‘The crowd would slow him up that way, but unless he was bloodied up, no one would take much notice. He’d have been lost in the mass within minutes, back at the station within the half hour, I reckon.’
‘And would he have been bloodied?’ Mickey asked.
‘The woman was hit from behind. If the blood spattered then chummy might have picked up some drops and spatter. Chances are, nothing that would have been noticed if you looked at him casual. One blow killed her, so the police surgeon reckoned.’
‘And this police surgeon is a friend of the dead woman’s husband?’
‘Dr Ephraim Phillips. Friend and colleague, yes. Mrs Mason was with the doctor’s wife, Mrs Nora Phillips, for most of the day. Both doctors are on the list of local police surgeons. They thought they’d combine business with a chance at pleasure.’
‘Didn’t quite go to plan, did it,’ Mickey observed.
‘No, indeed it did not.’ Emory pointed. They had reached the paddock now and he paused to indicate the horsebox, still where it had been – though it had taken some threats and persuasion on Emory’s part to keep it so.
‘Across there is the side gate I mentioned. You can see the showmen’s wagons.’
Mickey nodded. Men were dismantling the rides, women and children assisting with the packing. Henry glanced in the direction Emory indicated and then crossed to the horsebox and looked inside.
Mickey stayed put and instinctively Emory remained at his side. ‘He’ll want to speak to the travellers,’ Mickey said. ‘I’ll get on and photograph the scene, dust for fingerprints, which I’m sure you’ll tell me is a futile effort. I don’t for a minute think the scene of a grizzly murder has gone untouched for all this time.’
‘I had a constable here,’ Emory told him, ‘but he was also patrolling the perimeter so …’ He shrugged.
‘You take the guvnor over to talk to the fairground people,’ Mickey said as Henry stepped away from the horsebox. ‘And mind, he can be a bit sharp,’ Mickey added with a grin.
‘I imagine he can,’ Emory said. ‘I’ll be sure to be ready with the oil to pour on any choppy waters.’
‘That would be wise,’ Mickey agreed.
Mickey worked methodically, focusing his initial interest on the horsebox. He photographed the interior and took contextual shots, remarking the location within the fenced-off area. Then he used the fingerprint camera, an instrument set up for a particular focal length, so that the print was somewhat enlarged and of a particular and standardized aspect, and so easily compared to those on record. As he’d suspected, there were many prints on the doors, both partial and smeared and varied, but there were a few nice, clear examples and one never knew, Mickey thought, they might strike lucky.
Faint indications remained in the grass where other vehicles had been parked and it was possible to discern, from the crushed turf, where temporary pathways had been created between the vehicles.
Mickey photographed what he could and then set about making a sketch map of these features, roping into service two of the stable boys who had come to watch the strange antics of this stocky stranger, with his camera and measuring tape.
With help from the two boys, and then from their boss who turned up, wondering where they’d gone off to and found himself caught up in the action, Mickey completed his task quickly. Mickey was never one to turn down a helping hand when one was offered or could be persuaded or coerced.
After an hour of this he stood beside the horsebox and studied the maps that he had constructed, the boys and their boss peering over his shoulders.
‘Looks to me like that line is off,’ Jenks, the ostler, proposed, pointing to the position of a vehicle Mickey had sketched out. ‘You look from here and now the way the shadows are falling on it, I reckon there was something parked up at the back of it.’
Mickey was inclined to agree and that being the case, he noted, there would have been a natural hideaway made between three vehicles and only a few paces from the horsebox where the body had been found. Significant, he thought.
‘Let me walk across there,’ Mickey said, ‘see if there’s anything to be seen and then we’ll get the marks put back in right, if you two lads can give me a hand. We’ll have Mr Jenks stay put to direct operations.’
Jenks and the boys agreed. He was creating a welcome diversion, Mickey thought, the investigation preventing this group and their last horse from leaving until the final box had been released. Mickey guessed that the owners would have left the previous day and most of their entourage with them. Jenks and the boys had suddenly found themselves with free time.
He took a slow walk to the spot and looked back to Jenks who gave him the thumbs up. I’ll bet my boots she wasn’t killed inside the box, Mickey thought. There’d been no cast-off, no splatter and something would have been expected even if the woman had been felled with a single blow. The other thing that militated against the horsebox being the murder scene was that there was little space to make ready to deliver such a blow as would kill instantly. No, she had been killed outside and then the body dumped.
He crouched down and surveyed the ground. The grass was crushed and flattened by vehicle wheels. It was short here in the paddock which meant marks were not as obvious, but they could still be discerned, as could the indentations of feet. So, Mickey thought, people walked here, then something was parked, then it went away and people walked here again. He nodded, satisfied that he had it right. ‘Now what’s that there?’ Mickey said aloud.
Small spots of something dark, staining the clover. Mickey took a small envelope from his pocket and pulled the clump from the ground. It looked like blood to him.
There being nothing more that he could see, he summoned the boys across with the measuring tape and added this latest vehicle to the plan, drawing it in a dotted line to indicate what Mickey felt certain was a transient event.
Had it been the killer’s vehicle? Had he therefore driven away from the scene?
That, Mickey thought, would be very convenient if anyone happened to have noticed the make of vehicle and perhaps the registration number.
He asked the boys and Mr Jenks. ‘It may have been a small green van,’ Jenks said. One of the boys thought an Austin car.
‘It was a busy afternoon,’ Jenks stated with a shrug. ‘Comings and goings and the lads and I were over near the start line for most of it and in the winners’ enclosure too, fetching the horses back.’ He sounded proud of that and Mickey spent the next ten minutes listening as Jenks recounted the successes of his stable. Mickey was content to listen and to provide the occasional question by way of lubrication. He was well practised in the art of listening to one thing and thinking about something else and he did so now, running through the plan they had drawn in his mind and plotting possible routes and scenarios.
‘So there’d not be much reason for anyone to be here,’ he asked finally, having established that the horses were taken from the winners’ enclosure, back to their designated areas, rubbed down and unsaddled, cooled slowly and carefully so as not to get the colic. The non-winners were met at the finish line and similarly dealt with.
Jenks rubbed his nose thoughtfully, a habit Mickey had had plenty of opportunity to observe that afternoon. ‘Well, no, see. Everything parked up here would be transport or equipment no one was likely to need in any kind of rush. Anything anybody might need you’d have sense to keep close to hand, wouldn’t you? Like you keep your bag handy.’
Mickey couldn’t argue with that.
‘So a good place for a clandestine meeting,’ he commented.
Jenks put his head to one side, rubbed his nose again and considered. ‘I can’t think of none better,’ he agreed. ‘And you got the noise too, from the fairground. Music and steam engines and all the people yelling and shouting.’
‘So if anyone did happen to hear a scream they’d assume it came from the fairground,’ Mickey agreed. ‘So whoever came here most likely knew all of those things. Ticked them off on his own pers
onal list and enticed the woman here with clear intent to do harm.’
Jenks looked uncomfortable. The boys had taken themselves off and were nosing about in Mickey’s murder bag. He shouted at them to ‘get their mucky little fingers out of where they don’t belong’ and then turned back to Jenks, fairly certain he knew what the man was hesitating about. ‘When the doctor was called over, the constable assumed the victim might have been a working girl.’
Jenks looked relieved and then nodded. ‘I ain’t saying it’s commonplace,’ he insisted, ‘but the girls sometimes get up to no good here. The boys too, I suppose,’ he added. ‘If you take my meaning.’
Mickey had at first thought he meant male clients, but maybe did not. ‘Ay, well, I think we’ll have difficulty tracking down those particular potential witnesses,’ he said. ‘Look,’ he added, ‘if you’ve got the time, how about walking me from here to the winners’ enclosure and then to where your horses were kept, just so I get a feel for the distances.’
Jenks agreed with an alacrity that told Mickey he was happy to leave so sensitive a subject behind. It still surprised him what folk got in a dither about. Discussion of a nasty murder was acceptable even at the politest of dinner tables, but a hint of sex in the conversation and you’d soon be persona non grata in most circles.
Jenks called the boys, Mickey retrieved his gear and Jenks led them out through the side gate, through which Henry had earlier passed with Sergeant Emory.
Emory had soon realized that the chief inspector was a man of few words and little casual conversation – not that this bothered him in the least. He had the feeling that this tall man, straight as a length of pump water, was more inclined to thinking and doing than to chatting about it. Bearing Mickey Hitchens’ warning in mind, that the inspector could be sharp, he decided to get his ameliorating in first – after all, the inspector would leave once the murder had been solved; Emory would be remaining and the fairground folk, in Emory’s experience, remembered bad treatment long after the perpetrator had forgotten even having dealings with them.
‘If you will allow me to make introductions, Inspector? I know most of these people and who you might need to speak to first. If the head man don’t cooperate—’
‘I know that, Sergeant,’ Henry said. ‘So, yes, the correct introductions should be made.’
His tone was cold. Emory glanced sidelong at him. Chief Inspector Johnstone was still looking about him, taking it all in, and the sergeant decided that there was nothing personally meant in his frigidity. Still, I’ll bet you take some handling, he thought.
Henry nodded to where three men stood in conversation beside a newly dismantled helter-skelter. ‘The middle one of those three, I’m guessing, is the headman. The one to the right being his lieutenant.’
Emory chuckled softly. ‘Edgar Reece,’ he agreed. ‘Third generation to be running the show. The lieutenant as you call him is his brother-in-law. One Gavin Cafferty and an incomer, in truth. Irish traveller, when you maybe know it’s not common for the two to mix, but the sister fell for him, and he’s proved his worth, so it’s said. Started as a booth fighter. You can probably tell that from his broken nose and well … his general demeanour, shall we say.’
The three men had noticed them now and paused their conversation. Waiting. ‘And the third?’
‘A cousin. Another Reece. Head of another part of the family. Only time they bring both shows together is here and, I believe, Chepstow. Otherwise they travel separate. Strong family bonds though.’
‘Of course there are,’ Henry agreed.
‘So what’s this, Sergeant?’ Reece Senior asked. ‘Come with more questions, is it?’
‘This is Inspector Henry Johnstone,’ Emory said. ‘A murder detective from London, come to investigate the death of that poor woman.’
Reece’s eyes narrowed and Emory was immediately put on guard.
‘I know of you,’ Reece said. ‘I ’eard of you from dealings down in Kent.’
Henry nodded. ‘No doubt word spreads,’ he said. Last winter they’d been searching for a killer who had links to another group of travelling folk – though they’d long ago sought to turn their backs on him. Henry recalled that there’d been showmen present at the stopping place when he had investigated. Henry did not believe that he had left a bad impression among them; he found he was hoping that they felt the same.
‘First any of us knew about it were when the police came walking across with that doctor.’
‘When they were going to the murder scene,’ Henry suggested.
Reece shook his head. ‘No, we spotted them going over, figured it for a drunk, then minutes later he’s coming back across with two constables, looking like he’s seen a ghost. Must have been one hell of a shock.’
‘You have men posted around the perimeter,’ Henry said. It wasn’t a question.
‘In case of trouble, yes, we do.’
‘Was anyone posted near that far gate, going into that area where the vehicles were parked?’
‘There were. If that woman had gone that way, and a man with her, my men would have noticed it.’
Henry nodded, accepting that. That was useful to know. The dead woman’s friend had been heading towards the fairground when Martha Morgan had left her and gone haring off into the crowd in search of this acquaintance she had supposedly spotted. It would make sense for her to avoid cutting through the fairground, had she met up with this friend in case she ran into Nora Phillips and the children.
‘So the doctor was escorted away from the scene. Presumably other officers came after that?’
Emory opened his mouth to answer that and then closed it again. Henry’s attention was on Reece and Emory sensed that he would not welcome the interruption. The big man nodded. ‘Them two constables came back, with another doctor. Hurrying like. Well, we had word of what was up by then, that a woman had been found with their head bashed in. We knew it weren’t one of ours, so we carried on with business.’
‘You had no vehicles parked in that enclosure?’
‘You know better than that. We keep our people close and property close. Ain’t no need for us to have been parked in there.’
Henry nodded; he had expected this answer. ‘The men you have on watch, would they have noticed anything being taken from that area?’
‘They might.’ Reece glanced about and then whistled and beckoned someone over. A young man strolled up, jacketless, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, coiling a heavy rope between his hands. He nodded to Emory, clearly recognizing him and then scrutinized Henry.
‘Man wants to know if you saw any vehicles coming and going,’ Reece told him.
‘What, from over in the paddock there?’ He thought about it for a moment or two and then nodded. ‘Small green van came in, round about midday, drove in through the main gates and parked up behind a big wagon. Wagon belongs to the Macavees, so I kept an eye for any pilfering. That left after an hour, maybe two. Small blue car came in later, parked up in more or less the same place. There weren’t much choice to be honest, not much free space in there. The marshals pack them in tight.’
‘And the blue car, did you notice when it left?’
Another moment’s thought. ‘Must have been after four. Just on four I nipped home for a brew. Charlie took over for an hour so he might’ve seen it go.’
‘And did you see the driver?’
‘Glimpsed someone get out, then they went back the way they’d driven in, closed the gate and off they went. I can tell you it was a man, but not much else. Just a man in a blue suit moving between the wagons. Dark hair maybe. Not wearing a hat.’
Henry nodded. ‘I would like to speak to Charlie.’
Reece nodded assent and Charlie was summoned. He proved to be a boy in his mid-teens looking nervously at the adults. He hadn’t particularly noticed the car, but was aware that a vehicle had left just after he’d taken up his post. Not as skilled or as practised at keeping tabs on everything that was going on, Charlie seemed emba
rrassed that he might have missed something but Reece ruffled his hair and sent him on his way without asking Henry’s permission.
So the timeframe was about right, Henry thought. The body had been discovered around four and by half past Dr Mason had been brought across and had identified the woman as his dead wife. So the blue car and the man in the suit were useful leads.
Judging that the inspector was ready to leave, Emory thanked Reece and the two of them walked away. ‘I had men asking if they’d seen anything unusual,’ Emory sounded thoroughly annoyed. ‘They said not.’
‘A vehicle driving in, parking up and then leaving is hardly unusual,’ Henry commented.
‘True enough. You think that’s our man, the one driving the blue car?’
‘I think I do not like coincidence,’ Henry said. ‘In my experience coincidences take far too much organizing for them to be mere chance.’
Emory laughed shortly and then wondered if the man would take offence. So far no oil on water had been required but that seemed to be because Inspector Henry Johnstone was known, or known of. Emory was curious about this. ‘So you’ve had dealings with the travelling folk before?’
‘I have.’
‘And what do you make of them? They can be devious buggers, not the easiest to deal with. But Reece seemed to be honest enough with you.’
‘Honest enough,’ Henry agreed, ‘because nothing of what he said impugned or threatened his own people. Our Mr Reece had no one to protect and therefore could speak the truth.’
Emory nodded, recognizing the reality of that fact and also, oddly, suspecting that Inspector Johnstone rather admired that level of loyalty. ‘Where to now, sir?’ he asked.
The Good Wife Page 2
