Stone Cold Dead Read online

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘something just had to crop up and spoil everything.’

  He was attempting to be annoyed about this, possibly adopting his father’s attitude. But it was false. Distress was in his set expression.

  I tried this out, saying casually, ‘You’re thinking about the death?’

  ‘Yes,’ he snapped. ‘That. Of course.’

  I leaned back against the counter, casually eyeing Ray across the room. I raised my voice a little.

  ‘They’ve identified the poor woman, you know. They’ve managed to get her out, and she’s known. One of Ray’s fellow-workers. One of your friends, Ray,’ I called out.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The dead woman.’ I tried to ignore the fact that Amelia was staring at me in amazement. ‘She’s a policewoman, Ray.’

  It was Colin who reacted most forcefully, taking my arm and turning me to face him. ‘Who?’ he demanded. ‘Do they know her name?’

  ‘It doesn’t really concern us,’ I told him, glancing down at his hand. ‘Ray, perhaps. If he knows her.’

  Colin reached for a clean glass. ‘I’ll have to get out there. Ask ’em...’ He’d already forgotten the glass.

  ‘They’re busy. I wouldn’t interrupt, if I were you.’ I tried to change the direction of the conversation. ‘It was you who phoned them, wasn’t it?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, yes. Why the questions? I’ll have to get out there.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t do that.’ I clamped a hand on his wrist.

  He jerked it free. ‘Take your hand off me.’ Now his voice was dull, almost toneless. ‘I’ve got to know.’

  ‘Why?’ I demanded.

  ‘A policewoman...’

  ‘Her name was Martin,’ I told him. ‘Clare Martin.’

  Then Colin was off and away towards the door, and I caught him by the arm just as he reached it. He turned, his eyes wild. ‘Take your hand off me.’

  I shrugged, and released him. ‘You knew her?’ I asked quietly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then my advice is to wait until somebody comes along and asks.’

  Relaxing now, he allowed himself to be moved back towards the counter. ‘Advice?’ he asked. ‘From an ex-copper? I don’t like the sound of that. You’re making it sound all...well, all kind of serious. Sort of.’ He managed to pour more beer into his fresh glass. ‘She fell in, didn’t she? An accident.’

  I shrugged. ‘Who can say? So far, I know next to nothing. We’ll soon hear all about it, more than we want to. But relax, Colin. It’s a special evening.’

  ‘Special...’ He groaned.

  I made an attempt to divert his mind in a slightly different direction, and repeated what I’d asked before. ‘Was it you who phoned the police?’

  ‘Of course it was. It’s my flight. My responsibility.’

  ‘But why did you use the word killed? I mean, most people would have said drowned. You said killed.’

  ‘She was killed by falling in, wasn’t she? Does it matter?’

  ‘Only that you gave the impression that there was violence involved, so instead of the regular force, you’ve got the CID, and they have to justify their existence by asking questions.’

  ‘Oh...come on,’ he cut in. ‘The poor woman fell in—didn’t she? What she’d be doing here I can’t imagine, but here she was. And she fell in. I can’t see why anybody...I mean, it’s dreadful, but it’s got to be an accident—hasn’t it? The bridge parapet’s low. It’d be easy enough. An accident. Too much fuss—that’s all. Too much...’

  He stopped, shaking his head violently as though trying to dismiss it.

  ‘Well, for one thing,’ I said, ‘she was a police officer. For another, there was a heavy contusion on her head, and for—’

  ‘Heh, heh!’ he complained. ‘Take it easy. You’re making a bloody mountain—’

  ‘Out of nothing?’ I cut in. ‘Oh no, Colin. There’s trouble on the way, and I’m simply giving you the tip-off. That’s all. For now, from just a quick check, the doctor’s suggesting she could have been strangled. The blow to her head could well have been inflicted when she fell in. Or,’ I amplified, because his blank expression suggested he was rejecting everything I said, ‘when she was thrown in.’

  ‘You’re ex-police, sure enough,’ Colin stated tersely. ‘It must get into your blood. Obsessed. You lot see nothing else but trouble, everywhere.’

  ‘Just warning you,’ I told him casually.

  ‘Warning me! Are you saying I could be responsible?’

  ‘Don’t be an idiot. I’m only asking you to be prepared. There could be upset and unpleasantness. You might pass the word along to the rest of your family, and prepare them for it. I don’t know what you’ll do about your father, though. But let him know how things stand. He mustn’t get the idea that if he ignores it, it’ll all go away.’

  He downed the rest of his drink, twisted his head so that he was eyeing me quizzically, and asked, ‘You’ll be around, Mr Patton?’ Red showed in the lower lids of his eyes.

  ‘Yes. As long as is necessary.’

  ‘Then we’ll have somebody to turn to.’

  He went away, leaving me feeling empty. Why should he assume he could rely on me? I could do nothing to help him and his strange family, which seemed so defenceless all of a sudden. Then I realized why I had thought of them in this way. The ambience of their lives; the fact that Colin was employed in an environment established over 200 years before; the fact that the father’s direction of thought was as ancient as the laws he lived by; the fact that the physical isolation cut them off from the present pace of life: all these rendered them helpless when tossed into the brisk and impersonal routine of a full-scale modern murder investigation. They would be lost. I could not desert them now.

  Particularly at this time, I could not desert them, because I had in my possession a definite and positive item of evidence relating to what could have been the murder of Clare Martin. If I handed this over to Detective Inspector Ted Slater, my involvement, and my personal illegal action in retaining it, would be rationalized. Wiped clean. And the dissolution of the family could well begin, I felt.

  More than that—if I failed to hand over the ring, it would toss the responsibility directly on to my shoulders to discover the murderer, and I would have to pray that it didn’t turn out to be one of the family, as this, too, would destroy them.

  Amelia, although apparently absorbed with Ray, noticed that I was now standing alone at the bar, and lifted her head. ‘Have you seen Mellie, Richard?’

  ‘Well...no. Not recently.’

  ‘I’d better go and see if she’s all right. I mean, help her if she’s in trouble. I mean, help her if she’s needing advice with her dress...or anything.’

  She hadn’t done that well. It was too obviously an excuse for leaving me alone with Ray. I had something to give to Ray, and I’d better get on and do it. That was what she was telling me.

  ‘See you later then,’ I said, and I strolled over to where Ray was sitting. He stared morosely at the table surface. His fingers were pushing around an empty glass. I could see he was aching for another drink.

  I sat opposite to him. I could have done with a drink myself, but at least I had my pipe, and could fill it and light it; anything to occupy my hands.

  ‘Have you been outside?’ I asked.

  ‘No.’

  ‘I thought you’d be interested,’ I told him casually. ‘Lots of your mates are out there. Detective Inspector Slater’s in charge.’

  His eyes darted up beneath lowered eyebrows. ‘The CID? What’re they in it for?’

  ‘I assumed you’d know. You’ll never make a good copper unless you’re inquisitive. Perhaps you’d rather not know—is that it?’

  ‘Can’t say I do.’

  ‘Oh?’ I had to take into account that he was so far down in the morass of his miseries that nothing outside touched him. ‘They think it’s murder, you know.’

  ‘Gerraway!’

  ‘
It’s true. And she’s somebody in the force, too, so they’re going to tear the place apart for clues.’

  ‘In the force?’ His voice was dead and toneless.

  ‘Yes. You probably know her. Clare. Her name’s Clare Martin.’

  Now his head was raised, his eyes wide and startled. He licked his lips. ‘Clare?’ As though he hadn’t heard me when I’d told Colin. Perhaps he hadn’t been listening.

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘Of course I do. I worked with her.’ His eyes wouldn’t meet mine. ‘We’re both on traffic patrol.’

  ‘Were,’ I corrected. ‘She’s dead. And I believe they’re treating it as a wilful killing. Murder. For now, anyway.’

  ‘Murder?’ It was a whisper.

  ‘And there’s a possibility she was strangled. The doctor saw signs.’

  He attempted to clear his throat, possibly a psychological reaction to the thought of choking. ‘That can’t be true,’ he managed to say.

  ‘It’s the situation, as at this moment. When they get down to the post mortem examination, then they’ll be certain. Whether or not she was dead before she went into the water, I mean. If so the strangling—it would’ve been a very silly thing to do. A good push, and she’d have been in that pound, and she wouldn’t have been able to get out.’

  He was shaking his head emphatically, and slapped the table surface to put a stop to me. ‘What the hell’re you on about?’ His voice was slightly more firm now, more assertive.

  ‘I’m just saying that in any circumstance requiring that she should be killed, it would’ve been simplicity itself to push her into any of the locks. The temperature of the water would have finished her off before she actually drowned, I would guess. And so simple. So...I wonder why she was strangled. That’s all.’

  ‘How would I know?’ he demanded plaintively. ‘And why’re you going on about it like this?’

  ‘I thought you’d be interested. I mean—if she was strangled, she could have been brought here—already dead.’

  ‘Could she? You getting to something, are you?’ Now there was a hint of impatience in his voice. ‘If so—why not say it?’

  I smiled at him. ‘Yes I am. Has she got a car?’

  ‘Yes. I mean...I’d think so.’

  ‘You mean yes. And is it a small red hatchback?’

  Now he glared at me. ‘How the hell could you know that?’

  ‘Because we passed it, coming here. Abandoned—or rather, left. At the top of the lane leading down to here. By the crossroads. Now...from the run of the canal, and how it relates to this house, it seems to me that it would run right past that crossroads, so there’d probably be access on that corner to the tow-path. Yes?’

  He simply stared.

  ‘And perhaps that was how she got here. Not brought as an already strangled woman—it’s probably a bit too far for that—but on her own two feet along the tow-path. Tricky at night, I’d have thought. But it’s a fair guess. Wouldn’t you say it’s a fair guess?’

  ‘If you like. I suppose this means something? Getting somewhere, are you? If so, you’d better get on with it, because that bloody dinner gong’ll be going any time now, and nobody—just nobody—ever dares to ignore Poppa Fulton’s instructions. Believe you me.’

  Anger had now distracted him from his mood of despair. I didn’t know whether or not I wanted him angry, though people at such a time are apt to be indiscreet.

  ‘There’s time enough for what I want,’ I said. ‘It’ll take no more than a few seconds to show me the ring.’

  ‘Ring? You mean the engagement ring?’ He stared at me as though bemused. ‘Why would you want to see that?’

  ‘I just do.’

  ‘Then you can manage without. And why’d you want to see it? It’s females who go all sloppy over jewellery. I suppose you aren’t...’ His eyebrows shot up.

  ‘No. Not at all like that. Describe the ring, then, if I’m not to see it.’

  ‘Heaven help us! What’s the matter with you, all this—’

  ‘Describe it,’ I snapped, getting annoyed by his evasive tactics.

  On this he now seized. Perhaps it would keep me quiet. ‘It’s a gold ring like any other ring, with a ruby in the middle, ’cause her second name’s Ruby, and some little diamonds all round it. And you’d never guess how much it cost! The bloody robbers!’

  ‘It sounds as though it’d be worth about £800,’ I said.

  He stared at me. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘My wife, and she had the information from Mellie herself. I do hope you haven’t lost it.’

  ‘I...no...what the hell’re you talking about?’

  I put my right fist on the table, knuckles down, then opened out my fingers, the ring in my palm. ‘Is it like this one?’ I asked gently.

  ‘What...what...’ he gabbled. Then he shot out his hand, and I closed the fist. Having closed it, I thought I might as well use it, so I waved the fist under his nose. ‘Is this your ring?’ I asked gently. ‘It slid off into my hand when I was trying to pull her out. WPC Martin, that is.’

  He stared at me blankly, and strangely I caught a light in his eye that was very different from the despair I’d expected. His lips twitched, then he said, ‘No.’

  ‘No? You mean this isn’t your ring?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Now he was positively grinning, and I was beginning to get the impression that he’d led me into a trap.

  ‘Then what...’

  ‘You’ve been jumping to conclusions, Mr Patton, haven’t you! This is the ring.’ He reached into his uniform pocket and produced his little black box, flicked the lid open with a finger, and slid it on to the table beneath my nose.

  The ring was magnificent, catching the lighting and winking it back at me.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, enjoying himself. ‘Take it out of the box. It’s not going to crumble into dust. That’s right. Now put your cheap masterpiece beside it. That’s right. Here...’

  He reached over and put his right hand in a cage over both of the rings, and shuffled it around, then removed the hand. ‘There. Any doubt about which is which?’

  There was no possible doubt. One was alive, the other dead. I picked up the genuine one and carefully fitted it back into its box.

  ‘Put it away,’ I said. He did. I went on, ‘Now tell me what the hell’s been nagging at you all evening, and why you’ve been hanging around like wet drawers on a clothes-line. I can’t see any reason...’

  ‘That’s your reason,’ he told me, prodding a contemptuous finger at the fake.

  Now that I’d acquired a little basic experience, I was wondering how Amelia could have mistaken an obviously cheap ring for a genuine diamond and ruby one. But of course, the implication had been there, that the ring was deeply involved with what had been going on. We had linked suggestion with truth, and deceived ourselves.

  ‘You expected something like this ring to crop up—a fake—to disrupt the smooth course of the party?’ I suggested.

  ‘Not...’ he said, peering at me from beneath lowered eyebrows. Not exactly a ring. Something. Just something. I’ll have to tell you—’

  ‘You most certainly will, and be damned quick about it, before that dinner gong cuts it short. Think what Gerald would say if we’re late.’

  ‘As quick as I can. There’s not much. It’s just that I knew the bitch would try to do something to spoil it for me.’

  ‘The bitch in question being Clare Martin?’

  ‘Yes. We worked together, you know. A team—traffic patrol. It’s...well, you share experiences, and grow rather close. You could say this for her, though, she was a damned fine partner. I’d rather have had her at my elbow than a man, if there was trouble, I can tell you that. Oh yes, we were a grand team, but it got so that she wanted to make it a permanent team. And that I certainly didn’t want.’

  ‘Because of Mellie?’

  ‘Yes. Mellie.’

  ‘So Clare knew about her?’

  ‘Oh yes. Of course. A l
ot gets said during a full shift in the car. Clare knew...and she bloody-well hated it. Hated.’

  ‘Hmm! Yes.’ And I could’ve bet he’d been too naïve, and told her too much.

  ‘But she was still trying,’ he said. ‘Tried everything, she did. But...frankly, she was a bit overpowering—always had to know best—bossy, you know. Imagine six hours together with that sort of thing—and yesterday was as much as I could take. On about the engagement, she was, every minute. I was right fed up with it. And then she said she’d see me later that evening, at my place. Last night, that was. For what she called a farewell performance.’

  I cut in quickly before he could go into details. ‘Are you telling me that you had her in your bed on the night before you got engaged to another woman?’

  His eyes were wide, his mouth loose, perhaps in surprise at my anger. ‘It’s not as though I was getting married today. Just an engagement. I thought—’

  ‘Never mind what you bloody-well thought. You ought to be ashamed—’

  ‘I’ve got this little flat—’

  ‘Never mind explaining your life-style, either. What I can see is that you’ve got a barefaced cheek—’

  ‘It’s all right for you to talk! I tried to chuck her out, and she was a right handful, I can tell you, and it got to be all-in wrestling, and it’s not far from that to—’

  ‘Let’s not have a round-by-round commentary. I think I’m wasting my time here. D’you know...and shut your mouth and listen, you young tyke. I’ve taken evidence from the body of a young woman, and I haven’t handed it over. This ring. It might not matter, but then again it might be the most important clue there is. I did that for you. No! No, I didn’t. I did it for Mellie. But now I’m beginning to think you’re not worth it. She deserves better. Much better.’

  ‘Now you just hold on!’ he cried. ‘For God’s sake...’

  ‘I’ve a good mind to take this ring to Inspector Slater, and tell him the truth—that it slipped off her finger and into my hand, and let him enquire about it. And d’you think he’d worry about Mellie finding out how and why it got...How did it get on to Clare Martin’s finger? Did you buy it for her as a consolation prize?’