The Killing of Katie Steelstock (25 page)

“How small?”

“Eight or nine.”

“I detest child witnesses,” said Mrs. Bellamy. She looked as though she could have eaten two for breakfast. “You can’t cross-examine them, and the court believes everything they say. P.C. Luck? Is he one of yours?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You and Sophie had better check the local forces. Reading, Swindon and Oxford for a start.”

Sophie was one of the two girls who had been introduced to Noel when he came into the room. She nodded and made a note. Both girls were dressed in the formal black and white of the profession and he assumed that they were pupils in the Chambers. The masculine formality of their dress did not conceal the fact that they were both easy on the eye.

“George Mariner’s the local bigwig. I know nothing about Mary Mason. Sally Nurse is the daughter of our managing clerk, Jack Nurse. She was at the dance that night and was thought to have had a crush on Katie. Copied her clothes and getup. The Steelstocks you know about. Tony Windle was a rather casual boyfriend of Katie’s. Superintendent Wiseman – I don’t know him.”

“He is the number-one fingerprint expert at Scotland Yard,” said Mrs. Bellamy. “A very competent man. Dr. Carlyle is the pathologist. He’s attached to the Southampton General Hospital. Haven’t you got a friend in those parts, Laura?”

The second girl said, “I know one of the sisters at the hospital. She helped us in that abortion case last year.”

“See if she can get alongside Dr. Carlyle. I’d very much like to see a copy of the autopsy report
before
it’s produced in court.” She returned to the list. “It looks as though the jokers in the pack are Rita Black and Mary Mason. Unfortunately two rather common names. Local directories might help.”

“Couldn’t we ask Knott?” said Noel.

“We could. And he could tell us. He could even give us copies of their statements. But we can’t force him to do so. And since I’m sure he’d refuse, I don’t intend to ask him. He is not a man who believes in making life easy for the opposition.”

Simon Crakenshaw, who had been sitting quietly in one corner of the room, caught Noel’s eye at this point and winked at him.

“All we’ve got to work from,” said Mrs. Bellamy, “is the statement of the accused. Unless Rita Black and Mary Mason are surprise witnesses who actually saw the crime committed, which I doubt, they must be connected in some way with Limbery’s account of what he did that night. The editor fits in with that. He’ll probably be called to say that Limbery’s story of the fire was so superficial that he needn’t have been there at all. Or not for very long. One of the others could be connected with the roadhouse where he says he had a snack. Better check on that, Laura.”

Laura made a note.

Mrs. Bellamy put both documents down and sat back in her chair, which creaked in protest. She said, “We’ve got one other line which has got to be followed up hard. Katie was a client of a well-known – I should say notorious – London photographer called Ruoff. I was involved in a case with him about four years ago.”

There were numbered box files on the shelves inside the door.

Sophie had one out and open on the desk almost before Mrs. Bellamy had finished speaking. Her fingers rifled through the papers and found the one she wanted.

“He ran a series of parties which were described, with more accuracy than usual, as orgies. Young people of both sexes were given drinks which had been hocussed with some drug which left them barely conscious. They were then stripped and photographed in interesting positions. Oddly enough the objective didn’t seem to be blackmail. At least that was never suggested. The photographs were sold to private clients who were prepared to pay highly for them and to fringe magazines which specialised in that sort of thing. The victims didn’t complain. One imagines they were ashamed of having gone to that sort of party at all. They may not even have been sure of what had happened to them. It was the prosecution of one of the magazines which brought the matter to light.” She closed the folder.

“What happened to Ruoff?” said Noel.

“He was bound over and had to pay a heavy fine. Most people thought he should have gone to prison. He was very ably defended. By me.”

Noel was on the point of making a comment, but noticed that Sophie and Laura were looking particularly impassive and decided not to.

“However, he was punished. In another way. As the hearing went on, the names of some of his victims became known. And their friends laid for Ruoff. He was beaten up at least once and he had to hire two barroom bullies to look after him. Men with criminal records. Names here, somewhere.”

“In the newspaper clippings,” suggested Sophie.

“Right. Here they are. The Lewson brothers. Now you see where we’re going?”

Noel saw nothing, but managed to look intelligent.

“Superintendent Knott is a man who likes to keep his cases simple. From the witnesses he’s calling, it’s clear he sees this as a local killing. He’ll want to cut the London end right out. That makes our tactics clear. We plug the London connection for all it’s worth. And it’s worth a good deal. This is a case of violent crime. Down at West Hannington you’ve got a lot of nice people?”

Noel said, “I certainly wouldn’t have described any of them as violent criminals.”

“Right. While up in London, in what we might call the other half of Katie’s life – quite a good expression that – the other half of Katie’s life . . .”

Noel saw her mentally trying it out on the jury.

“As I was saying, up here we’ve got a pornographic photographer who’s already been in trouble with the police, two professional criminals and others, for all we know, in the background. That’s a hotbed that’s more likely to spawn a murder.”

“How do we investigate it?”

“We use private detectives. Captain Smedley will be our best bet. He’ll put a couple of good men onto it. They’ll find out anything that’s there.”

“I know Katie’s agent, Mark Holbeck,” said Sophie. “I could have a word with him.”

“Good girl. The more we can dig up the better. I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Vigors. Nothing we find may have any connection with the killing. But we have to fight with what weapons we’ve jot. And where we have no weapons to our hand, we have to manufacture them. In the Mancini case—you remember it?—the Brighton trunk murder, Norman Birkett had to defend a pimp who was found with the body of the girl he’d been managing stowed away in a trunk with her head bashed in. What did he do? He started to talk about morphine. Got Roche Lynch, the Home Office analyst, to admit that owing to the putrefaction of the corpse it was impossible to tell
exactly
how much morphine there was in the body. By the time he’d finished, the jury didn’t know whether she’d died of an overdose of drugs or had fallen down the steps or been hit on the head with a hammer. A masterly performance. Well, we mustn’t sit round chatting. We’ve all of us got a lot to do.”

Simon Crakenshaw walked back up Middle Temple Lane with Noel. He said, “Did you see her eyes light up when she observed that Knott was going to give evidence? She’s been waiting for this opportunity for months.”

“I did wonder,” said Noel, “whether her main object was to get Limbery off or to put Knott down.”

“Oh, both,” said Simon. “Both, I think.”

The car which drew up outside the Hannington police station was a black three-and-a-half-litre Rover. The man who got out of it matched the car. He had the air of distinction which derives from height, leanness and a military cast of countenance. In fact, although Mavor was known by his friends at the bar as “Brigadier Mavor,” he had been too young for the war and had never been in any branch of the Army. His father had been a master printer from the Midlands and a notable trade union organiser.

Dandridge brought him through into the back room and both Knott and Shilling jumped up when he came in. He shook hands with them.

“This is a surprise,” said Knott. “We were told that Davenport was going to take the committal.”

“So he was,” said Mavor. “There’s been a change of plan. I’m going to take it. The Director felt that Davenport wasn’t quite up to Mrs. Bellamy’s weight.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Knott, “that that lesbian bitch has got in on the act? For God’s sake! How’s Limbery going to pay for her?”

“Legal aid.”

“The criminal’s charter. Is there any other country in the world as daft as we are? Law-abiding citizens pay money out of their taxes for lawyers to fiddle acquittals for the criminals who rob their houses and rape their daughters.”

“You ought to stand for Parliament, Charlie,” said Mavor. “Let’s sit down, get the papers out and do some work. Better have the troops in as well.”

Dandridge and the two sergeants were brought in and introduced. Papers were spread and Knott expounded the case of the Queen against Jonathan Limbery, interrupted from time to time by questions from Mavor. These were not always directed at Knott. All five of them came under fire from time to time. When some fact was not clear, Mavor seemed to take it in his teeth and shake it until he had worried his way to the centre of it or, as happened occasionally, decided that there was no hard centre to it, when he would spit it out.

At the finish he said, “The main outline’s clear enough, Charlie. The only piece I can’t make out is how Lewson comes into it. If it wasn’t for the pathologist’s report, I’d write it off as coincidence. But Carlyle’s not a fool. If he’s convinced that both wounds were caused by the same weapon, he’ll stand up in the box and say so.”

“Always supposing he’s asked.”

Mavor thought about this. He said, “You mean, leave the second body out of it altogether?”

“It’s no part of our case. We haven’t been asked to investigate it. Why should we bring it in?”

“Logically you’re right. But I don’t like it. It’s a loose end. You leave a loose end lying, someone’s bound to trip over it.”

“Is there any reason,” said Shilling, “why it shouldn’t fit into our case quite neatly? We know that Lewson left the Crown at about a quarter past eleven and probably went along the towpath. He probably meant to turn up Lower Church Lane. That would be the logical way to get to Mariner’s house. But suppose he missed the turning. It was a dark night and he was fairly full of whisky. That would bring him to the boathouse at the exact moment when the murder was taking place. Limbery has killed Katie and has the weapon still in his hand when Lewson lurches onto the scene. Curtains for Lewson.”

“I think that’s almost certainly what did happen,” said Knott. “In fact, if we have to bring Lewson into the story at all, that would be my explanation. But I still think it would be better to keep him out of it.”

Mavor swung his head slowly, looking at each of the men around the table in turn, as though they were a jury and he was estimating their response to some proposition which he had put forward. His eyes came to rest on McCourt. Here he seemed to sense an element of resistance.

“You’ve been very quiet, Sergeant,” he said. “Let’s have your ideas. Don’t be bashful. Imagine that you’re council for the defence. If there
is
another theory which fits the facts, much better have it out now and push it around.”

McCourt shot a quick look at Knott, who remained unresponsive. Then he said, “It was that car, sir. The one that was parked at the end of River Park Avenue. The wheelbase corresponds exactly with Mr. Mariner’s Humber Diplomat.”

“How do you know that?” said Knott. “You been round measuring it?”

“No, sir. I got the specifications from the factory.”

“And that’s all?”

“Not quite.”

“Let him have his head,” said Mavor, who had been studying McCourt.

“It seems that Lewson was planning to call on Mr. Mariner with those photographs.”

“A fair assumption.”

“Well, I don’t think our Mr. Mariner is a nice sort of man at all. For instance, he’s made a sort of spyhole in his office at the Boat Club so that he can watch what goes on. It looks straight down onto that pile of punt cushions under the window. Even at night, if there was a bit of moon, he’d be able to see clear enough.”

“You mean he’s a voyeur,” said Mavor. “It’s very likely. It fits in with the dirty pictures. But it doesn’t mean he killed Katie.”

“No, sir. Not by itself. But I think he did.”

There was a short silence. Out of the corner of his eye McCourt could see Sergeant Esdaile gaping at him and Shilling with the beginnings of a smile on his face.

Knott said, “How? And why?” He said it with no more apparent feeling than if he had been opening a debate on some theoretical subject.

“He could have got there in time. In fact he’s almost the only person at the dance who could have done so. He was first away, just as soon as he saw that Katie had taken the bait. It would be a matter of minutes to drive back to his house. The business of the telephone message maybe held him up for a few minutes, but no longer.”

“Wouldn’t his wife hear him driving off?” said Mavor.

“She’s very deaf, sir. And she takes sleeping pills. You’ll find Miss Tress mentioned it in her statement. They’re quite strong. You can only get them on a doctor’s certificate.”

“I suppose you checked this, too?” said Knott.

“Aye. I’d a word with Dr. Farmiloe.”

“Go on,” said Mavor. “Mariner drives down to the river, parks his car, walks along and smashes in Katie’s head. Now why would he do a thing like that?”

“It’s a bit difficult to be sure about that, sir, without knowing exactly what the relationship between them was.”

Knott grunted and said, “If there was a relationship.”

“Oh, I think there was,” said McCourt. He seemed to be gaining confidence as he went along. “If you remember what Windle said – it’s in his statement there.”

“Don’t read it,” said Mavor. “Play it to us. It’s always clearer that way.”

It took a minute to fit the tape into the machine and locate the place. Then Tony Windle’s voice came out, startlingly lifelike: “’The most you’ll ever end up as is something in insurance. That’s no good to a girl like me. What I need is people with influence. People who can help me out when I get into trouble. I’ve got friends like that up in London. And I’ve got at least one
very
useful friend down here.’ I asked her who it was and she wouldn’t tell me.”