The Bee's Kiss(12)

‘Yes, Westhorpe?’

Tilly smiled in a knowing way. ‘There are two such clinics, one in Harley Street, the other in Berlin. This is from the Berlin branch. Very discreet! Someone of Dame Beatrice’s notoriety would never, of course, be seen crossing the London threshold of such a place, let alone Dr Stopes’ clinic in Whitfield Street. Far too near home.’

Joe was finding Westhorpe’s asides and insights informative – as, indeed, she had promised – and for the moment he held in check his urge to call her to heel and remind her of her lowly professional position. All the same, he was uncomfortable with the role she was assuming for herself and he was relieved when a tap on the door announced the arrival of – he hoped – an inspector. He went to the door, finding, to his annoyance, that Westhorpe had joined him and was hovering at his elbow still holding the box.

At the sight of them, the man standing outside looked up instinctively to check the number on the door. A middle-aged man with an eager expression underlined by a flamboyant moustache, he was wearing a trench coat over a brown tweed suit. In one hand he held a bowler hat and in the other a large black leather bag. He was trying very hard not to laugh.

‘You have the right room,’ said Joe curtly.

‘Good evening, sir. Oh, er, I say,’ he said, swallowing a smile. ‘Awfully sorry, sir . . . no one thought to warn me that this was a black tie occasion . . . miss.’ He nodded politely at Westhorpe.

‘Even the corpse is in evening dress, you’ll find, Cottingham. Join the party. You’re very welcome. I must introduce you to Constable Westhorpe who is seconded to our unit. She’s, um, working under cover. At Sir Nevil’s suggestion. Westhorpe, this is Inspector Ralph Cottingham. Ex-Guards officer so no doubt you’ll feel free to be rude to him too.’

The inspector smiled uncertainly at Westhorpe and seemed relieved when Joe sent her back into the bedroom and led him through to the scene of the murder.

‘Notebook, Cottingham?’

‘Got everything you might need in here, sir,’ said Ralph. ‘When I heard you were working the case I thought I’d better bring along the old “Murder Bag”. Always keep it ready. Some of the top blokes don’t bother but, like you, I’m a keen disciple of Sir Bernard.’

Joe nodded his approval. He knew the bag would contain everything he needed: fingerprint kit, evidence bags, tweezers.

‘Got your rubber gloves, Cottingham?’

‘Sir! Julia doesn’t let me leave home without them. Never know what you’re going to fish out of the Thames or the sewer!’ He looked around him at the ravished grandeur. ‘Nasty. But it beats working in an alley behind the Ten Bells which is where I was last week. Sketch of the crime scene first, sir, before I glove up?’

Joe had worked on one or two cases with Cottingham and knew him to be both clever and diligent. Nothing escaped his sharp brown eye and he had a neat drawing hand combined with an accurate sense of proportion. ‘Start with the body, will you, Ralph? The pathologist should be here at any moment and it will be good to give him a clear run.’

‘Sir!’ said Cottingham, already filling in the boundaries of the room on a sheet of squared paper.

‘Oh, and you’ll have observed the pieces of broken glass from the window . . . Plot as many as seems possible, will you? Size of shards and position. A pattern may emerge. As with the blood spatter. Get that down too.’

‘Someone I ought to know, sir?’ said Cottingham without a break in his sketching.

‘Sorry. This was Dame Beatrice Jagow-Joliffe. She was attending a party below, returned to her room just after midnight and was discovered, as you observe, about half an hour later by Constable Westhorpe.’

Cottingham paused in his work and looked up questioningly at Joe. ‘Looks like a burglary that went wrong. Is that what we’re thinking, sir? She disturbed a burglar. Anything missing?’

On cue, Westhorpe emerged from the bedroom, a red leather jewel case in her hand. She opened it and diamonds flashed from the black velvet interior. ‘This was under the mattress, sir. A diamond necklace. Under the mattress! The second place any thief would look! Why on earth can’t people use the hotel safe? He didn’t stay long enough to search properly. Just snatched the emeralds and ran.’

‘The emeralds?’ both men said in unison.

Westhorpe walked over to the corpse. ‘At the party she was wearing the Joliffe emeralds. Family do – of course she would be wearing them. Not round her neck any more and not in her room. And look, sir . . .’ Peering closely, she pointed with a finger. ‘An abrasion, bruise, cut, something there. Someone’s pulled at the necklace. Roughly, you’d say, and made off again back the way he came through the window. It was a burglary, evidently!’