Death Scene Page 13

THIRTEEN

  By the time they left Sally Morris it was well after two. Fortunately, they had been offered tea and sandwiches made with thick slices of cheese brought in from the shop and so Mickey’s lunch requirements had been met.

  They left with a dozen photographs and a selection of negatives depicting Cissie Rowe with a selection of young men. Most, Sally had told them, worked at the studio and she was able to put names to a few of them. Henry hoped that a further visit to the studio would name the rest.

  But there was one image he could already identify. Cissie Rowe was seen sitting on the rocks close by the old fort and standing, clearly in conversation with her, was a man that Henry was certain was Philippe Boilieu. He looked somewhat different to the photograph in the police record, his hair neatly cut and his clothes of better quality, but Henry entertained no real doubts.

  ‘So that confirms the link,’ Mickey said. ‘Our man Philippe and Miss Rowe’s old friend are one and the same. For my money that puts him firmly in the frame.’

  They called at the police station before returning to the studio and were told that further information had been sent via telegram, in response to a hunch that Henry had. Philippe Boilieu had indeed certain links to the film industry, albeit films of a particular and specialist kind, and one of his featured actresses was a girl by the name of Cécile.

  ‘You think it’s her?’ Mickey asked.

  ‘I think it’s possible and, if not, that it’s interesting that he should have another girl of the same name.’

  ‘I take it we more or less discount our friend Selwyn Croft as a suspect?’ Mickey said as they left the police station and made their way back to the studio.

  ‘In all probability, yes. Though I’m hopeful he may still lead us to the mysterious Geoffrey. My guess is that he will remember something he was told. Young women, in my experience, like to play their suitors off one against the other – even when there is no malice intended. It seems to be part of the accepted game.

  ‘In the meantime, the local constabulary can spread their net and look at the local car dealerships and garages. One way or another, he will be found.’

  ‘And we still have no idea as to why the unfortunate Jimmy Cottee was so brutally killed. Of course, there is still the possibility that he killed Miss Rowe and someone beat him and hanged him as an act of revenge but—’

  ‘But I don’t believe that and neither do you,’ Henry said. ‘His injuries look more like the act of someone trying to extract information than that of someone simply exacting vengeance. Either he told them and they hanged him because he was of no more use, or he failed to tell them and they hanged him in frustration.’

  ‘Maybe he didn’t know the answers,’ Mickey said. ‘It’s my experience that most beatings stop when a result is obtained. The hanging, though, that seems like such a vindictive cruelty. A blow to the head would have finished him. There were knives in the kitchen, a single stab wound or even a cut throat would have finished the job.’

  ‘And would have risked contamination with the victim’s blood.’

  ‘True, I suppose, if the intent had been to stage a suicide. If that was the case then hanging would be a more obvious route to take. But surely they can’t have expected that conclusion to be lasting. The post-mortem revealed the truth swiftly enough.’

  ‘They might not have understood that would happen. Few people have any depth of forensic knowledge. The average man in the street understands fingerprints and perhaps that we can identify blood types and thus eliminate certain suspects from our pool, but more than that? Perhaps not.’

  ‘And none of this helps us with motive,’ Mickey said heavily. ‘Not with either death. And then there is the cocaine. Was it hers? She does not appear to have been registered as a user with any of the local doctors. It’s possible she is registered elsewhere and, of course, a determined addict could find another source.’

  ‘But why would they?’ Henry argued. ‘Addiction is a medical issue. Only the supply and manufacture or importation are criminal acts. It would be a very foolish course for anyone to put themselves in the hands of the criminal underworld when all they need to do is register their problem with their general practitioner. Even if that practitioner were not an authorized person, they would have the wherewithal and knowledge to refer any patient on.’

  Mickey nodded. ‘Agreed, so why did she have cocaine in her possession?’

  ‘Was it hers or had it been brought to her home for the purpose of muddying the waters? The post-mortem suggested that she may have used at some time in the past, but there was no recent damage to the septum or the mucous membranes that might suggest recent or long-term activity. And the fact that the cocaine had been forced down the dead woman’s throat is in itself odd. Why was that done? Was there a point to be made? If so, what?’

  ‘Drug use is common in the theatrical classes,’ Mickey observed. ‘Three of the local doctors hereabouts are authorized persons under the Act and the local police tell me that a number of their patients are associated with the film industry here. Cissie Rowe was not among them.’

  Henry was thoughtful. They were approaching the footbridge now. Two constables set to monitor the crossing were surrounded by a group of a half dozen individuals, evidently reporters, and a couple with camera equipment. They were arguing their right of passage with the constables.

  Recognizing the detectives, the press men shifted their attention their way. Henry acknowledged them with a polite tip of his hat and a ‘good afternoon’ and then went on ahead. He walked slowly across the footbridge waiting for Mickey to catch him up. Behind him he could hear Mickey chatting to the journalists, even, it seemed, exchanging a joke. ‘Soon as we have anything concrete, boys, you’ll be the first, as always,’ Henry heard him say, and then heard the jeers that greeted the platitude. He paused for Mickey to reach him, was aware of the click of shutters when his sergeant drew level.

  ‘Let’s hope they got our good side,’ Mickey said.

  ‘I’m not sure I have one.’

  ‘They’re just doing their job, Henry. We make use of them often enough. I thought we might ask for their help in tracking down that car.’

  Henry laughed then. ‘Oh, imagine the Chief Constable’s delight when it turns out to belong to an Honourable.’

  ‘We’d simply be following the evidence. Though I have to be honest and say that the thought does very much appeal.’

  ‘I’ll bet it does. Sergeant Hitchens, I sometimes suspect you of having communist leanings.’

  ‘Now that’s something not even to be said in jest.’

  Henry was quiet as they completed their journey. The cocaine troubled him. While it was true that there was still illegal trading of the substances banned under the Dangerous Drugs Acts of 1920 and 1925 which had restricted the sale and distribution of opiates, cocaine and heroin to licensed individuals, the medical provision for registered addicts was sufficient for most to take the safer route and approach a doctor or pharmacist. The sale and possession of cocaine had been restricted for even longer – since, in fact, the enacting, in 1916, of a regulation in the Defence of the Realm Act of 1914 – and while Henry knew that its recreational use was still widespread, that too tended to be funnelled through either registered users requesting a little more than was needed for personal use or, in some cases, GPs taking advantage of their position and over-prescribing. No doubt it was a lucrative addition to their professional practice.

  Either way, if you looked hard enough, there would be a trail to follow. Under what had become known as the British System, initiated after the Rolleston Report on drug use, criminalization was largely controlled.

  He wondered what impact the latest incarnation of the Act would have when the amendment due to come into effect later in the month would essentially criminalize the possession of cannabis. That too would now require a doctor’s prescription.

  ‘Do any of Cynthia’s set use drugs?’ Mickey asked him.

  Henry stepped down from
the footbridge and on to the shingle. ‘Some, I believe. Cocaine, mostly. Though I think consumption of alcohol is their most usual route to oblivion.’

  ‘Yes, but that’s not really a narcotic, is it?’ Mickey said reasonably. ‘Everyone likes a tot of something. Or a beer on a hot day. Or on a cold day, come to that. Speaking of which, I’d engendered hopes of a beer with my lunch. The sandwich was good, but a cheese sandwich goes down best with a pint of mild.’

  ‘Why do you ask about Cynthia’s friends?’

  ‘Because she might have heard whispers about which doctors can be persuaded to prescribe a little extra here and there.’

  ‘She might,’ Henry agreed. ‘I asked her once if she’d ever tried it.’

  ‘And had she?’

  ‘She told me that I’d always encouraged her to be curious about everything. And that she thought it was good advice. She also said that being curious once was enough for some things.’

  ‘Wise woman, your sister. Your father was a doctor. Was he licensed?’

  ‘When my father was still alive, no such license was required.’

  ‘No, I suppose not. It was also easier to buy your daffy’s over the counter.’

  ‘Daffy’s,’ Henry laughed. ‘I’ve not heard it called that in a long time. We had a couple of old ladies for neighbours when I was a very small child, used to give me sixpence to go to the pharmacist for some concoction or other. I seem to recall that they always cut their daffy’s with gin.’

  ‘So what are we asking the studio folk when we get there, apart from getting them to identify who’s in the photographs?’

  ‘We ask the same questions as before, I think. Did Cissie have enemies? Is there anyone who might not speak so highly of her? You know how suspicious I am when the dead are described as saints. Cissie Rowe was an attractive young woman who clearly attracted male admirers and it’s my experience that when one woman acts like a honey pot there are others who find themselves feeling a deal less sweet.’

  Henry’s comments had proved to be prophetic and an hour after they had arrived at the studio the detectives had managed to put names to all but two of the people in the photographs and also discovered that not everyone held Cissie Rowe in quite such high regard.

  Mrs Owens was not present in the wardrobe department that day and it seemed that the other women working there were a little less reticent in her absence.

  ‘I know Muriel – Mrs Owens – she thought the sun shone out of her nevermind, but I can tell you she had a real temper on her, had Miss Rowe. And she wasn’t above stealing, if you get my meaning.’

  ‘Stealing?’ Mickey settled himself more comfortably in the old armchair set in the corner of the storeroom. He had a cup of tea beside him and was attended by a rather pleasing young woman who introduced herself as Becky Stephens and who had made a point of needing to put some articles back into store while the policeman was there.

  She glanced back through the open door into the wardrobe proper, where two of the other girls brushed and ironed and stitched loose buttons.

  ‘Young men,’ she said. ‘She liked her young men and if they were someone else’s young man, well, that didn’t stop her, did it? That’s stealing in my book.’

  ‘And the victims of this stealing, how did they take this?’

  ‘Well, she was careful about it, wasn’t she? She’d tell the young men that she couldn’t possibly get involved with any of them while they were involved with someone else.’

  ‘And so they would break up with their lady friend and …’

  ‘And she’d make them wait – not long, mind, any more than a week or two and young men who’ve already proved themselves fickle are liable to take themselves off somewhere more obliging.’

  ‘And then she would walk out with them for a time?’

  ‘For a time, yes. Then she’d drop them like hot potatoes and be off after the next one. Known for it, she was.’

  ‘And yet she seems to have maintained long relationships with Jimmy Cottee and Selwyn Croft, the young bank clerk.’

  Becky Stephens shrugged. ‘Oh, poor Jimmy,’ she said. ‘He was such a lamb. Followed her around like a little lost puppy, he did. Soft as tripe. She was kind to him, I’ll give her that, but never nothing more. I mean, most people won’t beat a puppy, will they? You’d have to be a real mean piece to do that.’

  ‘And Selwyn Croft?’

  ‘Nice boy. Sweet on her and I think she liked him well enough. He was steady, like. Always there when she wanted taking out and, to be fair, I think she was fond. Then he started to get serious and she dropped him like a hot coal. She didn’t want serious, not Miss Rowe.’

  ‘Did she ever mention anyone called Geoffrey? He drove a blue car with a horse ornament on the bonnet.’

  Becky Stephens looked blank. ‘I don’t recall anyone like that.’

  ‘And these young men she … stole. And the young women she stole them from. Would you have names for them?’

  ‘Oh.’ She put her finger to her lips as though belatedly hushing her gossip. ‘I’m not sure I’d like to say.’

  Of course you would, Mickey thought. You just want to be coaxed. He picked up his tea and took a sip, made himself more comfortable in the old armchair and settled himself to the task.

  FOURTEEN

  By four p.m. on the Saturday afternoon they were back at Cissie Rowe’s bungalow and looking again at the mess and devastation.

  ‘No one suggested that Cissie Rowe was anything more than a casual drug user,’ Henry said, ‘and no one can recall her wearing the snake bangle. Though something interesting did come out of that question.’

  ‘Oh, and what would that be?’

  ‘Well, it might fit with the claim that she steals other women’s admirers and then uses and discards them. A couple of people told me that Cissie would often turn up at the studio wearing a piece of jewellery that they’d not seen her wear before. Sometimes she’d say that she had borrowed it. Sometimes that it was a present. Either way, she’d wear these items only a couple of times and then they’d disappear, be gone.’

  ‘And she had an explanation for this?’

  ‘That she’d either returned the piece, had it been loaned, or grown tired of it and sold it on.’

  ‘Interesting. And what did your informants think of that?’

  ‘Either that she was cold-hearted or that she was practical. “You can’t eat gold” was one rather revealing comment.’

  ‘Gold, is it? So she encouraged the giving of gifts before chucking her paramours aside. She’s not the first young woman to have survived poverty that way and I doubt she’ll be the last. Pretty young women are usually all too aware that their looks won’t last and that they need to make good use of them while they may.’

  ‘You are a cynic, Mickey.’

  ‘No, I’m a realist.’

  Henry nodded. It seemed to him that Mickey’s comments echoed the conversation he had enjoyed with his sister on the promenade. Though Cynthia had always been so much more than just a pretty face. ‘What I don’t understand, then, is where the money went. If she was given gifts and then sold those gifts, did she keep the proceeds from that here?’

  Mickey pulled out his notebook and flicked back through the pages. ‘I asked the locals to track down her bank account, if she had one. It seems she banked at the same branch of Western and Southern that employed Selwyn Croft and that he provided her with a reference for it, but she kept relatively little in her account. At the time of her death she possessed ten pounds, five shillings and eight pence and the deposits all match the dates the studio paid her.’

  ‘So the money from the sales of these gold trinkets … that’s if they were gold … Cynthia owns the prettiest pieces of costume jewellery, all pastes and gilt metal, but I imagine few people would know the difference. She saves the real items for when Albert wants to show them off.’

  ‘The difference being, if an obviously expensive lady like your sister wears paste baubles, everyone just a
ssumes they must be the real thing because she obviously has the money to pay for it. A woman like Cissie Rowe, the assumption would be that these items were cheaper imitations. I made that mistake when I first saw the snake bangle, if you recall.’

  ‘And so, she must have made a point of demonstrating or even stating that all that glittered was in fact gold.’ Henry frowned, thoughtful. ‘What if they weren’t gifts? What if that’s just what she let everyone assume?’

  ‘So far, we just know that she stole other women’s men. It’s a stretch that she also stole jewels – especially as she then had the gall to wear them openly.’

  ‘True, though she courted her young men openly, even when their previous girlfriends were there to see, and it still leaves us with the issue of what she spent the money on. Or why there is none here.’

  ‘Whoever killed her took it.’

  ‘And yet left the snake bangle behind.’

  ‘Cash is more immediately usable.’

  Henry nodded. That was true. He glanced at his watch. It was almost five and they still had to return to the police station, report back to the central office and then write up the day’s events. The bungalow was still redolent with the smell of paraffin and Henry found that he was concerned by this.

  ‘I want to pay another brief visit to Muriel Owens,’ he said. ‘I think we should go together, impress upon the lady the implications of withholding evidence. She must have noticed the jewellery, heard the excuses and the stories.’

  Mickey nodded. ‘And tomorrow we take this place apart,’ he guessed, ‘and Jimmy Cottee’s poor little hovel too. You know, he weighs upon my mind almost more than the young woman. I can’t help but feel that he would still be alive if he’d not fallen in with Miss Rowe.’

  ‘And Miss Rowe would not be dead if she’d not fallen in with whoever killed her,’ Henry said. ‘You could make that statement about any of those who die by violence. No, but I know what you’re saying. Jimmy Cottee seems to have been an unworldly innocent, an anomaly among those who certainly thought they knew how the world worked.’