The Corpse of St James's (6 page)

‘I hope you're feeling a little better. Dinner will help. And we're not going to say a word about you-know-what until after dessert.'

‘Yes, ma'am.' His attempt at a cheeky grin was heart-rending.

Conversation at the dinner table was a bit strained. I didn't want to talk about the Investiture, or indeed anything that happened the day before. Other obvious topics were also taboo. I knew Jonathan didn't want to talk about his heroic rescue of the little girl, or his slow recovery, or his plans for the future, or anything that was on all our minds. Alan saved the day, finally.

‘Oh, Dorothy, I meant to tell you. I ran into Bob Finch in the High Street, and he said he wanted to get started on the garden again.'

‘Was he sober?'

Jonathan looked a little startled.

‘As a judge. I don't know if he's taken the pledge, or his mother finally put the fear of God into him.'

‘Bob has a drinking problem, as you will have gathered,' I told Jonathan, ‘but he's an excellent gardener when he's conscious. I hope he's on the wagon for a while, at least, because he's right. The garden needs his tender touch.'

Almost anyone in England can hold forth on gardens, and gardeners, and flowers, for any length of time, so the subject took us safely through our fruit and custard. I made coffee and took it through to the parlour.

‘Now,' I said, mentally girding my loins. ‘Jonathan came to me today with a hypothetical question, or rather a scenario. We'd like your opinion about its . . . um . . . likelihood.'

‘I see,' said Alan, giving me a look I knew all too well. ‘Carry on.'

‘Well, suppose – no, Jonathan, let me tell it my way,' I said, as he started to interrupt. ‘I read a lot of crime fiction. I'm good at this sort of story. Suppose, Alan, that a crime were committed. A murder, let's say. And suppose further that there were a member of the public who had some information that might help the police. Naturally he – or she – would want to tell them as soon as possible.

‘But what if that information might lead the police down an entirely wrong path, and might in fact jeopardize innocent people, people dear to the heart of the member of the public? Would he be justified in keeping the information to himself until he had a chance to look into the matter more closely?'

Alan had begun to frown. ‘How certain is this hypothetical member of the public that the information would mislead the authorities?'

Jonathan opened his mouth, but I rushed in before he could speak. ‘Not certain, I should think. But let's say that the assumption is reasonable.'

Alan's frown deepened. ‘When I was still an active member of the force, I can't tell you how many witnesses hesitated to tell me something lest I “draw the wrong conclusion”. I'm sure you've had the same experiences, Jonathan. My reply to them was always that they must let me be the judge of that.'

‘And did they always tell you?' I asked.

‘Usually. Not always.'

‘And did you ever draw a wrong conclusion?'

‘Sometimes. Not often. We are trained to sift the wheat from the chaff, as you well know. And sometimes their silence led me in the wrong direction.'

‘Ah. So you say that the outcome is by no means certain, either way.'

‘I also say that withholding information from the police is a serious matter, sometimes liable to prosecution. Your hypothetical person would do much better to get the whole thing off his chest.'

‘I see. And suppose that this person decides, instead, to investigate on his own until he can see which quarter the wind's in?'

‘And perhaps seeks the help of friends in his investigation?' The frown was now pronounced.

‘Well, nothing could be more likely, could it?'

Alan sighed, long and heavily. ‘Dorothy. You've been very careful to give me no useful information. I suppose you thought I'd feel obliged to act on it, and you're quite right. I would.'

I opened my mouth, and Alan held up one finger.

‘A moment. I said I would feel obliged to act. I didn't say what action I might take. Even when I was actively serving, I used my own judgement about what information to pass along to my superiors, and when. Now. I assume we're talking about yesterday's discovery in the park. I would very much appreciate it, Jonathan, if you would tell me what you know about this affair.'

Alan in his chief constable mode was formidable indeed. Jonathan nodded his head. ‘I see that I must, sir. Although . . . well, you'll understand when I tell you everything.'

He related the whole story, as he had told it to me. ‘So you see, sir, why I said nothing yesterday. I owe everything to Aunt Letty, and this will destroy her.'

‘I told you before, young man, less of the “sir”. I'm not your boss any more. I'm not anybody's boss. I hope we're your friends, Dorothy and I.'

Jonathan nodded again.

‘And therefore, as your friends, I hope we can help you find some way out of this mess. It's none of your doing, to begin with, but Lord, boy, you are in a dilemma, aren't you?'

‘I am, Alan.' He forced a smile. ‘It's far from the first time Jemima's got me into trouble.'

‘All right, now, let's get this perfectly clear. Do you or do you not think your cousin . . . all right, your honorary cousin . . . had anything to do with her daughter's death?'

‘No, I don't. I have nothing whatever to base that statement on except what I know of Jemima, but she's been a fiercely protective mother, that I do know from what Letty's told me. Not a wise mother, mind you. She hasn't given Melissa the kind of direction a child ought to have. But she managed to keep her warm and fed, even when that was really tough, and she protected her from her own boyfriends, to use the term loosely.'

‘But where did the child live?' I asked. ‘With Jemima living at the palace . . .?'

‘With Letty. In West Sussex. A village called Bramber.'

‘But she must be frantic with worry!' I was appalled. ‘Jonathan, you must tell her at once!'

‘Melissa's run away before,' he said wearily. ‘It always turned out she was staying with friends, or had gone to London to shop. I'm sure Letty is calling them all, but she's . . . she's a realist, Dorothy. And she's not young.' He said that almost apologetically, looking at Alan and me. ‘After a while, I think a sort of numbness set in. She knows Melissa always comes home in the end.'

‘But this time,' Alan said sternly, ‘she isn't coming home. Dorothy's right, Jonathan. Phone your Aunt Letty.'

‘And if it gets back to the authorities?'

‘Unless she's called in a missing persons report, it won't. Not for some time, at least. And you don't think she's likely to have done that.'

‘No. Yes, you're right. I haven't been thinking very straight. Excuse me.'

He took his mobile phone into the next room to make the difficult call. I was silent.

‘It's a pity for the boy,' said Alan at last. ‘That this should happen on the very day he was honoured by his Queen.'

‘Yes.'

The voice from the next room was low, but agitated. We both tried not to listen, though Watson pricked his ears. He didn't care much for this human, but he always wanted everyone to be happy.

‘This is taking more courage than going after that little girl,' I said presently.

‘Yes. Moral courage is always harder than physical courage. There's no adrenalin flowing, only the determination to do what's right.'

‘And it's harder when you're not even sure which course is the right one. That boy has a lot of guts.'

‘Well, we knew that, didn't we?' Alan drew a small, imaginary cross on his left breast, just as Jonathan came back into the room.

‘I'll have to go to her,' he said. ‘She took the news as well as could be expected, but she needs someone with her. Do you know when the next train leaves for Shoreham? I think that's the closest station.'

‘Nonsense. We're driving you. Bramber isn't far. We've been there, Dorothy. Remember that marvellous old house?'

‘Oh, yes! St Mary's. The Deans took us there. It took my breath away. Just let me get my bag, and a hat, and we're off.'

We stopped at the railway station to pick up Jonathan's wheelchair, which Alan wrestled into the boot, and then set off down the country roads that led to Bramber.

‘Jonathan,' I said into a silence that was threatening to become awkward, ‘what about Jemima? Will Letty phone and tell her the dreadful news?'

‘We talked about that. Not right away, she decided. Jemima doesn't even know about Melissa running away this time. It's all such a pity!' He struck his armrest in frustration. ‘She was wilful and wayward, but she was bright. She could have made something of her life!'

‘How old was she?' I asked gently.

Jonathan thought about that, counted on his fingers. ‘Fourteen,' he said finally.

‘Dear God.' That was from Alan, and I knew he was thinking about his daughter when she was that age.

After another few miles, Alan cleared his throat. ‘What are your plans, Jonathan?'

‘I don't have any, s— Alan. Except to try to give Letty whatever comfort I can.'

‘I have a bit of information that may help you,' Alan replied. ‘Dorothy, I meant to tell you as soon as I got home, but . . . well. At any rate, I stopped at the police station before I did the shopping. I thought there might be some news. They haven't done a complete autopsy yet, but I can tell you, Jonathan, that Melissa – if it is Melissa, we still haven't proved that, have we? – the girl in the park, at any rate, died of asphyxia, almost certainly suffocation, from other indications. Some foreign matter in the mouth. They haven't determined what, as yet, but possibly a scarf or something of that sort, something soft. But the part that your Aunt Letty might find of some comfort, Jonathan, was that she had not been raped.'

Jonathan and I let out a simultaneous long breath. ‘That's a relief!' I said. ‘I had been imagining . . . well, never mind.'

‘However,' said Alan, and my nerves tightened again. ‘She was not a virgin. She was, in fact, about three months pregnant.'

This just got worse and worse. ‘I don't suppose they could be wrong . . . no, of course not. But Alan! At age fourteen!' I turned around to glance at Jonathan in the back seat. He sat so still I thought for a moment he'd gone to sleep, until I saw his hands clenching and unclenching in his lap.

‘Old enough,' Alan said roughly. ‘One mistake, that's all it takes. It's happened before.'

‘Are you going to tell Letty that, too?' I asked. ‘Jonathan, I wouldn't. She doesn't have to know, and it would hurt her terribly.'

‘No, Letty doesn't have to know,' said Alan, sounding weary. ‘But Jonathan, I'm afraid this will put a great deal more pressure on Jemima, when the police work out the connection.'

‘Pressure?' Jonathan sounded very far away.

‘Carstairs is going to want to know who fathered the child.'

‘Oh,' said Jonathan politely.

I remembered what he said about his blackouts under stress. We were coming up on a tiny village, with an attractive pub. I looked at Alan. He nodded and turned into the car park. ‘Come on, Jonathan,' I said. ‘Coffee.'

He came with us like an obedient child. We ordered coffee for all of us. Alan never drinks any alcohol when he's driving. And though coffee at that hour keeps me from sleeping, and I would have appreciated the soothing influence of a glass of wine, I felt I needed all my wits about me, to support Jonathan in the coming ordeal.

Jonathan came to himself after half a cup. ‘Sorry. I guess I was a bit . . .'

‘Gobsmacked,' I supplied. ‘And no wonder.'

‘And you've been more than kind. But I really do need to move on. Letty will be wondering about me.'

‘And probably worrying something's happened to you, too. Her world has suddenly become very insecure. Off we go, then.'

Alan often has a Thermos in the car. He poured the rest of the coffee into it, begged two paper cups from the publican, and packed us back into the car.

It took only a few minutes to get to Bramber and find Aunt Letty's house.

‘We'll come in if you want,' I offered, while Alan wrestled the wheelchair out of the boot. ‘Or wait for you and take you home.'

‘I think this is something I have to do alone,' Jonathan said. ‘And I'll stay the night. Letty would like me to, I think. You're right about her feeling insecure just now. But she's a tough lady. I think she'll handle this better than I will, if you want the truth.'

He struggled out of the car, refusing any help. A light went on over the front door of his aunt's cottage. Jonathan turned to me. ‘Dorothy, I can't thank you enough.' To my great surprise, he kissed my cheek. ‘Alan, I think you know what your help means. I'll be in touch as soon as I can.' He unfolded his chair with the expertise born of long practice, and rolled up the flagged path.

Coffee or not, I slept most of the way home.

I
woke the next morning to a blue sky and birdsong, and a moment of the sheer joy of living on such a glorious spring day, until the memory of the past two days washed over me. Then I would just as soon have turned over and pulled the covers over my head, but I knew I wouldn't sleep. Watson was alert to my wakefulness, but he has learned not to be overly animated first thing in the morning. He greets every day with vast enthusiasm, but has realized that his humans don't always share his mood.

Alan was already up, so I shrugged into a robe and went down to the kitchen. He had just finished making coffee and silently handed me a cup.

‘Mm,' I said in thanks, and drank it, hoping it would brighten my outlook.

Alan handed me the
Telegraph
. I glanced at the headlines, according to which the world was just about to fall apart, again, and then turned inside to the London news.