Death Warmed Up

by John Paxton Sheriff

  She was skipping in a fine spray across the yard to the front door as I got out of the car. The porch light came on. I heard the front door open and seconds later the living room’s red lights glowed warmly behind the closed curtains.

  I slid out of the car, slammed the rear door. Pulled a face as more rain dripped under my collar and trickled down my back, then went around and opened the boot. The automatic light came on. Wind gusted, lifted the lid hard against the stops. Rain lashed the boot’s interior. I leaned in. Swore softly. For a moment I stood there, frozen, not believing what I was seeing. Then, reluctantly, I reached in, grasped a small, wet, furry object between thumb and forefinger and slipped it into my pocket. I straightened, took a deep breath of the cold air, then reached up and slammed the boot. Pressed the remote. Heard the clunk and watched the lights flash, then ran across the yard and into the house.

  I kicked off my shoes in the porch, toed them alongside Sian’s sandals. When I padded through into the house the light in the hall was on low, a lambent moon illuminating the red-coated miniature soldiers standing on night guard in their stone niches all the way up the stairs.

  Red tasselled wall lights in the living room turned Sian’s loose hair to a creamy strawberry blonde. Her feet in their wet socks were planted firmly on the Indian rug in front of the leather Chesterfield, and she was shrugging out of the red fleece. Still holding it, she looked across at me, smiled brightly and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Nothing – right?’

  ‘Something.’

  I’d stopped. My hands were thrust into my pockets. My shoulders were stiff. I could imagine what my face must look like, saw the horror Sian could see there reflected in her blue eyes.

  ‘Oh Christ, Jack, what is it?’

  I took a deep breath. ‘There’s a body in the boot.’

  Sian nodded, nodded again, jerky movements, her mind racing ahead.

  ‘Prudence Wise?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. It’s Pru.’

  And in a seemingly callous remark of the kind anyone might make when knocked sideways and left stunned by the shock of the unexpected, Sian said, ‘Well, at least we now know why she wasn’t answering her door.’

  ‘The house is lovely and warm. Why is that?’

  She was still standing on the Indian rug. I thought she seemed dazed. She was looking in an absent way at the cold logs piled in the stone inglenook’s iron dog grate.

  ‘That’s something else Calum fixed,’ I said. ‘He got central heating installed. The electric kind, with storage heaters. They take in half-price electricity during the night. Any other kind is inconvenient. Out here in the sticks gas has to be ordered, and stored in ugly tanks. Same for oil.’

  ‘Well, he used his head, then – or was that you?’

  I shrugged stiff shoulders. I watched impassively as Sian balled up the red fleece and flung it at a chair. Her hand came up, covered her mouth. She stood there for a long moment, staring as the fleece uncurled and slid onto the floor. Then with a shuddering sigh she let her hand drop. When she looked at me her haunted blue eyes were welling with unshed tears.

  She shook her head, angrily, and swung on her heel.

  ‘I’ll see to that coffee.’

  I followed her through. A switch clicked and the kitchen was filled with white light. Sian filled the kettle, went to the cupboard and began rattling crockery. I crossed to the sink, stared out of the window. Light was spilling out, the wet stone flags shining in the rain. Away to the left, my stone toy-soldier workshop was on the very edge of the pool of light. The Vauxhall Astra was a gleaming blue shape under the oak tree. Once a family saloon, now a hearse.

  I turned away. The kettle was singing. Sian had spooned instant coffee into cups and was staring broodingly at nothing. I wandered into the adjoining office and looked at the shiny new computer system; checked that there were no messages on the answering machine; looked at the invoices, orders and notes on the desk, neatly sorted by Calum.

  And all the while I was only half-seeing, half-aware of where I was and what I was doing, because it was impossible to forget the object in my pocket that was cold and wet against my thigh, how it had got into that condition, and what it meant.

  ‘Jack.’

  The coffee was in china cups and saucers on the pine table, black and steaming. Sian was reaching into another cupboard for a bottle. The top squeaked as she unscrewed it. She poured liberally. Brandy slopped into her saucer. She sat down, dipped a finger into the spilled spirit, tasted it, closed her eyes.

  ‘Romero was right; returning to the UK has solved nothing.’

  She looked at me blankly. ‘What?’

  ‘We spent time with your sister, we’re home now and convinced we made the right decision, so the mild dilemma we were facing in Gibraltar has been solved. But the other, the serious business – Rickman, Wise, that Creeny bloke lurking like a Hollywood gangster – they’re not going to go away.’

  ‘You really think this’ – Sian nodded her blonde head towards the window – ‘is their doing? Isn’t that you being a bit paranoid?’

  ‘No, it’s not. You know this cannot be coincidence. And you know you’re being defensive, backing away from unpalatable facts.’

  ‘Probably. But that poor girl out there in the boot of that car gives me a damn good reason. For just about the first time in my life I’m feeling scared stiff.’

  ‘I can understand that.’ I hesitated. ‘Rickman has to be behind this gruesome business. We didn’t come straight here, so it looks as if he’s been following our movements ever since we left Gib – and that’s creepy.’

  ‘The age of technology. Calum traced Pru through her website.’

  ‘But only Calum knew we were visiting Siobhan. The only way Rickman could have known that is if he had us followed from the airport. But even if he’d had us watched for a week he couldn’t possibly know we were coming here today.’

  ‘So it’s back to my earlier doubts. For a start, why would Rickman murder Pru? Or have her murdered?’

  I sighed. ‘I don’t know. But stepping back in time, we have Pru Wise coming to see us in Gibraltar. She told a convincing tale of accidental involvement in intrigue on board Rickman’s yacht, and claimed she’d later been threatened with bodily harm by Rickman’s wife. Then we’re taken aboard that same yacht and threatened by Rickman. A week later Pru Wise is as good as dumped on our bloody doorstep, as dead as a doornail.’

  ‘Yes, it all sounds clear cut; everything slots neatly into place. Rickman’s behind it and that’s that. But while you seem utterly convinced it’s Rickman, I’m willing to consider other possibilities. Why? There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there?’

  Sian was watching me closely. I avoided her eyes, looked down, slowly sipped my coffee.

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘I don’t know. I opened the boot, took the … I don’t know.’

  But I’d been unable to prevent a slip of the tongue, and Sian didn’t miss much.

  ‘Took the … what? What was it you took?’

  I put the cup down and reached into my pocket.

  ‘D’you know what this is?’

  I held the object between finger and thumb. It was tiny and plump, glistening with the slimy sheen of a garden slug. Sian pulled a face.

  ‘Something wet and soggy and not very nice. Furry. A … toy. Is that what it is?’

  ‘It’s a souvenir.’

  ‘From?’

  ‘Someone’s holiday, usually, but not this time. It’s got spring arms so it can be attached to something. The stem of a table lamp. The edge of a curtain. It would look quite realistic, because that’s what they do in the wild. Or in sanctuaries. Cling to trees, the eucalyptus kind, or to their mothers.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus Christ,’ Sian said, and again drink slopped into her saucer as her hand came up to cover her mouth. ‘Jack, it’s a bloody koala.’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘Where was it?’

  ‘Whoeve
r murdered Prudence Wise,’ I said, ‘wedged this cuddly little object in her open mouth.’

  Nine

  ‘How long has she been dead?’

  ‘You keep asking me questions I can’t possibly answer.’

  ‘All right, then look at it this way,’ Sian said. ‘That … thing, that koala, it was in Pru’s mouth. Put there – as we no doubt both agree – by that Aussie bastard who calls himself Clontarf. But the koala’s wet, Jack. Slippery. So if that’s saliva… .’

  She took a deep breath, shuddered, almost knocked her chair over as she stood up and stumbled with her cup to the sink. She threw away the coffee, returned to the table and splashed brandy into the cup. Lifted it to her lips. Drank deeply.

  ‘Sian—’

  ‘Shut up. Listen. If that thing is wet with saliva, then … well, you tell me, you’re the sleuth. How long after a person dies does it take for the body’s fluids to begin to dry? Especially those in the mouth, when it’s wide open and it’s blocked with—’

  ‘I don’t know. Or, I know as much or as little you. We’re both army trained. So if we don’t know the answer with all that expertise behind us, then we call in someone who either does, or can find out.’

  ‘Alun.’

  ‘Yes. We have to call the police anyway, and Alun Morgan’s the local cop. But he’s also a friend, and in your state you need somebody who will be efficient but compassionate.’

  ‘My state?’ Sian’s laugh was harsh. ‘Then get it done, Jack. Call the local detective inspector. I’ll sit here and get well and truly pissed. Now, that really will be a state.’

  DI Alun Morgan of Bethesda was the proud owner of a Volvo Estate so old that its rear number plate was usually lost behind a cloud of blue exhaust fumes. Illegal, the dour Welshman would say, but if a policeman couldn’t break the law then what the hell was the point in joining the force. Spoken tongue in cheek, I always believed, but the imp of mischief that forever lurked in the detective’s dark eyes meant that, until proof was forthcoming, listeners were inclined to take whatever he said with several grains of salt.

  In my voice when I telephoned there must have been echoes of a funeral bell darkly tolling that advised Morgan to choose more reliable transport, and possibly a driver guaranteed to get him to his destination. And so, twenty minutes after my call, it was a police Land Rover with headlights blazing that rocked across the bridge, roared up the slope into the yard and slid to a halt alongside the Vauxhall Astra.

  The detective was stamping his feet, scrubbing the soles of his black police-issue shoes on the outside mat and brushing rain from his dark hair when I went to let him in. The living room lights had been switched off, and Morgan preceded me through to the kitchen where Sian was still sitting at the table. Pink-cheeked, her demeanour maudlin but her blue eyes remarkably clear, she looked up and managed a wan smile.

  ‘Hello Alun.’

  ‘Well now, that’s not what I was expecting,’ Morgan said, the Welsh lilt in his voice like music to my ears. ‘After a year away I was expecting a warm embrace, but I suppose, in the circumstances—’

  ‘Can’t manage it,’ Sian said. ‘Probably fall down if I stood up. Jack will tell you why.’

  ‘He’s done that already over the phone, though not in detail,’ Morgan said. He pulled out a chair, sat down. ‘A body, isn’t it?’ he said, still talking to Sian. ‘In that car out there. And this person who has died, she was no stranger to you.’

  ‘We got to know her briefly in Gibraltar. Her name is – was – Prudence Wise. I suppose the car’s hers, although—’

  ‘That’s being checked now,’ Morgan said. ‘In the age of the computer, my uniformed colleague will have the owner’s name within minutes. It will take a while longer for the doctor on duty to get here, for he lives some way away and was having an early night, bless him. So,’ he said, casting a sidelong glance at the bottle next to Sian’s cup, ‘as there’s some waiting to be done… .’

  ‘I’ll pour,’ I said.

  ‘It would be best,’ Morgan said, ‘to dilute it with coffee.’

  ‘And a couple of butter shortbreads so the drink isn’t being taken on an empty stomach?’

  ‘There now,’ Morgan said, grinning at Sian, ‘isn’t that thoughtful of him?’

  ‘Not really. The best we can manage is cheap custard creams.’

  ‘Picked up from a garage on your way here, no doubt. When was that, by the way? I mean, when did you get here? If I know that it will at least tell me when the body was discovered.’

  ‘Jack?’

  I looked at my watch. ‘It would have been just before nine when I opened the boot.’

  ‘And you took which route from Liverpool?’

  ‘The M56 from Runcorn, through Queensferry to the A55, followed that to Abergele, then Llangernyw, Llanrwst and on to Betws-y-Coed and the A5.’

  Morgan was making notes. ‘Not important, any of this, but it always helps if I have a clear picture in my mind.’

  There was a discreet tapping on the living room door, and a uniformed constable came through, cap in hand, wet jacket glistening.

  ‘The car’s owner, sir,’ he said, and handed Morgan a slip of paper.

  ‘Thank you, Ellis,’ the DI said. ‘The wonders of modern technology.’ He unfolded the paper, gave what was written on it a fleeting glance, then turned to Jack and said, ‘Did you lock the Astra?’

  ‘I’m sure I did.’

  ‘If you have the keys, Ellis here can hand them to Dr Barnard when he arrives so that he can do the necessary.’

  I had dropped them on the coffee table. I went through to the living room, handed the keys to the constable and let him out, then returned to the kitchen. Morgan was sipping his coffee with relish, but looked reflective. His hand was resting lightly on the paper, which he’d turned face down.

  ‘Does the name ring bells? Are you any the wiser now you have it?’

  The dark eyes looked thoughtfully at me.

  ‘You mean is he or she a known criminal? Well, no, and so I’m more confused than anything.’

  ‘When Alun read the name,’ Sian said, ‘he looked at me. I wonder why?’

  ‘It was a perfectly natural reaction,’ Morgan said. ‘That Astra out there is your car, Sian. But you know that, of course.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous.’

  ‘I’d like to think so, otherwise everything becomes complicated and distasteful. But according to what PC Ellis discovered, you registered it in your name, with this place as your home address, exactly one week ago to the day.’

  Ten

  Two hours later the police surgeon had come and gone, and an ambulance had taken away the body. The Astra had been covered with a tarpaulin and fenced off with police tape tied to the oak tree and various fence posts. It would be winched onto a low loader in the morning. PC Ellis, after standing close to DI Morgan in the rain and listening carefully to what he had to say, had driven off alone in the police Land Rover. Morgan, Sian and I had moved into the living room. Though it was cosy and probably much too warm – in that hour I had lit the fire, and flames from crackling logs were flickering and dancing in the dog grate – the atmosphere was stiff and uncomfortable.

  ‘You see,’ Morgan said, looking pensively into the fire, ‘until this is sorted out one way or another, I have to treat you as a suspect. That being the case, I don’t give you information; it’s the other way around.’

  Sian, sitting on the edge of the Chesterfield, shook her head in frustration.

  ‘All I asked was how long has she been dead.’

  ‘Impossible to tell until the post mortem.’

  ‘Then if you want information from me, I’ll repeat what I’ve already said. We flew in from Gibraltar a week ago, yes, but it’s not my car, Alun. I’ve got a Shogun parked behind the house. Calum’s been looking after it for me. Why the hell would I need a bloody Astra?’

  ‘Then you’re insisting that you travelled from Liverpool, with Jack, in that powerful rally car he r
uns on public roads?’

  ‘Yes. How many more times must I tell you?’

  Morgan sighed, let his gaze drift searchingly from Sian to me.

  ‘As far as I can tell, you’ve both been honest and open. To put it another way, you’re sticking to your story – which could mean something else entirely. But, summing up, there were various goings on during your last day in Gibraltar, you spent a week at Sian’s sister’s house and this evening you came here and discovered the Astra and the body in the boot. You’ve handed over that horrible little creature you found in that poor girl’s mouth and told me it could link the crime to an Australian going by the name of Clontarf. But now I need to know more.’

  ‘There is no more,’ I said.

  ‘There’s always something, and anyway I’m talking about this end, not Gibraltar. Nowadays DNA can prove guilt but, as you know, it can also prove innocence. So if Sian has never been inside that car—’

  ‘I have. I slid in, grabbed the steering wheel, looked in the glove compartment.’

  ‘That’s a pity. Your fingerprints will be all over the place. Be nasty if they’re the only ones there.’

  The glare from Sian drew no comment.

  ‘I got into the back seat,’ I said. ‘I also opened the boot.’

  ‘Jack, Jack,’ Morgan said chidingly, ‘surely you both know—’

  ‘It was a car, Alun, not a crime scene. It didn’t become a crime scene until I found Pru.’

  The DI had taken off his jacket. His white shirt was dazzling in the room’s soft lighting. He sat back in his deep armchair and shook his head.

  ‘So, moving on, you found her, and we know from our medical expert that Prudence Wise died from strangulation. Is that something you noticed?’

  ‘She was wearing a high-necked sweater. I couldn’t see her throat.’

  ‘Her eyes would have given some indication—’

  ‘They were looking at me. They were very dead. I felt sick, closed the boot in a hurry.’