Peter Lovesey - A Case of Spirits

‘It ain’t so simple as that,’ Thackeray explained. ‘He might have made a will.’

‘Couldn’t write,’ said Brand Senior.

‘Well, his mother has the right to claim some of his possessions.’

This was a thought that had not occurred to the cabman. After a moment’s reflection he shook his head. ‘She’s not going to come forward after all this time. She’s in clover already. She’s got no use for silver watches and check suits.’ He opened the drawers one by one and passed his hand rapidly between the layers of socks and shirts. ‘But if she wants any of this stuff she’s welcome to it.’

‘You didn’t mention her name,’ said Thackeray.

‘No I did n’t. One thing you learn in my occupation, Officer, is to be careful over names. There’s passengers that like to be recognised and there’s those that don’t. Most times it’s best to keep off names, so I never asked ’er what it was.’

‘But you found it out, surely?’

‘That’s another matter. If I did, all the cab ’orses I’ve ever owned wouldn’t drag it out of me.’

‘Perhaps this would,’ suggested Thackeray on an inspiration. He plunged his hand in his pocket-and came out with four sixpences and a halfpenny. ‘I could get some more by this afternoon,’ he added lamely.

‘I’ll believe that when I see it,’ muttered the cabman as he started downstairs.

Thackeray stood where he was, looking bleakly at the five coins in his palm. He would have cheerfully have given a pound of his own money to have got that name and dumbfounded Cribb for once in his career. With a sigh he put the money back in his pocket, took out his notebook and started making the list of Peter Brand’s possessions.

Sergeant Cribb was on a small square of carpet in front of Inspector Jowett’s desk at Great Scotland Yard. He was standing at attention, motionless, so far as one could see. Actually his toes were wriggling in his boots.

‘You know me for the last person in the world to discourage initiative,’ Jowett was saying. ‘My word, yes, I can claim with some pride that my record in assigning responsibility to the lower ranks is second to none in the Force. Consider, Sergeant, how often I have put you in charge of a murder inquiry, given you your head, so to speak, whilst I for my part have been content to take only that unobtrusive interest in events which you are entitled to expect from your superior. And of course you have always known that you can look in this direction for the support, the wisdom, the inspiration, the shaft of light that makes everything clear when all is darkest. I do not deny that there have been times when I was tempted to join you at the scene of a crime, to exercise my powers of deduction again, and with a few modest observations render hours of painstaking interrogation and inquiry unnecessary. My place is here, however, in this office, overseeing not one investigation alone, but up to a dozen simultaneously.’ He tapped the side of his head with the mouth-piece of his pipe. ‘This is the repository of sufficient information to bring sleepless nights to some of the blackest fiends in criminal London, Cribb. Yes, indeed, the Director cannot spare me to ferret out particular offenders. I am here to take the longer view.’ To emphasise his point the inspector got up, walked to the window, cleaned a small section of it with the end of his thumb and peered out.

Cribb remained where he was, staring at the blank wall ahead, taking the shorter view appropriate to his rank.

‘The other evening, however,’ Jowett continued, ‘a situation arose in which I was thrust willy-nilly into the investigation of a death in mysterious circumstances, upon a social occasion, among acquaintances for the most part unaware of my official position until I was compelled to declare it. Your unheralded arrival in Dr Probert’s library made it quite impossible for me to remain in the room without revealing my connection with the Yard, but I do not blame you for that, Sergeant. You were pursuing an important suspect at the time. No, what concerns me about the events of Saturday evening was the manner in which you conducted yourself after the discovery of Mr Brand’s death.’

Cribb frowned. What was Jowett complaining about- disrespect for the dead, intimidation of witnesses or ungenteel language? He was ready to admit them all. It was the only way with Jowett.

‘I am not used to being brushed aside by anyone, Cribb, least of all a sergeant in my own command, but that is what happened the other evening, and in a private home, in polite company. I had not managed to articulate half-a-dozen questions before you started upon your theories about electricity, not to mention the advice to Dr Probert on the supervision of his domestic staff. It was acutely embarrassing, Sergeant, and tantamount to insubordination.’

Not only did Cribb’s toes twitch; his knees jerked. ‘Insubordination, sir?’

‘Insubordination,’ repeated Jowett, still looking out of the window. ‘An officer of my rank expects to question witnesses without being interrupted by a detective-sergeant. The circumstances, I concede, were a little irregular, so on this occasion I may decide not to write a report to the Director, but be in no doubt that such conduct will not be countenanced a second time. Besides-’ he turned from the window with a petulant look in his eye ‘- I could have thought of all those questions myself.’

‘And wrapped ’em up in better words, sir,’ said Cribb, quick to see the opening. ‘I went quite beyond myself on Saturday, sir. Got carried away. Didn’t realise you were wanting to do things in your own way. I’ll hold myself in check in future.’

It earned him a grudging nod from Jowett. ‘Very well, Cribb. Let us hopefully consider this matter closed. Do you know why I asked you to report to the Yard this afternoon?’

‘For a parley about Mr Brand’s death, I would guess, sir.’

Jowett shook his head. ‘A conference, Sergeant, a conference. This is a modern detective force, not the Bow Street Runners. Yes, I have invited two other gentlemen to attend: Mr Cage, who is an authority on electrical matters and has been examining the apparatus at Richmond, and Dr Benjamin, the police surgeon, who attended the post mortem examination conducted by the Home Office Pathologist this morning. The official report will be issued later, of course, but Dr Benjamin should be able to tell us the salient points this afternoon. Now be so good as to call in Constable Thackeray.’

Were it not for its location, the conference might have been taken for another seance. Jowett actually sat with his hands palm downwards on the table, but that was from vanity; he liked it to be known that he went regularly to a manicurist. Mr Cage, slimly-built and with deep-set pale blue eyes any medium would have envied, was on his left. Dr Benjamin, more conventionally handsome, with a black moustache and a glint in his eye suggesting he was capable of getting in touch, though not perhaps with spirits, sat next to him, opposite Thackeray and Cribb. A clerk waited with pen poised at a desk in the corner of the room.

‘Let us dispense with formalities, gentlemen,’ suggested Jowett. ‘Dr Benjamin, we are all desirous of knowing the results of the post mortem examination. Did you ascertain the cause of death?’

Dr Benjamin nodded. It was clear from the way he then produced a box from his pocket (which Thackeray for one moment imagined contained a souvenir of the morning’s work) and took snuff, that he saw no reason to expand upon this response. The information would have to be prised from him.