Field Walking

by John Bishop

the house, washed, and gathered around the kitchen table where Tony and Emily served them a range of homemade pies with salad. As they ate, Gunter reported progress. ‘There’s a limit to what I’m meant to say about an examination, but I can tell you it is definitely not a burial ground and they are not Aboriginal remains. The furrower was set to cultivate only a few centimetres deep, so the bones it disturbed were close to the surface. There’s a full skeleton. We’ve found boots and bits of clothing. Whoever it was must have been in the shallowest of graves, possibly covered by branches or leaves or the like.’

  ‘Foul play?’ Tony asked.

  ‘It is not my job to speculate.’

  ‘But we must consider a body in a shallow grave somewhat suspicious.’

  Gunter twisted his mouth, searching for an appropriate comment. ‘The circumstances suggest unanswered questions. All I can do is present what I find to the state coroner.’

  ‘So what happens next?’

  ‘I gave Justin a call on my mobile while I was out there. Frankly, for a case like this the police simply don’t have the resources to do all the things we might think appropriate. Unless there is clear evidence of a crime, there’s a limit to what we can do without a court order anyway. I’m satisfied we’ve recovered all we can reasonably expect to find in that plot. It’s a bit like an archaeological dig. You can tell when you’ve reached the limit of the area disturbed at the time of the burial. Everything’s been photographed and bagged and tagged. We’ve prevailed upon the sergeant at Calway to send a van to pick the stuff up and cart it to Sydney. Justin wants us to take a walk around the entire freshly cultivated area so I can say in my report that there was no obvious sign of anything else unusual.’

  ‘Field walking,’ Tony said.

  ‘Field walking?’

  ‘You mentioned archaeology. In those programs you see on TV—you know Time Team and the like—sometimes instead of digging they just walk the fields picking up anything they think might be a clue to past occupancy. What they find has usually been dragged up during ploughing.’

  ‘And they call it field walking?’

  ‘I believe so.’

  ‘Your permission will be necessary,’ Megan said. ‘But you can join the party, if you like.’

  ‘Then let the walking begin,’ Tony said.

  Emily said, ‘I’m happy to give it a miss. I’ll do the washing up.’

  Two hours later, Gunter was satisfied he could report that the site of the discovery appeared to be an isolated grave.

  ‘How disappointing for the viewers,’ Tony said. ‘No coins. No evidence of a roundhouse. Just one mystery grave.’

  Gunter laughed. ‘It’s not exactly Roman Britain or wherever your TV programs are made. Even allowing for my not being permitted to speculate, I can happily put this death at more recent than 200 years. So no roundhouse.’

  Megan said. ‘Dominic has no records of reports of missing persons in the district. His files go back seven years. We’ll do a search of the archives, but Gunter’s examination of the bones and the other bits and pieces is probably all we’ll have to go on.’

  When they returned to the house Emily was making tea for the driver of the police van from Calway. Soon afterwards the van and the forensic team left.

  A Nose for Evidence

  Wednesday 30th September 1992

  Thursday 1st October 1992

  Gunter Karp never closed the door of his office, so Bryony Patton Ph.D, having been brought up in a polite family, knocked on the door jam and waited to be asked to enter. Gunter was a good boss. Despite being chronically overworked, he rarely became ruffled and always had time for his subordinates. Besides, Bryony was an engaging young woman who reminded him of his daughter, with her blond curls and ready smile. He waved her to a chair. As she crossed to his desk, she said, ‘I hope your trip to Arajinna was pleasant.’

  ‘It was, despite the strangeness of the case. The Blakes are very friendly and the food they serve is worth the trip. Now, what have you got there?’

  ‘Notes on the tests of the scrapings from the truck. I think I’ve gone as far as I can.’

  ‘Okay. Talk to me.’

  ‘Apart from the contents of one of the tubes, everything was easy enough to identify using the standard procedures. It’s not for me to say, but I doubt whether those tests threw up anything to help the investigation—nothing you wouldn’t expect to find in the cabin of a truck, and nothing to identify a specific person.’

  ‘Apart from one item?’

  Bryony felt her heart jump. She hoped her boss would be pleased with her initiative and her discovery. ‘I think the substance in the tube labelled C5 is greasepaint.’

  ‘Grease…paint.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Not grease. Greasepaint.’

  ‘It used to be the main component of stage make-up. These days most actors use more modern substances, but the contents of C5 seems to be genuine old fashioned greasepaint.’

  ‘And how did you reach that conclusion?’

  ‘When I opened the tube, I caught this strange aroma. It reminded me of my granddad’s garage so…I hope you won’t be angry…I asked granddad to come in and smell it for me. He has no doubt what it is. He used to be a theatre stage manager and he has a collection of memorabilia stored in his garage. The aroma I remembered was from an old make-up box given to him by a famous actor.’

  Gunter leant back in his chair. ‘My sainted aunt!’ he said. ‘We put you in a laboratory with some of the most sophisticated equipment available to forensic scientists, and you use your granddad’s nose in lieu thereof!’ He looked at Bryony and shook his head, then erupted in laughter. For a moment she remained serious, but his laugh was irresistible and she joined in.

  When they recovered, Bryony said, ‘I’m glad you’re not angry.’

  ‘Laughter is a great relief for stress. You’ve made my day. And if what you have surmised turns out to be significant, this will be a story we can dine out on. Item C5 eh? Whence came this strange substance?’

  ‘It was on the fabric at the top of the driver’s seat. It occurred to me it might be where the chin of the driver would touch the seat if he was looking over his left shoulder into the rear section of the cabin.’

  ‘Leichner Number 9 and Number 5 eh?’

  ‘I beg your pardon.’

  ‘I did a bit of acting in my youth. Just amateur productions. Leichner was the leading manufacturer of greasepaint, and the sticks numbered 5 and 9 were the most common base. What a find!’

  ‘Should I look for a more definitive test?’

  ‘Good question. Immediate answer, no. Not yet, anyway. If the substance ended up as an exhibit at a trial we’d want to have something other than your grandad’s nose—although properly presented by an expert witness a substance could be accepted as evidence on the basis of its smell alone. For now, I’ll give you my notes on the truck and you can write up a report for Brody. I can’t wait to know what he makes of your discovery. But, Bryony—don’t be disappointed if it amounts to nothing. I’m afraid our business doesn’t have the success-rate portrayed in crime fiction. Occasionally we find something unexpected that becomes pivotal to an investigation; much of the time we don’t. But well done you, whatever the outcome.’

  The next morning, armed with the report signed by Gunter, Bryony arrived unannounced at the offices of the Criminal Investigations Branch. The young man working at a desk near the door jumped to his feet and gave her a broad smile. ‘We haven’t met, but you’re from forensics aren’t you? I’m Kenny, Kenny Fetlow.’ He held out his hand.

  ‘Bryony Patton,’ she returned his smile.

  Kenny turned abruptly and peered at a list pinned to the notice board beside his desk. ‘M.Sc. Ph.D. So it’s Doctor Patton, eh. Now that’s cool. Did you just happen to be coming this way, Doctor P, or was there a reason to by-pass the internal mail system?’

  Bryony felt a brief flush and hoped it didn’t show. ‘I think the report might contain something of
interest, and it’s been some weeks coming. We’re so busy.’

  ‘Welcome to the fast lane.’

  ‘I had hoped I might get to meet Detective Inspector Brody. He wasn’t here when they brought me on my orientation tour. Neither were you.’

  ‘And that was our loss, I assure you. Tell you what! I’ll enter this in the register right now and we’ll see if he’s got a moment.’

  ‘Stage makeup! I wonder.’ Justin Brody picked up his telephone and dialled. ‘Stage makeup,’ he mused again while he waited for an answer. ‘Gunter! I have your Doctor Patton with me. She tells me you expressed an interest in what I make of this report. Well, mate, I’ve only read the executive summary, but I’ll tell you what I make of it if you let me give Doctor Patton instructions on a follow-up job... Do you want to listen in?... Gunter, have I ever failed to follow up with a form 29J?... Okay. What you probably don’t know is that Lenny d’Aratzio’s brother-in-law is Rodney Durkin... he’s a leading stage actor, mate, where have you been? Doctor Patton is nodding so she knows... Okay, now this is what I want Doctor Patton to do for me. I’m giving her a copy of the identikit sketch of the driver of the truck. I want her to look for a suitable picture of Rodney Durkin to see if there are facial similarities. He’s a media tart so it shouldn’t be too hard to find a pic with him looking straight at the camera. She’ll have to adjust for the narcissistic grin but I’m sure there’ll be something. When she’s found the best image for