Late Delivery, page 19
‘That is not a view that everyone would accept.’
‘I don’t know. What I’m trying to say is that we didn’t mean to murder anyone.’
‘But you did mean to let an innocent youth go to life imprisonment for a crime that you helped to commit.’
Miss Wells started weeping again. ‘No . . . but yes . . . we did, or I did. It was my idea to put the money in Eric Marshall’s house. Ian is quite right when he says that as soon as we could get somewhere safe we were going to send confessions. If only we could have found the stamps . . .’
*
First thing next morning Piet had an urgent meeting with the Home Secretary. By the nature of their job Home Secretaries come in for much political criticism, but for the most part they are humane, if fallible, men trying to perform an extremely difficult task with sympathy and understanding. This Home Secretary was an outstandingly able politician, with a strong sense of human decency. He listened to Piet’s appalling story without interruption and then said, ‘I take the point at once. You feel that something should be done forthwith about the Marshall boy.’
‘Yes,’ Piet said. ‘But it is extraordinarily difficult to know what to do.’
‘It is, and it is complicated at every turn by the delicacy of race relations. There has been no publicity so far?’
‘No. But there is bound to be when Reece and Rebecca Wells appear in court, though I understand that both have agreed that reporting restrictions in the magistrate’s court should not be lifted. That may help a little.’
‘It may. But it may also stimulate public interest and lead to demands about what is being done to remedy a dreadful injustice. It is fortunate, Chief Constable, that the initiative has come wholly from you, and not in response to any clamour for an inquiry.’
‘Perhaps. But delay in releasing Eric Marshall can easily be whipped up into “police are anti-black” outcry.’
‘That is a danger, certainly. But with reporting restrictions in force the evidence against Marshall will still seem compelling until Reece and Wells come to trial. The immediate implications will not be of Marshall’s innocence, but of the complicity of two others in the crime. As I see it, there are three possible courses of action. I can recommend Her Majesty to grant Eric Marshall a free pardon, without having to give reasons. We – or rather, counsel acting for Marshall – can go to the Court of Appeal for permission to call new evidence, and in the light of the confessions you have shown me the Court of Appeal would undoubtedly act promptly. There are objections to both these courses. The “Free Pardon” for an offence is a reflection of the ancient legal tradition that the Crown, which has convicted, can do no wrong, and that the conviction technically stands although the “pardon” affirms the accused’s innocence. Lawyers understand this, but many people don’t, and to sensitive racial minorities the procedure might look like giving Marshall his freedom only grudgingly, and somehow not a real freedom. To go to the Court of Appeal with these confessions before Reece and Wells have been tried might seem to prejudice their trial. There is a third course – to lighten Marshall’s imprisonment immediately by internal administrative action, and to await the outcome of the Reece-Wells trial before asking the Appeal Court to quash Marshall’s conviction. The judicial process in the Reece-Wells case can perhaps be expedited. I can have a word with the Law Officers about this.’
Piet considered the Minister’s suggestions. Every human instinct in him wanted the Marshall boy to be freed at once, to be reunited with his mother. But there was force in the Home Secretary’s political instincts, too. He got up. ‘Thank you, sir, for showing such understanding,’ he said. ‘I’m sure you’re right, and that the third course is the one that we must follow. I take it that you will see about improving the boy’s lot in prison as soon as possible.’
‘I shall do so forthwith, Chief Constable. You thanked me for showing understanding. I must thank you for what seems to be a brilliant piece of police work. I hope that the efforts of the police to ensure justice for a black youth may help a little to improve relations with our minorities; here, alas, I can only say “I hope”.’
*
The Home Secretary was as good as his word. He sent for the Governor of the prison at once, saw him himself, and explained everything to him. ‘It is horrible having to keep the boy locked up, but I don’t see what else can be done while the law takes its course. You have my full authority to do everything you can to ease things for him.’
‘I shall see him as soon as I get back,’ the Governor said. ‘I suggest that we put him in the prison hospital, where he can have a small room to himself. The hospital has a small, walled garden, wholly separate from the rest of the prison block. I understand that the boy likes gardening, and I shall offer to let him work in the garden on his own, unsupervised. I am confident that he will not try to escape. May I tell him what you have just told me?’
‘I should edit the story slightly. From what the chief constable has said I can see no doubt of his being released, but it may take rather longer than any of us hope. I should tell him that steps are being taken to prove that he was convicted wrongly, that the police are convinced of his innocence, but that it will take a little time for all this to be worked out. What else you say I leave to you. The fact that you are taking steps to make imprisonment easier for him should reassure him.’
*
Piet had seen the Home Secretary by special arrangement at eight o’clock in the morning. He was back at headquarters by noon and went to Simon’s office. ‘We’ve fixed up what we can about the boy,’ he said. ‘The Home Secretary is a thoroughly decent sort – if more politicians were like him we shouldn’t get into these everlasting troubles. I suppose they have their problems, though. Thank God I’m a policeman, not a Cabinet Minister.’
‘Reece and Rebecca Wells have appeared in court at Oxford,’ Simon said. ‘The hearing lasted just three minutes. They are charged with being concerned together in the theft of money from the Post Office. Inspector Parsons said that further serious charges were likely. Neither asked for bail, and they were remanded in custody.’
‘Well, that’s all right as far as it goes,’ Piet said. ‘A police officer on a theft charge is bound to make it a biggish story, but for the moment it will be big about the wrong things. And now, Simon, I want you to come to Netherwick with me. I’ve had an idea about those stamps.’
*
Piet didn’t want to get to Netherwick too early, and feeling that it was time they had a decent meal he stood Simon a leisurely lunch at a hotel on the way. ‘The first thing I want to do,’ he said over lunch, ‘is to call on Mrs Marshall and tell her that she can hope for her son’s release. She works at the Golden Fleece until three, helping with the washing up, and then she goes home until five, when she’s back on duty at the Fleece. I’m going to offer her a visit to her boy in prison this afternoon. While I’m dealing with the bill can you phone for a car with a police driver to be outside Rectory Cottages, Netherwick, at 3.30 to take Mrs Marshall to the prison, wait, and bring her back?’
‘Sure,’ Simon said.
*
Allowing time for Bella Marshall to walk from the Fleece to her cottage, Piet and Simon got there at 3.15. Piet knocked on the brightly polished knocker and in a moment the door was opened, but only a few inches.
‘Who is it?’ Mrs Marshall said.
‘We are police officers and we have some good news for you,’ Piet said.
‘Not more police! What good news can policeman bring to me?’
‘If you will let us in, we will tell you,’ Piet said. ‘I can assure you that we are friendly police.’
‘Well, come in and get it over with,’ she said with a sort of sigh. The door opened to a minute hall, and Mrs Marshall had to press herself against the wall to allow two big men to enter. Piet noticed that a steep cottage staircase led upstairs from just inside the door. It would have been easy enough for Rebecca Wells to slip upstairs while Bella Marshall was weeping in the kitchen.
Mrs Marshall did not take them into the kitchen, but into a spotlessly clean front room, where she sat on the extreme edge of a beautifully polished but extremely uncomfortable upright wooden chair. Piet and Simon remained standing.
‘I am the chief of police for this area,’ Piet said, ‘and this gentleman is my chief superintendent. We have come to see you ourselves to tell you that we now know your son to have been convicted wrongly, and that he will soon be released without a stain on his character.’
Mrs Marshall swayed on the edge of her chair, and would have fallen off it if Simon had not put his arm round her.
‘How I know you police? How I know you tell me truth?’ she asked.
‘To identify ourselves is simple,’ Piet said, producing his warrant card. ‘To prove that we are speaking the truth I have arranged for a police car to take you to visit your son, now, this afternoon. If you look out of the window you will see the car waiting for you.’
‘I don’t understand. Police take Eric away and now police come to say he coming back. Are you same police?’
‘The police try to protect the innocent as well as to catch the guilty,’ Piet said. ‘A horrible chain of circumstances led to the arrest and conviction of your son, but we have never stopped working on the case and can now prove convincingly that your Eric had nothing whatever to do with the death of Mrs Denny. We know who did kill her, and they will be duly charged. But they have to appear in court, and the law must take its course. It will be a little time before your Eric can be freed, but we wanted you to know at once that he will soon be freed.’
‘Then people kill Mrs Denny and let Eric go to jail for what they do?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Then God have mercy on them. But the Lord, He is merciful! Look what he is doing for Eric and me!’
She was sitting upright on the chair again. She said to Simon, ‘Look, Mister – in that cupboard. You find bottle of Moruga rum – Moruga rum best rum in the world. Not touched drop since they take away Eric. Now I think we have some.’
‘Shall I get some glasses from the kitchen?’ Piet asked while Simon fetched the rum. She nodded. He brought three glasses and put them by the rum bottle on a table near her chair. She poured three drinks. ‘I keep this for Eric,’ she said. ‘You have said he is coming home. We drink to thank the Lord who has kept faith.’
The rum calmed her. Then her face clouded. ‘But I can’t see Eric this afternoon,’ she said. ‘I have to be back at the Fleece at five o’clock.’
‘Don’t worry about that,’ Piet said. ‘I know Mr Clifford, and I will explain to him.’
‘Can I tell people about Eric?’
Piet considered this. ‘We wanted you to know as soon as possible, but it would be wiser not to talk about it until he can be officially released.’
‘But Mr Clifford and Sir Gordon – they have been so good to me.’
Piet relented. ‘All right, you can tell Mr Clifford, and Sir Gordon, when he comes home. But I shall see them first, and make sure they don’t tell anybody else. I’m sorry about this, Mrs Marshall, but I’m sure it will be best for you and Eric if the news does not come out for the moment. Now you go off to see your son. The police driver will wait for you and bring you home.’
*
They had left their own car by the Post Office, and they walked across the Green. ‘I suppose a police visit more often brings bad news than good. It is something to have lived through this past half hour. Here is a woman who has never wavered in her faith, and suddenly her faith is justified.’
*
Mr Grimshaw was alone in the Post Office shop as they walked in. He recognised Piet. ‘I’ve been talking to the wife about that picture, and we’ve decided that we would like you to do it,’ he said.
‘Thank you. I’ll do my best,’ Piet answered. ‘But this afternoon I’ve come about something else. I am an artist, but I’m also a policeman – in fact I’m the chief constable for this area. My colleague is Chief Superintendent Begbroke. Can we have a word with you in private?’
Mr Grimshaw went pale, and clutched at the counter. ‘Have you come to arrest me?’ he asked.
‘No. What should we want to arrest you for?’
‘You must have found out about the money.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. If we can have a word in private I’m sure everything can be sorted out.’
Mr Grimshaw called to his wife. ‘Shirley, can you mind the shop for a bit? There’s two gentlemen who want to talk to me.’ When his wife came in from the living part of the premises, he added, ‘I’m afraid they’re policemen.’
‘Oh Harold! I always said you should never have done it. We could have got by without it.’
Mr Grimshaw lifted a flap in the counter and led them into the sitting room. ‘I know nothing about you in connection with any money,’ Piet said. ‘I’ve come about something entirely different. What on earth are you bothered about?’
‘Well, sir, I really didn’t do it deliberately, like. It just happened.’
‘What happened?’
‘My aunt’s money in the mattress. She was a bit of an old-timer was my aunt, and she didn’t altogether trust banks. So although she had a bank account, of course, she always kept a sort of private store of money in a kind of bag she made inside the mattress of her bed. I knew about this. She left everything to me in her will, so I felt that the money was rightly mine. When I went to get it, I found that it was near twelve thousand pounds. I should have put it in with the rest of what she left, and paid tax on it, but I didn’t say anything about it. It’s been worrying me ever since. I suppose the Inland Revenue has got to hear about it somehow, and sent you after me.’
Piet and Simon couldn’t help laughing. ‘We’re nothing whatever to do with the Inland Revenue,’ Piet said, ‘and I don’t intend to report what you’ve just told me. It is not my place to condone a fraud on the Revenue, and my advice is that you should simply report it to them as money that you came across after getting probate of your aunt’s will. You will have to pay whatever tax is due, but you’ll hear no more about it. Go out and tell your wife that you’ve nothing to worry about, and then come back. There is something much more important I want to ask you, but it doesn’t involve you in any sort of offence, so don’t worry about that, either.’
Mr Grimshaw was back in a moment, looking infinitely relieved. ‘Shirley says should she bring you a cup of tea? The kettle’s on the boil,’ he said.
‘Thank you, that would be nice,’ Piet said politely. When the tea came he sat next to Simon on the Grimshaws’ rather old-fashioned sofa, and Mr Grimshaw sat in an armchair facing them.
*
Piet took a drink of tea, and deliberately kept silent for a moment. Then he said, ‘You may think that the murder of your aunt was explained by the trial of Eric Marshall. It wasn’t. A number of other facts have since come to light, which make it probable that Marshall’s own story about finding Mrs Denny dead was true, and that he had nothing whatever to do with her death. What I am telling you now is strictly private – you may talk about it to your wife, but not to anybody else. It will soon become generally known, but until then it must not be mentioned. There are some questions I want to ask you – don’t be worried, they do not incriminate you in any way. In the course of late inquiries into Mrs Denny’s death, we learned that apparently she telephoned you on the evening before her death. Can you tell me what her telephone call was about?’
‘Not really, because she didn’t say. She asked if I could get over to see her, but it was difficult that evening because Shirley and I were going out. When I explained this she said it didn’t matter, but could I come over next day? I said, of course, but by then she was dead.’
‘Was it unusual for her to ring you up like that?’
Mr Grimshaw considered. ‘It was a bit unusual that she should want to see me at once, but not that she should ask me to come over. She was getting on, you see, she wanted me to take over the business after her, and if she hadn’t been killed she might have retired fairly soon. At least, she talked about retiring, though I don’t think she ever would. There might have come a time when Shirley and I more or less ran the shop for her, but she’d never have given up living here.’
‘Have you any idea what she wanted that night?’
‘No. I’m afraid I didn’t think about it much. I used to get over several times a week, helped with the accounts and the ordering, and just thought that there was something she wanted to discuss. It might have been a customer getting too far into the red – we do get them sometimes, I’m afraid, and in a village with everybody knowing everybody else, it’s sometimes difficult to decide what best to do. When she said it could wait, I didn’t think any more about it.’
‘That’s reasonable enough. Now tell me something else – do you remember an old poker among the fire-irons in the grate?’
‘Yes, very well. I’ve known it all my life. When Shirley and I moved in we couldn’t find it. We wondered what could have happened to it, but we never found it. Of course there was a lot of disturbance and the whole place had to be cleaned and redecorated, and it may have been thrown away then. Aunt Liz used to keep everything beautifully clean and polished, but it was an iron poker, or maybe steel, and it got rusty quickly. When I was a boy I used to keep it bright for her with emery paper. One of the decorators may have seen what they took as an old rusty thing around, and just thrown it away.’
‘The shovel and tongs weren’t thrown away.’
‘No, but they were obviously useful. The poker may have looked like a bar of old iron; I’m just guessing. Shirley and I haven’t any idea what happened to it.’
‘Could we have a look at your aunt’s private safe in the mattress? You see, there’s something else missing, and it’s just possible it might be there.’
Mr Grimshaw looked puzzled. ‘Sure we can have a look,’ he said, ‘but Shirley and I sleep on that mattress and I don’t see how there could be anything there. Not anything big, anyway.’
