Free Death of a Wine Merchant by David Dickinson

Maybe I shall find some other evidence. But let me ask you one final question, Inspector.’
    Cooper nodded miserably.
    ‘Have you watched a man hang? Have you watched that dismal procession early in the morning, the hangman, the criminal, the reluctant vicar, the governor of the prison taking what will be, for one of them, the last walk of his life?’
    Inspector Cooper shook his head.
    ‘Pity that,’ said Powerscourt. ‘I’ve always thought that all policemen involved in murder cases should be taken to witness it at first hand. Now then, Inspector. If I find, close to this trial, that I am no further forward than I am today, may I come back and speak to you again? I wouldn’t want you to have the death of an innocent man on your conscience. There are loyalties higher than those to the police service, I can assure you.’
    Albert Cooper looked at him desperately. Was there to be no peace? It seemed easier to agree for now. ‘Of course you can come and see me again if you wish. I can’t stop you. But I can’t guarantee that I will say anything other than I have said today.’
    ‘That’s fine,’ said Powerscourt. ‘Now then, enough of this serious business. More tea? Scone with jam and cream? A slice of this excellent chocolate cake?’

5
    Questions about legal procedure were racing through Powerscourt’s mind as his train took him back to London. Suppose he made no progress in this investigation before the matter came to trial. He thought they could demand access to police documents as part of the defence case. His memory of court procedures told him they could cross-examine Inspector Cooper if he was called as witness for the prosecution. Could they subpoena his various seating plans, for Powerscourt was sure the young man had at least three of them? That would cause a sensation in court. He could hear Pugh’s voice now, echoing round the Old Bailey. ‘I put it to you, Inspector Cooper, that you do not believe the man in the dock, Cosmo Colville, is guilty of this murder. Look at him before you speak. Is that not the case?’ ‘Tell me, Inspector, for I find this scarcely credible, that you, the principal investigating officer, are not sure my client the defendant murdered his brother?’ Powerscourt felt sure that Pugh would not suggest that Inspector Cooper believed Cosmo was innocent. It would be enough to suggest that he was uncertain. Surely that would be enough to sow a doubt so grave that it would lead the jury to an acquittal. He heard Pugh again: ‘Call Inspector Cooper’s superior officer!’
    And what, he said to himself, as they reached the outskirts of the capital, would happen to Inspector Cooper? Would he be dismissed from the service? Would his superiors forbid himfrom giving evidence? Could they save him from disgrace by leaking the story to the newspapers? ‘Shame on you, Norfolk police!’ the headline might scream. ‘Brave policeman defies superiors to see justice done and is fired by Chief Constable!’ Powerscourt suspected that the police were as closed a society as the regiments in the British Army. They would close ranks behind their inferiors and their superiors alike. Inspector Cooper would be ruined. He prayed he would never have to go back to Fakenham to speak to the young man again. He wondered if he would try to bring him to court and to the end of his career if he had to. At least Cooper would still be alive. In the meantime, he, Powerscourt, must write to Charles Augustus Pugh.
     
    Powerscourt found a note from Sir Pericles Freme awaiting him on the hall table in Markham Square. ‘Definitely something odd going on with Colville wine,’ he read, ‘need earlier years’ supply before being able to come to a definite conclusion. Have found splendid recipe involving dried lemon peel for you next time you come. Regards, Freme.’
    What in heaven’s name were people doing making wine with lemon peel, Powerscourt asked himself as he went up the stairs to the first-floor