In Taurant's Case

[Leslie]

IN TAURANT’S CASE
Preliminary.

Not quite 5 p.m. on a miserable, dark February afternoon. No-one had enjoyed the day; everyone had been out of the office for most of the time, getting cold and getting wet. Now they had somehow managed to be back in, not so much consoling one-another as agreeing what a lousy day it had been and how fed-up they were.
Everyone had been out, except Chief Inspector Taurant that is. But if he had been asked he would have explained that the commanding general stays at H.Q. in order to understand the whole battle and direct operations. In accordance with which philosophy he now sat at the back of the gathering, not unobtrusive considering his frame, six feet tall and almost the same dimension around his girth, but listening to the summary conducted by Inspector Monroe who stood in front of a board that carried a picture of Shirley, her desciption and a few marker-pen notes.
“What do we have, then?” she asked. “Shirley Barron age 16 goes to school as usual on Thursday morning, doesn’t come home that evening, that night. Parents phone around all her contacts that they know of, ‘cause kids do so many sleep-overs these days, don’t always warn their parents it seems. Mother reports daughter missing this morning, Friday. Tom and Frank went to the house.” She nodded toward the detective constables.
“Semi-detached on Bromsville street,” Tom Jackson recited, “ father works at Forsham Engineering, mother part-time at the food factory. There was no quarrel according to mother, Shirley left in a cheerful mood. Nothing unusual as far as mother knew. Later mother said the girl must have taken a dress and some other stuff with her in her school bag. So looks like she had a plan to be away.” He turned his head toward Frank, who took up the tale.
“Like most kids these days, Shirley had a computer in her room – she’s an only child, by the way – and she was really into the Social Networking scene, looks like contacts of all ages in all parts of the country, if not all the World. We brought the computer in and the brains are still working on it; so far we don’t know if she’d arranged to meet some-one. There’s stuff pass-word protected”

Tracey Monroe took it up again, speaking to the team but aiming really at Taurant.
“To cut it short, we don’t have any decent leads. Her friends at school say they knew nothing of any plans Shirley might have had to disappear. Door to door only confirms a respectable happy family. No reports of sightings, at bus station, railway or taxis. She might have been picked up by car, of course, whether voluntarily or by force is a question. We have to assume an abduction, for the present, though the fact she took a dress with her suggests otherwise.”

Noises like an oak tree shaken by a sudden blast of air notified the gathering that Taurant was rising from his seat. “Thank you Marylin,” he said as he headed into his office.
Inspector Monroe’s mouth tightened in annoyance as she muttered, “It’s Tracey, actually,” as she always did, to no effect. The meeting continued with directions for follow-up next day.
The door of Taurant’s office swung open and his bulk emerged on a wave of bonhomie. Through a large smile he called, “Well done, team. Enough for the day, home-time I think,” and the avalanche of him rolled out of the room.

“Well done?” sergeant Jim Watson enquired of no-one in particular and everyone present as the sound of the departing avalanche faded, “What’s well done about a fruitless day and a girl still missing? He must be on another planet.”
“He’s like a cat that got the cream. Why’s he been so bloody cheerful lately?” one of the constables asked.
“I reckon he’s getting his end away somewhere,” came a suggestion.
“Never! He couldn’t even find it under that paunch. Any way, who’d fancy him?” was another contribution.
“He was married once, you know,” a long-serving constable informed them.
“Get away! What happened to her?”
“She left him, went off with a Marriage Guidance Counsellor.”
An idea that prompted general laughter.

“That’s enough!” Monroe commanded loyally, despite her own feelings toward her boss. “Tom’s staying on tonight to do some research and field any calls. All the patrols have Shirley’s description and will be keeping an eye out. Let’s go and get some rest, carry on tomorrow where we left off.”

At half past eight that evening Inspector Tracey Monroe was alone in her flat, watching TV without registering whatever the show was supposed to be conveying, finishing off a glass of lager after a micro-waved sweet and sour. The phone rang.

“Inspector, Tom here, do you know where the boss lives?”
“Of course I do. Surely you’ve got his address handy.”
“No. I mean do you know where his house is?”
“Yes. Why?”
“I think you’d better get over there. He’s been found dead!”

Taken by surprise Tracey foolishly exclaimed, “What do you mean, ‘found dead’?”
“Well, dead. Like, life extinct. In his bath apparently.”

It took her fifteen minutes to reach Taurant’s house, it being almost the far side of town, an older district with substantial houses, a distinctly more expensive region than the area where her own pad hid itself. Even with the concentration the drive required, her mind could not avoid imagining – not without qualms - what kind of a sight the naked corpse of the mighty Taurant in his bath would make.
Two Police cars blocked all traffic, parked cars occupying the length of the curb space. She saw blue lights flashing on the roof of one of the Police cars as soon as she turned into the road. Uniformed officers stood on the pavement and on the steps climbing up to the front door, which was open, light from the hallway shaping moving silhouettes A few onlookers were kept in place by the uniformed men.
Tracey showed her identity and went in.
“What happened here?” she asked. A sergeant emerged from a side room. Tracey showed her identity again. The sergeant reported,
“We got a call at the Station from a lady who said she was expected here but couldn’t get any answer to her ringing the door bell. Said she’d tried calling on her mobile and likewise got no reply. As she had been expected, she thought something must be wrong and called us. We sent a car along. Same with them, couldn’t rouse anyone. Knew whose house it is so they went a bit careful, didn’t want to smash the door in – it’s a whacking great oak thing anyway, like the side of a battle-ship – so they got our favourite lock-smith to open up, even then it took some pushing. It sticks.
“When they got in they had to search through the place and found the Chief Inspector in the bath – very dead.”
“Where’s this woman now?” Tracey asked.
The sergeant inclined his head toward the room from which he had emerged, “In there. She’s pretty shaken but keeping calm. She hasn’t seen the body.”
“I’ll speak to her later. Better have a look at the problem. Upstairs I guess,” said Tracey already making for the stairs at the head of which stood a constable, who moved aside and gestured toward his left.
The bathroom was about the size of the lounge in Tracey’s flat. Like a bold statement of authority, an iron bath, elevated on curved ball-and-claw legs stood majestically in the centre of the space.

There were two heated towel rails, gleaming white cupboards, a hand basin with a fancy mirror incorporating its own light, a white painted chair over which a bath-robe large enough to be a tent had been flung. The mirror was not clouded with condensation, there was no steam in the air though the atmosphere was distinctly perfumed. Tracey did not automatically associate Taurant with perfume. From the doorway she could observe parts of the Chief Inspector protruding above the rim of the bath: a rounded hill-top of stomach and two peaks of knees. His head was not in sight. She went close; what she had imagined during her drive across town matched pretty well with the reality in front of her. Expressions like ‘beached whale’ and ‘Great White’ came to mind even as she told herself not to be naughty. The water came within an inch of the rim. It occurred to her that, allowing for the volume occupied by the body, it wouldn’t take all that much water to fill the rest of the bath. Taurant lay with his head submerged able to do this, despite his height, because his knees were bent allowing him to slip down. Tracey put fingers into the water; it was almost cold, no warmer than the room temperature would hold it, the door being closed. She brushed the wet fingers against each other and found that they were slippery with oil.
She looked around: apart from the flung bathrobe everything was orderly. There were signs of dampness on the floor around the bath where splashes had fallen. It did not surprise her. She saw herself in a full-length mirror attached to a wall and her degree of sun-tan did surprise her. Knowing it wasn’t true, she realised that the mirror was tinted to produce the effect. She touched nothing else and left the room.
The sergeant was still in the hallway.
“Who’s coming?” Tracey asked.
“Doctor Birstead,” the sergeant replied, understanding the question. “Going to speak to the woman now?
“Yes. Do we have a name?
“Lucy Fieldman,” and a little more quietly, “She brought what looks like an overnight bag with her.”

Lucy Fieldman was quite a small person, made to appear particularly small as she sat in an armchair purchased by Taurant to suit his own dimensions. Tracey estimated her age to be about forty, her height no more than five feet and six inches, her build positively slim. Neatly styled brown hair that carried no trace of grey framed an attractive, rather boyish face. How a woman like this could have any kind of relationship with a gross lump like the Chief Inspector was rather beyond Tracey’s comprehension.
Lucy Fieldman was perched on the edge of the seat, her feet hardly touching the floor, had she sat back the chair would have swallowed her. A handkerchief was scrunched between her hands though it did not appear that she had been crying.
She looked up as Tracey entered.
“I’m Detective Inspector Monroe,” Tracey introduced herself, speaking gently, considerate of someone who had just suffered a shocking loss. “I’m afraid I must ask you a few questions at this time.”
The woman nodded.
“I understand you were expected here.”
The woman nodded again.
“At what time were you expected?”
Brief answer, “Eight o’ clock.”
“For how long have you known Mr Taurant?”
“Only a couple of months.” A cultured voice.
“How did you come to meet him?”
“Dining at the Golf Club.”
“And you have met with him at other times recently, apart from the Golf Club?”
“A few evenings together. Restaurants. The theatre a couple of times.”
“You knew he was a Policeman, a detective?”
“Oh yes.” a suggestion of a smile modified Lucy Fieldman’s sad expression, “He was well known and you could hardly miss him. He was great fun you know.”
Tracey hoped her eyebrows had not elevated themselves as much as she thought. ‘Not in my experience he wasn’t’ she thought. And in spite of herself said, “Really?”
“Oh yes. It was wonderful when he laughed.”
“I’m sure,” said Tracey, imagining the undulations of flesh. “As you say, he was hard to miss. It surprises me that we knew nothing of this relationship.” Inviting explanation, though the reason for Taurant’s recent good humour was becoming clear.
Lucy nodded, “Torry,” a pause, “that’s what I called him, I think he was uncertain. A woman had made a fool of him in the past. We always met rather secretly away from here. We went to restaurants well out of town. I don’t think we ever encountered anyone he knew.”
Tracey tried to imagine ‘Torry’ as Romeo keeping secret assignations with this Juliet but slid into cartoons of Laurel and Hardy. She pulled her thoughts together,
“Had you been to this house before tonight?”
Lucy began to look embarrassed, “Yes. We always came back after dark.”
Tracey tried to ask considerately, “May I ask if you have stayed overnight?”
Lucy raised her head a little, “No.”
Still gently, Tracey remarked, “You brought a bag with you tonight. May I ask what is in it?”
And Lucy looked truly embarrassed. “ Overnight things.”
“So tonight you did intend to stay.”
“Yes.”
“And did you intend to share a bed?”
“Yes we did,” with an edge of defiance.
“No offence, Lucy,” Tracey offered conciliatorily, “You are adults (‘were ‘ she thought) and there’s no law against it.”
Though the proposition of the contrasting pair of them in a bed suggested Lucy in mortal danger should Taurant roll over.
“I apologise for having to ask such questions. I’m just trying to build the background to what has taken place. If you’ll wait here a little longer I’ll go and see what’s happening.”

In the bathroom Doctor Birstead was preparing to leave; he turned to Tracey as she entered,
“ Hefty whack to the back of the head. Looks like he slipped, fell and caught the edge of the bath. Roll top, solid iron. There’s lots of bath oil in the water, makes it very dangerous. Probably drowned while unconscious. Rough guess, judging by the temperatures, I’d say it happened about two hours ago. Let you know tomorrow. Get on to it sharpish, considering who it is.”

Tracey returned to the room where Lucy Fieldman waited.
“Thank you for being patient,” Tracey offered. “It seems that Mr Taurant slipped and fell in his bath. Unfortunately he hit his head on the edge of the bath, which you may know is a heavy iron affair, and this led to his death. The bath was especially slippery because he had added oil to the water.”
Lucy suddenly looked distressed, “Oh! Does that mean that I killed him?”
Not understanding, Tracey asked, “I’m sorry, how would you have killed him?”
“I gave him the bath oil. It was some of mine. He liked the smell. I persuaded him to use it. Oh dear, it’s my fault.” And she began to make sobbing noises into her handkerchief.
Tracey said consoling things and called a female constable to stay with Lucy.
“I’ll have someone take you home if you give me your address,” she organised.
Lucy named a street in a district on the edge of town, but requested,
“Not a police car, please. What would the neighbours think? Just get a taxi.”

What a furtive affair the Chief Inspector’s romance had been, still was, Tracey Monroe thought.
The body was removed, the house secured and someone left on watch.
‘Plenty to do tomorrow,’ Tracey considered.