The Lately Deceased (21 page)

‘Well, there is a fifty-fifty chance that it was standing point upwards. If it was, it would account for the observation I made a moment ago.'

‘Yes, sir. Thank you.'

‘I don't think I have anything further to add. The Yard will doubtless check the blood groups for you. I handed Mr Pepper a sample of the woman's blood at the time of the post-mortem, so they can easily check on her group.'

‘Yes, indeed, Dr Chance.'

Meredith hesitated momentarily before going on. ‘There is another point on which I'd value your opinion, sir. It concerns the suicide of the man Moore.'

‘Well?'

‘We have some evidence which, if accepted, would change the whole nature of the case. Just for the record, sir, would it be possible to give enough barbiturate drug to an uncooperative person to send him into a coma?'

Alistair looked suspiciously at the superintendent. ‘This is a queer tale you're telling me, Mr Meredith.'

‘Yes, sir. It relates to the genuineness or otherwise of the note he left behind.'

‘Dr Kenny did the autopsy, I believe?' Chance leant across the desk and pressed a button set in the top. Within seconds, the door opened and Susan Light stood poised in the entrance.

‘Yes, Doctor?'

‘Is Dr Kenny in the department at the moment?'

‘I believe so. Shall I find him for you?'

‘If you please.'

She glided away and returned in a few moments with the younger pathologist. He wore a stained white coat and smelled of embalming fluid. Peeling off a pair of rubber gloves, he greeted the superintendent cheerfully.

‘What can we do for you, today?' he asked. ‘Another stabbing or just a minor explosion?'

His breezy nonchalance sounded irreverent in the presence of the austere Dr Chance.

‘You did the PM on that man Moore, did you not, Steven?'

‘That's right, sir. Coal gas and “barbs”.'

‘How much barbiturate was there?'

‘Oh, a hell of a lot. Eight point five in the blood – and pentobarbitone at that. He must have taken about fifty grains, at least.'

Chance raised his eyebrows in surprise.

‘Indeed?' he said. ‘And how much carbon monoxide was there?'

‘Only fifty-two per cent saturation, quite low considering. The “barbs” helped him to die at a lower level of gas.'

Meredith broke into this technical duet.

‘Could that quantity of drug have been given by force,' he asked. ‘Or could it have been taken unknowingly in any way?'

‘It couldn't have been given him against his will – that is, not without a struggle and there were no such signs. It could, of course, have been concealed in some sort of medicine, where a bad taste might have been expected by the patient. Does that answer your question, Superintendent?'

Meredith left with Kenny. As the secretary held the door open for them, he saw the doctor give her a long slow wink. She held her aloof poise until she had closed the door on Alistair, then she rudely put out an extraordinary length of pink tongue at Kenny.

‘She's human, in spite of her looks,' laughed Kenny. ‘Cheerio, Mr Meredith. I should use the knocker next time you call uninvited at a house.'

Chapter Eighteen

Friday morning arrived and the number of reporters attending the double inquest had fallen off, due to competition from a more spectacular drama being enacted at the Old Bailey.

Pearl sat at the end of the first bench, a very smart widow in black. Gordon, the Leighs and Abe Franklin sat with her. Leo Prince was still languishing in Brixton, and Myers still inert in his hospital bed. After a few cases had been ‘opened', the inquest on Margaret Walker was resumed. Gordon gave evidence of identity and testified to his wife's previous good health. Dr Chance gave a short simple account of the cause of death, and Meredith took the stand. He stated that he was satisfied that Margaret Walker had been murdered and that the person responsible for her death was now deceased. In support of these conclusions he described how he had come to find the body of Colin Arthur Moore in circumstances indicating that he had killed himself by an overdose of sleeping drugs and coal gas poisoning. He told of the finding of the suicide note (which he handed to the coroner) and described the subsequent police investigations establishing that Moore had killed himself some twenty-four hours after killing Margaret Elizabeth Walker.

‘The evidence certainly seems to be conclusive and complete,' Dr Hope said, when Meredith had finished.

‘Yes, sir.'

‘Do I understand then that your enquiries are now officially concluded?'

‘That is so, sir.'

‘Thank you, Superintendent.'

The coroner then addressed himself to the jury, repeating his opinion that the evidence given by the officer left little room for doubt, and expressing himself confident that they would have little difficulty in finding that Margaret Elizabeth Walker had been murdered and in returning a verdict of murder against Colin Arthur Moore, now deceased.

After a few moments of leaning over one another and whispering with their heads together, the jury sat back in satisfaction and their foreman, a large man with a walrus moustache, rose to his feet. He looked like, and indeed was, a coal-heaver.

‘We find her murdered, your Honour, and it was Moore what done it.'

He sat down again, heavily.

‘Thank you, Mr Foreman,' the coroner said, his eyes twinkling at being addressed as ‘Your Honour'.

‘Then I'll put your verdict formally that Margaret Elizabeth Walker, aged forty-five years, of 17a Great Beachy Street, London W1, died on the night of the twenty-third of November as a result of a stab wound of the chest, and that the jury find the death to be homicide, due to the actions of one Colin Arthur Moore, now lying dead.'

The jury were dismissed and Wally Morris moved towards the bench and said loudly, ‘The next case, sir, is that of Colin Arthur Moore.'

The witnesses in the suicide case were called to give their evidence. Firstly, Geoffrey Tate gave proof of identification, as Pearl had point-blank refused to see the body of her husband after death. When she was called to the witness stand, her evidence was confined to the facts of his previous health and habits. Even in these austere surroundings, she looked quite lovely, and the reporters, finding little to work on from her evidence, spread themselves on their descriptions of her appearance.

Masters gave evidence of the explosion, and Dr Kenny told of his post-mortem findings.

Meredith ended the enquiry by largely repeating the evidence he had already given in the previous case.

‘Were any of Moore's prints found on the lamp?' asked Dr Hope, more out of curiosity than from any need for strengthening the evidence.

‘There were many smudged prints, sir, but none could be identified. It is probable that the lamp was cleaned several times since the party.'

‘Are you satisfied now with the validity of the note, Superintendent?'

‘It was definitely typed on that machine, sir.' Old Nick managed to get away with this bit of equivocation, which salved his conscience a little.

‘And the matter of which you informed me earlier in the week has proved to have no bearing on the case?'

He was referring to the Myers incident, and Meredith trod warily here.

‘No further evidence had arisen, sir, and a strong presumption exists that the original information was not to be trusted owing to the witness's mental condition. In view of the stronger positive evidence that has arisen since then, I'm satisfied that no further inquiries are needed, sir.'

After a very brief summing-up, the coroner brought in a straight verdict of suicide and all the interested parties left the court.

Stammers waited outside, while Meredith fought his way through a clinging bunch of pressmen who were trying to get him to explain the nature of his cryptic reference to earlier evidence. He refused to say a word and eventually they gave him up for the more certain delights of the Central Criminal Court and the London Sessions.

‘Let's hope we've heard the last of this lot!' prayed Stammers, as they made their way back to their office.

Geoffrey Tate was taking things easy in his flat when the phone rang. He was lying in vest and pants on the settee, smoking, and reading the evening paper while waiting for the unreliable geyser downstairs to provide him with enough water for a bath, when the telephone rang. Flinging the paper to the floor, he went over to the wall table and picked up the instrument.

‘That you, Geoff?' came Gordon's voice.

‘Yes, Gordon, what's up?'

‘I'm going down to Oxford. Quite frankly I don't much relish going on my own; I thought we might go down together – just you and me, and Pearl and Eve, perhaps a couple of others. Not a party, of course, but just a little gathering, to help break the ice. You know what I mean – an honest-to-God attempt to get back to normal. I suggest we drive tomorrow morning, stay the night and come back to town on Sunday evening.'

‘Sounds fine, Gordon. I'm sure Eve will jump at the chance.'

‘Good! I feel the need of a little convivial company. Webster and Barbara went down there this afternoon, but they're a dead loss unless you're looking for drinking companions. I'm afraid I don't warm to that pair.'

‘OK, I'll deliver Eve according to plan.'

‘How many can you get in your car?'

‘Eh? Oh, five. Six at a pinch.'

‘Well, make it a pinch, will you? I want to invite Lena Wright and that girl, Sandra. And we ought to have a couple of males just to even things up. That chap Morton-Smith will do for one; he's a bit of a nitwit but he's good value at a party. The other one had better be Abe Freeman. Can you pack that lot in?'

‘Sure, you're the boss.'

‘OK. Get there about six, in time for drinks.'

It was noon next day when the heavens fell in on Nicholas Meredith. He had spent the earlier part of the morning with Stammers interviewing witnesses of a smash-and-grab at a jeweller's, and then went back to Divisional Office to hammer out the paperwork concerning the pay robbery, which was still taking up the bulk of the time.

Nemesis struck just as he was thinking of leaving for home. Stammers handed him the phone with the words: ‘The Yard … Pepper asking for you.'

‘Meredith here! Hello, Pepper, what's up?'

‘You know that so-called murder weapon you sent over from the Walker case?'

Meredith frowned. ‘What do you mean, Fred, “so-called weapon”?'

‘Well, you had our preliminary report on the bloodstains yesterday for your inquest?'

‘Yes, the group was O-negative, you said, the same as the woman herself. For God's sake, don't tell me you made a mistake!'

Pepper sounded hurt. ‘Come off it, we never make mistakes! They were both O-negative all right, but that's only part of the story. We've just finished the full job and I can tell you, chum, that the blood on that skewer ain't Margaret Walker's!'

Meredith felt sick. He sat back immobile in his chair, his eyes staring unfocused through the window.

‘Did you hear me, Nick?' came Pepper's voice. ‘I said they aren't the same.'

‘Yes, I heard you, Fred,' said Meredith weakly. ‘I was just trying not to believe you.'

‘Sorry, old scout, but there's no doubt about it. We've just finished the genotyping tests and you can take it from men the blood on the skewer ain't Margaret's.'

‘But look, man, you told me yesterday that the two matched.'

‘No, we didn't. We told you they were both O Rhesus Negative and so they are. What we didn't know then, but do know now, is that genotyping shows Margaret's blood to be “c.d.e.” and the blood on the skewer to be “c.d.E.”'

‘Hell! Hell! Hell!' said Meredith, wearily. ‘I thought the whole case was bloody well wrapped up. There'll be hell to pay over this! The AC will be kicking me around the Division by teatime!'

‘Sorry, but there it is. We'll have the whole story ready for you by Monday, but in the meantime, just in case something unexpected crops up, you'd better make a note of these two groups.' He read the details slowly over the telephone while Meredith noted them down.

‘Well, that should keep you going for the time being. If you want any more you'll have to wait till our report reaches you on Monday.'

‘If I live that long!' retorted Meredith sourly, putting the phone down.

‘Stammers!' he called to the next room. His assistant came in and he repeated the news to him: ‘We're really up the creek now, back to square one and looking bloody fools into the bargain!'

Stammers looked as disturbed as the superintendent.

‘If it's the wrong blood, how the blazes did Moore's prints come to be on the thing?'

‘They were planted, boy, and it's a pound to a penny that Moore was murdered after all. It begins to look as if that chap from Cardiff was right all the time. Someone else
did
write that note.'

Meredith began to stab holes in his blotter with the long-suffering pen that he used for red ink. ‘How was that suicide act fixed, that's the question? It must have been after the sleeping pills, but how in hell did the killer get Moore to take them?'

Stammers shook his head, flummoxed. ‘Where do we go from here?' he asked, despondently.

‘I'd better ring the Commissioner first, then the coroner. Talk about eating humble pie! I suppose the AC will give the case to the Yard now.'

Stammers was outraged.

‘Damn it, you did all you could. No one else could have done any different with such a load of tripe for evidence and all the witnesses half-cut at the time!‘

‘Well, let's get it over with,' sighed Meredith, reaching for the phone. As his fingers closed over the instrument, the bell shrilled.

‘Hello, Meredith here. Who? Oh, yes … he has? Right, we're on our way, thanks.'