by Jim McGrath
‘Did Simone tell you that he had blond hair?’
‘No, but we were messing about talking about boys and she said that what she found really odd was that Bucky had blond hairs around his… you know.’
‘His penis.’
‘Yes,’ she said, blushing violently and bowing her head to avoid having to look at Sister Etna. ‘That would mean he had blond hair, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes, it would. OK, you’ve been very good. We’ll need to take a statement from you and we’d like to search your room just in case Simone left a note or anything that might help us. I’ll call my Sergeant and he’ll pick you up from school. I’m sure Sister Etna will excuse you from lessons this afternoon given the circumstances.’
Sister Etna nodded in agreement and started to lead Carol out. At the door, Carol turned and asked, ‘Did you find Simone’s diary? I bet the answers to all your questions are in that.’
Dumfounded, Hicks looked at Collins and said, ‘Come back a sec, Carol. What’s this about a diary?’
‘Simone wanted to be a writer or a journalist when she left school. She’d read somewhere that writers kept diaries and use what’s in ‘em for their stories, so she started to keep a diary.’
‘When was this?’
‘About last July. It’s just a big, black foolscap book.’
‘Mrs Winston never mentioned any diary.’
‘I don’t think she knows about it. Simone didn’t want her reading it.’
‘Do you know where she kept it?’
‘Sorry,’ she said, shaking her head.
‘That’s OK. You’ve been a great help.’
Hicks said nothing until they were by the car. ‘What’s that saying? Out of the mouths of children shall come wisdom?’
‘Something like that, Sir,’ said Collins and slid in behind the wheel.
‘We have to find that bloody diary. I’ll get a search team over to the house tomorrow. They can check with her mates and the school, too. What do you make of the rest of it?’
‘I think he’s done this before. I don’t mean killing young girls, but picking them up. He had his story and excuses down pat. We should find out when this youth dance was at The Palms. If we can trace the DJ, maybe he can tell us who the boyfriend is or at least confirm what he looks like,’ said Collins.
‘What about the money and gifts?’
‘He did it to impress a chit of a girl who had no money and probably saw a drive in a nice car as an adventure – but he was clever enough to keep her quiet. After all, the girl was underage. He spun her a cock-and-bull story about the danger they faced if people found out.’
‘Which is one reason why Simone hid the clothes,’ said Hicks. ‘You’ll be back on the beat tomorrow with Clarke?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Well pop into The Palms, it’s on your patch, and see what you can find out. I’ll clear it with your gaffer, OK?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good. Let’s go and see Dr McEwan and find out exactly what killed the girl.’
Like any visitor unused to attending a mortuary, the first thing Collins noticed was the smell. Everything smelt of disinfectant. The second was the smell of death. Not the gut-churning stench of a ripe body in the summer heat, but the taste of low-level decay that clings to the back of the throat and impregnates everything. A strange mixture of stale sweat, human waste and rotting flesh, which has been doused in disinfectant but not eradicated.
The mortuary had been built around 1880. Its white tiled walls and floors, scrubbed regularly, were spotless. The cold ceramic examination tables, which were neatly laid out in a row of four, gave Collins a nervous feeling in the pit of his stomach. The unbidden thought that he’d end up there one day popped into his mind – and once there, he couldn’t shrug it off. Bloody Irish. Half Catholic, half Celtic pagan; we’re a superstitious lot, he thought.
Dr McEwan entered from the glass office at the far end of the room. ‘You’re late, Inspector,’ he said, as he shook hands with Hicks.
Collins didn’t even rate a glance. He was clearly unworthy of the good doctor’s attention. It didn’t bother him, though, and he took out his pen and notebook. The guy looked too young for the job of Chief Pathologist. Maybe that’s why he wore a waistcoat, watch fob and sported a bright yellow bow tie. He was trying to impress by looking like the young brilliant eccentric medic of so many American TV programmes, but his short stature and bulging belly made it a hard act to pull off. Collins just hoped that he was competent and had something for them.
‘Well, I’m here now, so let’s get on with it.’
‘There’s nothing to get on with. It’s already done.’
‘What do you mean already done?’ Hicks asked, astonished.
‘I said that the post mortem would take place on Tuesday morning. It’s now nearly 2. I can’t wait around for you. I’ve got a mortuary to run.’
‘You’ll be in the fucking mortuary if you ever start a PM on one of my bodies again without me present. Do you hear me?’
Collins was amazed at the change in Hicks. The Inspector was bent forward as if ready to lunge at McEwan. His face flushed, voice hard and vicious. His eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and contempt.
‘How dare you speak to me like that! I’ll report you to the Chief Constable and I have a witness,’ he said, nodding in the direction of Collins.
Hicks strengthened up and took a deep breath. When he spoke his voice was calm, but a vein still throbbed purple in his temple. ‘What did you see, Constable Collins?’
‘Nothing, Sir, except that the Doctor swore at you for being late without giving you any chance to explain why we had been delayed.’
‘You were saying, Dr McEwan?’
McEwan knew that he was beaten – if only he hadn’t allowed the orderly to go to lunch. Still attempting to show his superiority he said, ‘My title is Mr McEwan, not Doctor.’
‘Sorry about that, Mr McEwan,’ said Hicks. ‘Personally, I’ve always thought that the title “Doctor” meant more to the common man than “Mr”.’
Collins suppressed a smile. Two nil to Hicks.
‘Quite so. Anyway, as I said, I’ve completed the autopsy on the girl, Simone Winston. As you rightly suspected, she died from strangulation. I found some fibres in her hair that may have come from the cloth that was used to strangle her. I’ll be able to tell you what type of material after the lab get back to me. She was strangled from behind and, although this is part supposition, I think she may have been on her hands and knees at the time of death.’
‘Why do you say that? She could have been standing up.’
‘Doubtful, Inspector. You see, her hyoid bone was broken. If she had been standing up, the body would have slumped forward immediately and that would have caused more widespread bruising and abrasions to the neck as the ligature slipped over the skin.’
‘I see,’ said Hicks.
The Doc might be an irritating, pompous, fat git but he seems to know his stuff, conceded Collins.
‘The vaginal sex that she had prior to death appears to have been consensual. There is no evidence of bruising around the thighs or vagina to imply otherwise – although I can’t rule it out until the lab confirms what drugs she’d taken. She may just have been unconscious so didn’t struggle and…’
‘Therefore no bruising,’ said Hicks.
Annoyed that he’d had his speech interrupted, McEwan continued, ‘At this stage, if I were a betting man, I’d say that the death was probably an accident. A bit of rough fun gone wrong, but what happened afterwards wasn’t.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She was violently buggered post mortem. There are substantial tears and bruising to the rectum and lower colon.’
‘So it’s all lovey-dovey until she dies, then
the guy fulfils his fantasy. Is that it?’
‘Yes and no. There was a second person involved.’
Collins had to concede that McEwan had a talent for the dramatic. Both men were now listening intently to the cherubic pathologist.
‘Boyfriend 1 is AB; Bugger 2 is O Res. Negative.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘The mortuary assistant noticed the bruising as he undressed her before filing her away last night. I took swabs and sent them to the lab. I asked them to rush as I needed them first thing Tuesday morning, as that was when the police were coming. I knew you’d be interested.’
There was silence for a few moments as McEwan savoured salvaging a point. Then, he continued, ‘She was also in the very early stages of pregnancy – and no, I don’t know if Lover 1 or Bugger 2 was the father. You’ll have to wait for the lab results.’
‘Would she have known she was pregnant?’
‘Unlikely, as I say it was very early.’
Collins was too busy taking notes to look up, but he could imagine the look of satisfaction that was spreading across McEwan’s face as he revealed the mysteries of science to two ignorant coppers.
‘You said there were signs that she’d taken drugs?’
‘Yes. There were signs of undigested pills in her stomach. My guess is that they were amphetamines, but I won’t know for sure until I have the toxicology report. I should be able to let you have the results tomorrow.’
McEwan somehow managed to make it sound as if he were doing them a favour.
They drove back to the station in silence. Collins was so busy thinking about what they had just learnt that he had to swerve to avoid a bus that emerged from the Hockley Bus Station without warning. Bloody sods think they own the road. The only new information they had picked up was that Simone had been pregnant and had probably taken drugs prior to her death. But if she didn’t know she was pregnant, than the father wouldn’t have known and it couldn’t be considered as a motive for her death.
As for Bugger 2, they’d already known that there was a second man involved. The older, chunkier guy who had helped Blondie/Bucky dump the body – but now it sounded like he had buggered Simone. Did that mean that they operated as a pair to pick up girls and use them? Or was he just a friend who had been given the chance to indulge in a fantasy that he would never get the opportunity to try again? But would a friend, no matter how close, be willing to get involved in a murder? Collins didn’t think so.
It was only as they were pulling into the station that Collins gave voice to something that was bothering him. ‘Sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was thinking; what if Bugger 2 and the second guy who dumped her are not the same person? What if there were three of them involved?’
‘I was thinking along similar lines. But what if we’re dealing with a group of men and not just two or three? I’ve seen it before in London.’
As they walked into the station, Hicks said, ‘Don’t forget to check out The Palms tomorrow. And make sure you take Clark with you. I’m starting to smell something very rotten.’
Collins deposited all the evidence that they had collected at both Mrs Winston’s and St Martin’s on Sergeant York’s empty chair. Simone’s rough workbooks were on top. He opened them on impulse and scribbled down the seven series of numbers on a scrap of paper, before shoving it in his pocket, bidding Inspector Hicks good afternoon and heading home.
Collins was sitting in the kitchen, digging into 1/3d worth of fish and chips and staring at the list of numbers he’d written down before leaving the station. The Home Service’s 6 ‘o clock pm News was just ending when he heard the front door open. Moments later, Agnes entered the kitchen.
‘You look frozen,’ he said. ‘Will I make you a cup of tea?’
‘That would be lovely,’ Agnes replied and slumped into the chair nearest the radiator.
‘How was your day?’ Collins asked.
‘Meetings followed by more meetings. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been to a Quaker Meeting?’
Collins shook his head.
‘Well, we have two types. Meetings for Worship and Business Meetings. I love the quiet and serenity of Meetings for Worship, but Business Meetings can drag on for ages. They make Civil Service meetings seem the epitome of efficiency. And today, I had two very long meetings to chair. Still, I think we arrived at the right decisions eventually.’
‘So it was worth your while then?’
‘Yes, it was’. As she took the offered cup from Collins, she glanced down and noticed the list of numbers that Collins had been struggling with. ‘What’s this?’
‘What?’
‘These number sets,’ she said, studying the sheet of paper up.
‘Oh them. We were at the murdered girl’s school today and found these strings of numbers in her copy books. The Inspector thinks that they’re some kind of code. He’s going to send them to Steelhouse Lane tomorrow.’
‘He’s right. It is a code.’
‘Are you sure?’ Collins asked, surprised that Agnes knew anything about codes.
‘Definitely. It’s what I call a reverse substitution code with one shift. Fairly basic really.’
‘You lost me with reverse. Can you read what it says?’
‘Yes, this five number set says “BUCKY”.’
‘Bucky, you say. Wait here. I’ll be back in no time.’ Collins rushed from the room, took the stairs two at a time and returned seconds later with a pen and pad of paper. ‘Show me how it works.’
Agnes took the pad and spent a few seconds sketching out a grid, before listing the letters of the alphabet and the numbers from one to twenty-six. She then showed Collins her schedule.
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
A
Z
Y
X
W
V
U
T
S
T
Q
P
O
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
N
M
L
K
J
I
H
G
F
E
D
C
B
26
7
25
17
3
B
U
C
K
Y
‘That’s brilliant! Where did you learn to do that?’ Collins asked in astonishment.
‘Just a little party trick of mine. It’s a very basic code – exactly the type a schoolgirl would use. Although, the shift adds a bit of twist to it.’
‘Yes. But where did you learn to do it?’
‘I was a translator in the Signal Corps during the war. I picked up the basics from typing reports and such like. Besides, I’ve always been good at crossword puzzles.’
‘Amazing – a whole station full of coppers and no ejit can break it! You take one look and hey presto, it’s done.’
‘Well, as I say, it’s very basic.’
‘So, if I go through all the strings of numbers…’
‘They’re called sets of numbers,’ Agnes corrected him.
‘OK, so if I go through all the sets, I’ll be able to translate everything she’s written.’ Collins still couldn’t believe how quickly Agnes had solved the problem.
‘That’s how codes work. Find the key and they’re easy to read,’ said Agnes, amused at how excited Collins was about her discovery.
The fish and chips forgotten, the two of them spent the next few minutes translating the seven sets of numbers. Agnes rose even further in Collins’ estimation when she proceeded to translate each set without reference to the key. The only difficulty she had was resolved when she realised that actual numbers weren’t encoded. So, for example, seventeen actually meant seventeen.
With all seven sets translated, Collins picked up the pad and read:
Bucky.
The Other Queen’s Head.
Club on 17.
Pan Cottage
Durex (underlined three times).
