Episode 30 - The nitty-gritty of crime detection

Tuesday cont.

Before the next interview could take place, Cleo and Gary needed to confer about what had already transpired and discuss future strategies.

“I’m all agog for what’s to come, Cleo,” said Gary. “I can’t believe you got Murphy to the point of a confession. You really are a witch! Why didn’t you discuss it all with me first?”

“I tougth he might have killed Mrs Grant,” she said, “and when a suspect asks for a lawyer, you know he’s on the edge. But to be honest, it was only when I heard the guy was he sone and was trying to run away -  and the contents of that bag proved it - that I decided he was running away from killing his mother.”

“It’s odd that the guilty often give themselves away through that request fr a legal adviser,” said Gary.

“There are so many movies showing that happening that it’s probably engrained,” said Cleo, “though in movies the suspect is often proved innocent. Maybe that’s what Murphy hoped.”

“But we aren’t in a movie. It’s real life. If we still had nooses, our friend Murphy would no doubt see himself hanging from one,” said Gary.

“With Macpherson at his side, Gary,” said Cleo. “Don’t forget that Macpherson probably pulled the strings. We’ll just have to get him to admit it.”

“Is that also include in your plan, Cleo?”

“Sure. A suspect always hopes his guilt can’t be proved,” said Cleo, “or that the lawyer is able to get him off the hook, or even that he escapes prosecution altogether because a case can’t be put together against him without evidence that is not forthcoming.”

“Don’t forget how often that happens because of procedural errors, Dr Hartley.”

“Wow. That title impressed Macpherson, didn’t it? I’ll use it more often.”

“It was a good thing to do, seeing as he had more or less disqualified you, a brown-skinned woman helping a senior police officer. He could cope with me, but not with you,” said Gary.

“I often wonder how advocates can defend their client when they know the guy is guilty. I xpect he’s banking on that happening,” said Cleo. “His guilt is not apparent, is it?”

“He’s now in denial. Felons trust their lawyers to keep what they know to themselves, but I’m sure there have been plenty of cases in which the defence lawyer has gone to the judge and told him confidentially that the accused is actually guilty.”

“That is a breach of trust,” said Cleo.

“I’m not sure I would have scruples about breaking trust with someone I knew to be guilty but had decided to defend.”

“But surely you would give up the case.”

“My ethics would tell me to do that, but I’m not sure every lawyer is ethically minded,” said Gary.

“So what happens now?”

“You have already said it. We find out if Macpherson put Murphy up to matricide.”

“Do you think Macpherson is guilty?”

“I’m all for going with the flow, Cleo. We’ll confront Murphy with that suspicion, or get Murphy to tell us the nitty-gritty about what happened. Murphy will clutch at straws.”

“Can you do the questioning, Gary?”

“Let’s wait and see how he reacts to you, Cleo. You’ve been brilliant up to now. In fact,to my shame you have put much more thought into this case than I have.”

“Some of the stuff was improvised. When I see guys like that I start thinking what they might have done in a given situation. That always helps.”

“I’m constantly overawed by your ability to get blood out of stones, Cleo. You belong at HQ because we need your advice and experience.”

“All in good time, Gary.”

“I think we need a break before grappling with Macpherson again, not forgetting the infamous Dr Smith.”

“Aren’t you jumping the guns, Gary? Dr Smith may not be infamous; just a weak guy looking for erotic thrills.”

“May I remind you that some men get a sexual kick out of killing, Cleo?”

“I know that, Gary. I was married to one who went in that direction.”

Cleo shuddered. She could remember how near she had been to such a fate at the hands of her first husband.

 “Not Robert, I hope.”

“No. Women are safe with him, or have been up to now. Can we drive back to the hotel?” she asked. “I’d really like to get away from this place for a while, and get away from memories of Jay.”

“He was the guy who got to Upper Grumpsfield after escaping from a US penitentiary, wasn’t he?”

“Right.”

“So let’s put our minds onto something more agreeable, shall we, Cleo? Our suspects can stew till later.”

“It’s going to be a long day,” Cleo prophesied.

***

After a late but mediocre lunch and a short but high-class siesta, Cleo and Gary emerged from the hotel wishing the rest of the day was theirs to enjoy. Their destination was the local police station, where they would collect Brass. He would accompany them to Headquarters. His stand-in would already be at the station.

Before driving there, Cleo and Gary took a quick stroll to the beach to gaze at the sea and listen to the seagulls squawking above as they hovered for food brought in by the water.

“Twice a day,” said Gary.

“Twice a day what?”

“The tide, of course.”

“Sure.”

“I’m talking about the tides,” said Gary. “What were you thinking about?”

“To be honest, my mind was still on our siesta.”

“Well, wrap that mind of yours round Murphy, Macpherson and Smith, now, Cleo. We have a job to do.”

“I’m focussed, Gary, but not on crime all the time, and neither are you.”

“Which makes me curious about our future,” said Gary. “Are you going to carry on with your sleuthing agency, or focus on family?”

“Dorothy asked that and I said the agency will survive.”

“What’s your prognosis for the rest of today, Cleo?”

“I think the three guys we are about to interview are all guilty.”

“I have a good idea how I’m going to tackle Smith,” said Gary, “but I’ll have to read the report on him again. That’s what I should have been doing after lunch.”

“Let me drive to Headquarters while you do your homework, Gary.”

“OK,” said Gary reluctantly. He did not like anyone driving his car, but Cleo was now the exception.

“Goodness,” Brass explained, when he had been told of the morning’s interviews. “You have been working hard.”

“We didn’t come for a holiday,” said Gary, ”though I’d have preferred that.”

“He means a honeymoon, Brass,” said Cleo. “A working honeymoon in our case.”

Brass hoped they would not be as jovial in their interviews with criminals. He need not have worried. Neither Cleo nor Gary lacked a professional attitude to their work.

***

Hardly had they reached HQ, whenCleo’s mobile phone rang. It was Dorothy reporting on her meeting with Susan Smart’s parents. Brass went to talk to some of his old colleagues for a few minutes.

Dorothy told Cleo That Susan Smart’s parents were deeply shocked that their daughter had been leading such a debauched life and did not seem to want to forgive her. Dorothy had tried to advise them and thought she would visit them again to see if they had done what she asked them, which was to give the girl a decent burial, whatever she had done. They could offer no information to use in their investigations.

“I’d almost forgotten about the girl’s origins and we haven’t even managed to pin down her murderer with certainty yet,” said Gary, when Cleo told him what Dorothy had just told her.

“Dorothy says she also questioned Miss Snow again.”

“Who’s that?”

“The dog woman in Huddlecourt Minor. I allocated the case to Dorothy thinking it would take her a week or two to sort it all out, but it only took her an afternoon. I’ll leave her to tell you the whole story. Miss Snow is bound to know more about Susan Smart and her parents because she seems to be informed about everything that happens in the district. Dorothy sent a mail about it, but I don’t think Dorothy’s information will be very sensational even though she could write a book about all the funny people she has dealt with. It’s on the cards anyway that what Miss Snow said won’t be relevant to the Susan Smart case.”

“Unless Miss Snow knows who took her away.”

“This is a case we can pursue at home, Gary. Dorothy seems to have a collection of oddities. You might be one Gary, I’m probably one and the Barkers definitely are.”

“Dorothy’s neighbours?”

“Right,” said Cleo. “I wonder how many hens have survived Jane’s cull.”

"You don't cull hens, do you?” Gary asked.

"You do if you are Jane Barker."

“If ever you decide to close the agency, I’ll hire Dorothy as my personal source of inspiration.”

“Do you want me to close down, Gary?”

“Did I give that impression?”

“Well, you have mentioned it a couple of times.”

“But you can’t close down even if I don’t need it any more to get closer to you,” said Gary.

“I got the impression you wanted professional help rather than erotic interludes.”

“I did and still do, though the interludes are definitely the best part of our partnership. Shrewd, independent women without an axe to grind are far superior to dames who just want to better their social standing, like those two kittens O’Reilly employs.”

“How do you know I wasn’t just playing hard to get, with a view to bettering my career, Gary?”

“You have what are known as ethics, Cleo. You are not a social climber.”

“I’m glad you think that. I thought I was going to have to find a new cop to co-operate with.”

“You know what I like almost the most about you, Cleo? You are brutally honest.”

“Now I know that’s not all you like about me, I can live with that.”

“OK. Now tell me how to approach Dr Smith.”

“The hell I will. Do your own thing, Gary. It’s worked before and will work again.”

“Je t’aime.”

“Moi aussi, Gary. I was so relieved to hear that from Charlie. I was hoping those endearments weren’t part of your seduction tactics.”

"It was her idea. She'd learnt it at school."

"I didn't know primary schools do French,” said Cleo.

“That one did in a project, and judging by the quaint expressions Charlie came out with, the teacher must have been teaching from a phrase book."

***

“I’ve been thinking, Gary.”

“Not again!”

“What if Murphy only thinks he killed his mother? Is he mad? Did he just find the body and want his five minutes of fame?”

“I’ll think about it.”

***

Dr Amar Smith’s pattern of sexual neglect, usually self-interpreted, had led to him looking for alternatives to what was available to him in his marriage. His visit to a hostess agency had also followed the pattern adopted by congress delegates who did not want to go to functions without an escort and were often not averse to a ‘bit of skirt’ they could later invite into their hotel rooms. Unfortunately for Dr Smith, Angie Ealing had taken the job description literally. She was seemingly unprepared for the kind of sexual exploitation Dr Smith had in mind. Cleo was sure he would not have taken her to the beachhut had she not been dressed provocatively.

The idea that Miss Ealing could earn more as a hooker than chained to an office desk somewhere could have occurred to her only after she had repelled Dr Smith. Cleo thought she had quite possibly repelled him because she did not like him rather than because he had forced himself on her. The argument that she did not have to go with him at all was rejected because she was being paid for the hostess service. But whatever Angie’s thought processes had involved, she had wasted no time She had presumably hired the caravan on that notorious camping site where she had been discovered to try her hand at soliciting where men frequently looked for paid sex.

***

What was most puzzling was Dr Smith’s evident presence at other venues where a young woman had met an untimely violent death. Surely it was not a coincidence. Had Angie had a narrow escape? Were there any DNA records they could now call on to support the serial murder idea?

The night Susie Sweet was killed, Dr Smith might have been wandering around looking for a hooker on the streets, walked past the beachhut where Susie was waiting for Llewellyn, gone in and tried to seduce Susie, been rejected and turned violent. That could have led to a fight after which he thought Susie was dead and left hurriedly. But who hit her over the head?

“The first attacker could have, since Susie Sweet was already defenceless,” said Cleo.

A discussion of Dr Smith’s motives and modus operandi continued on the drive to HQ. Brass was thrilled that he would be part of the questioning, though he doubted whether he would think of anything to ask.

Brass was now an ardent admirer of the investigative duo from Middlethumpton. It was quite obvious that Cleo and Gary were not only closely bonded emotionally, but also by their determination to get to the truth of those murders in Frint-on-Sea when nobody else seemed unduly bothered.

O’Reilly could not match Cleo for shrewdness or Gary for determination. Only Joan had shown any interest. Brass wondered if Gary could get a job for her in Middlethumpton. Separated from the awful Sheila, she might then see him as a suitor rather than a bore.

***

“On reflection, I think we’ll talk to Dr Smith first, and let Murphy stew for a bit longer,” said Gary. “The angrier and more indignant he is, the better the confrontation with Macpherson will be.“

“But that means driving back to the police station,” said Brass. “Dr Smith is in the arrest cell there.”

“Thanks for reminding up, Brass. Let’s drive back.”

Brass did not question the change in schedule. Sheila was deputizing for him at Frint-on-Sea police station and not pleased to see Gary and Cleo. OK. She could deal with Brass, who was invariably deferential. She was not going to be at Dr Smith’s questioning, she was told. That was held in the rear office, a small space divided off so that there was somewhere not open to public view . Sheila could wait at reception for the next complaint or phone-call.

Cleo and Gary were aware of the tight-rope they would be walking if they accused Dr Smith of one or more murders on theories they had formed, but it had to be done. Gary mused that he already had one killer for Mrs Grant, but of course it had to be the right one.

***

“Weren’t you taking a big risk that night, Dr Smith?” Gary started, plunging in at the deep end.

Cleo was sitting behind Dr Smith. That unnerved the medic, but he knew her as Gary Hurley’s assistant, so he would have to put up with her. Brass was also in the room, guarding the exit in case Dr Smith should decide to do a bunk. Smith was also unnerved by the question. What had he been expecting? Tea and Sympathy?

“What night?”

“The night you killed Mrs Grant,” said Gary.

Cleo was also unprepared for the approach Gary was taking, but so was Dr Smith.

“Who is Mrs Grant?” said Smith.

“She’s the woman who witnessed you killing Susie Sweet.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s all a bit like a Grimm’s fairy tale, isn’t it?

“What do you mean?”

“You see a pretty girl in a beachhut. You decide she is a hooker and go for it. You start mauling her, possibly from behind, so that she cannot see you. She tries to shake you off, but you are stronger. You grab her by the neck, wrenching off her amulet and leaving a cut on her neck from the chain. Blood turns you on, doesn’t it, Dr Smith? You strangle her. But she doesn’t die straight away, so you stab her with your surgical knife. No, you grabbed a cricket bat and smashed her skull for a change. Then you ran out of the beachhut towards the beach and bump into Mrs Grant. You had committed murder before, but you had never experienced a direct witness before.

You would have killed Mrs Grant there and then had she not set her dog on you and made her escape. I expect you have bite wounds on your arms, and I’m sure you followed her to the beach, at least some of the way, but you did not get near her again that night. The dog would have made sure you didn’t. Rottweilers are like that, Dr Smith.”

“What do you mean by ‘again’?”

“So you admit what I have just described?”

“I admit nothing,” said Dr Smith. “And I did not stab anyone.”

“Not this time, Dr Smith,” said Gary.

Although Gary and Cleo had discussed the case, she was surprised at the clarity with which Gary now related events that were not verified, but a possibility. Brass looked on in amazement. He had thought it was only a matter of days before Dr Smith would be released. What had made Gary decide he was Susie Sweet’s murderer?

“Gary is sure he is the serial killer the cops have been looking for a long time,” Cleo whispered to Brass.

“Let’s take Ramsgate,” Gary continued. “The victim there was also strangled and then she was stabbed with a surgical knife.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

"Brass, Before I forget, can you pull Dr Smith's left sleeve up so that we can see the scars from Mrs Grant’s dog?"

Brass gasped. There were indeed scars on Smith’s left arm and they did not look pretty.

"You'd better let the prison doctor see to them, Dr Smith. We don't want you dying of blood poisoning, do we?" said Gary.

“That would be rather inconvenient,” said Cleo.

"So where was I with the Grimm's fairy tale?"  Gary continued.

"Nowhere."

“That’s right. Your kind of tale does not land in a story book. It isn’t kids’ stuff. Kids like their baddies to be killed and they would rather a witch or a wolf was the baddie. Let’s take Ramsgate instead. As I just said, the victim there was strangled and then stabbed with a surgical knife.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You get through a lot of prostitutes, Dr Smith,” said Gary. “Let’s see: one in Ramsgate, one in Brighton, one in Torquay and another in – now I’m guessing - Scarborough. Where else do you go to conferences? Llandudno, Blackpool, Bournenouth? In one or two cases knock-out drops were also detected, but they were not used in the Frint-on-Sea case. Do you want to see the identikits that people who saw you on the beach came up with?”

“No.”

“You’d better search Dr Smith, Brass. Just in case. We don’t want him stabbing more people, do we?” said Gary.

Brass told Smith to stand up. He was then searched. No scalpel was found.

“On the road without a weapon, Dr Smith?” Gary said.

I don’t carry scalpels round with me,” said Smith.

“Look again, Brass.”

A second search revealed a small surgical knife cleverly hidden in a leather agenda.

“How did you know, Gary?” said Brass.

“Dr Smith was probably a boy scout, Brass. Their motto is ‘Be prepared’.”

“To continue with our little talk, Doctor: You are on all the conference lists in various seaside towns.”

“Am I? Then I went to the conferences, didn’t I?”

“I’m interested in what else you did in those seaside towns, Dr Smith, and of course in other places. We know what you did here, of course. Very frustrating for you, I’m sure. What a shame that Morlin bay does not have beachhuts.”

Dr Smith was taking the brunt of Gary’s sarcasm. Brass was glad he was not at the receiving end.

“You didn’t have to have a conference, but they got you away from your wife without you having to make elaborate excuses. Are you going to tell us the rest of the story, or shall I tell you?”

The doctor was hot and sweaty and shuffling around in his chair. He loosened his tie and undid the top button on his shirt. His little pouting mouth had turned into an ugly gash. He was breathing hard and Cleo was now sure of his guilt.

“Not all the murdered girls were prostitutes, were they?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“And not all your victims were at seaside resorts,” said Gary. “You travelled about a lot in search of thrills.”

“Rubbish,”said Smith.

“You weren’t fixed on prostitutes, though they are easier from the sex angle. You don’t have to make promises to them. Respectable women want some kind of appreciation, but they go for doctor titles, don’t they? Doctors are safe, decent, honest and respectful of human life.”

Dr Smith said nothing. Gary continued his ‘fairy tale’. Cleo looked on in appreciation. Brass looked shocked.

“Some little bird in your depraved head had told you that sex at other venues than in a frigid marriage bed would be exciting, so you found places to indulge your preferences and get an extra thrill from trespassing. I’ll bet that turned you on with a vengeance and the girls were silly enough to think it was all great fun. But you knew they would show off about their escapades, so they had to be silenced.”

“They…”

“They what, Dr Smith?”

“Nothing.”

“Your mistake was to go to a hostess agency. They gave you a girl who was not a professional. The agency thought she was a sort of virginal, innocent chick ready and willing to earn money for sex. Angie Ealing escaped your advances and went to the police. That was bad advertising for you. On my instructions, the police made some inquiries, and now I’m about to charge you with six murders.”

“Not six,” reacted Dr Smith.

“So you were counting, were you?”

“I mean, not any.”

“And I miscounted, Dr Smith.”

Dr Smith looked startled, as if he though he had lost count.

“It was seven, wasn’t it?”

“If you say so.”

Dr Smith said those words in a mocking way, as though he found the accusations absurd. But he was now visibly at his wits’ end. When Gary nodded to him that he could smoke if he wished, his hand shook so much that Gary took hold of the lighter and held it to the cigarette so that Dr Smith could take a long drag to get the symbolic fire burning.

“Parkinson’s, Dr Smith?” Gary sneered. “You should see a doctor.”

Dr Smith inhaled a quantity of cigarette smoke, inhaled again and blew the residue smoke at Gary. Gary ignored the gesture.

“To continue: Mrs Grant was walking the dog when she witnessed what you were doing at the beachhut. The dog had taken her there because that’s where its owner, her husband, met his own personal prostitute, who was in fact Susie Sweet’s employer,” said Gary.

“Who is Susie Sweet,” askd Dr Smith a if he were fascinated by Gary’s story.

“That was the girl you killed in the beachhut here, Dr Smith.”

“Oh,” said Smith. He did not argue his innocence, Cleo noted.

***

“I don’t know if Mrs Grant knew about her husband’s assignations. It’s possible, in which case she would have condoned Susie Sweet’s murder. That might explain why she did not inform the police.”

Cleo was astonished that Gary had had time to work all this out. It was brilliant. She was now sure that Gary really was his old self, over his burnout syndrome, able to think logically and articulate what he had deduced. Love moves in a mysterious way, she reflected.

“What happened after that incident at the beachhut?” said Gary before turning to Brass and asking him to order a patrol car to transport Dr Smith to Headquarters. “Handcuff him now, Brass,” he added.

Dr Smith did not protest.

Gary then continued the lurid story.

“You came back to Frint-on-Sea for the express purpose of killing Mrs Garnt, but you did not yet know who she was. But you found out  where she lived without knowing her name by talking about her big black dog to other walkers on the beach with big dogs,” Gary said. “It was easy, Dr Smith, because they all belong to a club and know one another. Then observed the house, followed the woman on her nightly walk with the dog  and attacked her. She didn’t like the dog, but it defended her. Those cuts on your left arm come from the claws of that Rottweiler. It chased you off, didn’t it?”

“You’ll have to prove it,” said Smith.

“Don’t worry your head about that,” said Brass to Smith. “Chief Inspector Hurley is at the top of his profession. He will know exactly how to proceed.”

“Thanks, Brass. Get this guy taken to Headquarters. I'll charge him tomorrow for everyone’s benefit and then the local police can take over.”

“Yes, Sir. “

“On second thoughts, I’ll charge him now.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Brass pulled Smith into a standing position.

 “Dr Amar Smith, I am charging you with the murders od Susan Rose Smart and Betty Grant. Anything you say in evidence can be used against you.”

“Before you go, I have a question, Brass. ”

“Yes, Gary?.”

“Dr Smith, did you go back to find Mrs Grant dying on the beach that night?”

Smith merely bowed his head.

“You could have called for an ambulance and probably saved her life.”

Dr Smith nodded weakly. The truth was out. He had wanted to see the witness to his attempt on the prostitute’s life dead. That’s why he was on the beach that night. The interlude with Susie Sweet had been unplanned and lasted only minutes. He could see no reason why he should be blamed for cleaning the streets up of even one prostitute.

“But instead of calling for an ambulance, you took out your portable scalpel and finished her off, didn’t you?”

“No, I did not do that.”

“Really? You are losing your grip Dr Smith. You can’t write half a killing on your list,” said Cleo.

“So you did not get out your scalpel that night. I wonder who did that stabbing then.”

“She wasn’t stabbed. She was not dead when I left.”

“That’s good to know, Dr Smith,” said Cleo.

“Don’t worry, Smith,”said Gary. “You won’t be blamed for something you didn’t do. I have another candidate for that murder, but you’ll have to confess to the others, you know.”

Dr Smith nodded again. That was enough of a confession for the time being. Dr Smith knew when he was beaten. He allowed himself to be taken to a squad car, walking like a zombie, tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I think we will get confirmation that he carried out all those other murders,” said Gary. “My only question is how many murders altogether he is guilty of.”

“So how many birds did you kill with one stone Mr Hurley? Six? Seven?” said Cleo.

“I could see he was afraid he’d lost count, the little skunk.”

“Some men are very vain, Gary. Even the number of murders they commit is a feather in their cap. Like young men counting the number of schoolgirls they have laid. Maybe he has a list written down somewhere that he can slobber over.“

“A house search will determine that. Mrs Smith will have to be told. I wonder if she knew what her husband was up to?”

“And we now know what happened on that beach, Gary. If Smith did not do the stabbing, it could have been Murphy.”

“Judging by his reaction to the last interview, it was.”

“Let’s rubber-stamp that,” said Gary.

***

“The Town Hall sleaze will have to be dealt with by the local police. I can’t stay to deal with that.”

“Are we driving back to Upper Grumpsfield tonight, Gary?”

“No, we can’t.. Apart from nailing Murphy once and for all, I need to discuss with O'Reilly what's going to happen next with Dr Smith – probably a psychiatrist’s report to start with, though I think Dr Smith is evil rather than insane. But most of all, I need just one…”

“…more night where it all began,” Cleo continued.

“We’ll finish the interviews in the morning,” said Gary.

“That’s a real good idea,” said Cleo. “Have I told you how brilliant that interview with Smith was?”

“Not yet, my love, but the night is young.”

“Just one more idea,” said Cleo.

“Go on.”

“If Macphersonen encouraged or even told Murphy to kill Mrs Grant, Murphy may admit to the killing even if he only saw that his mother was dead or dying. So he could be lying when he says he is the killer, and Dr Smith could actually have killed Mrs Grant after all.”

“In other words, who would go to prison for life to please a relative?”

“We’ll have to test that theory, Gary.”

“You’re right. But not until tomorrow.”