by Damien Boyd
Dixon thought it odd that he had referred to the severed head as ‘it’. If it had been a body, male or female, then it would be ‘he’ or ‘she’. The final indignity, perhaps, as if she had not suffered enough already.
Watson and the other team of Scenes of Crime officers set off towards the twelfth green.
Dixon gestured to PC Cole.
‘Get the helicopter up with its thermal imaging camera will you? Anyone gives you any trouble, you let me know.’
‘What are they looking for, Sir?’
‘Would you like me to draw you a diagram?’
‘No, Sir.’
Dixon’s mobile phone rang. It was Jane Winter.
‘What’s up, Jane?’
‘The club secretary’s not happy. He’s on his way to see you in a buggy.’
‘Have they called off the competition?’
‘Yes, but they’re kicking up a hell of a stink. The Acting Chief Constable is playing in it, apparently.’
‘Not anymore he’s not. Well done. Now get over here as quick as you can.’
Dixon walked back up to the green. The bunker was already covered by a large tent and Dixon could see camera flashes going off as he approached. He overheard PC Carroll talking to one of the Scenes of Crime Officers.
‘Give me a sand wedge and I’ll get it out for you.’
‘One more remark like that, constable, and you’re going to be in deep trouble. Show some respect.’
‘Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir.’
Dixon pointed to the line of bloodstains leading off towards the thirteenth fairway and the beach.
‘Follow that trail and see where it goes.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Watson turned to Dixon.
‘Odd place to hide a head, Nick?’
‘Have a look around. What do you see?’
‘Bushes.’
‘Not just bushes. Dense undergrowth. If you wanted to hide a severed head, you’d throw it in there, wouldn’t you? This wasn’t hidden. It was left for us to find.’
Watson nodded and then disappeared inside the tent.
Dixon could hear the helicopter overhead. He turned to PC Cole, who had walked up to the green, and nodded towards the helicopter.
‘Get them on the radio for me will you?’
Dixon could see Jane Winter walking up the twelfth fairway towards the green. He waved to her and she walked over to him.
‘No sign of the secretary,’ said Dixon.
‘He was going to get the golfers off the course first.’
‘Shame. I thought he’d changed his mind.’
Jane gestured towards the tent.
‘Is it in there?’
‘It’ again, thought Dixon.
‘Yes, but it’s not a pretty sight.’
‘Are you trying to protect me again?’
‘Not at all, Jane. You’re an investigating officer, you need to see it. I’m just warning you as I would anyone at this time on a Sunday morning.’
‘Good.’
‘My guess is it’s a woman aged between sixty five and seventy five. See what you think.’
PC Cole interrupted.
‘Helicopter’s on the radio, Sir.’
He passed the radio to Dixon.
‘We’ve got a severed head in the bunker. That means there must be a body somewhere. There may be some heat left in it so see if you can see anything with your thermal imaging camera. Ok? Check the beach too.’
‘Roger that, will do.’
Dixon hated ‘radiospeak’. He watched the helicopter move off towards the far end of the golf course. Unfortunately, he then noticed a golf buggy driving towards him. Instinctively, he straightened his tie. He then walked around the twelfth green and down the fairway towards the buggy, intending to intercept it.
The buggy screeched to a halt in front of him.
‘I’m looking for Detective Inspector Dixon.’
‘Yes.’
‘My name is Paul Durkin. I’m the Club Secretary. We’ve had to postpone the start of our competition and I’ve got two hundred golfers waiting to tee off.’
‘Cancel is a more accurate description, I’m afraid, Mr Durkin. The course is closed.’
‘Closed?’
‘Yes, and it’s likely to remain so for at least the rest of today.’
‘The Acting Chief Constable will have something to say about this. He’s teeing off at 10.30am.’
‘I can assure you that he will have even more to say about it if I do not close the course. Can I suggest, therefore, that someone telephones any golfer who has not already arrived at the course and it might also be sensible to send the others home.’
‘This is a disgrace. What on earth can have happened?’
‘You will appreciate that I cannot be too specific at the present time. Suffice it to say that a murder has been committed and the bunker you can see up there is a crime scene.’
‘Oh, my God. Is the body in there?’
‘I really can’t say, but I would be grateful if you would cancel the competition and send everyone home immediately.’
‘Yes, I will. I will. Constable Winter never said it was a murder.’
He looked white as a sheet as he climbed into his buggy and followed the track down towards the thirteenth tee.
Dixon walked back up to the green to meet Jane Winter, who was surprisingly unscathed by her experience in the tent.
‘You must have a stronger stomach than me,’ said Dixon.
Jane smiled.
‘Did you lose your breakfast?’ she asked.
‘I would have done if I’d had any.’
Dixon pointed to Michael Walker.
‘Jane, that’s the green keeper. He found it this morning. Get a detailed statement from him will you? Usual drill. You can sit in the church. It’s open, I think.’
‘Will do.’
PC Cole shouted across to Dixon.
‘DCI Lewis has arrived, Sir. He’s on his way up.’
Dixon turned to Jane Winter.
‘That’s all we need!’
Dixon could see DCI Lewis walking up the twelfth fairway towards the green. He turned to PC Cole.
‘Find out where the pathologist is will you? He should be here by now.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Dixon met DCI Lewis on the edge of the green.
‘What have we got then, Nick?’
‘A severed head in the bunker, Sir. Pathologist is on his way and I’ve got the helicopter up with its thermal imaging camera looking for the rest of the body.’
‘Good.’
‘There’s a trail of blood leading across the golf course towards the beach so it’s possible the murderer carried the head across the golf course. There’s a pool of blood at the edge of the bunker where he or she paused before throwing it in.’
Lewis nodded.
‘A smaller trail then leads down to the overflow car park so I’m thinking the murderer left his car there.’
‘Anyone checking the beach?’
‘I’ve asked the helicopter to have a look and I’ve got a constable following the trail to see where it goes.’
‘Good.’
‘It looks to me to be a female aged between sixty five and seventy five but I will wait for Dr Poland to confirm that. I’ve cancelled the church service and also called off the golf competition that had started.’
‘I bet that went down well.’
‘It caused a bit of a rumpus. Apparently, the Acting Chief Con was playing in it.’
‘You’ll be popular.’
PC Cole interrupted.
‘The Vicar is here, Sir, wondering whether he can be of any assistance.’
‘Tell him I’ll pop down for a chat with him in a minute.’
Dixon turned back to DCI Lewis.
‘It’s not a pretty sight, I’m afraid, Sir.’
‘Don’t worry, Nick, I’m used to it.’
Dixon dropped back down to the church car park to meet the Vicar, who
introduced himself as Reverend Stephen Bessent. Dixon thanked him for his concern and politely explained that he could not be of assistance on this occasion, without being too specific. He explained that the Vicar would be unlikely to recognise the victim, even if he or she had been a member of his congregation. The Vicar confirmed that he had not had reports of anyone missing. He asked whether he would also need to cancel Evensong at 6.00pm and Dixon confirmed that he would.
Dixon turned to see Dr Roger Poland, Senior Pathologist at Musgrove Park Hospital, turning into the car park. They had first met only a few weeks before on the South Drain at Gold Corner Pumping Station when Dr Poland had suggested getting together for a drink. Dr Poland parked his car and walked across to greet Dixon.
‘Hello, Nick. I gather you had a bit of a close shave at the Clarence.’
‘Let’s just say it was interesting.’
‘Enough said. What have we got here?’
‘A severed head in the bunker at the back of the twelfth green. Looks to me like an elderly woman. No one has been in the bunker yet so it’s over to you.’
‘Jolly good, lead on.’
Dixon walked back up to the green with Dr Poland who disappeared inside the tent to begin his examination of the severed head. This would, of course, involve setting foot in the sand but Scenes of Crime Officers would by now have finished their forensic examination and photographing of the bunker. Dixon decided to leave Dr Poland to it.
Dr Poland reappeared five minutes later.
‘I’ve finished my preliminary examination. You’re right, it’s an elderly white female approximately seventy years of age. It’s a clean cut at shoulder level, possibly using some sort of electric blade, and there are what appear to be ligature marks further up the neck. My guess, and it is only a guess at this stage, is that she was already dead before she was decapitated.’
‘Already dead?’ asked Dixon.
‘Yes, but I’ll need the rest of the body to confirm.’
‘Any idea how long?’
‘Last night or the early hours of this morning. If the helicopter is up looking for a heat trace they’re wasting their time.’
Dixon turned to PC Cole.
‘Tell the helicopter they can go home, please, constable. Ask them to check the beach first.’
‘Well, unless there’s anything else, I really need to get the head back to the hospital,’ said Poland.
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
Two mortuary technicians in white overalls appeared carrying what looked to Dixon to be a large black picnic box.
DCI Lewis had emerged from the tent and had been listening in.
‘Is there anything else you need, Nick?’
‘A few more officers so we can start a house to house in the local area, please, Sir. It might also be worth getting a sniffer dog to follow that trail and see where it goes.’
‘Good thinking. I’ll organise that straightaway and see you back at Bridgwater later.’
‘Yes, Sir, thank you.’
Dixon watched while the mortuary technicians emerged from the tent with it in the black picnic box. He took some comfort from the fact that her suffering, and she clearly had suffered, was over. He had never been religious but was grateful for the closeness of the Church at that particular moment.
Dixon turned to see Jane Winter running up the fairway towards him. She arrived more than a little out of breath.
‘We’re getting reports of a burnt out car on the beach and there’s a body in the driver’s seat. A headless body. It’s near the old shipwreck.’
‘Has Dr Poland left yet?’
‘No. Nor has DCI Lewis.’
Dixon and Jane Winter raced down to the car park. Dr Poland and DCI Lewis were ready to go so they jumped into Jane’s car and headed for the beach. Dr Poland and DCI Lewis followed in their own cars. They drove out of the Church car park, turned left along Coast Road and continued until they saw the left turn for Berrow beach. They were greeted at the entrance by a police constable who removed the blue tape allowing the convoy of vehicles through. The solid five bar steel gates at the entrance to the beach were permanently open this time of year. They were only closed during the summer months enabling the council to charge four pounds for the privilege of parking on the beach.
They drove out along the tarmac road heading straight towards the beach, past the Sundowner Café, through the dunes and out onto the Berrow flats. The tide was out revealing a huge expanse of sand. Dixon could see Brean Down to the north and Hinkley Point power station across the estuary.
Another police constable on the beach gestured to the south. Jane Winter turned left and headed along the beach towards a vehicle they could see parked in the distance.
‘Back towards the golf course,’ said Dixon.
They arrived to find the remains of what looked like a red Fiat Uno. It was parked facing out to sea, just inland from the wreck of the SS Nornen. The tide was out and the skeletal remains of the old ship protruded from the sand. The timbers reached skyward and reminded Dixon of the ribs on a rotting carcass.
Dixon looked inland. No more than fifty yards away was a path leading across the golf course through a gap in the sand dunes.
‘Get someone to follow that path, Jane. They should meet PC Carroll coming the other way.’
‘Where does it go?’
‘Straight across the course to the Church.’
Dixon walked around the Fiat Uno. The passenger compartment was almost entirely destroyed by fire leaving the engine intact. Clearly, this was not an engine fire that got out of control. Dixon walked around the back of the car and noticed that the rear number plate was still there. Saved by the rain, no doubt. They would be able to trace the vehicle and, hopefully, identify the owner, if someone had not already done so.
He could also see a charred body in the driver’s seat. It was leaning forward, resting against the steering wheel and its head was missing.
It again.
Dixon turned to Jane Winter.
‘Get Watson and his team over here as quick as you can. We are in a race with the tide now so this must be the priority.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Tell them not to worry too much about tyre tracks.’
‘Why not?’
‘Washed away on this morning’s tide. Look.’
DCI Lewis had parked behind Jane. He tapped on the passenger window. Dixon got out of the car. He leaned back into the car through the open door.
‘And find out what time high tide is, Jane.’
He turned to DCI Lewis, who spoke first.
‘We’re going to have the press all over this any minute now. I’ll get onto the press officer. She can organise liaison. The buggers are going to have a field day.’
‘Don’t they always?’
‘We’ll sort out the details of exactly what we release later, ok?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Dixon approached the police constable standing by the burnt out car.
‘And you are?’
‘WPC Willmott, Sir.’
‘Who found it?’
‘A Mrs Diane Weller. She was out walking her dog. I’ve got her address.’
‘You let her go?’
‘Yes, Sir. She was very distressed, I’m afraid. She lives locally though and will be available to speak to you when required.’
‘Have you checked the number plate?’
‘Yes.’
WPC Willmott produced her notebook.
‘The registered keeper is a Valerie Manning of 7 Manor Drive, Berrow.’
‘That’s right opposite the Church isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Sir. Just off Manor Way.’
Dixon turned to Jane.
‘You know what to do, Jane.’
‘Yes, Sir.’
Jane Winter went back to her car, sat in the driver’s seat and reached for her radio.
Dixon addressed WPC Willmott again.
‘We’ll need a flatbed lorry to recover this
vehicle when the pathologist has finished, constable. Can you rustle that up, please?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Otherwise, it’s over to you, Roger.’
Roger Poland was looking in through the driver’s side window of the Fiat Uno.
‘The body is badly burned, I’m afraid, and there’s a strong smell of petrol. I can see what looks like a stab wound below the left shoulder blade. Subject to its depth, that would have been sufficient to kill her. I won’t really know though until I do the post-mortem. I’ll get that done as quick as I can.’
‘Thanks, Roger. I’ll leave you to it.’
DCI Lewis shouted across to Dixon.
‘I’ve spoken to the press officer. She’s had journalists on already so she’s going to go for a press conference at 6.00pm today, ok?’
‘If we must, Sir.’
‘And Dave Harding and Mark Pearce are on their way to give you a hand.’
‘Thank you.’
DCI Lewis gave Dixon a wave, got back into his car and drove back down the beach. Dixon got into the passenger seat of Jane Winter’s car.
‘Well?’
‘Valerie Manning. Sixty eight years of age. Married to Peter. Lives at 7 Manor Drive. The electoral roll shows possibly one adult son still living at home. None of them are known to police.’
‘Right. Well, we’ve got Dave Harding and Mark Pearce coming so we’ll wait until they get here and then go and knock on the door and see what we find.’
‘Ok.’
‘See if you can get a family liaison officer out here as well, just in case.’
Jane nodded and reached for her radio.
‘God alone knows how we’re going to deal with the identification,’ said Dixon.
Two
By mid afternoon the forensic examination of each scene was largely complete. The burnt out Fiat Uno had been recovered from the beach just before the high tide reached it and the sand had been dug out of the bunker on the twelfth hole. A fingertip search of the church car park and the path across the golf course was now under way but it would be dark soon and so this was likely to go into a second day. House to house enquiries were also taking place in the local area, with the exception of Manor Drive.
Valerie Manning was now in the mortuary at Musgrove Park Hospital awaiting her post mortem. Dixon was not sure whether her head had been reunited with her body or her body reunited with her head but, either way, it would not be long before she could rest in peace.
