by Oliver Tidy
‘And that’s definitely the only one you had?’
‘Yes.’
‘Last question. The body was found in a chest freezer. Know anything about that?’
Patton looked a little shocked by that news. ‘The PTA had a chest freezer in there. It was on old one from here, actually.’
‘Why?’
‘I upgraded. It still worked so we used it for summer fetes. Keeping ice creams and ice in. That sort of thing. Oh, God, that’s horrible to think that the body was in it.’
Patton left them to serve a customer. ‘This pie’s great,’ said Romney. ‘You should be sorry you missed out.’
*
The sun was high and hot when they stepped out into the car park. Romney was feeling well fed and watered. He’d complimented the tea-making, too. He lit up and inhaled fondly.
‘One step forward,’ he said. ‘Two steps backwards. At least three keys. At least. The school one’s missing and was available for anyone to have helped themselves to, and the one over at D&DSS just hangs on the wall. Hardly Fort Knox, is it? But no one with access to the unit – school, PTA or the Holloways – claims to have been anywhere near it for months.’
Marsh said, ‘Someone was because the freezer had been opened. There must be a good reason for that.’
‘I know. Either someone else has a key to that lock-up or we must consider the possibility that we are being lied to.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s hope we can get somewhere with identification of the body because this tree-lined avenue of enquiry just turned into Spaghetti Junction.’
Two of their tyres were flat.
***
7
The mechanic who’d been out with spare wheels the first time had been on another call, which had incurred further delay. Seeing Romney’s glowering expression and the muted warnings Marsh was giving him against making clever remarks, he’d quickly and quietly done his job and left after getting a signature.
Romney was still visibly fuming as they pushed into CID. He’d taken out part of his anger at the repeated inconvenience on Marsh, claiming that if she’d followed up the CCTV enquiry sooner they might have already had the culprit in custody. That was a fantasy and they both knew it but Marsh wasn’t prepared to demean herself by arguing with him.
Romney said, ‘Your first job is CCTV.’
With Grimes at the dentist’s for the afternoon, Spicer had been left in charge of CID. He was familiar enough with Romney to be able to read his body language and display appropriate levels of industry accordingly. He made himself look busy.
Romney darkened Spicer’s workspace both literally and figuratively. ‘Any luck with missing persons?’
‘I’ve gone back six months in Dover records, guv. No one that matches the age range pathology has suggested. There were a couple of MisPers for Aylesham, but they turned out to be a mother and young son.’
‘I know about them. Widen the net then.’
‘Already have, guv. Waiting on a couple of adjoining forces to get back to me.’
‘Keep me posted.’
As Romney walked away, Spicer said, ‘Forensics left a report on your desk, guv.’
Romney got a coffee, went into his office, made himself comfortable and hoped that the forensics report would tell them something they didn’t already know.
*
When Marsh tapped on his door Romney was sitting in his chair looking out of his open office window. He swivelled round and waved her in.
‘I’ve spoken to BTP and someone over there is going to have a look at what they’ve got and get back to me.’
‘Keep on to them. Make a nuisance of yourself. If they’ve got anything, I want to see it. Forensics sent over a report that makes interesting reading. If you’re Albert Einstein. You ever heard of Exploding Coffin Syndrome?’ Marsh shook her head. ‘Me neither.’ Romney looked at his watch. ‘I’m just off for a chat with the horse’s mouth. You can come too, save me having to repeat it all.’
They walked down the stairs from CID together. Inspector Blanchett of uniform was talking with a constable in the corridor. Romney indicated that he wanted a word and Blanchett sent the constable on her way.
After their hellos, Romney said, ‘Boudicca invited CID to enter a team in the Dover Fun Run.’
Blanchett was grinning widely. ‘So I heard, Tom. I also heard that you accepted. Was that wise?’
‘I accepted before she’d mentioned teams. All I heard was ‘fun run’. You running?’
‘Of course. Leading from the front. Not much choice, actually.’
‘Just out of interest, how seriously are you taking it?’
Blanchett looked around him before saying, ‘Between ourselves, I don’t think it’s going to be such a lot of fun. She says she wants a good show from uniform. I’m to let her have a list of my four best runners after we’ve done some time trials.’
‘No chicken costumes then?’
Blanchett shook his head. ‘Not this year. I think she’s looking for the station to make her proud. Maybe even take a medal.’
‘Uniform, you mean,’ said Romney a little bitterly.
‘Well, she is one.’
‘Don’t we all know it?’
‘So who’s in for CID?’ Blanchett looked at Marsh.
‘There are only four of us.’
‘Minimum team size is four,’ said Blanchett.
Someone stuck their head around a door jamb further up the corridor and indicated that Blanchett’s presence was required urgently. Romney thanked his opposite number and he and Marsh carried on to forensics.
‘Peter will never survive a fun run,’ said Marsh sounding genuinely concerned. ‘Taking the stairs leaves him short of breath.’
‘I don’t think Derek will, either. Not with a darts training background.’
Encouraged, Marsh said, ‘So you won’t be making them run? We won’t be putting in a team?’
Romney stopped and turned to face her. ‘No. I won’t be making them run. Peter can get a doctor’s note and then because we’ll be fewer than four we can’t enter a team.’
Marsh was pleased and not a little relieved for her colleagues and for herself. She’d felt a bit pissed off to have been volunteered for something that she wanted no involvement with. But she was careful to look disappointed.
Presumably because he thought that she wanted to run and had been frustrated at the idea that they wouldn’t now be able to compete, Romney said, ‘So with Laurel and Hardy out of the running, literally, it’s down to you and me as individual entrants to fly the flag for CID. No pressure.’
He continued on to forensics whistling a theme tune that Marsh couldn’t place. She trailed in his wake making faces and swearing under her breath.
*
The man in forensics was expecting Romney. He was new, young and his gaze radiated keenness from behind his spectacles. ‘Welcome, Inspector.’ He looked at Marsh.
Romney said, ‘This is DS Marsh, in case you two haven’t met, yet.’
The forensic scientist offered his hand to Marsh and said, ‘We have seen each other about but not been formally introduced. Rob Blunt. As in instrument.’
‘And spy,’ said Romney. Neither of them looked to have understood his reference. ‘Never mind. I’ve read the report you sent up on the body in the container. I’d like to hear the non-scientific version just so that I’m sure I understand everything correctly.’
‘Of course, of course. I’m afraid the jargon can get a bit technical and boring. Please, come over and take a seat.’
They arranged themselves on high stools around a worktop cluttered with equipment of the forensic trade.
Blunt said, ‘What is it exactly that you’d like clarification regarding?’
‘How about just putting your report into layman’s terms for those of us without the benefit of science doctorates.’ It sounded ruder than Romney meant it to. He smiled to let Blunt know he was just being a wag.
‘Right. Sure. Of course. No problem
. Errrr, which bit exactly?’
‘The bit about Exploding Coffin Syndrome. Exactly,’ said Romney.
‘Ah. Right. Well, it is my theory that that is how the lid to the freezer came to be open. Let me explain. Exploding Coffin Syndrome is not as rare as you might expect.’
‘I’ve never heard of it,’ said Romney.
Blunt looked like he didn’t know how to reply to that. He said, ‘Human bodies are organic substances. And organic substances by their very nature break down when life is extinct through the process of decomposition. The technical name for that is autolysis. It means self-digestion. What happens is that oxygen is depleted and the anaerobic organisms start to dismantle the body. The physical remains of a dead body are turned into a collection of organic acids and gases. Typically, these cause the body to bloat as the body’s tissues get soft and liquefy. With me so far?’ They nodded that they were.
A quick glance at Romney told Marsh that he was not comfortable with the images his mind was making of the information. The idea gave her some childish satisfaction.
‘Now these gases that a decomposing body manufactures build up and build up. If they have nowhere to escape to, because the remains are locked inside a hermetically sealed environment, for example, then sooner or later, BOOM!’ Unable to restrain himself, Blunt delivered the sound effect with a loud and surprising animation that almost had Romney off his stool.
Marsh recognised the look he had for the scientist and she feared for him. But the young man seemed oblivious to it. ‘It’s not uncommon for this kind of process to cause damage to mausoleums and, yes, blow the lid off a hermetically sealed coffin.’
‘Why do they make hermetically sealed coffins, then?’ said Romney.
‘Mostly, they are fitted with breather valves these days to combat the effect. Anyway, back to the ‘coffin’ in question. It’s my belief that the body in the freezer had decomposed to such an extent that there was a significant build-up of gases present in the freezer. You’ll notice from these photographs that the lid of the freezer was of the lockable variety. I think that it had been locked and when the build-up of gases became so great the lid was simply popped open because the lock could no longer hold the lid down.’ He showed them photographs of the freezer lid that indicated that the lock of the lid did indeed appear damaged.
‘And the effect would have been enough to have thrown the lid wide open?’
‘Yes. So long as there was nothing immovable in its arc to prevent such a thing. And there wasn’t. I checked.’
‘Fascinating,’ said Romney.
Blunt looked pleased. ‘Also, further forensic evidence reinforces my theory.’
Romney said, ‘What further forensic evidence?’
‘We found traces of the liquefied body fluids spattered on the inside surfaces of the freezer and around the outside of the freezer. These traces are consistent with an explosion.’
Romney swallowed awkwardly before saying, ‘So there’s no doubt?’
‘Not in my mind.’
‘That’s something. How certain are you that the lid of the freezer would have been locked?’
‘I can’t be absolutely sure of that. It’s possible that the lock had been interfered with before and that there had just been a heavy weight on top of the freezer lid preventing it from opening under pressure from within until it became an irresistible force.’
Romney looked at Marsh. ‘We should ask Patton whether he remembers if the lid had been locked.’
Blunt said, ‘They are quite simple locks. I shouldn’t imagine it would take much to open or lock it without the original key.’
Romney looked disappointed. They thanked the young man and left.
‘You know what this means?’ said Romney.
‘That whoever put the body in there didn’t want it to be discovered yet, if at all.’
‘Yes. I’ve been labouring under a misapprehension. When Elvis said that the lid had been opened I thought it must have been deliberate. This means it wasn’t.’
*
Romney told Marsh to chase up the CCTV, again. She headed back to CID with a heavy step. Romney went outside to find some privacy for his phone call and to have a smoke. It rang a couple of times and was answered by a voice Romney didn’t recognise and could not understand. He checked the display. The called ID was right.
‘Peter? Is that you?’ Romney had to put a finger in his other ear and concentrate very hard on what the person he was talking to was saying. It definitely didn’t sound like Grimes.
‘Can you speak up and more slowly? I can’t understand a word you’re saying.’
The person on the other end of the line obliged and Romney realised that he was indeed speaking to Grimes.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ said Romney rather irritably. ‘Have you been drinking?’
Romney understood Grimes to reply using the ‘words’, jenchis, cheess, chemberrary, and nunness. Romney made a fist with his free hand. Then he remembered that Grimes had had an appointment that afternoon. ‘Did you say ‘dentist’?’ There was a noise of encouragement. Progress. ‘Teeth?’
‘Less,’ said Grimes, clearly.
Yes translated Romney. There was a pause while Romney racked his brain. ‘Temporary numbness?’ he said.
Grimes sounded quite excited at the other end.
Romney said, ‘Understood. Just listen. I need you to get a note from your doctor, something to excuse you from the fun run on medical grounds. But make it back pain or knee joint, something that they can’t disprove. Is that clear?’
A noise that sounded like a relieved, almost tearful, less.
‘Good. Bring it in tomorrow so I can get you out of it without it looking bad for you.’
Grimes might have been crying. Or laughing. Or coughing.
Romney ended the call and went looking for the station chief. Patience was not one of his virtues.
*
Boudicca’s office door was open. When she heard Romney’s voice asking if she was in, she called out, ‘Come through, Tom.’
Romney smiled sardonically at Boudicca’s gatekeeper and went in to the lioness’s den.
‘Sit down,’ said Boudicca.
Romney had never felt comfortable in the room, even when Boudicca’s predecessor Bob Falkner had occupied it. He’d always felt like being back in the headmaster’s study at school. And Romney and Superintendent Falkner had been cut from the same police cloth. They had understood each other, had worked together for years, got on as brother officers and people.
The office had been transformed since Boudicca had taken over. Everything was softer, more feminine, designed to put callers at ease. But none of this fooled Romney. He knew from experience what a conniving, manipulative, scheming bitch the woman sitting opposite him, now taking off her glasses, now putting down her pen, now smiling predatorily, could be.
‘News on the container body?’ she said.
‘We’re making progress, ma’am. We’ve spoken to the school, the PTA – space in the container was arranged by them – and the Holloway brothers again. Forensics have turned up some interesting facts, too.’
‘Such as?’
‘Exploding Coffin Syndrome,’ said Romney. He got some satisfaction from the blank look sent back to him. ‘But I didn’t come up to talk to you about that, ma’am.’
Boudicca looked a little surprised. ‘What then?’
‘Just heard from Peter Grimes. He’s had to visit his doctors. Got a problem, back or knee, I think he said, so he won’t be able to compete for CID in the fun run. But the rest of us are still keen to put in a team.’ Romney offered a smile.
Boudicca looked unhappy. ‘Well, sorry to disappoint you, Tom, but minimum team size is four.’
‘You mean CID won’t be able to take part, not be able to represent the station?’ said Romney with as much sorrow as he could fake without overdoing it.
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Romney stood. ‘Well,
that’s that then. Good job I came to see you, I suppose.’
Much of Boudicca’s friendliness had disappeared from her features and Romney felt it had been worth the effort to come up and see her.
‘If there’s nothing else, ma’am, I’ll get back to CID.’
‘What’s all this about slashed tyres?’
Romney scowled. ‘Aylesham. The police have never been popular in the mining communities. It’s a cultural thing.’
‘Maybe we could do something about that.’
‘How do you mean, ma’am?’ said Romney, a little suspiciously.
‘I’m sure that I don’t have to tell you that modern policing is as much about winning the hearts and minds of the public as it is about anything. If we have community relations issues out there then we should be proactive in combating them. I’ll give it some thought. I’d like you to also. Perhaps we can come up with an initiative to restore some common respect and confidence. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.’
Romney nodded, feeling that he’d just conceded an own goal, and said, ‘Mmm...’
Boudicca turned back to her paperwork and Romney turned for the door. He waited until he was in the stairwell and alone before he said what he was thinking.
*
Back in CID Romney found Marsh tapping away at her keyboard. ‘CCTV?’ he said.
‘They’ve checked each of the cameras but none of them had a clear line of sight to where we’d parked.’
‘In other words?’
‘Nothing.’
Romney shook his head and sighed. Then he thought of Boudicca’s suggestion. ‘On the back of four slashed tyres our glorious leader wants CID to come up with ideas for a bridge-building initiative with the Aylesham community. I thought that sounded right up your street. See what you can come up with.’
‘Yes, sir. Anything else?’
‘We’re off the hook as a team entry for the fun run. Peter’s getting a note from his doctor. So now it’s just you and me. I looked it up. It’s only five k. Can you manage that?’
