COLLEY?S ?COTSWOLD ?CAPER.
The London underground train rumbled and swayed on it?s way towards St. James Park, and had the strap-hanging traveller been stripped completely naked he could not have felt more vulnerable.?Over the weekend, newly appointed Detective Constable Robert Fabian had put his days as a uniformed constable behind him, and in his belted Trench coat, tweed jacket, Fair-Isle pullover, and flannels, he was today about to start a new phase of his career as a detective in London?s Metropolitan Police Force C.I.D.?It was almost as if his authority had vanished along with his shiny buttoned uniform, truncheon, and distinctive custodian helmet.
He was beginning to wish that he had worn a hat, though somehow his weekend flat cap hadn?t seemed quite appropriate for today?s occasion.
But if only his late father, an ex-beat sergeant copper with over twenty years service, could see him now on his way to New Scotland Yard.
Bob choked at the thought.
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?Detective Constable Robert Fabian reporting to Detective Chief Inspector ?Koller?, he announced to the uniformed Desk Sergeant, upon his arrival in the tiled entrance hall.
The sergeant looked up over his glasses, sniffed as he stroked his moustache with finger and thumb, and snapped ?Second floor, room 212b?.
Bob started for the stairs but before he could move the sergeant halted him.
?Identification sonny!?
Bob fumbled in his pocket and handed his warrant card to the sergeant who recorded the details in a large ledger, and handed it back.
There was a glint in the sergeants eye and the flicker of a smile crossed his face, but he spoke in a flat monotone.
?Up the stairs, turn left, second door on left, knock and wait, he?ll keep you waiting, always does, best o? luck, you?ll need it!?
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Bob?s double knock on the door brought no response and after waiting a minute or two he perched himself on a chair across the corridor. Minutes later the door opened and a burly man in his late fifties strode out and disappeared up the corridor.
Ten minutes later he was back, and with his hand on the door knob, he turned to Bob and said irascibly ?Who the bloody hell are you and what are you sitting there for ? have you nothing to do!?
Bob sprang to attention and spluttered his name and the reason for his presence.
D.C.I. Koller, for it was he, fixed Bob with piercing black eyes, twirled his waxed moustache between finger and thumb, and said gruffly, ?Well don?t just bloody well sit out there, get down to the canteen and get me a cup of tea and bring it back ?chop chop?, milk three sugars, and get one for yourself, and don?t be all morning, you?re late enough already!?
As the door closed behind the D.C.I., a chastened ?Bob said quietly to himself, ?And how do you do to you, you miserable old bugger?.
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Ten minutes later, having found the canteen and returned to room 212b, ?Bob sat awkwardly clutching his mug of greasy tea. Koller, who was notoriously abrupt when dealing with subordinates, grimaced as he sipped his tea, before complaining ?Luke-warm, and not enough sugar?.
Bob waited as Koller selected a carved briar pipe from a rack on his desk, took a tin of ?Three Nuns? tobacco from a drawer, and rolled a measured amount of leaf lovingly in his palms. Finally, after studiously packing his pipe, he spoke briskly in the manner of a man not used to having to repeat himself.
? Right laddie, ground rules, Do?s and Don?ts!?
?You might well think yourself my second in command but in reality you are my dogsbody. You are my assistant and my shadow. Speak when you?re spoken to and not unless and until.?
?You watch, keep your ears open and listen, and above all, learn.?
?Never ever interrupt me, especially when I?m interviewing ?chummy?, that?s the suspect or felon to you, and never question my methods when we?re in company. What you hear when you?re with me remains with us except when I instruct you otherwise. Have no truck with any defence brief, ?and especially never trust any of our own legal team. Call me Sir in front of the top brass or the public, and address me as Guv?nor in private?.
Kollar reached into his desk, fished out a notebook and tossed it to Bob. ?Here! Use this, jot everything down, write it up properly every night.?
?Understood??
? Yes Sir ? Guv? gulped Bob.
?Not bloody Guv, I said Guv?nor? groaned Koller.
?Yes er, um, Guv?nor? replied Bob,
?Right, this is what?s on top of our pile now.?
Koller struck a match and didn?t speak until he?d puffed his pipe into glowing life.
?We?re leaving for Cheltenham tonight?, he said through the smoke.
?We?ve been called in by the local Force on a robbery and murder at the country house of Lord ?Peter Wimsey at Chilton Wallop. A large quantity of jewellery has gone missing from the safe and in the process somebody skewered the butler, one Douglas L. Sayers?.
?That?s all you need for now, find yourself a desk out in the office, sign out at lunchtime, go home pack a bag and meet me at two-thirty sharp at Paddington Station, platform one. Pack for two days?
?Yes Guv?nor?, Bob turned to go.
?And son!?
He turned back to Koller.
? Get yourself a hat, preferably a trilby, and grow a moustache. We might have to put up with women PC?s now but there?s no bloody need for you to look like one! And close the door behind you.?
Bob slumped onto the chair in the corridor, found the stub of a pencil in his pocket, licked it, and wrote on the first page of his new notebook ? ?Get trilby/grow tash/pack/cancel Wendsy night with Rita/ bugger!?
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As the Cheltenham Spa Express steamed out of Paddington dead on time, Koller and Fabian found an empty First class compartment and settled in for the two hour journey. Slinging his Gladstone bag up onto the rack, Koller sunk into the corner seat after first pulling down the blinds on the corridor side of the compartment. Taking out a pouch he set about charging his pipe.
Fabian nervously eyed the ?No Smoking? signs.
Koller, displaying his psychic powers, waved his pipe and said gruffly, ?Sod ?em, if anyone tries to get in through that door, stick your warrant card under their nose and tell ?em Police Business?.
He handed Bob a thick brown envelope, boldly addressed to the Cheltenham police, ?Hang on to that and don?t pass it on until I tell you, and if anyone ever asks, I?ve never seen it. ?You were given it by someone behind the desk at the Yard.?
?Now then, put it away and pay attention!?
For the next sixty minutes, through clouds of dense Three Nuns smoke, Koller filled in all the details to hand of the happenings at Chilton Manor.
Basically the robbery had taken place during a week-long house party hosted by Lord Peter, and over thirty thousand pounds worth of ?jewellery had vanished from the safe. The robbery had taken place during the night, there was no obvious sign of a forced entry, and the safe was opened by someone almost certainly using the combination. Most of the guests were known personally to Lord Peter and the only people present who he could not vouch for had been interrogated by the local police and were being detained in residence until Koller had a chance to interview them.
The staff were a separate issue and except for a scullery maid, a Miss Christie who had vanished the night before the robbery, they were all still at the Manor. It was thought that Sayers, the murder victim, had disturbed the burglar or burglars, and had paid with his life.
They discussed the details of the case at length. Finally, Koller handed the file and a sheet of paper to Bob.
?Here?s a provisional list of suspects that the local boys drew up, based solely upon the fact that they were strangers to Lord Peter. Of course that means nothing, crooks come in all shapes and sizes and from all walks of life, it just gives us somewhere to start?.
Bob ran his finger down the list ?
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Colonel Colman. Guest.
Miss O?Hara, the Colonel?s secretary.
Reverend Mr. Green. Guest.
Professor Cherry. Guest.
Doctor Black. Local village doctor. Guest.
Mrs. Slocombe. Guest.
Mrs. White. Agency cook brought in for week.
Miss A.Christie. Missing scullery maid.
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?Well!? said Koller, puffing vigorously at his briar, ?what d?you think??
?I think, I think ?. I think I need a pee? stammered Bob, rising to his feet.
And before Koller could reply he opened the door and staggered out into the comparatively fresh air of the corridor. Swaying his way to the toilet he heard Koller slide the door across behind him.
?Bloody hell? Bob muttered to himself, ?his lungs must be kippered!?
He would be in no hurry to get back.
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Leaving the toilet, where he had taken the opportunity to update his notebook (get Gladstone bag/ always travel 1st. Class/ stick to fags), Bob lowered a corridor window, stuck his head out and gulped in the fresh evening air. The keen air stung his nostrils and his head spun as he breathed deeply to cleanse the smoke from his lungs. He also collected what felt like an ounce of smutty grit beneath his eyelids as the steam from the engine raced past the window. He pulled on the strap to raise the window and returned reluctantly to the compartment to find Koller writing copious notes against the list of ?suspects?.
Koller looked up as Bob reluctantly closed the door behind him, sealing in the fug.
?What?s wrong with your eyes laddie ?? he said with a sarcastic grin. ? too much fresh air can be bad for you know, especially when it?s full of fire-ash?.
Koller put down the list, rummaged in his pocket, drew out a silver hip flask and passed it to Bob.
?Here, get some of that down you, the case can wait now until tomorrow?. Koller loosened his tie, undid his waistcoat, and knocked out his now empty pipe on the heel of his shoe before slumping back into his seat.
Koller?s face softened as he studied Bob across the compartment ?
?Sit back and relax, and allow me to tell you how you got to be here, laddie? he said.
Bob looked quizzically at his new boss who had suddenly taken on a new persona. Gone was the gruff uncompromising policeman, he was about to see a side of the Inspector that few within the Force knew existed.
Koller?s voice mellowed ?
?Your father Jack was the best all-round copper it was ever my good fortune to come across. Most of what I know, he taught me. And now, with my retirement coming up in six months time, I can do the same for you. I asked for you especially and you?re not to let him, or me, down! Savvy??
?Your father lingering ?in the uniformed branch was a waste of talent, he knew all there was to know about proper policing. But as you must know, his life was his family.?
?You, your sister Rosie, and your lovely mother Dora.?
?Not for him the irregular hours of detective work, he wanted to spend time with the family, not the Force.?
?Not that he couldn?t have coped mind you, the top brass begged him at times to go over to C.I.D., but it wasn?t what he wanted.?
Koller was in reflective mood and he took another swig from the flask.
?We were together at Sydney Street you know.? he said.
?Your Dad looked after Home Secretary Churchill that day like an uncle. ?Impetuous bugger that Churchill, if it wasn?t for your old man he would have probably ended up taking one that day, he was so bloody reckless.?
?And now he?s Chancellor ? bloody priceless!?
Koller reached for his pipe but mercifully it was only in order to suck on it reflectively, as a baby would a dummy.
?Your father helped me in one way or another on almost all of the cases that I ever solved, and now I?m going to return the favour by teaching you all that I?ve learned?.
Bob was lost for words at this entirely unexpected turn of events, but ?Kollar, lying back with his eyes half closed, continued as if Bob had ceased to exist.
?My old mentor D. I. Jupp also thought the world of Jack. Many a time he?d cry on your old man?s shoulder when that bloody Belgian amateur Poirot was poking around on his case. Him and his bloody grey cells.? ?Amateur sleuths! ?I?ve known more than a few, never give ?em the time of day laddie?.
?Sexton Blake and Tinker, a rum pair if ever there was. And Bulldog Drummond, he was another.?
?Bulldog?? Koller sniffed loudly, ?He looked like one, I?ll grant him that, but he was about as tenacious as a toy poodle.?
?And as for the Saint, that Simon Templar! He was more like Mother bloody Superior ? wore a corset you know, and some said bloomers as well!?
?Steer well clear of the lot of ?em laddie.?
The last few comments had been delivered ever more slowly and quietly, and Koller?s breathing became deeper and deeper until it developed into a snore as sleep took over.
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Bob sought fresh air in the corridor and spent the rest of the journey reflecting upon this unexpected turn of events and what it meant for his career. The hypnotic effect of the speeding lights, allied to his thoughts as they swayed and rattled through the darkness turned the remainder of the journey into an almost surreal experience. It was to be after breakfast the following morning before Bob?s life returned to anything like normality.
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Koller and Bob stayed overnight at ?The Red Cow? in Chilton and an early meeting was arranged next morning in the snug. Also present was Detective Sergeant William Walker, lead detective from the local force.
Entering the room Koller immediately took Walker by the hand in a firm grip. ?How?s the wife and kid?s, Willy??
?Champion Colley, couldn?t be better, and your?s??
Koller frowned and replied, ?So-So?, adding, ?This is young Bob Fabian that I told you about, old Jack?s lad?
Walker smiled benignly at Bob, ?One of the best, your old man, sorry he?s gone lad!?
Bob smiled briefly whilst all the time thinking ?What the bloody hell is going on?.
Koller gestured for them all to sit down and did the talking.
?Look laddie, this is your first lesson in how it works?, he winked at the local man.
?We?ve been called in to help the locals. They usually know their job and will have already done all the leg-work, especially when, like Willy here, they?re ex-Met.?
?We have to look good to justify our couple of days in the country so I?m about to report the name of ?chummy? to the Yard and they?ll be happy that the collar looks down to us. ?
?Willy tells his boss, on my say so, that we?ve cracked it.?
?It?s all down to trust between Willy and me.?
Bob frowned as he spoke, ?But how do we know who done it??
?That?s easy? said Koller, ?it?s the noble Lord Peter?.
?But how do you know?. Bob was lost.
?Well?, said Koller, ?first it?s obviously an inside job. And a check with the insurance boys showed up that Peter the Lord had taken out fifty thousand pounds worth of insurance only last week, and he?s got previous?.
?There?s your motive, I knew that before we left London?.
?But the suspects??, said Bob.
?Actors brought in for the charades that the house party played in the evenings, all cleared?, said Walker confidently, ?Wimsey had them there to muddy the waters?.
?And the murder??
?Sayers must have seen Lord Peter at the safe, so he done for him?, said Koller.
?What about Christie, the missing maid?? queried Bob.
?Found in Harrogate, stupid girl, some sort of personal breakdown?.
Bob dug in his toes.
?But it?s all guesswork, circumstantial ? don?t you agree, Sergeant Walker??
Walker smiled.
? I trust your Guv?nor. ?If ?he say?s it?s so, then it is. I?ll inform my Chief Constable this afternoon and let him make the arrest, he?ll be well chuffed.?
?Then I write a glowing report to the Yard saying what a help you have both been, every ones a winner!?
?Excellent?, beamed Koller, ?we?ll have a right-royal blow-out tonight, on the Yard!?
And so they did.
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The next day Koller and Bob took the train back to London.
Koller, who was badly hung over from the previous night?s celebrations, slept until the train was approaching Swindon. As the train was rumbling into the station he roused himself and spoke to Bob for the first time that day.
?Have you still got that envelope that I gave you? The one that I know nothing about?.
Bob nodded.
?Then post it at Swindon, there?s a box on the platform?, said Koller.
Bob hesitated, but then blurted out ? ?Guv?nor, I have to say this, have we not made a terrible mistake??
Koller smiled and replied smugly, ?Not at all, that envelope contains the forensic report from the Yard Lab. concerning the specimens and samples that Willy sent up to us?.
?Only Wimsey?s fingerprints were found on the safe, and his fresh dabs were all over the sword he took from the wall and used on Sayers. ?He?s bang to right?s and he?ll cough?.
?So you knew all along?, said Bob.
Koller reached for his pipe.
?Too right I did, but that?s both our secret, and your first lesson.?
?Always keep your cards close to your chest and the joker up your sleeve!?
Bob decided that he needed a pee.
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