The Malcontenta (14 page)

‘I simply felt that I couldn’t leave him to be discovered and exposed in that condition. One need only reflect upon the distress to his family and the unmerited taint upon the clinic if the tabloid press were to get hold of such a thing. I decided that it was my responsibility to save his, and our, reputation, even if I could not save his life. Together, Mr Parsons and I lowered his body to the floor and removed the things he was wearing. In the pocket of his tracksuit, which was lying on the floor with his sports shoes, I found his keys. I returned to the house and went to his room, to see if he had left a note. There was none, but I did find other things which I felt should be removed. There were a number of pornographic magazines - German, I think - showing pictures of people dressed much as Mr Petrou had been when we found him. I gathered all this together and put it into a sports bag which I found there in his room. Then I returned to the temple, where Mr Parsons had remained guarding the body. We redressed the body in the tracksuit and shoes and hanged him again, as best we could in the position we had found him in. It was an unpleasant task and we were in a hurry, anxious to get it over. I packed all the incriminating material into the bag, and when we had finished I put it in the boot of my car until we could dispose of it with the general refuse collection on the Tuesday. I returned to the house and called the police.’

He paused and looked around at his audience. ‘I realize we were wrong to do what we did, but I believe any normal, decent person would understand our motives and would have done the same.’

Kathy watched the Deputy Chief Constable nod sagely. Tanner’s expression said nothing.

Beamish-Newell spoke again. ‘There is something else. On the day before this tragedy, I became aware that Mr Petrou might be bringing drugs into the clinic for his own use. You can understand how shocked I was to learn of this. The whole purpose of the clinic is to promote natural therapies, health without medical drugs of any kind. To discover the possibility of narcotics being brought on to the premises was appalling. When I confronted Petrou with my suspicions on Sunday morning, he was quite open about it and unrepentant. He was in many ways naive to the point of childishness, and seemed oblivious to the legal and other repercussions of his folly. He told me the name of the person from whom he had obtained the drugs, which he described as an “amusement”. I contacted that person and went to see them late on Sunday afternoon in order to ensure that the supply was terminated and that no other members of my staff were involved.

‘Again, Sergeant, I omitted information to you in describing my movements for that afternoon, in order to avoid having to implicate my dead employee in another unfortunate … vice. What didn’t occur to me until today was the possibility that his two peccadilloes might be connected - that his bizarre appearance in the temple and his accidental death by hanging might both have been the result of his being under the influence of drugs.

‘I should like to make a sincere apology to you, Sergeant, as I have to the Deputy Chief Constable, for any possible prolongation of your investigation which may have resulted from my reticence. As I said at the beginning, I had no idea that a straightforward case of suicide would be pursued in such a … may I say, obsessive manner.’

He leaned back in his chair, erect, and looked at Long, who nodded.

‘Thank you, doctor,’ he murmured. ‘I rather think we can let you retire at this point. Is there anything you would like to raise before the doctor leaves, Sergeant?’

Kathy hesitated, then looked Beamish-Newell in the eye.

‘Were you and Petrou lovers, doctor?’ she said.

There was a snort from Tanner, a stutter of protest from Long. Beamish-Newell’s eyes widened.

‘There’s no need to respond to that,’ Long said quickly, getting to his feet. He indicated the door and led Beamish-Newell away.

Kathy sat motionless, feeling numb.

When he returned, Long took his seat behind his desk, rather than with Kathy and Gordon around the coffee table. His eye-level was now eighteen inches above theirs. With his slender pink fingers he straightened two files on his otherwise empty desk, one the case file for Petrou, the other a green file from Personnel and Training.

The sense of unreality which had gripped Kathy from the moment she had seen Beamish-Newell sitting in the Deputy Chief Constable’s office intensified as Long now launched into a monologue that appeared to have no connection whatsoever to the Petrou case. Listening for some cue to link his words with what had just occurred, she found herself losing track of their meaning. She was conscious of the emphasis placed on certain phrases,
best practice policing, quality assessment procedures
and
quality audits, desirable outcomes, client satisfaction
and
institutional goals,
though quite what all this had to do with the body of a young man hanging in a deserted building in the middle of the night, with a hood over his head and semen stains on his legs, was not immediately obvious. Only at the words
facilitated counselling
did a small alarm bell begin to go off in her head.

Suddenly she realized that he was talking about Petrou. ‘Inspector Tanner and I are satisfied, however, that the account of events now tendered by Dr Beamish-Newell provides a complete and adequate explanation for the circumstances of his death.’

Kathy seized upon this glimpse of something solid through the verbal fog. ‘Well, I’m not satisfied, sir. Dr Beamish-Newell has now lied to us on at least four occasions - concerning the removal of keys from the body, concerning his search of Petrou’s room, concerning his movements on Sunday, and concerning his actions when the body was found. He is completely unreliable. His statement does not provide a complete, let alone adequate, explanation of Petrou’s death at all. It is highly improbable, for example, that Petrou died alone, whether his death was accidental or, as seems more likely, given the amount of covering-up that’s been going on, murder. Then there’s the forensic evidence -’

‘Inspector Tanner has thoroughly reviewed the forensic evidence with the pathologist, Sergeant …’ Long hesitated in his angry response, regretting being provoked into an explanation. His fingers gripped the green file as if trying to choke it. ‘Let me make this quite clear, Sergeant. You don’t seem to have been listening to what I said earlier. Whether
you
are satisfied with Dr Beamish-Newell’s explanation is now irrelevant. What is more relevant is whether
we
can be satisfied with
your
conduct.’

He took a deep breath, consciously relaxing his fingers. ‘Inspector Tanner has my instructions to conclude this matter immediately and to prepare a report for the coroner. You and DC Dowling are to be assigned to other duties. You are to undergo counselling in investigative procedures and community relations. Now … you will please go with Inspector Tanner and conclude this briefing. I wish to hear nothing further on this matter.’

Stunned, Kathy and Gordon got to their feet and followed Tanner out of the room, along the corridor, into the lift down to level 2 and along to his office.

Tanner sank into the chair behind his desk, lit a cigarette, then indicated that they sit. He looked at Kathy expectantly. ‘Did you follow all that, Sergeant?’

‘No, I can’t say I did,’ she said carefully. ‘I didn’t follow how a case could be resolved without the participation of the two investigating detectives who were most familiar with it. I didn’t follow how a senior police officer who was himself a witness and involved in the financial affairs of the institution under investigation could assume control of the investigation and close it down without consulting the investigating officers. I didn’t follow how a principal witness who had lied to the police on a number of occasions could be privately briefed by that senior officer. And I didn’t follow how, after all that, I’m the one who needs counselling in investigative procedures.’

Tanner exhaled smoke upwards. ‘The fact is, you haven’t followed very much at all. Not from the very beginning of this case.’

‘Sir! I won’t have snide remarks about my competence used as a smoke-screen to mask a cover-up.’

Tanner smiled, pleased that she was so angry. ‘The only cover-up going on around here is the attempt by the Deputy Chief Constable and myself to hide the incompetence of an officer who can’t handle her job. In just three days you expended -’ he made a play of consulting some figures written on a memo pad ‘- 214 man-hours of police time. Yeah, 214!’ He raised his eyebrows in mock amazement. ‘And at the end of it the only thing you’ve proved conclusively that wasn’t obvious at the bloody start is that you couldn’t organize a piss-up in a fucking brewery.’

He gave her a big grin of satisfaction.

‘Oh, I tell a lie! There were other
outcomes.
We’ve had a small mountain of complaints. From Mrs Doris Cochrane, for example, alleging that you harassed and bullied her in order to get her to say that Dr Beamish-Newell was a monster. Her son is a QC, interestingly enough. In fact there were a number of distinguished members of the legal profession and senior public figures among the clientele of the clinic when you mounted your assault on the place on Monday morning, many of whom have written personally to the Deputy Chief Constable in support of the Director and expressing concern at the heavy-handed tactics of the police. I think “crass insensitivity” was the phrase one of them used. Apparently they didn’t appreciate all those little jokes at the expense of sick people.

‘Then,’ he shook his head wonderingly, ‘alongside your incompetence, there’s your homophobia, your obsessive -yes, that word suits you very well - your
obsessive
pursuit of some kind of gay plot. We’re still not sure whether we can persuade one gentleman not to go public on that - you know, the one you reduced to tears by pretending that his boyfriend had Aids?

‘You look pale, Sergeant. Not feeling well? Can I make a suggestion? And this applies to you both, because however much we may privately feel that Sergeant Kolla is the prime mover in all this, you, Dowling, you dozy bugger, are also up to your ears in shit. If either of you still thinks you have a future in the police force,
any
police force, then you have some very serious rehabilitating to do. You will do what you’re told; you will go to counselling; you will keep very, very low; you will be very, very quiet and humble. Because if I see or hear one cheep from either of you again, I am personally going to insert all the paperwork from this case into your private orifices and set fire to it. Do I make myself clear?’

There was a little municipal park whose narrow entrance was squeezed between two buildings facing on to the long market-place which formed the heart of Crowbridge. It had been built on the site of the only building to be bombed in the town during the Second World War, a narrow-fronted terrace with a large rear garden which rolled down the long slope of the hillside. In the earnest spirit of the late forties, the town council had turned this single casualty into a public amenity, transforming a pleasant eighteenth-century garden into the functional patchwork zoning of dahlia beds, herbaceous borders and rose gardens which signified the beneficent arrival of the Welfare State.

Kathy sat on a bench watching a gardener tending the roses. In her present circumstances she felt a sharp envy for the simplicity and satisfaction of his work, which involved the severe pruning of a year’s exuberant growth to a foot or two of stunted stalk. There were a number of men upon whom she would have liked to practise similarly drastic surgery.

She sat for over an hour until the cold and gloomy atmosphere of the afternoon had soaked into her sufficiently to restore a sense of proportion. Then she climbed back up the winding path to the iron gates facing the market-place and returned to her car. She drove to Edenham and parked in the High Street, right outside the greengrocers’. Jerry wasn’t pleased to see her. She waited while he finished serving his customer.

‘I’m just closing. What do you want?’ he said.

‘I’d like some grapes, if they’re sweet and juicy.’

He stared at her through his big lenses, which gave his face a surprised, innocent expression even when he was scowling, as now. ‘They are. How many do you want?’

‘Couple of big bunches. How’s Errol?’

‘You
should ask! He’s off sick as a matter of fact, thanks to you.’

‘How come?’

He stared at her for a moment and his lip curled. ‘I don’t want to talk to you. Take your grapes and eff off.’

‘I’d like to speak to Errol. I suppose I could call round to your place now.’

‘Don’t you dare! Errol’s under doctor’s orders. I’m warning you, you leave him alone! You’ve given us both quite enough grief.’

‘But you haven’t said how. What’s happened, Jerry? Did someone else come round to visit him? Today? Who was it?’

Jerry was becoming quite agitated, cocking his head from side to side, adjusting his glasses on his nose as if something had happened to their focus. ‘He’s been told to speak to nobody, and so have I. If you try to pester him again I’m going to make an official complaint. I warn you, one more try and I’m on to my solicitor.’

He turned away, looking towards the shop window, blinking rapidly.

Kathy sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Jerry,’ she said finally, shook her head and left.

She found a phone box and rang the County Mortuary. She was told that Professor Pugh had left for the day. She found his home address in the phone book and returned to her car, where she identified his place on a street map of Crowbridge.

The road was lined with horse-chestnut trees, but most of their big leaves had fallen. The houses were large, red-brick, built fifteen or twenty years before, when Crowbridge had been discovered by commuters from the metropolis. Pugh’s house was in darkness, and Kathy waited in her car in the street, eating the grapes. Jerry had been right: they were succulent.

Towards seven a large white Volvo pulled into Pugh’s drive, and the boot swung up. The professor and his wife got out of the car and began carting plastic carrier-bags of shopping from the boot to the front door. It took them two journeys each, and then Pugh opened the garage doors and drove the Volvo inside. Kathy gave them ten minutes to get themselves organized, then went to the front door and rang the bell.