So it could be high tide on a beach somewhere then?’ Russell asked eagerly.
Salt shook his head, ‘Sorry, not that sort of beach, rather the tree kind. And the last bit, versteinerte means fossilised and the last word, something – ald, could be bald, which means soon.’
‘So, high tide on Friday, early morning, perhaps written in some sort of book and then something is soon fossilised. Doesn’t make much sense, does it?’
‘Apart from the tide, not really,’ Salt agreed. ‘And that could be high tide anywhere. Let me copy this down, as I presume you want to keep the original?’ Russell nodded. The Captain reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a notebook and a pencil. As he wrote he spoke: ‘Leave this with me and I’ll give it some more thought. If I come up with anything I’ll let you know.’
Russell had half an hour to kill before the next train back up the line. He wandered down to the quay and perched on a barrel, looking out across the estuary, the little terrier sitting patiently at his feet. He could see the white sails of a dinghy, heeling over in the gentle breeze. The boat rounded a buoy, the helmsman put the tiller over, the sails shook, changed sides and the boat headed off on the opposite tack. He watched, engrossed as it worked its way up the river, tacking back and forth. Whoever was in the boat was obviously skilled as they let the bow almost nudge the bank, before they put it about and set off for the other side. Watching the craft and its manoeuvres kept him completely engrossed and he spent several pleasant minutes until the toot of a steam whistle alerted him to the arrival of the train.
-0-
‘What are we going to do with this one, Wolf?’ the big man asked, looking down at the lifeless body, lying on the blood-splattered bed.
‘Something different from last time. Maybe leave him on the building site somewhere.’ The little man stroked his chin, deep in thought. ‘Perhaps not here though. What about that other site?’ The big man grunted. ‘Okay, we’ll get him trussed up first.’
Together they rolled the corpse up in the carpet underlay then bound and tied the bundle with rope, the smaller man tying the knots in a skilled and meticulous fashion.
‘Right, let’s get him outside. I’ll ask Rankin to back the lorry up to the door.’
He set off down the stairs, his awkward gait creating a syncopated rhythm on the wooden treads. The big man heaved the bulky package effortlessly over his shoulder and followed his brother down to the front door of the house.
Monday
The constrictor knot - one of the most effective binding knots. Simple and secure, it is a harsh knot that can be difficult or impossible to untie once tightened.
IT WAS Monday morning and Russell was sitting in his office. There was a knock on the door. ‘Come in,’ he said. It was Lewis from the fingerprint team. ‘Please sit down.’ Once the other man was seated the DI continued: ‘Did you turn up much evidence at the brickworks?’
‘Sadly, I think it will confirm only what you know already. Apart from a number of scuffed boot marks, we couldn’t find much else. There appeared to have been plenty of activity but we found no prints – they must have worn gloves.’ Russell looked crestfallen. ‘But, we did find traces of blood.’ The DI brightened. ‘Not a lot,’ Lewis went on, ‘just some scattered droplets in the dust on the floor.’
‘Could you get that over to Crooks in the path lab?’
‘Already done.’
‘Good, thanks.’
‘We had a look round the rest of the site, but judging by the thick, undisturbed clay dust everywhere, that first building was the only one they went in.’
‘Ah well. It’s as I suspected. They took our poor friend in there to finish him off and truss him up, then left.’
Lewis nodded his agreement. ‘We also went to the house on that first building site you visited to dust for prints. Blimey, that Soffit’s a slimy character.’ he chuckled. ‘I wouldn’t want to buy a house from him.’
‘Did you find any prints there?’ Russell asked.
‘Too many. The place has been crawling with tradesmen. There were dozens of different prints all over the place, but not so many on that cupboard under the stairs. So, if we concentrate on that, we may come up with some evidence. But don’t hold your breath. However, I have got something you might be interested in.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You know that the body was securely tied with chord?’ Russell nodded. ‘We’ll I’ve done a bit of research and it seems that whoever did it had a thorough knowledge of knots.’
‘Oh really? I know the ones I untied were locked almost solid. I assumed it was because they’d been in the water.’
‘That was partly the reason.’ Lewis added.
‘What else then?’
‘A variety of expertly tied knots were used, including properly tied reef knots, which you’d expect, but there was also a fisherman’s knot and even a sheepshank.’
‘What on earth is that?’ Russell laughed. ‘Sounds positively perverse.’
‘Not really,’ the other man chuckled, ‘It’s a method of shortening a rope. You’d only know it if you were a sailor – or a keen Boy Scout.’
‘Doubt if we’re looking for the latter,’ Russell smiled.
‘But the most curious one is called a double constrictor knot. It’s quite unusual and apparently is generally used when you don’t want something to come undone, which - whoever tied it - didn’t.’
‘So what does this tell us?’ Russell asked.
‘That whoever trussed up that body was not only well versed in knot tying - a sailor or a fisherman perhaps - but also…’ he paused.
‘But also what?’
‘It was almost as if he was trying to say something.’
‘What do you mean exactly?’
‘Difficult to explain. I just have a feeling that the way those knots were tied contained some sort of message. I might be completely wrong, but they were almost like a signature.’ Russell was thinking about this when the door opened suddenly.
‘Bad news I’m afraid, Sir.’ Weeks was standing in the doorway, his tie askew and his hair wilder than usual. The two men looked towards him.
‘Tell me the worst, lad.’
‘They’ve found another body.’ Russell groaned. ‘Not in the water this time though.’
‘Where was it then?’
‘You know that first building site we visited?’ Weeks asked.
‘Where they were putting up the prefabs?’
‘That’s right. The foreman, George, has just rung. He was in quite a state.’
‘Let’s get over there then.’
-0-
They were gathered by the concrete mixer, the subdued workmen standing in a huddle a short distance away. George was visibly shaken. His voice quivered as he spoke. ‘The men turned up at eight as usual to start work and were getting ready to pour the footings for the next base. One of them fired up the concrete mixer, ready to do the first mix, and could see that something was already in the drum. He was surprised because they always clean it out at the end of the day. When they’ve finished the last mix, they chuck in a bucket of water and a couple of half bricks to knock any lumps of set mortar out, let it run for a few minutes, then empty it.’
‘And this is what he found,’ George nodded. ‘I think you’d better go and sit down. Get someone to make you cup of sweet tea,’ Russell said.
It was another felt-wrapped parcel, similar to the first, but instead of being soaked in salt water it was only slightly damp, daubed with smudges of mortar. Like the one they had found at Compass Point, it was bound with cord and neatly tied. This time the pathologist, plus Lewis and his team, were already on hand to take photographs and make notes before they started unwrapping the package. Again, the knots proved awkward to unravel. ‘Looks like the same MO,’ Lewis said, pointing to one of the knots. ‘See? That’s another one of those double constrictors.’
‘Curious,’ Russell observed.
Finally, with the ropes und
one, they were able to peel off the felt. This time there was no carpet, just a body. It was a man, perhaps in his forties with dark curly hair and a lightly tanned face. He was dressed in a blood-soaked shirt and trousers but with no shoes or socks. His wrists and ankles had knotted ropes tied round them. The loose ends were cut and frayed. The officers rolled him over. ‘My God!’ said Weeks. He turned, walked away, then retched emptying his breakfast on to a pile of sand. The man’s shirt was shredded and his back was criss-crossed with angry weals, some bloody, others with pieces of felt adhering to them.
Russell breathed out hard. ‘My God, indeed,’ he said. He turned to the pathologist. ‘What do you make of it, John?’
‘Well it’s not keelhauling this time.’ He bent down and looked closely at the wounds. After a moment he turned his head to look up at the DI. ‘Do you know what, Sonny?’
‘What’s that?’
‘I think this man’s been flogged – with a cat o’ nine tails.’
Russell instructed a pale-faced Weeks to get the workmen together and then to ring the station to send some uniform officers to interview them. He was just standing, discussing this latest event with Crooks when the constable came running back, stumbling over the uneven ground. ‘Steady old chap!’ Russell said, ‘you’ll come a cropper!’
‘Sir!’ Weeks said breathlessly. ‘There’s been a break-in at the other site.’
‘Yes, we know about that. Our friend Soffit told us.’
‘No, another one. And this one’s quite different.’
-0-
‘Right. Get uniform here as soon as soon as they’ve finished at the other site and seal off the whole area. Get Soffit into one of the other houses and round up all the workers too. I need statements from everyone.’ Russell and Weeks were standing in the furnished bedroom of the showhouse on the housing estate. The sight they were looking at was far from pleasant, No wonder Soffit was sitting downstairs with his head in his hands, groaning. The DC, though still pale, was maintaining his composure. ‘Well,’ Russell said, ‘it looks as though this is where the deed was done.’ The bed in the centre of the room was a mess of badly rumpled bedclothes streaked with blood. Its four corner posts had a piece of knotted rope tied round each of them, each with a loose, frayed end, like those on the victim. ‘It’s pretty obvious how he was restrained. I bet when Lewis comes he’ll be able to identify the knots.’
The forensics expert and his team were soon on the scene and the two detectives left them to it. They headed back to the station but no sooner had they arrived than they were summoned to the mortuary. The man found in the concrete mixer lay on the slab. Crooks had pulled back the sheet and they were looking at his naked body. Weeks seemed more composed although his face was still ashen. ‘Will you be all right this time?’ Russell asked.
‘I think so, Sir.’ The DC sounded abashed. ‘It was just a bit of a shock earlier.’
‘I didn’t notice this at first,’ the pathologist said, pointing to the chest. There was a short, thin red line on the left hand side. ‘Same cause of death: a thin blade, up between the ribs and straight into the heart. Death wouldn’t have been instantaneous, but pretty quick. However, judging by the severity of the damage to his back, he may well have been unconscious.’
‘You mentioned a cat o’nine tails. Do you still think that’s what was used?’ Russell asked.
‘Almost certainly. Let’s look.’ Crooks signalled to his assistant, who was waiting to one side, and together they rolled the body over. The surface of the man’s skin had been cleaned of dried blood and the numerous angry lines were vivid in his flesh. ‘Something else that I found curious,’ he said. ‘See the stripes are crossed diagonally?’
‘Is that significant?’ Russell said.
‘I think it is,’ Crooks said slowly. ‘I’ve been reading up on floggings.’ Russell could see that the pathologist was revelling in his knowledge. ‘It was a regular punishment in navies around the globe. I won’t go into the gory details.’ Weeks looked visibly relieved. ‘But a bit of background might be useful.
‘Floggings in the British Navy were meted out as punishment regularly in the 18th century, less in the 19th and not suspended at sea until 1881. They were carried out by a bosun’s mate and were supposed to consist of only a dozen lashes unless there had been a court martial.’ He paused for breath. Russell made to speak but Crooks held his hand up and continued. ‘However, many more were often administered and the transgressor could even be flogged round the fleet. This was where he would be rowed between ships for multiple floggings. It could take as long as a year and often ended in death.’ He took another breath but before he could carry on Russell broke in.
‘That’s all very interesting John, but I don’t see the relevance to this case…’
‘Ah, I was coming to that. You remember I mentioned the pattern of the stripes?’ The inspector nodded. ‘It seems that in order to inflict maximum pain, after the first dozen lashes were administered, a second bosun’s mate would carry on with another dozen, often applied left-handed. Do you see?’
‘Are you suggesting that our victim,’ Russell asked, looking down at the body ‘was whipped by two different people?’
‘Yes, I am. It’s possible that one was left-handed. Or he just came at the man from the other side. Difficult to be sure.’
‘Now that is interesting.’ Russell stroked his chin. ‘We keep coming back to some sort of nautical or maritime connection.’ He stopped for a moment, deep in thought. ‘If our two German-sounding brothers handled the boat Jack bought for them as skilfully as he said, then they could be seamen of some sort and may well be suspects.’
‘The only ones we’ve got so far, Sir.’ Weeks added.
‘Yes, quite,’ the DI said. ‘The only thing is, there’s a huge difference in their stature. Would that show in the way that the punishment was given John?’
The pathologist considered this for a moment. ‘Not necessarily as the victim was most certainly lying down when it was done.’
‘Could you take a closer look and see if you can find anything else?’
‘Okay, Sonny. I’ll do that and let you know if I do.’
‘As soon as you can please, John. Anything that will stop this investigation from stalling completely.’
‘Oh, by the way,’ the pathologist added, as the two officers prepared to leave.
‘Yes?’
‘The blood spatters we found at the brickworks?’ Russell raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s the same blood group as the first body you found.’
Tuesday
Careening- the practice of grounding a sailing vessel at high tide in order to expose one side of its hull for maintenance and repairs below the water line when the tide goes out.
‘WELL WE’RE starting to put a picture together, although it’s still rather sketchy at the moment. That boat Spratt bought for the brothers, I still think it plays an important part. Any joy in tracking down Moonshine?’ Russell asked. They were sitting in his office, looking at the pathology report and the preliminary findings that Lewis had just given them.
‘Not yet Sir.’
‘Where have you looked so far?’
‘First of all uniform were sent out to look in the nearest harbours east and west along the coast. Nothing. So they looked in all the boatyards along the coast of the county and still nothing. We’ve asked the forces in neighbouring counties to look too, but there have been no sightings so far.’
‘Do you know what I think, lad?’
What’s that, Sir?’
‘I think it’s across on the coast of Europe somewhere. If you remember, they said they wanted a swift boat that could cross the channel. That could be France, Belgium or Holland. That’s where we’ll find it. I think we’d better have a chat with our friends at Interpol. Could you get the switchboard to set up a call, please?’ Weeks nodded. ‘And as for this…’ He tapped the newspaper on the desk in front of him. It was the first edition of the Collinghurst Chronical. The bann
er headline across the front page read:
SECOND MUTILATED BODY FOUND
POLICE BAFFLED
‘This is just what we don’t need.’ The DI tossed the paper angrily to one side. ‘Salt was worried what it might do to tourism at the Point. Heaven knows what it’s going to do to our reputation. If we don’t start making some progress soon, the Super will blow a fuse…or worse.’
-0-
‘Is that Inspector Russell?’ The voice at the other end of the telephone was cultured but with a slight country burr.
‘It is,’ Russell answered. ‘Who’s calling?’
‘I’m sorry, my name’s Captain Clive Bagwall, harbour master at Nottery Quay’
‘Ah, away up the coast from Compass Point.’
‘Well only about 10 miles by boat, though half that by road.’
‘Quite. What can I do for you, Captain?’
‘I hope I can do something for you, Inspector.’
‘Oh yes?’
‘Yes, some of your men were here yesterday looking for a boat.’
‘That’s right, Moonshine,’ Russell said, intrigued.
‘And they didn’t find it…’
‘No.’
‘But it had been here.’
Russell sat up, excited. ‘When?’
‘Until the day before yesterday.’
‘How come my officers didn’t pick up on that?’
‘Ah, well, I wasn’t there when they asked. My deputy had only just returned from holiday and I’d been away on business so we hadn’t had a chance to catch up.’
‘So tell me about the boat.’
‘It came into harbour - about a week ago - late, just as I was packing up to go home. We had to fill in the usual documentation, where she had come from, how long they were staying and so on. I was a bit perplexed as I knew it was a boat from the Point, but as he didn’t offer any explanations I didn’t pursue it’
‘Who did you deal with?’
‘It was a little chap…’
‘With a gammy leg?’
‘Yes, how did you know?’
Russell chuckled. ‘Just a feeling. Please carry on.’
‘He said they’d just come over from France and were going to stay at Nottery for a few days. I told him he could remain tied up to the admiralty pier for a week but after that he’d have to find a mooring in the river.’
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