The Corpse of St James's (3 page)

We descended the grand staircase, very slowly because of Jonathan's bad legs, and paused at the bottom to catch our breath, or at least for Jonathan to catch his.

The foyer was milling with honorees, guests and staff. After Jonathan had recovered, we picked our way through with care, lest Jonathan be accidentally buffeted and lose his precarious balance. One of the staff members materialized by his side, and said, ‘Let me help you, or you'll never get through that lot, Cousin Jonathan.'

‘Oh,' said Jonathan, his voice rather flat. ‘Jemima.'

‘You'd forgotten I work here, hadn't you?' The young woman laced her arm through his and propelled him through the crowd, smilingly but firmly making way. Alan and I trailed in their wake until we finally reached the quieter haven of the Quadrangle.

‘All right, then? Good!' The young woman hesitated a moment. ‘Jonathan, come and see me one of these days. We haven't talked in a long time.' Someone frowned at her. Her boss, possibly? She sketched a wave and vanished, leaving Jonathan to the mercy of the media, who requested an interview.

Jonathan complied, reluctantly, and escaped the moment he could. He was plainly uncomfortable in the role of hero.

‘I didn't know you had a cousin, Jonathan,' said Alan as we crunched across the immaculate gravel.

He scowled. ‘Honorary,' he said briefly. ‘Her mother was a good friend of my mother's, and we called her Aunt Letty. By extension, therefore . . .'

‘Ah. I see. Pleasant young woman.'

Jonathan scowled again. ‘Bit of a pill, if you want the truth. In and out of trouble when she was a girl. I rather lost touch with her when my parents died, but I know her mother was greatly relieved when she snagged the job at the palace. I don't believe they pay terribly well, but she does live in, so she's under a certain amount of supervision.'

‘I'd think it'd take a brave girl to misbehave under the Queen's eye,' I commented. ‘I have the distinct impression Her Majesty doesn't miss much. Look, we'd better find a taxi. You look like you've been on your feet long enough for one day.'

‘Actually, I left a wheelchair somewhere. The quacks want me to use it still, but I don't, at least not unless I really have to. And I'd be damned if I'd sit to receive an honour from the Queen, so I told someone to keep it for me.' He looked around vaguely, as if expecting to see his chair behind a bush, and lo!, the someone appeared, wheeling it – with some difficulty – across the gravel.

‘We waited for you at the lift, sir,' said the man, somewhat reproachfully.

‘Yes, well, I managed. As you see.'

Jonathan refused to sit in it until we had left the gravel, but his face when he finally sat down told me how much that stubbornness had cost him.

I thought I could see how he had summoned up the courage to save that child.

‘Right,' said Alan. ‘Now to find a taxi.'

‘I wonder,' said Jonathan tentatively, ‘if you'd mind terribly if we walked for a bit. In a manner of speaking, that is,' he added, looking down at his chair. ‘I . . . the palace is a bit . . . the rain has stopped, and I'd like some fresh air, if it's not a dreadful bother.'

‘I feel exactly the same way,' I said with a sigh of relief. ‘Claustrophobic. It's a perfectly lovely, spacious cave, but a cave, nonetheless. Let's walk through St James's Park, Alan. Squirrels and ducks and pelicans are exactly what I need just now.'

The traffic around the palace is always incredible. Taxis and other vehicles whizz around the Queen Victoria Memorial in an unending stream. There are pedestrian traffic lights, controlled by push buttons, but they emit a rapid, threatening beep-beep-beep that seems to shout ‘Hurry! Hurry!' My heart was in my mouth, with all those impatient engines ready to move the moment they were given the green light, but we managed to cross two streets safely and then, in seconds, were in the shelter of what is, for me, the loveliest park in London.

It was high noon, and the park should have been crowded with people: children begging their parents for ice cream and throwing crumbs to the greedy ducks, lovers strolling arm in arm, the elderly sitting on benches attracting crowds of hopeful pigeons and the odd squirrel looking for a handout. St James's is one of the royal parks, which simply means they're owned by the Crown. Anyone can enjoy them, and thousands of people do, every day. Not today, though, what with the rain. Soon, if the sun came out, the throngs would descend, but now we had the place nearly to ourselves. We wandered happily, looking at the soggy flowerbeds and smelling that spring smell of damp earth and new growth, unmatched at any other time of the year. Finding a path leading into a more densely planted area, we passed through the unlatched gate and found ourselves so shut off from the sounds of London that we might have been in the country.

Just beyond some bushes that weren't yet fully leafed out lay the lake. The waterfowl were happily going about their business. As a gorgeous swan flew in for a landing on the lake, its great wing-beats thudding like horses' hooves, I watched, enchanted, leaning on a bench.

‘Tired, love?' asked Alan.

‘Tired of walking. These are not exactly walking shoes. Yes, I know I thought this was a wonderful idea, but now I need to sit and rest for a bit. I'm thirsty, too. Alan, you could get me something cold to drink if the refreshment stands are open. Jonathan, you stay here and keep me company. I want to hear about how your recovery is coming.'

‘Oh, I'm doing well,' he said briskly. But as Alan walked out of earshot, he sighed. ‘Who am I trying to fool? It's been hell, Dorothy.'

‘I thought so,' I said quietly. I tried to keep my voice neutral. Too much sympathy, and either Jonathan would start to cry, or his defences would kick in and he'd try to laugh it off.

‘Not so much the pain. Oh, it's bad, but I can live with it.'

‘I never knew exactly what your injuries were.'

He laughed, a sound conveying no amusement. ‘Do you want the complete catalogue? It ranged from gunshot wounds to internal injuries to smoke inhalation to concussion to various broken limbs, but it's worked out at two game legs and touchy plumbing and a wonky brain. I black out from time to time.'

I swallowed hard. ‘What are your doctors telling you about the prognosis?'

‘They've done all they can. Now it's therapy and exercise and all that. They tell me it's all on my plate now. And to tell you the truth, I don't care.'

‘No?' The neutral tone was getting harder.

‘Why should I work and sweat, trying to make my legs do impossible things? Why should I eat what they tell me, hoping my insides will eventually be normal, and try to avoid stress that plays the devil with my mind? Why
should
I care? I'll never be able to work again, anyway. I'll never be fit for police work.'

‘And so?'

He had been staring at the ground. Now he looked up at me, his face full of anger. ‘And so there's no reason for me to keep on living, is there?'

‘No? I'd have thought a man who'd won the George Cross would have more courage than that.'

He winced as if I'd slapped him. As, in effect, I had. I hated doing this, but I went on. ‘You weren't afraid to risk dying, back when the little girl needed you. You dove right in and did what had to be done. So why are you so afraid to risk living?'

‘Are you suggesting there's something to live for?' His voice was savage.

‘Oh, don't be tiresome, Jonathan. Of course there's something to live for!' I gestured in a wide sweep. ‘The lake, flowers, trees. Pelicans, for heaven's sake! Don't tell me you'd throw away your chances of ever seeing a pelican again. Just
look
at them, with those ridiculous short legs and that huge beak! They're one of God's great jokes, like ostriches and camels. And people.'

‘You want me to strain every muscle I have left, in torture, for the sake of pelicans.'

At least he didn't sound self-pitying any more.

‘Exactly. Pelicans, and wood ducks, and cats and lilacs and a cuppa and a lovely pint.
Life
, Jonathan, in all its infinite variety. I know you've been through more agony than anyone should ever have to endure. I know you're depressed about losing your job – and, incidentally, I certainly hope you're getting some treatment for the depression. But the point is that the Metropolitan Police isn't the only possible job in the world for a young, intelligent man, especially one who's just been awarded the highest honour his country has to offer. You can find another job, if you do work and sweat and swear and ache and do whatever you must to regain your strength and mobility. And then you can see the world again, instead of just your own misery.'

‘And pelicans.'

‘Definitely pelicans.'

‘Pelicans?' said Alan quizzically, returning with orange drinks for all of us.

‘Dorothy seems to think they're one of the most important life forms,' said Jonathan.

‘Dorothy also thinks she's going to perish of starvation if someone doesn't feed her soon,' I moaned melodramatically. ‘A taxi, a taxi, my kingdom for a taxi!'

‘You don't have a kingdom,' observed Alan, holding out his hand to help me up.

‘Neither did Richard, shortly after those immortal words. Onward, troops.'

I got stiffly to my feet, dropping my paper cup as I did so. Orange drink splashed over my feet and on to the hem of my wildly expensive, pale blue dress.

‘Damn!' I said emphatically. ‘This stuff never comes out! And how can I show up at the Ivy with an orange hem? Alan, it's rolled under that bush. Get it for me, will you? I don't need to litter, on top of everything else.'

He reached under the bush, fumbled about and stopped. His face, as he stood up, wore a most peculiar expression.

‘Dorothy, do you have your mobile?'

‘Yes, in my purse. Why?'

‘Ring for a policeman, then, please.'

‘We have two of them right here, Alan. You and Jonathan.'

‘We need one in active service. Unless I'm hallucinating, someone is under that bush, and I don't think she's alive.'

I
t didn't take long for a constable to arrive; there's a station actually in the park. After that things got complicated.

To start, the constable wasn't very happy with us. ‘This area of the park is not open to the public, sir,' he said to Alan. ‘You should not have opened the gate.'

‘It was not shut,' said Alan briefly.

‘Ought to have been, sir. Shut and locked.'

‘Well, it wasn't,' I said crossly. ‘It was wide open, and the path looked inviting, and we walked in.'

‘And exactly how did you discover the body, sir?' asked the constable, ignoring me completely.

‘My wife dropped her drink. The cup rolled under the bush. I bent to pick it up and felt a foot.'

‘Ah, yes, sir. And may I ask your name, sir?' the constable went on, his attitude a perfect blend of courtesy, authority and suspicion.

‘Alan Nesbitt, Chief Constable, Belleshire, retired.' He took out his identification, and the poor young policeman swallowed, but persevered gamely.

‘Yes, sir. And your companions?'

‘My wife, Dorothy Martin.' I silently pulled out my driving licence. ‘And our good friend, Jonathan Quinn, Chief Inspector, Scotland Yard, retired.'

Jonathan stood shakily to pull his wallet out of his pocket, and dropped the leather case containing his medal. The case fell open, and the sight of the George Cross gleaming in the watery, intermittent sun completed the constable's demoralization.

‘Yes, sir. And madam. I— will you excuse me for a moment?'

He moved away and pulled out his mobile phone.

‘Poor man,' I said in an undertone. ‘He doesn't know what to do with us. I'm the only one who's not important, and he's scared to death of putting a foot wrong.'

‘Good for him,' said Alan callously. ‘A stone's throw from the palace, he needs to learn to be on his toes. VIPs are thick on the ground hereabouts.'

Jonathan said nothing, but sat back in his chair, tension radiating from his stillness. He wants desperately to be a part of this investigation, I thought.

I cleared my throat. ‘Alan, what exactly did you see under that bush?'

‘Not much. I was feeling about for your cup. I didn't want to get down on my knees to look, and get mud on these trousers.' He'd worn his best suit, naturally, for the auspicious occasion that now seemed to have happened so long ago. ‘I felt something hard, realized it was a high-heeled shoe, felt a little farther, found the foot in the shoe, and stopped.'

Jonathan could keep quiet no longer. ‘Temperature?' he asked.

‘Neither warm nor cold.'

‘Rigor?'

‘Quite stiff. Several hours, I'd say at a guess.'

‘Yes. Before dawn, then, probably. It would have been terribly risky in daylight.'

I thought it was time to remind them of my existence. ‘Old or young?' I asked.

‘My dear, I didn't look at her!'

‘The shoe,' I said impatiently.

‘A stiletto heel, three inches at least. I suppose that makes her young.'

Jonathan struck his hand on the arm of his chair. ‘I can't stand this!'

Alan said nothing, just shook his head. His frustration was almost as great as Jonathan's, but he'd learned to deal with it in his years of retirement. For Jonathan, the pain of being sidelined was new and raw. I bled for him.

The constable returned. His fresh face was a delicate shade of pink. ‘Sirs, madam, I've been instructed to allow you to leave, with our thanks. If I could just have addresses . . .'

‘I think we would prefer to stay,' said Alan smoothly. ‘Mr Quinn and I would feel we had failed to do our duty if we left without making a complete report to your superior.'