They climbed back on to the vehicle and Lavender snatched the reins out of Woods’ hands. ‘I’ll drive.’
Woods grinned. ‘I’ll be fine, sir. And there’s no need to stop at a tavern for food.’
Lavender shook the reins angrily and the horses jerked forward. ‘I’m serious, Ned. This nonsense about starving yourself has to stop before you do yourself, or someone else, an injury.’
Woods’ grin broadened. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he reiterated.
‘You might be,’ Lavender snapped, ‘but what about the rest of us who have to live with you?’
Night had wrapped its dark cloak around Chelmsford when they finally crossed the arched stone bridge over the River Can. Dusty and weary, they drew up in front of the white brick arches of the new Shire Hall in Chelmsford. There was a small morgue in the corner of the building and they’d arranged to leave the coffin there overnight; Magistrate Read had deemed it inappropriate to send it back to Mrs MacAdam and had asked his colleague, Chelmsford’s town magistrate, Thomas Nulty, to oversee the exhumation.
The morgue attendant and Magistrate Nulty came out to greet them as they dismounted stiffly from the vehicle. Nulty, a thin man with straggly grey hair in a dark coat, looked nervous when he shook Lavender’s hand. ‘Welcome, Detective – and Constable Woods. Magistrate Read has apprised me of all the details of this dreadful case. My, this is a sobering business. Very irregular, very irregular indeed.’
The lamp-lighter was busy at his work on the far side of the square but the town was nearly deserted. A few people scurried past on their way home. One or two glanced curiously at Lavender, Woods and the burly morgue attendant when they pulled back the tarpaulin and lifted MacAdam’s coffin down from the cart. Awkwardly, they manoeuvred it through the doors towards the morgue.
Woods stumbled and lost his grip as they approached the large stone slab in the centre of the poorly lit and chilly room. Lavender and the attendant struggled to hold the coffin, which crashed down on to the surface of the slab.
‘Oops! Sorry!’ Woods said.
Lavender stood back to stare at the cheap wooden box. He’d heard it again. The faint but unmistakable clang and roll of something metal.
‘Have you got a crowbar?’ he asked the attendant. ‘Or something to prise off the lid?’
‘I don’t think we’ll have damaged him,’ Woods joked.
Nulty frowned. ‘What’s amiss, Lavender?’
The attendant went to a pile of tools in the corner of the room and came back with a metal spike. ‘Will this do, sir?’
‘Yes, help me to get off the lid. I think there’s something in there.’
The smile vanished from Woods’ face and Magistrate Nulty shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. ‘This is most irregular, Detective, most irregular.’
Lavender ignored him and, with help from the attendant, prised open the coffin lid. It screeched and groaned in protest as the nails were ripped out.
The sickly smell of MacAdam’s decomposing flesh filled the room. The men fumbled in their pockets for their handkerchiefs and covered their faces. Trying not to look at the dead man’s pale, waxy face and lifeless body, he peered over the edge.
In the corner of the coffin by MacAdam’s boot lay a small hand-held tool. A thin, curved knife with a wooden handle. The surface of the four-inch blade was stained dark with blood.
He picked it up and held it up to the light. ‘Well, what have we here?’ he said slowly.
‘Heaven and hell! That’s the missin’ farrier’s knife,’ Woods said.
‘These look like bloodstains on the blade. Are they human or equine, I wonder?’
‘They’re not from the horses. Any blacksmith who draws blood on a horse while slicin’ away the frog and the sole has done a poor job.’
‘What is this all about, Lavender?’ The magistrate was desperately trying not to retch into his own handkerchief. ’Why is that knife in the coffin?’
‘I think we’ve just found the weapon that killed David MacAdam,’ Lavender said slowly, ‘but how the devil it came to be in his coffin alongside his corpse, I’ve no idea.’
Chapter Twenty-Nine
For a moment, the four men stood silently in the dim light of the stinking morgue and stared at the knife.
Then Lavender made a grim decision. ‘Ned, go to The Great Black Boy coaching inn and find out if Sir Richard Allison has arrived yet. Tell him I think I’ve found the murder weapon and ask him to come straight here as a matter of urgency. I need his help; there’s something only he can confirm.’
Woods nodded and left.
With the attendant’s help, Lavender slid the lid back over the coffin to try to contain some of the smell. ‘Let’s step outside and wait for Sir Richard in the fresh air,’ he suggested.
Magistrate Nulty hastily agreed and led the way.
Outside, the stench of market animals and their excrement still hung in the air but this was better and more wholesome than the smell of David MacAdam. Lavender breathed heavily and leaned back against the wall of the Shire Hall. The three men stood in grim silence while they waited. Wisps of straw rustled across the cobbles in the light breeze.
How the devil had that knife ended up in the coffin?
It was inconceivable that the undertakers had found it in MacAdam’s chamber and just popped it in with the corpse. Someone else must have put it there later and had probably hidden it beneath the body, confident it wouldn’t be found. After all, who went rummaging around in an open coffin? But who had done this? The coffin lid hadn’t been nailed down until after Mrs MacAdam and Ike Rawlings had visited Bow Street.
Was it them? Had he missed something during those brief moments when Mrs MacAdam had identified her dead husband?
The only other people who’d had access to the open coffin were Mrs Palmer and the two mysterious women who’d visited MacAdam to pay their last respects. But Mrs Palmer had no motive to kill her lodger. What had he missed?
He turned to Magistrate Nulty. ‘Can you draw up an arrest warrant for Isaac Rawlings, the stone carrier who lives down by the riverside?’
‘What, Ike Rawlings?’ Nulty was genuinely surprised. ‘He’s a respected member of our community – a regular churchgoer at St Mary’s and a member of the Temperance Committee.’
‘He’s also the main suspect in my murder inquiry – and he had an opportunity yesterday to place this knife in the coffin. We suspect he knew MacAdam was still alive and he’s about to marry MacAdam’s widow – so he has a motive to kill him. I want Rawlings in a cell where I can question him further about his movements on the day of the murder.’
‘Very well, Detective. I’ll do it now.’ Magistrate Nulty hurried back inside and went upstairs to his office.
Four figures strode out of the shadows towards them: Woods, Sir Richard and two of the surgeon’s interns. Lavender wasn’t surprised Sir Richard had brought some of his students with him. An exhumation was a rare occurrence. It appeared that it wasn’t only the newspapers who were interested in those grisly remains in the coffin in St Mary’s churchyard. It would be crowded at the graveside in the morning.
Sir Richard was in an excellent mood. ‘Lavender! I understand you’ve found something of interest. You remember young Kingsley and Hodge, my students?’
Lavender nodded, shook the men’s hands and led everyone back into the morgue. The attendant removed the coffin lid. The three doctors seemed immune to the smell emanating from MacAdam’s corpse.
Lavender held out the farrier’s knife. ‘I need you to confirm that this is the knife that killed David MacAdam.’
Sir Richard’s sharp eyes took in the situation at once. He asked the morgue attendant for more light. Then he crossed his arms and turned to his students. ‘So, Kingsley, how will you confirm Detective Lavender’s suspicions?’
The young man’s long fringe fell over his face when he stared down at the corpse. Lavender felt Woods shuffling uncomfortably beside him. Sir Richard was notorious for b
ullying his students.
Kingsley pushed back his fringe and cleared his throat nervously. ‘Should we see if it fits?’
‘Fits what?’ Sir Richard asked sharply.
‘The wound?’
‘Excellent idea, Kingsley. Get on with it then. Help him, Hodge.’
The young doctors stepped forward and began to remove the dead man’s clothing. They unbuttoned his coat and pulled up his shirt but when Kingsley unbuttoned the flap on MacAdam’s breeches, Sir Richard exploded.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, man! Why are you taking off his breeches? This corpse was stabbed in the liver. Do you expect to find it down there?’
‘What on earth is happening?’ asked a muffled voice behind Lavender. Magistrate Nulty had returned with the warrant for Ike Rawlings’ arrest. In his other hand, he held his handkerchief over his nose and mouth. His eyes were watering again.
Lavender took the warrant from him and pocketed it. ‘This is Sir Richard Allison and his students. They’re confirming this is the knife used to kill MacAdam.’
The morgue attendant arrived with another lamp and held it above the coffin, illuminating the decaying flesh on the corpse and the wound in the abdomen. Kingsley gently inserted the knife into the gash in MacAdam’s stomach. ‘This is most irregular! Most irregular!’ Nulty wailed.
‘But most necessary.’ Sir Richard beamed with satisfaction. ‘Well, Kingsley?’
‘It slid in easily and fits, there’s no resistance. I can confirm, sir, that this was the murder weapon.’
‘Excellent.’ Sir Richard turned to Lavender. ‘There you go, Detective. Your murder weapon is confirmed by three of London’s finest doctors. All you need to do now is find the hand that wielded the knife.’
‘Thank you, Sir Richard.’
The surgeon pointed to the morgue attendant. ‘You, man – you can re-dress the corpse. We’ll return to our supper at The Great Black Boy tavern now. I can heartily recommend their mutton stew, Constable,’ he added with a knowing glance at Woods.
‘I’m grateful for your help, sir,’ Lavender said. How the surgeon could even think about food while such a noxious stench swamped his nostrils was beyond him.
Suddenly, Woods emitted a loud and unearthly groan. His knees gave way and he slithered to the floor in an ungainly heap.
‘Ned!’
‘Good grief!’ exclaimed Magistrate Nulty. ‘Is your constable unwell?’
A broad grin lit up Sir Richard’s face as he observed Woods’ prostrate form. ‘Is he still refusing to eat?’
‘Yes.’ Lavender moved towards Woods but Sir Richard held out his arm to stop him.
‘Then it’s time for me to fulfil my part of our bargain.’ The surgeon’s eyes glimmered with amusement in his smiling face. ‘Leave this with me.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Lavender asked in alarm.
Sir Richard ignored him. ‘Kingsley? Hodge? Take an arm each and hold the constable down firmly.’ The two young men dropped to their haunches and grabbed Woods by the arms, pinning him to the floor.
Grinning wider, Sir Richard turned to his medical bag and extracted a large, curved knife that glinted evilly in the lamplight. ‘This is my biggest,’ he said with satisfaction.
Lavender watched with horror as Sir Richard, knife in hand, sat down on Woods’ legs and straddled him. The flickering lamplight cast a grotesque shadow on the tiled wall of the morgue.
‘What on earth do you plan to do with that?’ Every instinct in Lavender’s brain screamed at him to go to Ned’s assistance but he was rooted to the spot.
Sir Richard spoke over his shoulder. ‘Sometimes we doctors have to treat our patients’ minds – rather than their bodies. And playing to their greatest fears can be part of this.’
Sir Richard slapped Woods’ face sharply to bring him round. Woods blinked groggily, then his eyes opened wide with horror. He screamed. A loud primeval scream of terror that tore at Lavender’s heart. Woods struggled and tried to throw off the three men, but failed. Three days without food had taken its toll on Woods’ legendary strength.
Sir Richard laughed and leered over him further, brandishing his vicious knife. ‘Damn it! You’ve come round, Constable,’ he drawled slowly. ‘We thought you were dead, didn’t we, Kingsley? Lavender tells me you’ve been starving yourself. What a pity you’ve recovered. I wanted to extract your shrivelled organs to pickle in jars.’
‘Blast your eyes! You scraggin’ body-snatcher!’ Woods struggled in vain against his captors.
Sir Richard laughed again. ‘Do you know what happens to the bodily organs when they’re starved of food, Woods? They wither, bleed – and die. The kidneys, the liver, the heart – everything shrivels away to nothing.’
To Lavender’s horror, Sir Richard tapped the hilt of his knife on Woods’ crotch. Woods winced and every man in the room held his breath. ‘Even the testicles shrivel away, bleed and die when starved of food.’ Sir Richard paused for dramatic effect. ‘Shrivelled testicles make fascinating specimens for surgeons.’
‘Gerroff me, you evil bastard!’
‘Very well – I’ll wait a few more hours until you faint again.’ Sir Richard winked at Woods. ‘Then I’ll be back.’ He climbed to his feet, still holding the knife. ‘Release him.’
The two young doctors moved back and Lavender held his breath.
Woods leapt to his feet, his face purple with fury. For one awful moment, Lavender thought his stricken constable might hit Sir Richard. Then Woods turned and pelted out of the door, swearing.
‘This is most . . . most irregular,’ murmured the shocked magistrate from behind his handkerchief. ‘You gentlemen from London have most irregular methods.’
Sir Richard laughed, replaced his gruesome knife in his bag and brushed down his coat. ‘That’s my debt discharged to you, Lavender, I think?’
Lavender nodded, swallowed and finally found his voice. ‘I thought you intended to talk to him – not butcher him!’
Sir Richard shrugged. ‘Did it work when you and his wife talked to him?’
Lavender shook his head.
‘Then the threat of butchering was needed.’
Lavender glanced desperately at the door. ‘I need to go after him – and quickly. God knows where he’ll be.’
‘He’ll be on his third bowl of mutton stew in The Great Black Boy by now, I should think,’ Sir Richard said, smirking.
Sir Richard was right. Lavender found Woods glowering in the bar in the tap room of the coaching inn, with a tankard of ale in his large, shaking hand.
‘Don’t you speak to me!’ he yelled when Lavender approached. ‘You stood by while that blasted sawbones tried to cut off my nutmegs. You’re no friend of mine!’ Ale slopped down from the tankard on to his coat as he spoke. Other customers glanced up from their card games in alarm at his tone.
Lavender nodded and retreated to a far corner of the warm, smoke-filled tavern. He sat at a vacant table, took a tankard of ale from a barmaid in a mob cap and waited and watched.
Woods ordered another ale, which he downed more slowly, pausing occasionally to belch and wipe his mouth on the back of his coat sleeve.
Then a barmaid appeared by Woods’ side, carrying a huge bowl of steaming stew and a platter containing half a loaf of freshly baked bread and a gleaming pat of yellow butter. Woods glanced around for a vacant seat but there weren’t any, apart from at Lavender’s table.
Lavender raised his hand and waved him across. Woods hesitated, glowering, then reluctantly walked towards him. The barmaid followed him with his food.
Woods slumped down into the seat opposite Lavender, gave him a withering look and picked up his spoon.
The meaty aroma of the mutton wafted across the table and made Lavender’s own stomach rumble. He asked the young girl to bring him a bowl, then sat back and watched with satisfaction while his constable shovelled spoon after spoon of the delicious-smelling stew into his mouth. ‘I wouldn’t have let him hurt you,’ he said gently.
Woods just glared across the table. He tore off a huge chunk of the loaf and rammed it into his mouth.
Lavender sipped his ale, repressed his smile and waited. His own food arrived quickly. He paid the barmaid for both meals and she disappeared.
Woods jabbed his spoon angrily in Lavender’s direction. ‘You should have arrested him! That’s assault, that is. I were assaulted.’ A shower of breadcrumbs flew from his mouth when he spoke.
‘He didn’t harm you.’
‘Didn’t harm me?’ Woods yelled. ‘I’m scarred for life now, I am. I’ll never be able to look at my poor nutmegs again without seein’ them floatin’ in vinegar in a jar on his desk!’
His outburst brought sympathetic gasps from the group of farmers at the next table.
Woods threw down his spoon with a clatter on to the table and resumed his assault on the loaf of bread. He smeared it generously with a knife full of soft butter.
Lavender lowered his face over his bowl to hide his smile. ‘He didn’t harm you,’ he repeated quietly.
‘Ha! You’re the finest detective in England – but you choose to turn a blind eye to a blatant injustice handed out to your closest friend? Where’s the reason – where’s the loyalty – in that?’ A trickle of butter slid down his grey-stubbled chin.
‘And where’s the reason in an intelligent man starving himself to death until he faints and stumbles all over the place?’ Lavender asked quietly, conscious of the curious glances of their neighbours. ‘Come on, Ned. Sir Richard’s methods may be brutal and, er, a bit unorthodox – but they usually get a result. He’s probably just saved your life – again.’
Now the knife was jabbed menacingly in Lavender’s direction – not a finger. ‘Don’t you even mention the incident last May! The damned fellow only took the pistol shot out of my shoulder so he could hover around my house in case I snuffed it. He was after my poor nutmegs back then.’
Lavender repressed another smile and ate his food in silence. Sir Richard had been right about something else too: the stew was delicious.
Murder in Park Lane Page 21
