‘So you’ve never heard of Andrew Adair?’
‘Don’t think so.’
‘What time did you find the body?’
‘Must have been half-past five. Something like that, anyway. That’s when I normally walk the older cockers. No traffic around at that time, you see. Means they can have a good run off the leash.’
‘So you arrived here at the kennels at what time, exactly?’
‘Didn’t arrive at all. Never left.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘They’re valuable dogs, are my cockers. Leave them unguarded, and you could guarantee some thieving bastard would have them away. So somebody always stays here overnight – either me or one of my kennel lads.’ He jabbed his thumb in the general direction of the door opposite the office entrance. ‘There’s a bedroom, bathroom and small kitchen in there. It’s comfortable enough.’
‘Then you were here all night?’
‘That’s right. Why?’
‘I noticed that when I arrived, the dogs kicked up a hell of a fuss,’ Paniatowski said. ‘They didn’t happen to do the same thing sometime in the night, did they?’
‘As a matter of fact, they did,’ Harold Toynbee said. ‘They had a real howling fit on them at around two o’clock and . . .’ He caught his breath, as if he had just realized something that he should have understood a long time ago. ‘That’ll be when it happened, won’t it? That’ll be when the bastard dumped the body?’
‘How long did this howling fit of theirs last?’
‘Twenty or maybe twenty-five minutes.’
‘But you didn’t get up to investigate whatever it was that was making them so upset?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Why not?’
Toynbee shrugged. ‘Last night was a bit extreme, but they often get worked up like that. If there’s a fox on the prowl – or even a hedgehog – they can go bloody mad. That’s why I had to move the kennels out of town. People were complaining about the racket, you see.’
‘Do you always take the dogs into the woods?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘As a general rule, yes. They like to have a bit of a root around under the trees.’
‘And you said the reason you take them out at that time of day is that there’s very little traffic around?’
‘That’s right. On that walk, I can go for days without seeing a single car. Although . . .’
‘Although . . .’ Paniatowski encouraged.
‘Although, a couple of times this week, I have seen a blue Bedford six-hundredweight van driving along the road.’
‘The killer will have needed at least a small van to shift him,’ Cousins had said.
‘You think that might be what the killer used to move the body?’ Toynbee said.
‘It’s a possibility,’ Paniatowski admitted. ‘Which direction was he travelling in?’
‘From Whitebridge to Whalley.’
‘Did you get a look at the driver’s face?’
‘I’m afraid not. On both occasions, I’d gone into the woods by the time the van drew level with me.’
‘So you didn’t get the number, either?’
‘No, he was too far away. And anyway, why would I have bothered to take the number? As far as I was concerned, it was just an ordinary vehicle going about its business.’
‘So there was nothing unusual about the van at all?’ Paniatowski asked hopefully.
‘Well, the driver did seem to be going rather slowly, considering there was a clear road ahead of him,’ Toynbee mused.
‘Any minute now, it’s going to start making sense to him,’ Paniatowski thought.
‘He was driving slowly so he wouldn’t draw level with me until I’d gone into the woods, wasn’t he?’ Toynbee asked.
‘Yes, I rather think so.’
‘He didn’t want me to see his face or be able to take his number.’
‘Correct.’
‘What he did want to do was to make sure that I went into the woods every day.’
‘It’s certainly looking that way,’ Paniatowski agreed.
‘Because the bloody swine had me marked down to find the body from the start!’ Toynbee exploded.
‘Yes,’ Paniatowski said softly. ‘I rather think he had.’
FIVE
When Monika Paniatowski returned to the scene of the crime, she found it transformed.
An ambulance had arrived, and the two-man crew, having nothing else to do for the moment, were leaning against the side of their vehicle, smoking No. 6 Tipped cigarettes and drinking vacuum-flask-coffee from plastic cups.
Three more patrol cars had appeared, and the uniformed officers who’d been disgorged from them now formed a ragged – though undoubtedly effective – cordon around the edge of the woods.
A battered Land Rover, belonging to Dr Shastri, was parked next to the ambulance, but there was no sign of the good doctor herself, which meant she was probably already in the woods, examining the body.
And finally, there was DI Colin Beresford, standing and watching the whole operation like the conscientious bobby that he was – ensuring that even though there was only the slightest chance that anything could possibly go wrong, nothing actually did.
‘I think the killer may have used a blue Bedford six-hundredweight van to transport the body,’ Paniatowski told her inspector.
Beresford whistled softly. ‘Christ, if you’re right about that, boss, it’s a real break at this early stage of the investigation,’ he said. ‘But what’s led you to that conclu—’
‘I’ll explain later,’ Paniatowski said briskly. ‘What I want you to do, straight away, is to get back to headquarters, assemble your team, and put them right on it.’
Beresford nodded. ‘Got it, boss.’
‘I need to know who in the Whitebridge area owns a van like that,’ Paniatowski continued. ‘I want all the owners checked out, and I also need to know if any vans matching that description have been stolen in the last few days.’
‘Right,’ Beresford agreed.
‘I also want the whole of the Whalley road, from Whitebridge to Whalley, thoroughly canvassed. Because though it’s highly unlikely that anybody was out and about on it at the ungodly hour of five-thirty in the morning, it’s just possible they were. And if they were, I want to know if they’ve seen the blue van or its driver any morning this week.’
‘But if he only dumped the body this morning . . .’
‘I’ll explain that later, as well,’ Paniatowski said. She looked around her. ‘Where’s DS Cousins?’
‘Gone,’ Beresford said.
‘Gone?’ Paniatowski repeated.
‘He said he had a lead that he had to chase up. I thought he must have been acting on your instructions.’
‘Well, he bloody well wasn’t!’ Paniatowski said.
So, despite initial appearances, it was going to be just like Walker all over again, she thought bitterly – another sergeant who resented the fact he had to work for a female DCI, and was already doing all he could to kick her legs from underneath her!
‘I’m sorry, boss, I didn’t know,’ Beresford said. ‘He seemed so sure of himself.’
‘Yes, his sort always did,’ Paniatowski thought.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said. ‘I’ll take charge here. You get back to HQ and start looking for that blue van.’
She turned, and walked into the woods, to be confronted, once she’d reached the clearing, with a sight which almost made her think she was hallucinating.
The corpse was where she had left it, still on its hands and knees, still in the grip of rigor. But projecting from under it were a pair of coffee-brown feet clad in golden sandals, which were in turn attached to a pair of legs wrapped chastely in a flowery sari.
‘Ah, so you have arrived, my dear Chief Inspector,’ said a voice from somewhere beyond the legs.
Paniatowski walked over to the corpse, and crouched down next to it.
‘You look just like a mechanic, examining the u
nderside of a car, Doc,’ she said.
‘Indeed I do,’ Dr Shastri agreed. ‘But, of course, a good car mechanic is more much skilled than a simple Indian doctor.’
Shastri extricated herself from the awkward position with the grace and smoothness of a dancer. And when she stood up, her sari fell back into its natural folds and looked as fresh as if she had just put it on.
‘This is a most interesting case you have brought me, Monika,’ she said. ‘The death is easily explained. The poor man had his throat slashed with what I would guess was some kind of metal hook. It is what happened to him after death which really fascinates me. He was immediately draped over some kind of object, in order to mould him into the shape he is currently assuming.’
‘And you’re sure this was done immediately, are you?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Perhaps not,’ Shastri conceded. ‘But it was certainly done within half an hour of death, or there would be clear signs of livor mortis in the lower extremities.’
‘I see,’ Paniatowski said thoughtfully. ‘So the victim was draped over this object . . .’
‘I would guess it was a packing case of some kind, though I cannot be definite about that. But what I strongly believe is that it was neither a random action nor a random object. I think the killer chose a box – or whatever it was – of just the right height, in order to produce this pretty little human statue of his.’
‘Why?’ Paniatowski asked.
Shastri laughed, and it was like the gentle ringing of golden temple bells. ‘There you go again,’ she said.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You’re asking me to play the detective for you. But I can’t. I do not know why the killer did it – unless, perhaps, he is addicted to the game of necrophilia leapfrog. All I can tell you is what happened.’
Paniatowski grinned. ‘I’ve known you too long to fall for that line,’ she said. ‘You’ve got your own theories. I’m sure of it.’
‘Actually, on this occasion, you are only half-right at best,’ Shastri said. ‘I did think, at first, that it may have been done to humiliate the dead man . . .’
‘That’s what my sergeant and I thought,’ Paniatowski said.
And just where was her bloody sergeant? And just what was he bloody well doing?
‘Certainly stripping him naked could be seen as wishing to humiliate him,’ Shastri continued, ‘but why stop there? Why not then subject him to what most men would call the ultimate humiliation?’
‘Which is?’
‘Poor, ignorant Indian that I am, I do not know the term an English layman would use to describe it, but we in the medical profession would call it “cutting his knackers off”.’
Shastri was quite right, Paniatowski thought. For most men – and this had been a fine strapping specimen of a man – castration would have been the ultimate humiliation.
‘In what little time your demanding police force allows me, I have been studying medieval English church tombs,’ Shastri said. ‘You know the kind of thing I mean, don’t you? A supine statue of a knight in armour, sometimes with his lady by his side.’
‘I know the kind of thing you mean,’ Paniatowski replied, mystified.
‘It is perhaps a little morbid of me, but then I am engaged in a morbid profession,’ Shastri continued. ‘And I do find it fascinating, because each tomb tells its own story to those who have the ability to read it. If the knight has his hands clasped in prayer, it tells us one thing about him. If there is a dog at his feet, it tells us another. In other words, it is all carefully constructed, so that to those who understand, it will mean something.’
‘And you’re saying that this has been carefully constructed to send a message to someone?’ Paniatowski asked.
‘Exactly so.’
‘But what’s the message, and to whom is it being sent?’
‘Ah, now we are straying beyond my realms of competence again,’ Shastri said.
SIX
The stretcher had not been designed to transport frozen, kneeling men, and the two-man ambulance crew struggled to manoeuvre the corpse into such a position that it would not fall off on the journey through the woods.
‘It will be a most interesting post-mortem to perform,’ said Dr Shastri, as she watched the process. ‘I have not yet decided whether to conduct it with him as you found him or to turn him over on his back, so he looks like a dead hamster.’
Was she really as flippant as she sometimes seemed, or was it just a defence mechanism, Paniatowski wondered.
And then she remembered how wonderfully sensitive Shastri had been when telling her the results of Bob Rutter’s post-mortem, and she had her answer.
‘You could always break his arms and legs before you went to work on him,’ she suggested, playing the doctor’s game.
Shastri clicked her tongue disapprovingly. ‘Oh dear me, no, that would never do,’ she said. ‘I am a scientist, not a pork butcher.’
The ambulance men raised the stretcher. The corpse wobbled slightly, but seemed to be about as stable as could be hoped for.
Paniatowski and Shastri formed part of the cortege as it made its way from the clearing to the waiting ambulance.
‘I’d like your report on the victim as soon as possible,’ Paniatowski said, as they reached the road.
‘How unusual to hear you say that,’ Shastri replied, with a smile. ‘Normally, you are in no hurry at all.’ She sighed. ‘Do not worry, I will work through the night if needs be. I am quite resigned to my slavery. It is a fate which befalls all police doctors.’
‘And you love it,’ Paniatowski told her.
An old green Ford Cortina pulled up, and a square man in a blue suit climbed out of it.
‘I was wondering if, once this case is over, you and Louisa would like to come to my house for afternoon tea,’ Dr Shastri said.
‘We’ll talk about it later,’ Paniatowski said, more abruptly than she’d intended to, as she watched Sergeant Cousins slam his car door and begin to walk towards her.
‘Ah, there is trouble in Paradise,’ Dr Shastri said, perceptively. ‘And that being the case, I will remove myself from the scene as quickly as possible.’
She turned and walked towards her Land Rover, nodding to Cousins as they passed one another.
When he’d drawn level with Paniatowski, the sergeant came to a stop and said, ‘I’m back, ma’am.’
‘I can see that you’re back, but where the bloody hell have you been?’ Paniatowski demanded.
Cousins shrank slightly away, as if surprised by the sudden and unexpected vehemence of the attack. ‘I was following a lead, ma’am.’
‘A lead?’
‘The dead man’s tattoo.’
‘Tattoo?’ Paniatowski thought. ‘What tattoo?’
‘You see, I knew immediately that it must mean the victim was, or had been, a member of a—’ Cousins began.
Paniatowski put up her hand to silence him. The tattoo – if there actually was one – might be interesting, but there were other, more important, matters to be dealt with first.
She looked around her. There were a number of unformed constables still within earshot, and it wouldn’t have been right for them to hear what was about to follow.
‘Let’s go up the road a little,’ she suggested, though from her tone it was clear that it wasn’t a suggestion at all.
‘If that’s what you want, ma’am,’ Cousins said, mystified.
‘It is what I want,’ Paniatowski replied emphatically.
They walked until they were fifty yards away from the woods, then Paniatowski came to an abrupt halt and said, ‘So you saw this tattoo, and then you thought that you’d just go swanning off, did you?’
Cousins shrugged. ‘Inspector Beresford had arrived by that point, and there didn’t seem to be much for me to do here.’
Looking back over her shoulder, Paniatowski saw that both the ambulance and Dr Shastri’s Land Rover were in the process of executing three-point turns.
‘You�
�re my bagman,’ she told Cousins.
‘I know that, ma’am.’
‘And what that means is that you carry my bag and perform any other minor duties I assign to you. What it doesn’t mean is that you have the right to go off chasing what you consider to be leads, without telling me first!’
The ambulance drove passed them, quickly followed by the Land Rover. Paniatowski gave an obligatory wave to Shastri, but the doctor, as if to keep herself above minor police wrangles, had her eyes firmly focused on the road.
Paniatowski turned her attention back to Cousins. The sergeant was looking troubled.
‘Can I speak frankly, ma’am?’ he said earnestly.
‘Why not?’ Paniatowski asked herself. ‘If we’ve got problems, let’s get them out in the open.’
‘Go ahead,’ she told the sergeant.
‘I don’t imagine you were exactly as chuffed as little apples when you heard I’d been assigned to your team,’ Cousins said.
‘Don’t you?’ Paniatowski asked, deadpan.
‘No, ma’am, and I expect that had something to do with the fact you’re naturally wary of anybody who’s spent some time in the nut house.’
‘Show a little basic humanity, Monika – just like Charlie would have done,’ Paniatowski advised herself, echoing Baxter’s words.
‘You were in hospital,’ she said. ‘In much the same way as you would have been if you’d broken a leg.’
‘If you don’t mind me saying, ma’am, I don’t think you’re being entirely honest with me – or with yourself,’ Cousins said.
‘And suppose I do mind you saying it?’ Paniatowski countered.
‘Then I’m very sorry to have offended you, but it had to be said anyway. Look, ma’am, we both know they don’t put you in a straitjacket in any normal hospital. We both know they don’t lock you away in a padded cell in a normal hospital.’ A totally unexpected smile came to his face. ‘That’s a little nut-house humour, ma’am,’ he explained. ‘I was never in a padded cell. You have to pass exams in lunacy before you get one of them.’
‘I don’t like having the piss taken out of me, Sergeant!’ Paniatowski said angrily.
The Ring of Death Page 4
