03 - Murder in Mink (11 page)

“It must have been hard on Andrew and his sisters.”

“Andrew was already away fighting for his country and the
girls were at boarding schools. What say did they have? Mind you, I do wonder
how the dates of Hogarth’s marriage tie up with those of Andrew’s. That could
be interesting, say he did it out of retaliation?”

It was a possibility no doubt.

“Would Glorianna have motive to kill Shirley Cox,
though?”

“Glory hates scandal. She would kill for that.”

Tommy fell silent, not for the first time it amazed him
how a sudden death could start bringing out the worst in people. He had taken
Glory at face value, but now she was revealed as a woman who could lie and plot
against another. That was disturbing.

“Then there is Hogarth.” Eustace had a twinkle in his eye
as he continued his assassination of the family character, “My brother was
always the tough one. He could withstand anything. Boarding school knocked the
stuffing out of me but Hogarth thrived, you know why? Because he never took any
trouble from anyone. If a boy tried to punch him he would punch back first, and
not stop until the boy was knocked senseless. Even the masters kept a cool eye
on Hogarth. He was good at his lessons too, never a fault, never a wrong sum,
never a piece of muddled Latin grammar. Unlike old Eustace, who had more than
his fair share of beatings for getting the wrong answer. It was a brutal world
and only the brutal thrived.”

Tommy nodded in understanding.

“Hogarth was never afraid to get his hands dirty. If he
had been young enough for the war I could imagine him as one of those
tough-as-old-boots sergeants who sends a man to his death without even blinking
and sleeps peacefully the same night. The sort that could run a Hun through and
not give it a thought.”

“On that I have to correct you Eustace, many of us in the
trenches became that way. We were inured to the cruelty, it was the only way to
carry on.”

“Yes, but Hogarth would have started that way. All I am
saying is that Hogarth would think no more of murdering a woman who had ruined
his son than he would of wringing the neck of a pheasant his dog had brought
back to him.”

“By that logic, you should have been dead years ago.”
Tommy suggested much to Eustace’s humour.

“But I’m
family
!” Eustace rumbled with laughter,
“Blood family! That means a lot to the Campbells.”

“And what about you Eustace? Are you a killer?”

Eustace’s good humour evaporated.

“What sort of a question is that?”

“An honest one. I know I am a killer, I have killed. It
just wasn’t called murder because there was a war on.”

Eustace clamped his lips together so hard they formed a
stiff line.

“I could never kill.” He said firmly, “Never.”

Tommy stared at him for a long time.

“No, perhaps not.”

Tommy quietly rolled himself out of the room, uncertain
what to make of Eustace’s revelations.

Clara was hardly in the door of the Campbell house when a
footman ran up and offered her a letter that had just been hand-delivered for
her. Clara was curious enough to open it without removing her hat or gloves.
The paper had the words
Surrey Police Constabulary
heavily printed in
black ink at the top, this in itself was enough to make Clara excited.

Dear Miss Clara Fitzgerald,

Subsequent to our conversation I contacted Inspector
Park-Coombs of the Brighton Constabulary. He has assured me you are an honest
and reliable person who has been of great use on occasion to the Brighton
police and has advised me to take you into my confidence. I hope we may be able
to work together on this matter, as you are clearly placed in a better position
than I am to know the Campbell household. Therefore would you please call at
your earliest convenience to the local police station?

Yours sincerely, Inspector Jennings

Clara wedged the letter in her handbag and was out the
door again before the footman knew what was happening. Inspector Jennings
wanted to speak to her! It was more than Clara had hoped for. She knew she
would have had to eventually go to the police and ask for assistance during her
enquiries, there was simply no alternative, but to have it offered was another
matter. Thank God for the kindness of Inspector Park-Coombs! They might have
started out on the wrong foot, but by the time Clara had concluded her first
investigation the inspector had come to respect her intellect and intuition. It
was just such a pity women couldn’t be promoted to inspectors, he had said on
one occasion. Not that Clara wished to work for the police, she preferred being
a free agent, but she was never one to turn down their help.

She hurried into the village and had to ask directions of
a passing postman. The police station was set in a former house and was far
from expansive. In this corner of Surrey crime was hardly high and on most days
only a constable and a sergeant could be found at the station. It had been
slightly fortuitous that Jennings had been down doing an inspection when the
body at Brooklands had been discovered, else he would have had to come from the
main station.

Clara hastened inside and informed the desk sergeant of
her urgent summons. He was mildly surprised to see someone so keen to be called
to the police station. He sent an idle constable up to tell Jennings she was
here.

“You were on the racetrack yesterday.” He nodded, and
Clara realised she was staring at the same sergeant who had had the unpleasant
task of dragging Andrew Campbell before the inspector, “Nasty business. You
knew her then?”

“Sort of.” Clara didn’t like to reveal too much.

“We don’t get many murders here and when we do it’s
usually strangers that get themselves knocked off. Shame though, when it’s a
woman.”

Clara wasn’t sure how to reply, all sudden death to her
seemed a shame no matter the gender or age of the victim. She was saved from
further conversation by the constable returning and asking her to accompany him
to the inspector.

Jennings was sitting uncomfortably behind someone else’s
desk. He wasn’t sure who the ‘someone else’ was, as the constable did not have
an office and the sergeant had a small room at the back of the house where he
could catch up on paperwork. He had to assume, therefore, that this office
space was intended for casual use, hence why it was so poorly appointed. The
desk was old and Victorian and too high for the chair that had been supplied,
which was uncomfortable enough without banging your elbows on the edge of the
desk every time you reached for a paper clip. There were a series of filing
cabinets to his right which provided the sum total of the station’s archives,
and a window that looked out on an apple tree and next door’s compost heap to
his left. Jennings had learnt quick enough that opening the window to let in
some air also tended to let in the smell of decomposing vegetation. It was
behind this inadequate and slightly embarrassing work station that he met with
Clara once more.

The inspector had thought Clara something unique when he
first glimpsed her. Not the usual girl he was used to dealing with, she was
quite cool upon sighting the body and very practical about the situation. She
was also pretty and slender, with a fashionable bob and just a hint of red
lipstick. He really wasn’t sure what to make of her and after his conversation
with Inspector Park-Coombs he was even more baffled, but there was one thing
the Brighton inspector had said that had stuck in his mind.

“Let her in on this Jennings, or she’ll find her own way
in and that can only mean trouble.”

Jennings had thought Park-Coombs was teasing him, but
after the phone call he had not felt so sure. He had a worrying suspicion that
Clara Fitzgerald was more than just an interfering busybody, she might actually
be a good detective.

Clara reached his desk with a quick glance at the room.
The constable was behind her and quickly dragged over a chair for Clara to sit
in. Clara settled down and took her own first good look at the inspector.
Inspector Jennings was in his late thirties with bright, dark eyes and hair
that had a distinctive curl to it. His suit, though clearly worn, was clean and
neat and ornamented by a rather bright tie that limply hung over his shirt. He
looked hot and Clara wondered why he didn’t open the window on such a fine day.

“Thank you for coming Miss Fitzgerald.”

“Thank you for asking me, I appreciate the invitation.”

“Well Inspector Park-Coombs implied it was better to work
with you than against you.” Jennings gave a crooked smile as Clara raised an
eyebrow, “He also reminded me how useful it would be to have someone on the inside,
so to speak.”

“Spying on the Campbells you mean?”

“I would rather think of it as looking for clues. You are
a detective after all. Anyway, isn’t that why you are staying with the
Campbells?”

Clara had already admitted as such to Laura Pettibone,
but she had no intention of doing the same to the inspector.

“They insisted I stay there.”

“Of course, but it is useful. Anyway,” The inspector
pulled a cardboard folder towards him, “I thought you might be interested in
the coroner’s findings on Shirley Cox.”

He removed a sheet of paper and handed it to Clara.

“It includes an inventory of the things we found on her.
Not a lot as you can see.”

Clara scanned the paper.

“So strangulation was the cause of death.” Clara read the
paragraph further, “With a fine cloth, possible silk, but no rope or cord.”

“No, it did not leave a pattern so the coroner infers it
was a smooth fabric with a very fine weave. I’ve seen people throttled with
silk handkerchiefs before now. They don’t leave much of an impression.”

“He estimates she was dead between 12 and 18 hours.”

“Yes, the warm day might have speeded things up a
little.”

“That could put her murder time worryingly close to the
wedding.” Clara did a quick calculation in her head, “None of them have alibis
for that time, except Glorianna who was attending the reception dinner.”

“They held the reception?”

“It seemed foolish to waste the food.”

“I suppose, but you see this opens the field when it
comes to suspects. Not only does the time mean several of them could have done
it, but the method could implicate a woman as much as a man.”

“The coroner found no other signs of violence.”

“No, and her clothes were not damaged in any way. He did
the obvious checks for…” The inspector almost blushed.

“She was not violated then, I take it?” Clara finished
for him.

“No, but you will note that the coroner saw signs to
indicate she had been with child at least once in her life, but at the same
time it did not appear she had ever delivered a baby.”

Clara read through the coroner’s careful notes.

“He says there was scar tissue and damage within the womb
to suggest some sort of invasive treatment. He suggests a crude abortion. He
was very thorough.”

“I asked him to be, it seemed appropriate considering the
strange circumstances and I had a hunch.” The inspector caught himself using a
term he had accused Clara of, “I did a little work on Shirley Cox’s background,
not that it was challenging, the Metropolitan police were very aware of her.
Shirley Cox was a call girl, one of the better sort since she didn’t loiter
around alleys, but still a woman of the night. She liked hanging out at the
dance halls and around the cinemas and theatres looking for trade. Now I asked
myself if that is the sort of girl a young man like Andrew Campbell marries for
no real reason?”

“He would not be the first man to fall for a prostitute.
Love makes fools of us.”

“Andrew Campbell does not strike me as the impulsive
type.” Countered the inspector, “I rather fancied there was more to it than
just a passing infatuation. I wondered if the girl was pregnant and told him it
was his and a sense of duty swept over him; that seems more like a Campbell
thing to do. But then this Shirley Cox isn’t one for motherhood and once she
has him snared she quickly gets an abortion. But she miscalculates and when
Andrew discovers there is no child he feels duped and abandons her. There go
all Shirley’s plan for a comfortable future. She is back on the streets, living
day by day until she happens to see that wedding announcement.”

“I see where you are leading.” Clara nodded, “Andrew
Campbell might be sour-faced but he has a sense of duty akin to his father and
he would not abandon his wife without a reason.”

“He more than abandoned her, he treated her as though she
were dead. The actions of a very angry, bitter man who has had his love turned
to hate.”

“Then again,” Clara laid down the report, “Shirley Cox
may have been pregnant years before she met Andrew, the abortion could just be
coincidence. Call girls do get pregnant.”

“Yes, and a back-street butcher is the usual solution.”
Jennings sighed, “I know it’s a long-shot, I suppose I was curious more than
anything.”

“It is a good theory though.” Clara threw him a line, “I
agree this whole mess does not strike me as something Andrew would do, not that
I know him exceptionally well, but he is not the sort to fall head-over-heels
for a girl on the spur of the moment. His engagement to Laura Pettibone, for
instance, almost seems calculated. And it also bothers me that he would abandon
a wife in that way. Andrew, I don’t think, is the sort to avoid his commitments
once he has made them unless there is a good reason. What else do you know
about Shirley Cox?”

“She was aged somewhere around 38 and 42, police couldn’t
say for sure her exact date of birth. She was an independent, didn’t have a
pimp. The police were aware that on occasion she was living in relative luxury
as a mistress to certain well-known names. Shirley knew her worth and she
didn’t go for anything less than a man with a decent bank account. There was a
brief period in the books when she vanished from sight, between 1915 and 1917
she was invisible. No trouble, no incidents. She was always known for her
temper and if she wasn’t in trouble for soliciting, she was under arrest for
disturbing the peace by starting a cat fight. But for two years she was off the
scene. The police wondered if she was dead.”

“Instead she was married.”

“Yes, and then the Christmas of 1917 they find her tight
in the gutter. They haul her in and let her sleep it off in a cell. From then
on it seems Shirley was back to business. But she was older now and she had
been off the scene for two years. Her patch was taken by younger women and she
struggled to make her way. Her clients became cheaper; she hung out with the
soldier boys more and more. The last record they have on her was three weeks
ago when she was picked up with a number of other girls hawking their trade at
a nightclub. Police say she was in a sorry state and looked like she needed a
decent meal. Shirley Cox had truly fallen from the heights.”

Clara listened, her mind conjuring the image of the woman
in the church. Her malicious grin, her laugh, her missing stockings and the
mink stole. A stole that she could have pawned and lived off the proceeds for
weeks. Yet she kept it, a treasured memento of a failed marriage…

Clara picked up the report again quickly and scanned
through the list of things found on Shirley’s body.

“Where is the stole?”

“The stole?” Said the inspector dumbly.

“When Shirley Cox came to the church she was wearing an
expensive mink stole, but it was not with the body and you clearly did not find
it on the racetrack.”

Jennings mulled over the suggestion.

“She could have left it wherever she was staying before
she encountered her killer.”

“Maybe, but bear in mind she specifically wore that stole
to the church. I think she wanted to remind Andrew of the things he had given
her, of what she had once meant to him. Now, if she went to meet Andrew again
after the ceremony she would have gone in the stole. It was important.”

“I see what you are saying, the stole could lead us to
the killer. Unfortunately I have not tracked down where Shirley was staying yet
so I cannot say if her stole was with her belongings or is truly missing.”

“Leave that to me inspector.” Clara rose from her chair,
“I appreciate you sharing this with me and I will make my own discreet
enquiries and let you know of anything I turn up.”

“Thank you Miss Fitzgerald, but if you do find where she
was staying before us, please call the police immediately without removing
anything.” Jennings gave her a stern look which Clara deemed unnecessary, she
was not an idiot.

“Of course inspector, we are working together after all.”
Clara swept up her handbag and headed off, the fire of curiosity burning brightly
inside her now.