A Fatal Mistake, page 23
He looked up at her in amazement, as if inviting her to share in his incredulity, and she quickly stopped writing in her notebook to look back at him. ‘That must have made you really angry,’ she said softly. And not without genuine sympanthy.
‘Oh, it did. The thought of him quaffing champagne and living the high life while my poor girl was cold in her grave…’ Keith shook his head. ‘But in the end, it almost felt as if providence was giving me a nudge. You know – as if it was meant to be. For suddenly I saw how ideal it all was. I could dump his body further downriver from Port Meadow and everyone would assume he’d simply drunk too much or got pulled under by some weeds or something. It just felt so right, as if it was…’ He grappled for words, but couldn’t seem to find them.
‘Poetic justice?’ Trudy offered helpfully.
‘Yes. Just that. Exactly that!’ he agreed eagerly. ‘Anyway…’ He turned now to lie fully on his back and stared up at the ceiling, and Trudy quickly began to scribble his confession down again. ‘I reached into my pocket as if to bring out the money, and of course Chadworth stepped closer to look, eager to get his hands on it, I suppose. And I just reached out suddenly and grabbed him and that was that. He let out a yell, but I quickly put my hand over his mouth, and then I dragged him kicking and screaming to the pond and held his head under. He might have been quicker and faster than me, but I have more heft and muscle. The murdering, dirty little swine couldn’t wriggle free of me.’
Trudy swallowed, feeling faintly sick now. Over in his corner, Lord Littlejohn began to retch anew too.
‘When I lifted his head up to see if he was dead, the dirty little rat begged for his life, and confessed to it all,’ Keith carried on, sounding exhausted now – as if he wanted nothing more than to roll over and go to sleep. ‘He also tried to divert some of the blame in order to save himself. That’s when he told me all about how his high-up friends posed in his dirty pictures too, and encouraged him to find more girls to corrupt. He was really anxious to tell me it wasn’t his idea, and that the real moving power in their dirty games had always been this blueblooded parasite here.’ At this point, he lifted his head far enough to glance up and across to the still-prone figure of Lord Jeremy Littlejohn, who froze and stared back at him, white-faced and aghast.
‘And so His Lordship became your secondary target.’ Trudy nodded. ‘Yes, I can see how he would,’ she added, trying to keep her voice calm, but shooting the blond-haired man a hard, dark look.
If possible, Lord Littlejohn went even whiter.
‘Yes,’ Keith agreed with a heavy sigh. ‘When you and the coroner came asking questions, I realised you might know more than I’d thought and that I might not have as much time as I’d hoped to plan a second, proper murder. So I decided to take a chance and do it quickly instead. I waited until the porter had stepped out of the lodge, and then I came here, to Littlejohn’s room. I planned to stay here all day after doing the deed, and make sure I hadn’t left any fingerprints or clues behind, then sneak out after dark. From what Derek Chadworth said before dying, I knew His Lordship was rotten through and through, and that the chances had to be good that there would be a fair few people with a motive for killing him.’
Keith sighed heavily and rubbed a hand tiredly across his eyes.
Trudy, still holding Lord Littlejohn’s appalled eyes, gave a slow, bitter smile. ‘I’m sure you’re right, sir,’ she said flatly. ‘Had we found His Lordship’s body, I’m sure we’d have had an embarrassment of suspects, all with any number of reasons for wanting him dead. And so you hoped the true motive would never be traced back to you?’
In reply, Keith Morrison turned his back on her and began to cry quietly.
And Trudy was very glad, at that moment, to hear the police sirens approaching the entrance to the college. Finally, reinforcements had arrived.
Chapter 28
‘So, did we get it right?’ Dr Clement Ryder asked her, about an hour later. ‘Our reconstruction of the crime?’ They were in the station house, standing outside the main office in a small corridor, where it was quieter and less manic.
‘Yes,’ Trudy said wearily, leaning one shoulder against a wall. And told him all about it.
Now it was all over and Morrison was being processed, she just wanted to go home to her mum and dad and cuddle up to the cat. Which was impossible, of course. She had her notes to type up and the Inspector was bound to want to debrief her.
She only hoped she had enough energy left to do it all.
Clement looked at her with some concern. She looked so very washed-out. But he knew better than to suggest she go home and get some rest.
She wasn’t the sort to appreciate being mollycoddled, he thought, feeling proud of her.
Trudy yawned hugely, then looked suddenly pensive. ‘He’s going to hang, isn’t he?’ she said, a shade forlornly. ‘Mr Morrison? It seems so sad. He loses his daughter and now he’s going to die as well. His poor wife! What she’ll go through!’
The thought of Mrs Morrison’s pain reminded her of the pain of another wife she’d met recently – the wife of the hit-and-run victim lying in a coma at the hospital. Two women – two such very different tragedies. ‘Life really isn’t fair, is it?’ she said sadly.
‘I shouldn’t be so quick to assume the worst, if I were you,’ Clement warned her quietly, casting a quick look over his shoulder to make sure they couldn’t be overheard. ‘Between you, me and the gatepost, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if some sort of deal wasn’t done about all this.’
‘A deal? What do you mean?’ Trudy demanded, feeling suddenly alarmed.
‘The Duke is a powerful man,’ the coroner said simply. ‘He’s not going to want it to come out that his son was consorting with a known pornographer and blackmailer. I can see him, the legal powers that be and your DI Jennings and his superiors all getting together and offering Morrison a deal. Maybe offer him an insanity plea, perhaps? You keep quiet about your motive, and we’ll make sure you avoid the noose. Something along those lines, anyway.’
‘Do you think he’d take it?’ Trudy asked, not sure whether to be appalled or glad.
‘Wouldn’t you? If you were in his shoes?’ Clement asked pragmatically.
‘Can they get away with that?’ Trudy asked, aghast.
‘Why not? The only people who might protest about it and kick up a fuss would be Derek’s parents. I don’t suppose they’ll be happy to see their son’s killer only get a life sentence. But on the other hand, do you suppose they’ll want the true story of their son’s actions coming out in court for all the world to hear – and the newspapers to gloat over? If you were them, would you rather have your son avenged – and be revealed as a heartless, grubby little pornographer and blackmailer? Or would you rather let him rest in peace, with his reputation intact?’
Trudy sighed. It was all so complicated and muddled. And she felt so tired! ‘On the one hand, I feel so sorry for Mr Morrison and his wife. They’ve been through so much. And part of me persists in feeling that, somehow, Derek Chadworth was such a bad person that…’
‘He deserved what he got?’ Clement finished for her bluntly. And was heartily glad when she instantly shook her head.
‘No. No, I wasn’t going to say that… but… I don’t know. I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to Mr Morrison either. The thought that he might hang because of me is awful!’
The coroner looked at her sadly. She looked all done in. He wanted to pat her on the back and tell her everything would be all right. But he couldn’t. Nor could he protect her from the harsh realities of life as a police officer either. For the simple truth was that, if she did her job properly, people would go to prison because of her. They might even hang too.
‘Poor Trudy,’ he murmured. ‘This has been a tough case for you, hasn’t it? You’re learning your superiors have feet of clay, and justice, truth and “right” aren’t as clear-cut as you once thought. Is it making you re-evaluate your choice of career?’ he asked softly.
Tired, shocked and dispirited as she was, her chin came up instantly.
‘No,’ she said emphatically. And then, with great dignity, ‘I’m not a child, Dr Ryder. I know life isn’t black and white. I just…’
‘Don’t like the grey areas much.’ He grinned back at her. ‘Not many of us do, Constable Loveday. And talking of grey areas—’ he became rather more solemn ‘—I take it DI Jennings is going to try and trace Reginald Porter’s missing sister? I know everyone’s been saying she ran off to London, but now we know a bit more about Derek, her disappearance might turn out to be rather more sinister…’
‘Oh, no, that’s all right,’ Trudy reassured him quickly, glad to have some good news for once. ‘The Inspector did get on to London a little while ago, but they quickly traced her. Apparently, she was given a warning just recently for soliciting, so she was already on their books,’ she added, a little sadly. ‘It seems her dream of becoming a star of the stage hasn’t worked out like she hoped. I only hope her brother doesn’t find out what she’s been up to.’
‘Who’s going to tell him?’ the coroner asked dryly.
‘Nobody, I hope. It seems she’s going to come back home for a bit,’ Trudy said with a grin. ‘I think, from what the London police said, she was quite relieved to be found and have an excuse to give up on the London dream for a while. You know, her mum needs reassuring and wants to have her home for a bit, and all that. But I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Becky doesn’t stay home for good. At least her brother will be pleased!’
‘So,’ he added briskly, straightening up and beginning to put his hat neatly back on top of his head, ‘can I take it that, the next time I feel the need for a police liaison, you’ll still want the job?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Trudy said eagerly, not even having to stop and think about it. For the truth was, working with the coroner, no matter what problems or compromises it involved, was still a hundred – no, a thousand – times better than doing the unimportant ‘make-do’ jobs DI Jennings always assigned her.
But then her face fell. ‘But I think, after all this mess… the dirty pictures, the potential scandal and whatnot… I can’t see DI Jennings assigning me to you again,’ she admitted forlornly.
But Clement Ryder grinned broadly. ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I were you,’ he said, eyes twinkling. ‘After all, you now have a duke in your corner who owes you the odd favour or two. You did save his son’s life, remember?’
‘Oh,’ Trudy said, a bit blankly. ‘But I don’t think…’
‘And once I’ve had a quiet word in the Chief Constable’s ear, you might even see a police medal for bravery winging its way towards a certain probationary WPC who tackled a dangerous criminal all on her own.’
Trudy blinked. ‘But I wasn’t at all brave,’ she protested.
‘I don’t think many people would agree with you on that,’ Clement objected. ‘And if any honours or commendations do come your way,’ the old man advised her sagely, pushing on quickly before she could interrupt with more protestations, ‘you’d do well to just accept them and say “thank you very much”. After all, you’re going to need all the advantages you can get if you’re going to make Detective Inspector yourself one day,’ he added with a grin.
Trudy blinked. Was it possible that she could rise that high?
Clement, seeing the sparkle come back to her eyes, doffed his hat at her, grinned and walked away.
A minute or so later, DI Jennings came out of the interview room and saw her lurking in the corridor.
‘Loveday!’ he bellowed. ‘What are you still doing here? Get yourself back to hospital duty at the Radcliffe Hospital. That hit-and-run victim looks like he’s going to make it after all, and is about to regain consciousness. When he does, I want you right by his side, taking notes.’
That would keep her out from under his feet while he and his superiors sorted out this whole Morrison/Chadworth/Littlejohn mess. And one thing was for certain, Jennings fumed – if WPC Loveday thought she’d be allowed any access to the rest of the case, just because she was the one who’d broken it wide open, she was sorely mistaken.
He glowered at her, just waiting for her to object to the assignment, and looking forward to giving her the good tongue-lashing he was already rehearsing in his head.
‘Oh! Oh, sir, I’m so glad!’ Trudy gasped instead, beaming at him. ‘That’s wonderful news! I felt so sorry for his wife. I’ll get right over there now, sir,’ she promised happily, dashing into the office for her satchel and accoutrements, and then racing back out for her bicycle.
This – helping people who had been hurt, and catching the people who did the hurting – this was what she’d joined the force for!
Jennings, struck speechless by her joy, could only watch her in bemusement as she bolted through the door.
Acknowledgements
I’d like to thank all those who were willing to share with me their memories of the 1960s and Oxford.
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Faith Martin, A Fatal Mistake
