The Boathouse Killer

by Keith Finney

  Riley scowled.

  Ant’s smile broadened.

  "Get me a coffee, Sergeant. And you, follow me."

  Both men did as they were ordered with Fred making for the staff kitchen and Ant following the detective into a small, poorly lit, windowless office.

  As the detective reached the halfway point between standing and taking his seat, Ant pounced.

  "Why are you having me followed?"

  Ant could tell he'd unsettled him as the flummoxed policeman hovered for a few seconds before settling his ample backside into the padded leather seat of his ancient, civil service, standard-issue chair.

  "What are you talking about, man?"

  Now let's see what happens.

  Riley fidgeted with a pile of papers and sought out his favourite fountain pen for the want of something to do.

  Ant sat opposite Riley and leant into the table, closing the distance between them deliberately, before recounting events from the previous day.

  Riley’s facial expression changed from irritation to outright confusion.

  He's a good actor; I'll give him that.

  "Tall, overweight officer? Roadside stop? Have you gone mad?" Believe me, I’d have been told if one of my officers had stopped the noble Lord Stanton."

  Riley’s smile confirmed to Ant that the detective relished the thought of him being subjected to public indignity.

  "Sounds to me like you’ve fallen victim to someone impersonating a police officer. We’ve had several such reports recently."

  Ant hesitated, unsure how to respond.

  Telling the truth or winding me up? One way to find out.

  "A new strategy to increase the police’s presence, is it? You know, if you can’t put your own out, get some bloke in fancy dress to do the job for you?"

  Ant counted on his words stinging Riley. They did.

  "I can assure you—"

  Ant pulled his usual trick of cutting the detective off in mid-sentence.

  "Then how did he know about me being in Windsor? And my military background?"

  Ant spoke harshly. He was in no mood to be fobbed off.

  Riley stood up and paced around his dingy office.

  "I have absolutely no idea, but it’s not as if you are exactly anonymous in these parts, is it?"

  Touched a nerve there all right.

  "Let me get this straight, Detective Inspector. You’re saying Geoffrey Singleton’s death and me being warned off by the police aren’t linked?"

  Riley pulled a well-worn handkerchief from a side pocket and blew his nose into the off-white material.

  "Warned off? Warned off from what? Mr Singleton died from natural causes, and the post-mortem tomorrow will confirm as much. That is, unless you have information to the contrary. Remember, Lord Stanton, I have warned you before about interfering in police work and withholding evidence. I will not hesitate to arrest you if I have the slightest evidence this is the case."

  Need to be careful here.

  Before Riley could interrogate Ant further, the detective’s phone rang.

  "Of course, sir, right away."

  Riley gave no explanation as he made for the door. As he did so, the handle moved downward hitting Riley across the knuckles.

  "I’m sorry, sir," said Fred while holding the detective's mug of coffee in his free hand. His smirk was unmistakable as Riley inspected the flesh covering his knuckles for damage.

  "Get out of my way, man, and show this person out."

  Result!

  "You said you wouldn’t upset him."

  "I suspect the summons to his superior’s office is rather more to blame for his mood than my visit… although I admit, it might be a close-run thing."

  Both men laughed.

  "Been doing any scrumping lately, young Stanton?"

  Ant was happy to recall old times.

  "I lost count how many times you walloped me across the head and sent me on my way, Fred. But thanks for never telling my parents!"

  Lyn placed a comforting arm around Hannah as they sat together on a large crimson leather sofa.

  "I thought you could do with a bit of company. How are you?"

  Hannah repeated how gentle Geoff was and that the success of their business meant they had no money worries.

  "It's not fair. We had only just got married."

  Lyn encouraged Hannah to talk before eventually managing to swing the conversation around to Geoff's boat.

  "So you're saying he intended to sell it?"

  "Yes, he had a new one on order." Lyn offered Hannah a tissue as she mopped tears from her cheek. "He went to the boathouse to finish off some little jobs on the yacht. Varnishing the wood, I think. I hated the smell of that stuff. It was okay for him; he had no sense of smell. Geoff loved, how you say, doing the DIY?"

  Lyn nodded and offered a friendly smile.

  "Yes, Hannah, that's what we call it."

  "But why do you ask me this?"

  Better watch how far and fast I go now.

  "Oh, you know. Small village, people gossip."

  Hannah frowned.

  "Gossip? What is gossip?"

  Lyn attempted to explain.

  "Er, let me see. Well, people who talk to each other about a new bit of news. One tells another, and they tell—"

  "Oh, yes. I understand. We call it plotka."

  Lyn's eyes lit up.

  "Well, what do you know. I've learned a little Polish today. Thank you, Hannah."

  The women passed the next few minutes talking about daily life in a small village. Detecting she'd succeeded in helping Hannah relax, Lyn took her opportunity and pressed on.

  "And the police. Have you heard from them?"

  Lyn tried not to sound too inquisitive.

  "Ah, how do you say? Er… liaison officer, yes, I have it. That lady came to the house, how you say… earlier."

  Hannah broke down.

  "It’s okay. You cry all you want."

  "No, you don’t understand. They are going to cut him up tomorrow. Too horrible. His heart stopped working. Why do they have to do this?"

  Lyn worked hard to keep her own emotions in check.

  "Do you mean a post-mortem?"

  Hannah nodded.

  "Please tell them to stop. I will not let them."

  6

  Body of Evidence

  "Gone, what do you mean, it’s gone?"

  Ant knew who was complaining as he walked down a poorly lit corridor that led to the mortuary.

  He's having a good day—not.

  Seconds later, Ant gingerly opened one of two wide doors giving access to the cold, featureless space. It was just enough to catch a whiff of formaldehyde.

  I hate that stuff.

  His attention was drawn to two figures standing on opposite sides of a white ceramic autopsy slab.

  Ant watched on in amusement as Detective Inspector Riley fumed as he gazed upon the surface on which Geoff Singleton's corpse should have lain.

  A nervous-looking man in a white laboratory coat looked forlornly at the slab then at Riley. Ant assumed the man didn't know quite what to say.

  The less you say, the better you'll come out of this.

  Opening the door a touch wider so he could follow the action but still not be noticed, Ant's eyes traced Riley's progress as he prowled around the spacious room, faced with Victorian, white-glazed tiles, before coming to a halt in front of a bank of square metal doors stacked in pairs from floor to ceiling.

  "Open them, every last one. He must be here somewhere."

  Ant stifled a giggle as he contrasted the pale pallor and slim build of the young lab assistant with Riley's big frame and rapidly reddening cheeks.

  The mortuary assistant sprang into action not wishing to incur further wrath from the scowling policeman. As he opened each door, a pair of upturned feet presented themselves, each with a paper tag attached to a big toe.

  "Slide each one out. I want to see faces."

  Obeying, the technician pu
lled a handle and walked backwards allowing the contents to extend from the flat surface like a stream of bunting pulled from a conjurer’s hat.

  Riley pulled back a white linen sheet from each owner’s head and carefully inspected the facial features. His mood darkened as he rejected each body in turn.

  Ant inwardly agreed with the young man's tactic of taking a step back and towards the exit doors each time Riley let loose a string of invective.

  As the policeman looked up to check the whereabouts of the hapless man, Ant pulled his head back so he wouldn't be seen.

  "Not so fast, Batman," shouted Riley as he caught the technician’s attempted escape. "Please tell me how you managed to lose a dead man? I presume you checked that he was, in fact, dead and that he’s not just nipped out for a coffee?"

  Very good, Inspector. Not at all bad for you.

  An uneasy standoff followed. Eventually, the young man attempted an explanation.

  "We were just about to start the post-mortem when the fire alarm went off. We evacuated the building like we’re supposed to, and when we came back, it, I mean he, had gone."

  Ant had to put a fist into his mouth to stop himself laughing. It got so bad that, as he leant back against the painted wall of the corridor, he resorted to pinching an earlobe with his free hand, so that the pain might distract him from laughing out loud and being discovered.

  Achieving his aim, he felt confident enough to continue peeking into the room, only to see the technician shrugging his shoulders.

  No use looking for sympathy from that fool, mate.

  Riley referenced a fire alarm in the far corner then at the wide entrance doors.

  His eyes narrowed.

  For once Riley was too quick for Ant.

  "I might have known. Is there nowhere you don't manage to show up where you're not wanted?"

  After struggling for a nanosecond to understand Riley's poor use of grammar, Ant threw open the door and ambled in with the air of a man out for a stroll in the morning sun.

  "Good day to you, Detective Inspector. I was just in the area and—"

  "In the area? So you have a fetish for dead bodies? Oh, wait a minute, you do, don't you?"

  Second reasonable joke in five minutes. You're on fire today.

  Ant smiled, which irritated Riley all the more, then looked at the hapless technician who seemed to be having trouble taking matters in.

  "Don't worry about me, young man, I'm—"

  "Yes, I know who you are, Lord—"

  "Oh, let's not start all that aristocracy stuff again. Enough. I want to know where my body is. As for you, Stanton. Get yourself out of my sight before I have you arrested."

  Ant took faux offence at Riley's tone.

  "Me? I didn't steal your body. A bit careless if you ask me, but—"

  Ant's provocation had its desired effect.

  "But nothing. I neither want nor need your contribution in this matter. Now you have a choice: leave and go back to fishing, or whatever you people do, or you can spend the day in one of my cells. Your choice."

  Ant raised an eyebrow at the rattled policeman, knowing it would do the man's humour no good at all.

  "Sorry to disappoint you, Inspector. I don't possess a rod or any other implement for catching living creatures. Except for a camera, of course. As for your kind offer of accommodation for the day, perhaps I'll give it a miss on this occasion. I have things to do, you know, supervising the polishing of the family silver and so forth… "

  Not getting rid of me that easily, thought Ant as he made for the doors, allowed them to swing shut and waited a few seconds before opening one by the tiniest amount.

  He could just about see Riley shaking his head as he returned his attention to the laboratory technician.

  "And did whoever took him thoughtfully return the trolley they carted him out in?"

  Riley pointed to a metal gurney that had seen better days.

  With the restricted view Ant now had, he could just make out the technician turning sideways to follow Riley’s index finger.

  "We have two. You know, for busy shifts."

  "Busy shifts? You make the place sound like Holby City on steroids."

  Third joke of the morning, Riley. I'm impressed.

  The assistant attempted to explain the ward procedures for moving deceased patients from the hospital ward. Ant could see Riley was having none of it.

  "Stop. I am not interested in the finer points and progress of rigor mortis or the sensibilities of adjacent live patients. Get me the CCTV so I can watch our body snatchers go about their business."

  The technician spotted Ant, froze, and looked back towards the detective without saying a word.

  Good lad.

  "Now will do," shouted Riley.

  "There is none. Pictures I mean."

  Ant watched as the young man closed his eyes as if half expecting the detective to land a blow.

  "They’re upgrading the system. We got an email about it the other day from the big bosses."

  Ant readied himself to intervene as he observed Riley lift his right hand and clench his fist. Instead, the detective punched the mortuary slab then winced in pain.

  Serves you right, fool.

  "You couldn’t make it up," whispered the detective inspector as he turned, cradling his injured fist into his ample stomach.

  Ant realised Riley was heading in his direction. He raced to the left and hid behind a large stainless-steel trolley piled high with crisp, white, bed linen. It worked, as Riley launched himself in the opposite direction.

  After a few seconds, Ant checked that the coast was clear before ambling back into the mortuary.

  He smiled. The young man, reassured, smiled back.

  "He doesn't half shout, does he?"

  Ant grinned all the more.

  "He certainly does, but well done, fella. You handled him well. I don't suppose you're used to strangers coming in here—apart from the cold ones on a trolley, of course. And they don't answer back or shout at you, do they?"

  He could see his banter was having the desired effect as the young man broadened his smile, held an empty mug up, and pointed at the kettle.

  "Thank you, but no."

  The technician returned the mug to the sink drainer.

  "I suppose that's why I like working down here. You know, for all the shouting and bad stuff people get up to, there's one thing for certain. We will all end up in one of those."

  Ant nodded as the young man pointed at the bank of steel doors holding their current crop of corpses.

  A wise head on young shoulders.

  "And on that bombshell, I'll leave you to it. Again, well done my friend."

  Ant offered the technician a "thumbs-up" sign as he exited the chilled room.

  Got to catch up with Riley to see what he's about.

  A few seconds later, Ant glimpsed the detective as he made his way from the building into a Victorian-walled courtyard. He was shouting into his mobile phone.

  "I want this area swept and all road junctions put under covert surveillance."

  Ant thought Riley would burst as he grew increasingly agitated.

  Guess the news isn't good.

  "A burger van, hearse, motorbike with a sidecar. In fact, a horse and cart, for all I care. In fact, anything capable of moving and concealing a corpse is to be checked. Do I make myself clear?"

  "What’s so funny?" asked Lyn as she entered Hammond’s Bakery for her usual Tuesday lunchtime fix of fresh iced buns as a shared treat with her secretary, Tina.

  "You haven’t heard?"

  Geraldine, the shop manager who Lyn knew had a well-earned reputation for having a macabre sense of humour, looked delighted by Lyn's ignorance.

  "Them lot up there have lost someone. A body, would you believe? I mean, how do you do that?"

  Geraldine cocked her head in the approximate direction of the hospital.

  Lyn watched as the manager broke into another fit of laughter.

  "I
suppose that accounts for all those police sirens I heard. It caused havoc at school. The children wouldn't settle and wanted to know what was going on."

  Lyn’s question set the other shop assistants into a collective fit of the giggles.

  "The bobbies are going bonkers. Checking everywhere, they are."

  How odd, thought Lyn.

  "Came in here about half an hour ago, they did. Asked if we’d seen anything suspicious."

  The shop descended into chaos with two customers almost crying into paper tissues as group hysteria took hold.

  "I told the young constable that a tired-looking bloke, who seemed a bit anaemic, got off a trolley and came in asking for a Cornish pasty. Would you believe, the lad asked if I could describe him before he cottoned on he was having his leg pulled."

  Lyn shed tears of laughter as she watched Geraldine almost bent double and holding her stomach as she delivered the punchline.

  "Then we told the young bobby that if the bloke wasn’t dead before he came in, he would be after eating anything we baked."

  It was difficult for Lyn to know where to look. At the sight of Geraldine gasping for air, or the counter staff running for the shop restroom to deal with overexcited bladders.

  Lyn worked hard with those who remained in the shopfront by not looking at each other for fear of setting themselves off again. She was thankful that after several seconds of disciplined silence, order replaced chaos.

  "But that poor Polish lady. What must she be going through?"

  Lyn’s ears pricked up. She hadn’t expected Geraldine to make such a solemn remark after their collective joviality.

  "Polish lady?"

  And how does she know about Hannah?

  "My Ernie is a porter at the hospital. He rang me this morning to tell me what happened. All hell is breaking loose he says."

  Lyn held her surprise in check. She knew any overreaction would be around the village within hours as the gossip mill churned at full speed.

  "How awful," replied Lyn as she collected the paper bag containing her iced buns from the Formica counter. "Talking about your Ernie, how long have you two been engaged now?"

  The shop erupted into laughter again as they anticipated Geraldine's answer.