Mad Hatter's Holiday

by Peter Lovesey

  ‘This is the tank,’ said the inspector. ‘Crocodylus Niloticus. D’you see them gentlemen? The ugliest beasts alive. Now, bring your lantern nearer, Sergeant, will you? It won’t disturb the crocs. That one with its jaws agape will stay like that for hours.’

  ‘In their natural state they let the tick-birds clear their teeth of leeches,’ volunteered Mr. Pym.

  ‘Now take a look at this,’ said the inspector. ‘Wedged down between the rock and the glass. What do you think of that, gentlemen?’

  The lantern beams converged on a section at the base of the tank normally in shadow, the arrangement of the rocks ensuring that the reptiles were kept a yard or so away from the glass. There, in a crevice formed between rock and glass, was a human hand, severed above the wrist and resting on its stump, palm facing outwards.

  ‘The devil of it is,’ said Inspector Pink, ‘that this is all we’ve got to go on. Where the rest of the body is you may well conjecture, gentlemen.’

  The wicked yellow eyes of the largest inmate of the tank continued to glitter unwinkingly in the artificial light.

  ‘He must have been a sharp lad to spot it down here,’ said Cribb. ‘Could have lain here a long time. What time was it he saw you, Mr. Pym?’

  ‘Half past nine, I should think. I closed the cavern to visitors and went straight to the police station.’

  ‘And I decided to send a cable to the Yard at once,’ added the inspector. ‘It was too much for my chaps to tackle—or not enough, rather. What do you propose, Sergeant?’

  ‘I shall need to get the evidence out, take a closer look at it.’

  ‘I thought of that,’ the inspector said proudly. ‘Mr. Pym has drugged the crocodiles.’

  ‘Fish soaked in morphia,’ explained Mr. Pym.

  ‘Have they all eaten some?’

  ‘The big fellow has,’ said Mr. Pym, ‘and he’s the one that matters. The others are docile enough. I’ll get a keeper to retrieve the hand at once.’

  ‘No you won’t,’ said Cribb. ‘That’s all the evidence I’ve got. I’m not having it snatched out like a piece of rejected meat. It’s got to be handled delicate—by a professional. Thackeray . . . s>. . . . !s>. . . . !s>.’

  ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Have you got your gloves with you?’

  ‘Yes, Sarge.’

  ‘Good. All you’ll want is a large brown envelope and a lamp to see you don’t put your foot on anything. Here’s a bull’s-eye for you. Can you supply the stationery, Mr. Pym?’

  ‘Why yes, but do you think—‘ ‘Think? Thackeray’s a man of action, trained to do his thinking afterwards. You’re game, Constable, ain’t you?’ He’s coped with worse than this in his time, gentlemen. Round the back you go with Mr. Pym, Thackeray. You don’t have to climb in from here, you know. Careful how you handle the evidence, mind.’

  It was probably a distortion caused by the uneven lighting, but momentarily Thackeray appeared to regard his superior with the same disaffected stare that was present in the eyes of the creatures he was about to join. Then he followed Mr. Pym through a door which he unlocked beside the entrance.

  Presently there was the sound of unbolting at the rear of the tank.

  ‘Hold it, Thackeray!’ called Cribb. ‘One of ’em’s on the move. Give him a moment to settle down.’

  It was a long minute before the lanterns discerned a larger than average foot being lowered from a hinged flap on to the moss-covered rock. Thackeray’s stooping figure followed, envelope in one hand, lantern in the other.

  ‘There’s nothing in your way,’ Cribb quietly advised him, ‘but I shouldn’t be too long about it. Drugs can wear off, you know.’

  A small crocodile, probably frightened, lowered itself into the water to the left with a splash and Thackeray completed the journey to the rocks at the front in two quick strides.

  ‘Splendid,’ said Cribb. ‘The big one ain’t moved a muscle yet. Now hook the hand up careful, man. Put your lantern down a moment, and get your envelope ready or you’ll be all fingers and thumbs, if you’ll forgive the expression in the circumstances. Careful, now. Ah! Neatly done! There’s Scotland Yard training for you, gentlemen. Back you go then, Thackeray. Remember the lantern and don’t get cocky now. The tails can be just as vicious as the teeth.’

  At the Grafton Street police station they took a closer look at the evidence, which Thackeray had carried along the Marine Parade in its brown envelope like an excursionist clutching his packet of sandwiches. Cribb spread several sheets of white paper across Inspector Pink’s desk and they took the severed member out and placed it palm downwards for examination.

  ‘What’s your opinion, Thackeray?’

  ‘Blimey, Sarge, the cases don’t get no easier, do they? We’ve had our troubles trying to identify headless corpses, but I think this is the least we’ve ever had to go on.’ He leaned over it speculatively. ‘It’s a woman’s or a boy’s, I reckon. Too narrow for a man’s. And the nails look as though they was polished.’

  ‘Good. Anything else?’

  There was a pause as Thackeray secretly studied the arrangement of his own fingers and thumbs. ‘It’s a right hand, Sarge.’

  ‘I’m bound to agree. Pity it wasn’t the left, or we might have found the mark of a wedding ring. What about the state of the fingers?’

  Thackeray turned the hand over. ‘Well, there’s no blisters or hard skin here. I don’t think it’s done a lot of manual work. This don’t look like the hand of a seamstress or a factory girl. It could belong to a lady.’

  ‘Possibly,’ said Cribb. ‘What are your feelings on the matter, sir?’

  Inspector Pink cleared his throat. ‘Lady? Yes, a lady. That’s good thinking, Constable. A lady. Yes, I’m bound to agree with you there. I think you’ve summed it up.’

  ‘You don’t think the hand can tell us anything else?’ said Cribb.

  ‘Ah! That’s another matter. I didn’t say that, did I? Oh no, not at all.’

  ‘What did you have in mind then, sir?’

  ‘In mind?’ Inspector Pink frowned. ‘You tell me what’s in your mind first, Sergeant. I wouldn’t want to steal the thunder of a Scotland Yard man.’

  ‘Well, sir, let’s take a look at the point where the wrist was severed.’

  Thackeray and the inspector approached as closely as they felt able to.

  ‘Devilish powerful jaws these crocodiles have,’ the inspector remarked.

  ‘Now that’s just the point, sir,’ said Cribb. ‘I don’t believe this was done by a crocodile. It’s far too neat for that. I’m no authority on the species, but I’d expect a crocodile’s teeth to leave their shape on something they cut through, not a sur- face as clean as this. There ought to be some fluting in the cut, don’t you see—rather like the mark your teeth would leave on a crisp apple. I think the job was done with a sharp blade, a cleaver or something similar.’

  ‘By Jove, but that means—‘ ‘You’re right, sir—that the hand was cut from the body somewhere else and brought here to be thrown to the reptiles. And if you’ll give me ten minutes, your paper-knife and a good magnifying glass, I may be able to tell you where the cutting was done.’

  In seconds the room took on the appearance of an operating theatre, with Thackeray in charge of the instruments— to which Cribb added a pair of tweezers from his pocket and a clean handkerchief—and Inspector Pink in attendance as a somewhat apprehensive onlooker.

  ‘I’ll need more light,’ Cribb said. ‘The table-lamp, if you please, Inspector. Spread the handkerchief here, Thackeray. Now, gentlemen, I propose scraping the undersides of the finger-nails. The paper-knife, please.’

  After several minutes’ careful work a small deposit lay on the white linen.

  ‘Magnifying-glass. Thank you. Would you care to see for yourselves?’

  ‘Sand, by George!’ said the inspector. ‘She must have been on the beach.’

  ‘Probably,’ said Cribb. ‘But that ain’t much help, is it? Half the people in Brighton must
have sand in their fingernails.’

  ‘Ah!’ said the inspector, in a significant tone. ‘Not your pure-bred ladies, though. They never go nearer the sea than the pier and the esplanade. The sand disposes of your theory that the hand belonged to a lady, Constable Thackeray.’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ said Cribb, working at the point of severance with tweezers and magnifying glass. ‘There’s sand here too, adhering to the blood. I think the dismembering was done on the beach. The body—if we assume there was one—could have been dragged down there. Now look at these.’ He placed four or five tiny opalescent spheres on the handkerchief.

  ‘Fish scales, by Jupiter!’

  ‘I think so, sir. Now, am I right in assuming that the food given to the crocodiles—which included fish, I believe—is passed to them through the hatch at the rear of the tank?’

  ‘I’m sure of it.’

  ‘So it is most unlikely that these scales were picked up in the tank, remembering that the hand was at the front, in a place inaccessible to the crocodiles.’

  ‘Indeed, yes.’

  ‘There is a fish market somewhere along the beach, I seem to remember.’

  ‘That is so. Not ten minutes away from here.’

  ‘Capital! Thackeray and I will take another walk, then. I’m curious to see what implements they use for cutting the fish.’

  CHAPTER

  10

  ON THE BEACH NEXT afternoon Albert Moscrop lifted the newspaper that was serving to screen his face from the sun, propped himself on one elbow and read the leading article for the fourth time that day.

  A Gruesome Discovery on Brighton Beach

  The evidence of a sinister and probably murderous crime was uncovered yesterday by a team of police officers and Corporation workmen digging on one of the most frequented sections of the Brighton foreshore, the site of the fish market. The excavation, which was observed by a large crowd of holidaymakers and residents, proceeded under the direction of Sergeant Cribb, a detective of the Criminal Investigation Department of Scotland Yard, who was summoned to the town in the morning, consequent upon the discovery of A SEVERED HUMAN HAND in the new Alligator and Crocodile Cavern of the Aquarium. This horrifying discovery was made by a schoolboy shortly after the Aquarium opened yesterday morning. The lad, who is understood to be a visitor, drew the attention of the manager, Mr. Pym, to the tank in question. The police were informed without delay, and a decision was made at once to telegraph for the assistance of Scotland Yard.

  Sergeant Cribb, an officer who is understood to have investigated successfully a number of murders in the Metropolis in recent years, arrived at Brighton on the 2.15 p.m. train, accompanied by an assistant, and proceeded at once to the police station in Grafton Street, and shortly after to the Aquarium, where the gruesome object of his investigation was extracted from its resting place among the saurians and removed to the police station. The experts from Scotland Yard there conducted a minute examination of the hand, as a consequence of which Sergeant Cribb became convinced that particles of sand and fish scales adhering to it indicated a connection with the fishmar-ket, some quarter of a mile to the west of the Chain Pier. Orders were issued for AN EXHAUSTIVE SEARCH FOR A SHARP-BLADED INSTRUMENT among the stalls and barrows which comprise the market. A large body of local police was assigned to this task and within a short time Sergeant Cribb was observed to be standing beside a table bearing a formidable haul of knives, cleavers and hand-saws, while the fish-mongering contingent vainly solicited prospective customers to purchase unfilleted sole and plaice.

  A suitable weapon not having been identified, the search was extended to the arches under the adjacent promenade, in which nets, pots and other impedimenta of the fishing community are stored. Those tenants of the arches who were present unlocked their premises, but a number of doors had to be forced open on the Sergeant’s orders. After some twenty minutes the search was concentrated on a particular arch in which the lock was found to be faulty. Inside, the officers found CLEAR EVIDENCE OF RECENT BLOOD-STAINS on the floor and on several packing cases which appeared to have been utilised as a dissecting table. Nothing else having been found, Sergeant Cribb took the unusual steps of ordering the stretch of beach where the market is situated to be cleared and roped off. Shovels were called for, and reinforcements from the Corporation Works Department were summoned to join the police in the macabre exercise of digging the shingle for human remains.

  The activity attracted considerable interest, and before long additional police were called for to patrol the margins of the roped-off area, which were lined with inquisitive spectators, including many YOUNG CHILDREN AND MEMBERS OF THE FAIR SEX. The section of the promenade overlooking the scene was at times impassable, so thick was the concourse, and itinerant vendors of refreshments did a brisk trade.

  A selection of objects was uncovered in the first half-hour, providing flurries of excitement among the onlookers, but nothing to interest Sergeant Cribb, the finds consisting in the main of such flotsam and jetsam as may be deposited on any beach, together with the detritus of previous Bank Holiday invasions, stone beer bottles, cutlery mislaid from picnic hampers, and children’s beach-implements.

  It was towards four o’clock, when interest in the excavation was beginning to flag in favour of thoughts of tea, that one of the workmen uncovered a parcel roughly wrapped in newspaper and buried some eighteen inches below the surface. On being unwrapped, it was found to contain PART OF A HUMAN LEG SEVERED BELOW THE KNEE.

  The grisly prize was borne in triumph to Sergeant Cribb, who demonstrated a proper concern for the sensibilities of his audience by immediately ordering the place where it was found to be screened from public view with sheets of canvas improvised from nearby bathing-tents. Digging then commenced in earnest and within the space of ten minutes several other parcels containing disjecta membra were recovered. They included other parts of the limb to which reference has been made and SECTIONS OF THE TORSO OF A WOMAN said to be of dark complexion and aged about thirty. Certain articles of clothing including a black sealskin jacket were also found and it is hoped that these may provide some further clue to the identity of the unfortunate woman. Although digging continued until late in the evening several parts of the corpse remain unaccounted for, including the head, the left arm and the right leg. The police surgeon is to make an examination today of the remains so far recovered and is expected to give an estimate of the height and physical proportions of the deceased, as well as the approximate time of death. Sergeant Cribb, meanwhile, appears to have made up his own mind about the latter by issuing a statement asking that anyone who saw a man and woman on the beach in the area of the fish market on Saturday night should report to the nearest police station. There are offices at the Town Hall, Grafton Street, the Level, West Hill Road and Preston. The investigation continues and a further report will appear in our Saturday edition.

  He folded the newspaper carefully, with the article innermost, and set it beside him with two large pebbles to anchor it. A third he kept in his hand, enjoying the feel of its smooth, cool underside in his palm. The colour was the bluish-grey that seemed to prevail in the shingle near the West Pier. A white seam, marvellous in its precision, bisected it. He turned the stone slowly, examining the surface for some flaw, but there was none. A perfect object in an imperfect world. He rested it against his cheek and tried to decide what he should do.

  The subject of the newspaper article accounted for his almost solitary occupation of the beach—or at least the stretch of it between the two stone groynes. It was not that people shunned the foreshore because of its association with violence, nor that they paled at the prospect of what little William might turn over with his wooden spade. Almost the contrary. They were all at the fish market, watching the comings and goings of the police, or filing through the Aquarium for a peep at the crocodile tank. The public at large had an insatiably morbid curiosity—so long as events did not touch them personally.

  A woman of about thirty, the newsp
apers said. Dark complexion. Black sealskin jacket. It was not much to go on, not the kind of description that settled anything, although who was to say what the surgeon might discover in his examination—some scar, perhaps, or a birthmark? In cases of that sort, did the relatives of the deceased have memory or knowledge of such intimate details; weren’t those the very blemishes a young woman sought to conceal from everyone—even her husband? Perhaps, after all, the remains would never be identified.

  That was the curious thing about it: that the husband and son had not come forward to report her disappearance. How could anyone be so lacking in concern, so callous as to continue the holiday—the daily swim, the promenading, the visits to Lewes Crescent—as though nothing untoward had happened? If it were cruel to die, how infinitely more cruel when one’s closest relatives appeared not to have noticed one’s passing.

  Going to the police would ruin the rest of his holiday, he knew. There would be difficult questions, statements to make, hours of waiting in police stations and later in the courts, notoriety of a sort—bad for business. Yet there was an inevitability about it all, a feeling that from the moment he had first brought her into focus he was no longer in control of events. So many things he had done since then had been contrary to all his practice, entirely out of character. Who would have thought a fortnight previously that he would today be sitting on a deserted beach actually wanting to be alone, when crowds—the exciting, inspiriting crowds he had never been able to resist—were massing in other parts of the town, a short walk away? No doubt about it: Zena Prothero had changed him fundamentally. Whatever the consequences, he owed it to her memory to answer Sergeant Cribb’s appeal for assistance. There was no need to tell everything; simply enough to remove all doubts about her identity. He refused to allow her to become a ‘person unknown,’ a pen-stroke on a file at Scotland Yard. He got up decisively and flung the white-seamed pebble far into the waves. Then he picked up his newspaper, reminded himself of the address of the nearest police station, and started along the beach.