Written in the Stars
"One of the problems with modern policing," the white haired man said, without looking up from his copy of the London Times, "is this obsessive focus with evidence. It's people that commit crimes not DNA samples. You need to focus on understanding more about people, DCI Crockshaw."
The detective chief inspector settled into his usual seat in the Longwei Tea Room near Covent Garden, "You're early today, Jason."
"Yes, well, it was my turn to buy the tea," he said looking up from the news, a slight smile on his long face. "You should expand your consciousness, Matthew, at least once in a while," He gestured to the small porcelain cup of greenish tea.
"You know I don't like your teas. What is it?"
"It's Tieguanyin and it's exquisite. It's only served on very special occasions in China, but I find it gives me a certain clarity."
DCI Crockshaw sipped tentatively, "It's bloody awful, Jason."
"Tea lets one forget the din of the world."
"I prefer Typhoo."
"Yes. Well, I've prevailed upon Mr. Yih to stop serving you Typhoo for the time being. But you didn't come this morning with fine tea in mind. You're here to ask me about the astrologer."
"You're unusually perceptive today, Jason. It must be your… Ten-Quinine," DCI Crockshaw said, pointing to his still brimming cup.
"Tieguanyin. And you've arrested the wrong man."
"And what makes you think so? He gave a full confession, you know. It was short, but more than enough to convict him. There's physical evidence as well, his prints are all over the murder weapon, and DNA evidence will confirm her blood under his fingernails…"
He stopped short as the proprietor, Mr. Yih came to the table with another small pot of tea, addressing Jason boisterously in Chinese. Crockshaw, whose written reports sometimes suggested that had difficulty enough with English, let alone a foreign language, studied his friend as he chatted breezily with Mr. Yih. Fluent in half a dozen Asian languages, French, German, and of all things, the Maghrebi Arabic dialect, Jason Tolbort was unusual in both form and substance. Although not yet 45, his hair was completely white, slightly long and unkempt, but his countenance was that of a much younger man. He had a powerful build, but rather than accentuating this by presenting himself smartly, he invariably appeared in public in a rumpled suit and tie, eccentric and dishevelled - his energy wore out even new clothes quickly. And his energy was considerable. A world-class kendoka, he took second at the Kendo World Championship in 1995, before renouncing the sport and devoting himself fully to his spiritual disciplines. Before his thirtieth birthday he became the youngest full professor of Occidental and Oriental philosophy at King's College. Lately his passion was tea.
"Mr. Yih wishes to know how you like the Tieguanyin?"
"It needs cream and sugar," Crockshaw said without missing a beat.
Jason translated and Yih clucked his teeth and laughed before hurrying back to the kitchen. Crockshaw leaned forward.
"Listen now, Jason, why do you think we've got the wrong man?"
"We shape clay into a pot, but it is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want." Jason stated with a smile.
"More fortune cookie philosophy? I mean, look, this should be an open and shut case… but, well, there's something not right about it."
"It's all about emotion" remarked Jason, contemplating the porcelain cup, and apropos, apparently to nothing. "Matthew, let me ask you: what is calmness?"
Jason always had an air of discipline about him, not the harshness of military discipline -but an economy of phrase, calm, good humoured, but with a certain neatness as if he was bringing order to the universe with each word.
Matthew paused to think. "It's when you're relaxed and don't want to do anything, I suppose."
"Rather a more passive state than I was thinking of. Your calmness sounds like feeling sleepy," said Jason.
The policeman frowned. Here we go again, he thought, the Tao of Detecting.
"Ok, well, it's a feeling that everything is in order and when you don't have any other emotions."
Jason observed him steadily, "I rather think calmness is the ability to recognize, Listen to but not be controlled by emotions; a state of center."
"So to be calm you have to learn to ignore your emotions?" Matthew said.
"No, quite the opposite. Calmness requires attenuation to emotions, but also freedom from them."
"I don't follow you."
"Listen, I'll explain." said Jason. "Imagine your mind as a kingdom, and you consciousness is the ruler - like the King on his throne and that entire panoply of your emotions serve as advisers in the royal court. For example, our anger advises us on matters of war as a general does. Emotive love pleads for us to help and care for others like a social adviser. Fear advises us on areas to avoid and about possible danger of any kind. Each emotion advises us how to act. These advisors are useful and worth listening to, and if ignored, they become insistent. There are some spiritual paths that preach destruction of your emotions. These paths in effect are turning our troops on themselves. Without advice from our emotions life can be very hard, and by abandoning emotions or refusing to consult them, one discards thousands of years of human evolution and spurns God-given instincts that serve and protect us."
"You've completely lost me, my friend," Crockshaw said, "I'm asking you about the Bond Street murder, not about what Lao Tzu had to say about love."
"And I am answering you," Jason said calmly, "the point is to understand what our emotions are. They are advisers and because of their limitations, they will offer advice in a limited way. Your anger will only ever suggest destruction. Your fear will suggest you run away. Your advisers learn by association and sometimes get things wrong!"
"The metaphor applies nonetheless, but perhaps it's a bit Eastern for your taste." He withdrew a pen from his coat pocket and produced his business card. On the back he drew a circle inside two parallel lines in the center of which he placed a dot with a flourish. "An illustration," he said, "what do you see?"
"A point within a circle."
"Exactly. The point is the individual and the circle is boundaries beyond which he cannot allow his passions, or emotions, if you will, to trespass."
"And the lines?" Matthew asked.
"One's system of beliefs. Faith. Spiritual teachings."
"And if you have none? What then?"
"Then you have only the point. You must apply the compasses of philosophy to circumscribe your boundaries. No circles: no boundaries - in short, you are adrift. "
"Is this more Freemasonry?" sighed Matthew.
"Of course" said Jason with a smile. "But these principles are common to many spiritual paths. And the astrologer is a case in point."
"The astrologer is a Freemason?"
"Certainly not," Jason said, patiently, "but Masonic philosophy is helpful in situations such as these. Whatever else he might be, the astrologer is no murderer."
"The facts suggest otherwise…"
"Tell me these facts." Jason closed his eyes to listen to the response.
"Gregory Jenner, as we know, is a nationally known astrologer and author of numerous books on astrology. A hack, really, if you want my opinion, but regardless. But, beneath the veneer of celebrity and apparent respectability, Jenner was Jack-the-Lad - a world-class womaniser. Educated at Rugby, Cambridge, grandfather was a baronet, father fared poorly in his investments, small family estate in Leicestershire…parents died when he was 23… pissed away his inheritance… his penchant for women was only slightly second to his penchant for spending money…like a cheap murder mystery, really," Matthew said, referring to his notebook.
"Quite. Still, I should have thought he'd done quite well with his scribbling," Jason mused, "he's written five or six best-sellers. Money From the Stars was his last one, wasn't it?"
"Yes, some sort of astrological investment scheme, or something. Rubbish of course. By all accounts, though, he's massively in debt: spends three quid for every pound he earns."
Crockshaw leafed through his notebook, "Last Friday night, he attended the gala for the newly refurbished Claridge's restaurant. Arrived alone, but departed with Amanda Anderson…"
"The murder victim." Jason interjected.
"…yes… she was 34, rich, twice divorced, and heiress to the Anderson oil fortune in Oklahoma, recently re-married to Michael St. John-Harrison…"
"The industrialist and former shadow Minister of Trade, is that right?"
"Yes, the same. He is 56, no children, home in Hertfordshire, keeps a flat in Mayfair. By all accounts not a happy marriage… rumours of infidelity before the wedding cake went stale…"
"On who's part," Jason asked, "his or hers?"
"Hers. Apparently he is devoted to her, not even a hint of infidelity on his part. But she's another story entirely -- even her friends describe her as 'wild.' It's unconfirmed, but very possible that she had a considerable drug habit. Toxicology reports indicate barbiturates in her system at the time of death, but that's not for release to the public, you understand."
"Of course," Jason said, "So who discovered the body? More tea by the way?"
Part 2
………………………………………………………………………………..
"A Ms. Lakshmi Patel, employed by Jenner as housekeeper. She arrived at Jenner's Bond Street flat at 5.30 a.m. - found the deceased in the foyer, nude. Coroner estimates she had been dead approximately three to four hours. Cause of death: blunt trauma inflicted by repeated blows to the head. A savage attack."
"And the murder weapon - a cudgel, wasn't it?"
"Yes, a blackthorn cane, about 37 inches long and one inch thick. Hair and tissue samples on the cane match the victim, and Jenner's fingerprints are all over it."
"Was it his cane?"
"Jenner admits it was his cane; the housekeeper confirmed he kept it in an umbrella stand in the foyer."
"The newspaper accounts suggest he wasn't at home when the housekeeper arrived, is that correct," Jason asked.
"Yes, just so. He returned home about thirty minutes after the responding officers arrived. He was taken to the station for questioning, and DNA samples were taken at that time. He was interrogated by detectives Reid, Philmott, Anderson and myself. During the interview he refused counsel and answered questions willingly; seemed rather glib at first. For some time he maintained that he left the flat at 2.30 a.m. after an argument with the victim, who he insisted wanted to leave her husband, but he denied killing her. By the time I was called in, he appeared to be somewhat fatigued. When I presented him with the DNA evidence, he caved in and confessed to beating her to death after she threatened him with exposure to facilitate a divorce. Short and sweet, but as I said, sufficient for a conviction."
"The interrogation was lengthy, wasn't it?" Jason asked quietly.
Crockshaw hesitated, "A little over 50 hours… long, but I've seen longer."
"Have you ever had a false confession in your 20 years of policing, Matthew?"
"Once. And he was a raving lunatic, not calm and collected like Jenner."
"Lunacy takes many forms, my friend," Jason said, pouring another cup of tea. "There are generally three reasons why someone would wilfully make a false confession. The first, is through mental illness, either in terms of competency, or from an organic mental disease that prompts the confession for other reasons. Second - the confessor is coerced into the confession by exterior forces. The third, and least common, is a sacrificial confession in which the confessor acts for the benefit of another, a mother confessing to shield her child for instance."
"I am aware of basic interrogation techniques, Jason."
"Yes, of course, but as we discussed, knowing one's emotions promotes self-awareness?"
Matthew nodded.
"Then it follows that by knowing the emotions of others one may also know them, and to an extent how they will react. Some people don't keep their own throne and their emotions rule them. I've read this fellow's books. He views astrology as a kind of hedonistic art. The planets being in complete control of our destiny and dispense favours like parents to a child. Someone with that pathetic view of the world could never commit murder."
Matthew shook his head, "Why ever not?"
"Because," Jason gestured, "it would involve taking fate into one's own hands. It would also require the actor willing to overcome challenges and take action."
The policeman shook his head. "And is all this because he believes in astrology?"
"No not because he believes in astrology but because he has such a silly childish notion of it. Astrology is an art that teaches us about the challenges we have in our life time. It's not a wish list. The world is not here to look after us. I submit that Jenner made a false confession for one reason..."
"Which is?"
"Coercion. That he was simply convinced that the interrogation would not stop until he confessed…"
"You mean the stars told him to confess?" Matthew asked theatrically.
"Not exactly," answered Jason, ignoring the hyperbole, "but that fate placed him in the situation and when the truth did not answer, he tried the lie, perhaps trusting that the judge or jury would see things differently."
"But why not asked for counsel. Why confess?"
"Because he is spineless, for goodness sake man." Jason sighed and edged his way across the seat impatiently.
Matthew put out a hand to stop him. "Ok, so who else would have a motive?"
"Well you say this "lady" was well known for her sleeping around."
"Yes."
"Have you talked to the husband?"
Matthew nodded.
"What was your impression of him?"
"Stolid. Impassive. Stiff upper lip, and quite possibility in denial… Anyway, he just won't believe that his darling wife would do anything like that. He sees her as faultless."
"Did he ask about the murderer? Is he seeking revenge?"
"No" the policeman shook his head, "not at all."
"If your wife was murdered while cheating, would you not be furious? Would you not wish to take revenge or see justice served? I suggest you interview him. I shall see you in a few days and enquire as to your conclusion, and you may buy the tea next time."
Exactly three days later, Matthew arrived exactly on time; Jason was again already seated.
He fixed his eyes on Matthew , "So, what have you discovered?"
"Well" began the policeman, " I thought it prudent to interview St. John-Harrison following our conversation."
"And?" Jason asked expectantly.
"You were correct about the husband. We brought him in for questioning and got a full confession. It only took a few questions and then he opened up completely. It seems he was starting to grow suspicious of his wife's activities or perhaps starting to feel ready to face them. He had a friend watch at the party and follow her to Jenner's flat. He got a phone call in the night informing him of his wife's location which phone records confirm. Survellance video near Jenner's flat also caught sight of his Rover. By the time he arrived and Jenner's front door, he heard an argument between his wife and the astrologer. A rather heated argument, and before he knew it the astrologer had burst out of the door and ran straight past him down the stairs. He entered in a state of rage, confronted her in the foyer and killed her savagely with Jenner's stick before fleeing back to Hertforshire."
"And Jenner?"
Matthew fidgeted with a serviette, "I re-interviewed him yesterday. When he arrived back at his flat, he attempted some first aid but soon realized she was already dead - which explains the blood samples taken from him… in a panic, apparently, he left again, only to return after the detectives were on the scene."
"And did he tell you why he had falsely confessed?"
"Only that he wanted 'it to be over,' which seems a daft way to answer to a charge of murder. But what I want to know is, how were you so bloody sure?"
"It's people that commit crimes not DNA samples. You need to focus on understanding more about people, my friend."
"But how do I learn more about people?" asked Mathew
Jason smiled and leaned his fingers against his lips. "Dear boy, emotions are known forces in a human. To know the actions of others you must first know yourself."
Motioning to Mr. Yih, Matthew called out, "two Typhoo, please."
Mr. Yih frowned, and looked enquiringly to Jason.
The Masonic mystic only nodded.