Sweet Sorrow (13 page)

The Inspector plumped his large frame down in the chair behind his desk. There was a metal chair in front of the desk but Edward was not invited to sit on it. He did so anyway.

‘Well, what is it you have to tell me?’ the Inspector rasped, lighting a foul-smelling pipe.

Edward kept a check on his temper. ‘I understand you have arrested Colonel Heron for the murder of Byron Gates. Is that correct?’

‘It is. The Colonel’s sword was used to behead Mr Gates. His fingerprints were on the sword and it was bloody. His hands also had blood on them, as did his clothes. I arrested him at his house last night.’ The Inspector looked pleased with himself.

‘What motive did he have, Inspector?’

‘That’s not something I can discuss with a member of the public.’

‘Very well but, since it was Colonel Heron’s sword, it’s hardly surprising that his prints were found on it,’ Edward retorted.

The Inspector grunted.

Edward tried again. ‘One thing occurs to me, Inspector. I’ve never tried it myself but I seem to remember from the history books that it is quite difficult to cut off a man’s head with a sword. You have to saw away at the neck – particularly if the sword is blunt. I assume that, if this sword was last used in 1706 at the Battle of Ramillies, as the Colonel told me it was, it is hardly likely to be sharp.’

Edward was purposely trying to shock the Inspector and believed he was succeeding. Trewen took his pipe out of his mouth and looked rather queasy.

‘Of course, it was dark when I saw the body,’ Edward went on remorselessly, ‘but I have a powerful torch and I noted that the head seemed to have been quite neatly severed from the trunk. Have you considered that Mr Gates may not have been killed by the sword but by an axe or some other sharp, heavy instrument? It’s only a suggestion, mind you, but worth exploring before you assume you have arrested the right man. As for the blood, Colonel Heron could easily have got blood on his hands and clothes without actually having killed Mr Gates. For one thing, he removed the bloody head from the mouth of his dog who had found it. Furthermore, he reported finding the body to Constable Watt – hardly the action of a guilty man, I would have thought. What is more, I am quite convinced that, when he came to our house afterwards, his shock and horror were genuine.’

‘Why did he come to see you?’ the Inspector asked suspiciously.

‘Because he knew that in the past I have been involved in a number of criminal investigations though, as I hope I have made clear, I will not be getting involved in this case.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. Amateur Sherlocks always make it harder for the professionals to get at the truth,’ Trewen said rudely. ‘Well, Lord Edward,’ he added, making an effort to be polite, ‘I appreciate you taking the time to come and see me but, really, I think you can put the whole thing out of your mind. The murder is gruesome but the murderer made no effort to disguise what he had done and there’s an end of it.’

‘Has Colonel Heron admitted to murdering Gates?’

‘Not exactly but we have witnesses to the fact that he had threatened him.’ The Inspector realized he was giving this meddling aristocrat more information than he needed to and stopped. ‘Be that as it may, Lord Edward, you can safely leave the matter in our hands. We are not all the bumbling bobbies you like to paint us.’ He laughed mirthlessly.

‘“You can safely leave the matter in our hands” – is that what he said?’ Verity was indignant. ‘We’re certainly not going to.’

Edward looked at her quizzically but said nothing. Verity, as a long-time Communist, had a suspicion of the police which had not been allayed by finding one or two policemen who she had grudgingly to admit
were
honest and competent. In her experience, the police wasted too much time monitoring the Communist Party and not enough on frustrating the dark designs of the Fascists.

‘And there was no question of you being allowed to see Heron?’ she continued.

‘Absolutely not.’

‘He has a solicitor, I presume.’

‘Apparently so. The constable on the desk told me before I left that he’s a local man called Murchison who will, I am sure, know that he’s completely out of his depth with a case like this and pass the whole thing over to a London firm with experience in criminal matters. I’ll try and see Murchison tomorrow. I’m going to suggest he consults Tom Hutchinson. He’s a partner in Tenbury and Cootes and a pal of mine from way back. One of the best.’

‘You’re not going to leave it at that, are you?’

‘What do you mean? No, V, you can’t be serious. I thought we’d agreed last night that there would be no more investigating. We’re going to have these last few weeks together to rest and enjoy country life.’

‘I can’t help noticing, Edward, that – even in the short time we’ve been down here – you have sometimes looked bored. When you got that summons to go to London, your eyes lit up. I’m afraid we are just not the sort of people who can sit back and do nothing in a crisis. And, what’s more, your conscience won’t allow it. You can’t let Heron be hanged because you’re too idle to find the real murderer.’

‘I say, V,’ Edward began weakly, ‘that isn’t fair. . .’

‘Who said life was ever fair? It certainly hasn’t been fair to Ada.’

‘Oh, God, why are there no good coppers around?’ Edward demanded. ‘My instinct tells me that Inspector Trewen is one of the worst.’

‘We have to find the murderer for Ada’s sake,’ Verity went on remorselessly. ‘And for Jean – but mainly for Ada. She’s not in good shape and, if she ever found out that her father’s murderer had got off and someone else had been hanged in his place, it might destroy her.’

‘Stop, V! Stop, I beg you. I always knew this was what marriage would be like. You tell me what to do and I do it.’

‘
We
do it,’ Verity said, giving him a kiss.

‘Lord Edward, this is a very great pleasure. Do sit down.’

It was Monday morning and Edward was ensconced in an armchair in Mr Murchison’s comfortable office in Lewes. He was a country solicitor of the old school. There was nothing brash, nothing flash about Mr Murchison and he reminded Edward of his brother, the Duke’s, solicitor. Generation after generation, these men had looked after the landed gentry and the aristocracy, piling up in tin deed boxes family secrets – financial embarrassments, unsuitable marriages, sudden deaths and necessary confinements of the mentally unstable or the criminal. Discreet until and beyond the grave, they very occasionally defrauded their clients but were, for the most part, society’s gatekeepers and the acme of respectability. The complete trust their clients had in their integrity ensured that, if they did sometimes fall below the standards of rectitude they had set themselves, it might take several generations before anything was proved against them.

In the main, they deserved their reputation as the glue that kept the social order in place, the buttresses of a society that put land above money and old money above new money, and measured respectability in acres owned. The Great War had perhaps loosened the glue but the landowners great and small still retained their power and position despite the loss of sons and heirs, the coming of universal suffrage and the tide of democracy lapping at the castle gates.

‘It is very good of you to see me.’ Edward was at his most affable and aristocratic. He knew how these men loved a lord. ‘I won’t beat about the bush, Mr Murchison. I’ve come about this horrible business of Mr Gates’s death. I understand Colonel Heron has been arrested. It seems to me quite ludicrous that just because he found the body and his fingerprints were on his sword – the sword which the police think, wrongly in my view, was used to kill Mr Gates – he should be accused of murder. I wondered if there was anything I could do to help?’

Mr Murchison beamed and then, feeling perhaps that smiles were inappropriate, rearranged his face to look shocked and saddened.

‘That is very kind of you, Lord Edward. Of course, I am aware of your reputation as an investigator but I really think there is very little that can be done, at least until Colonel Heron is charged. The police have, as you say, arrested him on suspicion of murder and they must decide whether or not to charge him in the next forty-eight hours.’

Edward was genuinely shocked. ‘Surely you believe him to be innocent? I don’t know him well – my wife and I have only just moved to Rodmell – but he seems to me a most respectable man. I would have said he was the last person to go around beheading people – even if it were possible to do so with a sword, which I’m inclined to doubt. In any case, what possible motive could he have?’

‘Well, there we are. He
did
have a motive. He tells me that the first Mrs Gates – Marion – was a close friend of his. Between ourselves, I believe there may have been something between them. That must have been before she married Mr Gates,’ Mr Murchison added hurriedly. ‘I am only guessing, you understand, but Colonel Heron has very strong feelings on the subject of Gates’s behaviour. In fact, there are witnesses to an incident in the local pub who say they heard him threaten Mr Gates. He was heard to say that he intended to “mete out justice” and that Mr Gates deserved to have his head chopped off.’

‘Yes, Mr Gates mentioned the incident the first time I met him. However, he said the Colonel had come round and apologized the following day and they had agreed to forget about it. Heron had a motive for hating Mr Gates, I grant you, but not for murdering him.’

‘I hope you are right, Lord Edward, and that the police share your view.’

Edward hesitated before asking, ‘What exactly did Colonel Heron tell you was his reason for threatening Gates?’

‘Well, it’s very delicate but since you are . . . I presume I can count on your absolute discretion?’ Edward nodded and Mr Murchison seemed satisfied. ‘The Colonel seems to believe that Marion died of what the poets used to call a broken heart on account of Gates’s philandering.’

‘I thought she died of cancer.’

‘That was what was on the death certificate but the Colonel decided not to believe it, and it is true that, as a document of record, they often prove erroneous. To spare a relative grief, a doctor may choose to attribute death to a chill or a fever rather than some unpleasant disease carrying a social stigma.’

‘You mean, like syphilis,’ Edward said bluntly.

‘Yes, but . . .’

‘You are not suggesting that in this case . . .?’

‘No, no . . . I was merely making a general point. I have no reason to doubt that Marion Gates died of cancer. I am simply saying that it is not totally unreasonable for my client to question it. Grief may well have been a contributory factor, but no doctor can say that it was a cause of death.’

‘I accept Marion could have been Heron’s motive, though not a very strong one unless she really was the love of his life.’

‘I agree, of course, Lord Edward, but would a jury share our opinion? I fear they might not.’

‘I don’t doubt that Gates was a philanderer – unprincipled where women were concerned . . .’ Edward conceded.

‘A priapic – I understand it is a medical condition,’ Mr Murchison said, looking down his nose.

‘“Alas! The love of women! It is known to be a lovely and fearful thing.”’

‘
Don Juan
, I think.’ Mr Murchison looked pleased with himself. ‘I might add, “Sweet is revenge – especially to women.” Mr Gates’s namesake had much to say about women and death, did he not?’

‘Indeed, Mr Murchison, and much of it quotable, which I fear is more than can be said about Mr Gates’s published work. He seems to have shared Lord Byron’s disregard for morality, particularly in regard to women, but behaviour tolerable in a genius looks merely shoddy in a lesser man. Do you not agree?’

‘I do, Lord Edward.’

‘I don’t wish to be impertinent, Murchison, but I imagine that not many of your clients are accused of murder. Have you considered involving a London firm with more experience of criminal matters? Because of who Mr Gates was and the nature of his murder, public interest will be immense and a jury may be affected as much by public opinion as the facts of the case.’

‘I am very much aware of that,’ Mr Murchison said stiffly. ‘I was considering going to Tenbury and Cootes but the Colonel isn’t a wealthy man so I hesitate to . . .’

‘A very good firm. One of the partners – Mr Hutchinson – is a friend of mine. And if it is a question of money, I will be happy to guarantee payment of their fees although I am surprised to hear you say that the Colonel could not afford the very best legal representation. He has a large house . . .’

‘A most generous offer, yes indeed,’ the solicitor said, his face once again wreathed in smiles. ‘If you are quite serious, I shall telephone Mr Hutchinson immediately. The Colonel does indeed own his house but it is mortgaged to the hilt. He has no other significant assets. He was, as you probably know, in the Indian Army and that is not a profession in which to make a large sum of money. In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries it was quite different and many an officer came home with a considerable fortune, but not these days, I fear.’

‘I would very much like to talk to the Colonel. Can that be arranged? I had the impression that Inspector Trewen would refuse me but . . .’

‘Of course, Lord Edward. Now that you are part of the defence team . . .’

‘If the Colonel is charged, he will not be given bail, I imagine?’

‘I very much doubt it. It would be most unusual in a murder case, as you well know.’

‘Colonel Heron
may
be guilty of murder. It is possible, but I am certainly not yet ready to accept that he killed Mr Gates despite what you have told me. Would you broadcast your intention to “mete out justice” before actually doing so? I wouldn’t.’

These remarks were meant as a reproach to the solicitor for assuming that his client was guilty, but Mr Murchison seemed unaware of it as he ushered Edward out of his office, bowing and smiling with all the unctuousness of Uriah Heep.

As he got into the Lagonda, Edward murmured to himself,

‘“Yes, Leila sleeps beneath the wave,