davis, drawing on his pipe.

  Cooper nodded his consent for use of the soubriquet.

  ‘From our point of view, there are some very interesting stamps in his passport and they go back quite a while. It must have been almost ready for renewal.’

  ‘Yes. Your man certainly seemed to have got around “representing the Church”, didn’t he? It was more of a Hollywood lifestyle. But, from our point of view, we’re wondering what Crecy was up to in Vienna on the 14th May? And taking it a stage further on, both Crecy and the sister have date stamps showing entry to the Netherlands on the 16th May. That was at a place called Venlo, which is, in fact, on the border with Germany.’

  ‘If Crecy landed in Vienna two days before that, where did they meet? Vienna? Maybe they met somewhere else in Austria or even in Germany? But why were there no stamps for her before Venlo?’ said Lloyd-Davis.

  ‘After what you told us about the activities of Monsignor Crecy, Trevor, I’m beginning to suspect that our Sister Margaret may have been smuggled across at least one border. But why on earth should that be?’

  ‘Why, indeed. It’s certainly consistent with our intelligence about him. I’m hoping our intelligence people will learn something fr
om their contacts in Vienna to help put the whole thing into perspective.’

  ‘Trevor, have you done a Special Branch check on the name Irma Caro, at all?’

  ‘Yes, we have, but she’s not on our records. However, we’re sending a message to the security department at the British Embassy in Vienna requesting they make enquiries into Crecy and Irma Caro. They have contacts locally, and we’ve had some excellent results from them in the past. We’ll mark the message as urgent, so I expect we’ll get an answer back soon. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve had a reply from them.’

  *

  After recovering the documents from the Special Branch officers, Cooper and Pratt made their way along the Thames embankment, stopping at a café next to Embankment tube station. They treated themselves to tea and a sandwich, and sat in the window, people watching. Pratt lit up a cigarette, he gasped with pleasure and inadvertently blew smoke all over his boss.

  ‘Bloody hell, Brian, I do wish you would give up that filthy habit,’ spluttered Cooper.

  ‘Sorry, governor, but it’s one of my few pleasures in life. It helps me concentrate.’

  ‘Well, what are you concentrating on now, exactly?’

  ‘That’s not the point. It provides me with an all-embracing sense of calm and wellbeing, so that, when I do have something to concentrate on, I’m on the ball.’

  ‘Bollocks,’ said Cooper.

  ‘Well, I don’t drink like you do, governor.’

  ‘Cheeky bugger. You drink plenty when you’re in the mood. Anyway, at least beer has some food value, whereas, with fags, you’re just burning money. Might as well just set light to a ten-bob note.’

  Cooper continued studying the passers-by. There were office workers hurrying back and forth. Most of the men were “suited and booted”, and many of the younger women were looking very alluring, some of whom wearing what was apparently now in vogue. He suddenly thought of young Linda Collins and how she might fare working in this type of environment. She had a fine figure and would certainly be able to carry off the styles.

  Cooper flirted with the idea that working in the City of London might be quite a pleasant existence compared to chasing villains around the provinces, but he quickly dismissed the notion. He knew that boredom would soon get the better of him. He enjoyed the day-to-day uncertainty of being an operational detective, and seriously doubted whether, even if he were to reach a higher rank, he would find it at all fulfilling. He would be like most office workers in London: desk bound.

  After a short break, they walked down to the Underground and caught a Circle-line train to Liverpool Street. They were both feeling pleased with themselves after a very fruitful day, and, given the fact they had a half hour to wait for the next train, Cooper decided to treat his colleague to a pint in Dirty Dicks. Strangely, Pratt didn’t argue.

  19

  DAY NINETEEN

  Saturday 30th July 1949

  ‘Telephone call for you, governor,’ shouted Brian Pratt.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Lucy, Mr Stockwell’s secretary.’

  Cooper walked back to his office and took the receiver from Pratt. ‘Cooper speaking.’

  ‘Hello Mr Cooper, I have Mr Stockwell for you.’

  ‘Hello Albert. I tried to get hold of you yesterday afternoon, but you were out of the office. I just wanted to let you know that I received word from the chief’s office authorising an article in collaboration with the Tatler. So, I’ve dictated a letter to inform them of the fact.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. That was quick.’

  ‘I want you to deliver it in person, Albert.’ said Stockwell, ‘In that way, we can ensure that it hits the intended target.’

  ‘Will do, sir. I’ll send one of the lads up to collect it.’

  ‘We don’t want any unnecessary delay with Tatler, but I expect that, unlike the Church, it’s in their own interests to cooperate with us.’

  ‘Yes, of course, sir. I know they’re very keen.’

  ‘I’m mindful of the fact that the coroner will want to interview a representative of the Church or at least know that the Church have sent one to the inquest. Time is rather running out for them in terms of getting back to us. When is the inquest exactly?’

  ‘Next Monday, sir. The 1st August.’

  ‘Well then, there’s no time to lose.’

  ‘No, on the contrary, sir, if I might say so. There’s no urgency really, as far as the inquest is concerned. All that will happen on the first date is that the case will be opened and then it’ll be adjourned automatically until much later. Hopefully, before the next hearing, we’ll have caught our murderer. But we do need a reply from the Church to give us her background.’

  ‘OK, keep me posted.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Cooper.

  *

  Linda Collins was sent to the town hall to collect the letter. On her return, she took it to Cooper, who read it for himself:

  ‘Addressed to “The Editor, Tatler, 35-37 Winton Street, London W1.

  “Dear Sir or Madam, I write further to our recent conversation with your Mr Quentin Smallpiece regarding the murder of the late Sister Margaret of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. I have sought and obtained permission from the chief constable to liaise with Tatler regarding an exclusive article (or series of articles) on the investigation of said murder.

  “Subject to a contract being prepared by the Essex County Council Legal Department, the force is prepared to release information to Tatler concerning said murder investigation. The editing and timing of publication will be solely at the discretion of the chief constable of the Essex Constabulary. Our legal department will be in contact with you in the coming weeks.

  “Yours faithfully,

  “Thomas Stockwell, Superintendent.”’

  Cooper left Linda in his office to read the letter for herself and walked through to the sergeants’ office, where he found Brian Pratt.

  ‘Brian, I’ve just received the letter from Mr Stockwell about our collaboration with Tatler. I would like it to be delivered to them by hand.’

  ‘Not by me, governor, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I arranged to have this afternoon off to take the wife to her see her sister in the maternity hospital, if you remember?’

  ‘Yes, of course. OK, I’ll do it and take young Miss Collins with me then.’

  *

  Within the hour, Cooper was, once again, on his way to London by train.

  The day held the potential to be a very interesting one indeed, covering the higher echelons of the social scale, with, on the one hand, a sobering visit to Westminster Cathedral and, on the other, a visit to the bastion of gossip and frivolity; that was, the high society magazine, Tatler. Linda Collins had taken the prudent step of telephoning to ensure that Quentin Smallpiece and his colleague would be in the office on a Saturday. Furthermore, Cooper had miraculously reached Father Michael Thomas by telephone. They were due to see him at Westminster Cathedral at 2.00pm.

  Cooper told himself that, by taking Linda Collins with him, it would give her useful experience. It also had the added benefit of his being able to observe her in a more testing environment. There was something about this young woman that attracted him, not only on a personal basis but as an investigator. Female detectives, even in 1949, were somewhat rare, and, from what he had seen so far of the confident way that she conducted herself, he could see potential for her making a valuable contribution. He was eager to indulge her and to help her develop her talent. Besides, the very thought of her brightened his day.

  They caught the London train early and it was only midday when they arrived at Liverpool Street Station. As time was on their side, Cooper elected to visit the canteen at Bishopsgate Police Station, which was just across the road from the railway station.

  Throughout the inward journ
ey and during the meal, their conversation was chiefly about the case and the job in general, but, these topics having run their course, the conversation turned to matters more personal.

  ‘Have you told your aunt that we have met each other yet?’ asked Linda.

  ‘Yes, Brenda.’

  ‘I’m not going to hear the last of this “Brenda”, am I?’ she declared.

  ‘Well, actually, it’s a name that quite suits you,’ he teased, ‘I’ll have to have a word with Sadie about getting her details right though.’

  ‘What? You mean, for the next girl she chooses for you?’ she said.

  ‘No, Linda. I don’t want her interfering in that way anymore.’

  Linda was horrified, ‘Please don’t do that, governor. I don’t want to embarrass her and I’m sure she meant well.’

  Cooper decided to change the subject. ‘So, are you a Colchester girl as well, then?’

  ‘Yes. Dad was in the military and the family originally came from Aldershot. He was posted to Colchester quite a few years ago, and it’s where I was born.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Probably not as long ago as when you were born,’ said Linda, giggling.

  ‘Of course, forgive me. You shouldn’t ask a lady how old she is.’

  ‘No. That’s quite right.’

  ‘So how much do you weigh, then?’

  Linda collapsed in fits of laughter. ‘Cheeky.’

  ‘So, what do you want out of this job?’

  ‘I want to get on the CID permanently.’

  ‘Really? Well, you won’t get very far taking the piss out of the DI like that, will you, young lady?’

  ‘Sorry, governor. I stand rebuked,’ said Linda Collins laughing.

 

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