The Killing of Katie Steelstock (31 page)

McCourt said, without preamble, “I fear that this visit is totally irregular. But I am here to ask for your help.”

“Then won’t you sit down. Are you asking for Myra’s help as well?”

“Yes.”

Mr. Beaumorris, who made it a rule of life never to be surprised at anything, said, “Very well, then let us all sit down.”

“First I ought to explain why what I am doing is irregular. I am doing it without consulting my superior officer, Inspector Dandridge. And without informing Superintendent Knott. In fact, what I am doing may turn out to be contrary to his interests.”

“My dear Ian,” said Mr. Beaumorris. “You don’t mind me calling you Ian, I hope, particularly as we are meeting on such an irregular basis.” The old man snuffled happily. “If what you are proposing to do is likely in any way to discommode or embarrass Superintendent Knott, you are assured of my unstinting help. Of Myra’s, too, I am sure.”

“It’s kind of you to say so. Then this is what I want. It would be difficult for me to go to Mariner’s house and speak to Polly. Do you think you could persuade her to come down here for half an hour? I take it there’d be no objection to her coming out with you on a Sunday evening.”

“We’re not slaves,” said Myra. “Of course she’ll come, if she wants to. What am I going to tell her?”

“Tell her,” said McCourt, “that there’s one piece of information which may affect the result of the case tomorrow and that she’s the only person who can give it to us.”

“Don’t be too long,” said Mr. Beaumorris, “or I shall be dead of unsatisfied curiosity before you get back.” He added, “You can take my bicycle if you like.” But Myra was already hurrying down the street.

When Polly arrived, McCourt said to her, “On the night Katie was killed, the night of the Tennis Club dance, I had to go round to some of the bigger houses and warn people to be careful about locking up. You remember?”

Polly nodded, her face impassive.

“I waited for Mr. Mariner in his business room. There was an electric typewriter on his desk. It’s no longer there. He’s got a much smaller portable machine.”

“That’s right. He bought it in Reading, about a week ago.”

“Then what happened to the other machine?”

Polly thought about it. McCourt said, “It’s a heavy brute of a thing. He couldn’t have walked out with it. It might still be in the house, of course—”

Polly shook her head. She said, “It’s not there. I’d have seen it if it was.”

“Then if it’s gone, either he took it away in his car or someone came and fetched it. Can you remember whether he’s had a visitor, with a car, in the last ten days?”

Polly said, “I don’t think—” And then, “Oh yes. There was one. Commander Bellairs.”

The name meant nothing to any of them.

“He’s not in the Navy now. In fact, he’s quite old. He runs that boys’ club up in London. The one that Mr. Mariner is boss of. And come to think of it, that was rather funny. Usually he’s fussy about visitors. He doesn’t like going to the door himself.”

“So I noticed,” said McCourt.

“They ring the bell and I let them in and fetch him. Even if he sees them coming, he likes to do it that way.”

“Stuffy old pig,” said Myra under her breath. The others ignored her. McCourt said, “So what was funny about this occasion?”

“What was funny was I didn’t see him come or go. I just happened to notice his car parked outside the front door. That’s how I knew it was the Commander. Mr. Mariner must have let him in and out himself.”

“And when was this?”

“Sometime last week.”

“Can you remember which day?”

“Thursday, I think. Yes. I’m sure it was Thursday. I was cleaning the silver when the Commander arrived and that’s the day I do it.”

“And it was
after
the Commander’s visit that Mr. Mariner bought the new typewriter.”

“That’s right. He went into Reading on the Saturday morning and brought it back with him. Why is it important?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” said McCourt. “But if what I think is true, it might be the most important thing that’s happened so far.”

“You are charged,” said the clerk, “that you did on the fifteenth day of August last at West Hannington in the County of Berkshire murder Kate Louise Steelstock.”

“Absolute nonsense,” said Jonathan.

“The accused pleads not guilty,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

“You are further charged that on the twenty-third day of August at West Hannington aforesaid you did wound Detective Sergeant Edward Esdaile with intent to commit grievous bodily harm contrary to Section Eighteen of the Offences Against the Person Act 1861.”

“Nuts to that and any other charges you can dream up,” said Jonathan.

Mrs. Bellamy, who had remained on her feet, said, “The accused pleads not guilty to both charges. Might I add that we have asked for committal proceedings in the old style under Section Seven because it is our intention to demonstrate, to your satisfaction I trust, sir, that there is no case to answer on the first charge and that there was such provocation on the second charge as to render a charge under Section Eighteen untenable. We have requested that reporting restrictions should be lifted so that this may be demonstrated publicly at the earliest possible opportunity.”

Mr. Appleton nodded. The reporters scribbled.

The Reading Magistrates Court was a large one, which was lucky, since it was packed to suffocation point. Intending spectators who had thought, by arriving at eight o’clock, to be certain of getting in had found a queue already stretching down one street and around the corner into another. The constable on duty had advised them to go home. “Some people have been here all night,” he said, “and a lot came down by the six o’clock train from Paddington.”

The only people from West Hannington who got into the courtroom were Mrs. Havelock and Group Captain Gonville. As magistrates they had been given privilege tickets and were wedged into a narrow space between the Bench and a much enlarged press box. Mrs. Havelock had left Sim in the witness room with Roney to keep him company.

Mavor rose as Mrs. Bellamy subsided. (“Just like the weatherman and his wife,” whispered Mrs. Havelock. “One goes in when the other comes out.”)

“It is not my intention,” said Mavor, “to make an opening speech. I shall call the witnesses before you, only reserving the right to intervene from time to time in order to place their evidence into its proper context so that the charges may be better understood. Broadly speaking, they will cover three different topics. First, matters directly connected with the charges. Secondly, matters arising out of a certain note, which I will put in evidence at the appropriate time. Thirdly, matters referring to the account given by the accused of his movements on the night of August fifteenth and the early morning of August sixteenth. Sergeant Esdaile, please.”

Sergeant Esdaile produced the plans he had drawn and the photographs he had taken and these were explained to Mr. Appleton, who placed them carefully on the table in front of him. Mavor then said, “I should now like to turn to the second charge. Would you please tell us, Sergeant, what happened on August twenty-third.”

Sergeant Esdaile did his best, but Mrs. Havelock couldn’t help thinking that he succeeded in turning what had been a fast-moving and exciting episode into something which sounded curiously dull and unconvincing.

Mrs. Bellamy said, “I understand, Sergeant, that you have fully recovered the use of your arm.”

“That’s right.”

“And have been back on duty for the week past.”

“That’s right.”

“Could you tell the court what you have been doing?”

Sergeant Esdaile looked surprised.

“I don’t mean all of it. What have you been mainly engaged in?”

“Mainly I’ve been pursuing inquiries about a typewriter.”

“And have your inquiries been successful?”

“No, ma’am.”

“One of the places you looked would have been in the office of the accused.”

“Yes.”

“And you would have inquired of the friends and acquaintances of the accused whether they possessed the particular machine you were looking for. Again without success.”

“That is so, ma’am.”

“Did you dislike the accused?”

The sudden switch threw Sergeant Esdaile completely. He gaped at Mrs. Bellamy, who repeated the question.

“I didn’t like him or dislike him. I didn’t really know him very well.”

“If you didn’t dislike him, why was it that, on the occasion you have told us about, when you were told to bring the accused in for questioning, you called him”—Mrs. Bellamy looked down at her brief for a moment—”a long-haired communist agitator and a bastard who did nothing but stir up trouble?”

“I never did.”

“Did you consider it part of your duty to use expressions of this sort?”

“I told you I never said anything like it.”

“I shall be calling two witnesses who heard the words,” said Mrs. Bellamy and sat down.

“Remembering that you are on oath and that you are a police officer,” said Mavor, “I should like to have your assurance that you never used the expressions we have just heard.”

“Certainly not,” said Sergeant Esdaile. He sounded more surprised than indignant.

“Thank you. Mr. Joseph Cavey.”

Mr. Cavey described his discovery of the body. He produced no surprises and was not cross-examined.

He was followed into the box by Dr. Farmiloe, who gave his evidence in the clear, unhurried manner of one who has performed the same function many times before. He referred from time to time to a sheaf of notes which he held in his hand.

“In summary, then,” said Mavor, “your conclusion was that the girl had been killed by one blow, on the back of the skull, at a time which you estimate, on the grounds which you have explained to the learned Magistrate, to have been between a quarter past eleven and a quarter to twelve.”

“My possible estimates were rather wider than that. But that is the most probable timing.”

Mrs. Bellamy said, “Your experience, Doctor, entitles your estimates to be received with respect. But I should like to clarify one point. Your post here, and your post when you were in practice in London, is that of Police Doctor.”

“I’m not sure that officially there is any such position. I am on call to the police and receive a small fee for my services. They could, of course, use any other doctor if they wished.”

“Having you on the spot,” said Mrs. Bellamy with a slight smile, “they would be very foolish if they did call in anyone else. But that is not my point. You are not, I think, a pathologist.”

“That is correct.”

“And there are a number of pathologists in the country – the leading ones, naturally, are in London – whom the Crown habitually calls on in murder cases.”

“In cases involving death or severe bodily damage.”

“Quite so. They are usually referred to in the press, again incorrectly, as Home Office pathologists.”

Dr. Farmiloe nodded.

“If I might make their respective functions clear, sir,” said Mrs. Bellamy, turning to the Magistrate, “since they are sometimes misunderstood. The main duty of the Police Doctor is to certify the fact of death. It was extremely sensible that Dr. Farmiloe also turned his attention to ascertaining the time of death, since you will understand from the explanations he has given you that the sooner this is done the more accurate the result will be. But”—Mrs. Bellamy paused for a moment and looked around the crowded room—”it is no part of his function to determine the cause of death. That is a matter for the pathologist?”

Since there seemed to be a question mark at the end of this statement, Dr. Farmiloe nodded again and said, “I think, in fact, it went to Dr. Carlyle at Southampton.”

“Then I can defer questions on it until Dr. Carlyle produces his report for us.”

Mavor, who had been fully aware for some time of the direction in which Mrs. Bellamy was heading, rose to his feet and said, “In view of the fact that Dr. Farmiloe, who has great experience in these matters, was able to tell us that the cause of death was a blow on the head, we saw no reason, sir, to trouble you with an additional report.”

Mr. Appleton thought about this. He was a large red-faced man who, when he was not dispensing justice, looked after four hundred acres of mixed arable and sheep farm. He said, “I don’t follow this. Has Dr. Carlyle made a report?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he is the Crown Pathologist for this district?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I would like to see it.”

Mavor already had it in his hand. He said, “Certainly, sir. Before putting it in, perhaps I might read you the passage which is in point. ‘The cause of death was severe damage to the brain tissue from a single deep and well-marked fracture of the skull.’ There are other comments, but that is the main conclusion.”

He handed it to the usher, who handed it to the clerk, who passed it up to Mr. Appleton. Mrs. Bellamy, who had remained standing, said, “Might I suggest that it would be better if the learned Magistrate saw
both
Dr. Carlyle’s reports.”

A moment of silence.

“As far as I know,” said Mavor, “he made only one report.”

“If those are your instructions, then I can only say that you have not been instructed fully. I have here a copy of a report on a second death which occurred at about the same time and approximately the same place, in which Dr. Carlyle makes a most instructive addendum to his first report.”

Mavor looked at Knott, who shook his head like an angry bull tormented by gadflies.

“If you have
not
been supplied with a copy,” said Mrs. Bellamy sweetly, “I have several here.” She extracted a number of documents, handed one to Mavor and one to the usher, who looked inquiringly at the Magistrate.

“I should like to see it,” said Mr. Appleton. He felt that an attempt was being made to pull the wool over his eyes and resented it.

“The passage is at the end,” said Mrs. Bellamy.

Mr. Appleton read it through and said, “I think this is most relevant. Why was it not produced?”

Mavor, who had been conferring with Knott, said, “I understand that the police view is that since there was no connection between the two deaths there was no point in troubling you with it.”