Time and Tide: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  But Smith’s first question, the one that had occurred to him a few minutes ago in Sam Cole’s little office, had already been answered – Detective Inspector Terek had no problem with corpses. He glanced in its direction briefly before turning his attention to the other uniformed officer from Hunston, the one who had been inside all the time while his fellow had been outside talking to the local men. There were procedural matters to be dealt with, and quite right too.

  ‘I am Detective Inspector Terek from Kings Lake, constable. Can you confirm for me that as far as you are aware, the body has not been handled in any way since it was brought into the building?’

  The uniformed man looked slightly disconcerted, and his gaze fell upon Smith, whom he recognised by sight. Smith tried an encouraging smile, and the policeman said, ‘Not since we arrived, sir. At least one of us has been with the body since we got here. To my knowledge it has not been handled in any way, sir. Apart from by the doctor.’

  Terek looked around as if the said professional must be lurking somewhere in the shadows of the boathouse.

  ‘The doctor? Someone called a doctor? Where is he now? Or she, of course.’

  ‘I think he went home, sir.’

  ‘Went home? But surely…’

  It seemed that DI Terek was momentarily at a loss for words, things having fallen outside his procedural frame of reference. Unfortunately, Smith had guessed what had taken place and it was now down to him to explain. He said to the uniformed man, ‘Was it Dr Brooks?’

  ‘Yes it was, sir.’

  Smith turned to Terek and said, ‘Dr Brooks is a retired GP. He lives just up the lane. He moved here from Manchester, I think, you know, for the birdwatching and all that. Anyway, what with the nearest GP practice being in Hunston, he does a bit now and then.’

  ‘He does a bit now and then?’

  ‘Yes, sir.

  ‘And that includes pronouncing on a death?’

  ‘Apparently so. As I say, he is retired but I don’t suppose he’s lost touch to the extent that he can’t spot a dead one, sir.’

  The constable was smiling and Smith thought, please don’t – I really wasn’t trying to be funny at the DI’s expense. But he need not have worried; there were much more serious matters at hand.

  Terek said, ‘But if he is retired, he surely cannot sign the first certificate?’

  ‘I’m sure you are correct, sir.’

  ‘So we need another doctor. A proper one. That needs to be done before this body is moved an inch. You say the nearest GP practice is in Hunston?’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Right, can you arrange for that to happen, Smith?’

  It would be almost too easy to take offence at that. The uniformed man could have been sent outside to do it immediately, but Smith refused to be annoyed because there was a letter sitting on DCI Reeve’s desk. To be more precise, that letter would have been opened by now, and DCI Reeve would be wondering how she was going to tell the new DI that his most experienced detective had resigned on the very day that he took up his new command. And also, of course, she would have to convey the tragic news to Detective Superintendent Allen.

  ‘Of course, sir. Shall I go and arrange that now?’

  ‘In a moment. Five more minutes won’t make much difference. We’ll take a look at the body first.’

  Chapter Four

  Between them, Smith and Constable Warren lifted the tarpaulin off the body and laid it on the floor. This was the corpse of a big man, seventeen stones or more and over six feet in height. The belly was large, possibly distended by the circumstances of his death and the fact that it had been in the sea for a couple of days if Sam Cole was right, but it was Smith’s guess that the man had been overweight before he went into the water.

  Age? Always difficult to be precise but probably late forties or early fifties. Smith studied the face carefully because after thirty years in the job it’s surprising how often the body turns out to belong to someone that you know, professionally speaking, but that was not the case here. It was a large, roundish face to match the body, bluish now, bloated and blurred at the edges, and Smith thought, well, I don’t really need a doctor to tell me that he drowned. He had seen a few of those, and for a moment his thoughts went back to Wayne Fletcher, poor young Wayne Fletcher, lying on the slab in the police mortuary at Kings Lake a couple of years ago.

  Detective Inspector Terek leaned in to inspect the man’s right hand, and Smith did the same on the left-hand side. No wedding ring, and no sign that a wedding ring had been recently removed. The nails were short and neatly trimmed, though there was a trace of dark material underneath some of them, and the knuckles showed no signs of injury. The back of the hand had thick, dark hairs matted down to the skin, the body still being damp from the sea-water. Being this close to it, Smith caught the first faint stench of decay; warm water, and warm weather meant that the processes of putrefaction had already begun.

  He straightened up and examined with his eyes the man’s clothing. This had caught his attention as soon as the tarpaulin had been removed. The dark grey, three-piece suit was stained with the water and mud of the marsh of course, but it still fitted the body well – a tribute to the work of its tailor. It was Smith’s guess that the suit had been made to measure, and if so, that was a possible clue to the man’s identity. Somewhere inside there would be a label, and that label might even have a number or a date. He wanted to look now but he was not the senior officer here.

  The shoes were a good match for the suit – patent black leather lace-ups. The man had dressed himself with some care before he took his last walk or ride. And looking down at the shoes from his position by the shoulders, Smith felt the shot of adrenaline again, as he had when the cover had first been removed, because there was something wrong. He could say it now, or he could wait and see what the new inspector would do. Do? Be honest, Smith! You’re waiting to see if he even notices.

  When he looked up from the shoes, he found that Terek was staring at him with an odd expression, as if he too was waiting; then they were regarding each other as they might if this was a game of chess and they had both forgotten whose turn it was to make the next move.

  Then Terek did something surprising. He took out from his jacket pocket – he too was wearing a decent suit, though not made-to-measure – a pair of disposable evidence gloves and pulled them on. And then, beginning at the top of the thigh, he felt down both the legs of the body as far as the ankles. When this was done, he nodded to himself and then looked again at Smith with a silent question.

  Smith said, ‘Both broken, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yes. The right femur and the left one at the knee. You can see it from the angle of the feet.’

  ‘Yes.’

  That’s what Smith had noticed. After a little while he said, ‘I’d still say he drowned but…’

  ‘How did he get into the water with two broken legs?’

  ‘Quite.’

  Terek looked back at the body and sighed as if this was all rather inconvenient, but Smith knew better; what could be better in your first week as a DI than a suspicious death?

  Terek said, ‘Detective Chief Inspector Reeve told me that if this was routine, you’d clear it up quickly.’

  ‘At the moment, I wouldn’t class this one as routine, sir.’

  DI Terek didn’t mind being called ‘sir’ by his new sergeant – in fact he probably liked it. Time might change that, of course, but Smith wasn’t concerned one way or the other.

  ‘Neither would I. If you have gloves with you, put them on. We’ll search the pockets. Constable, arrange for a doctor to come and do the necessary paperwork, straight away. We need to get this body into a controlled environment as soon as possible.’

  And then to Smith, ‘The best mortuary?’

  ‘Norwich has more people but Kings Lake is nearer and more convenient, sir.’

  ‘What’s the name of the man there? He’s only part-time, isn’t he?’

  ‘Dr Robin
son, sir. Yes, he is. But we have a very good technician.’

  ‘Alright, then. Constable? And an ambulance from Kings Lake.’

  There was a small white handkerchief in the breast pocket of the jacket, and that was all. At Terek’s suggestion, the two of them went through the process again but the result was the same – every other pocket was empty.

  On the hull of an upturned fibreglass dinghy, Smith unfolded the sodden handkerchief with some care but it contained nothing, and there was not even a maker’s name; it was simply a square of white, cotton-like material. The days of monograms are long-gone, of course, but there might have been something… The absence of anything else on the body that might be a clue to the man’s identity was peculiar, to say the least.

  Terek picked up the handkerchief then and held it up to the light, which was a single unshaded bulb hanging on a flex tacked up onto a roof beam. Then he turned it around and over in his gloved hands as if looking for a minute clue that Smith might have missed. Smith meanwhile had gone to the man’s shoes. He took out his phone, switched on the torch and examined the soles. They were of treated leather and little worn – proper dress shoes, not meant for any serious walking, not at all the kind of thing one might choose for a stroll along the coastal path or for a trip out on a boat.

  Terek refolded the handkerchief using the original creases and put it into an evidence bag that he took from his own jacket’s pocket – unlike the dead man, he seemed well prepared for the occasion.

  Then he said, ‘No car keys, no room keys, no wallet and no phone. What do you make of that?’

  Smith had been turning over the question since they first discovered the empty pockets.

  ‘The only time my pockets are that empty is when I’m at home and not about to go anywhere – you know, keys hanging up, wallet and phone on the table. If he was that sort of person, that’s where they might be. The question then would be, how did he get from that situation into the water? And the answer would have to be – unexpectedly.’

  ‘Getting both his legs broken in the process.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And still wearing a three-piece suit.’

  ‘Yes, sir. It’s a bit odd.’

  The sunlight from the doorway was suddenly darkened, and a voice said, ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, Sam?’

  ‘I’ve just had a phone call to my business number. There’s a reporter asking about the body. She wants to know if it’s been identified.’

  Smith said, ‘No comment. All enquiries to the media officer at Kings Lake Central police. Did she say where she’s from, Sam?’

  ‘Anglia TV news.’

  ‘Still no comment. Comb your beard, Sam – you might be on camera later.’

  Sam Cole disappeared. In the returning light, Smith caught Terek’s expression; it was a difficult face to read as well as still being unfamiliar, but it looked as though he was in a state of some disapproval.

  Smith said, ‘Sorry if I jumped the gun – force of habit. Superintendent Allen likes to be in control of the media at all times. He’s had one or two unfortunate… Anyway, no need to go into detail. The policy is that everything goes through the media office at Kings Lake nowadays. And the media office is next door but one to the Superintendent’s.’

  After a pause, Terek said, ‘How would the local TV news have heard about this so quickly?’

  ‘None of the Coles would leak it, I can say that for certain. Someone else on the quays or one of the boat passengers? It might already be on a social media post somewhere. People have no shame and no scruples when it comes to that. Facebook. Youtuber. I don’t suppose anyone took any pictures of him, but…’

  It didn’t take very long at all for the seeds of doubt to grow into something distinctly worrying for Detective Inspector Terek.

  ‘Sergeant, we need to be monitoring that. Who… I’ve got no phone signal here. Is that typical?’

  ‘Yes, sir, absolutely. All along the north Norfolk coast. We call it the no-phone zone. There are a few spots where you can get a signal as long as there’s a high-pressure weather system.’

  ‘I see.’

  Smith waited for a few more uncomfortable seconds and then seemed to be struck by a brainwave.

  ‘I could use the radio in the Hunston car and get through to Kings Lake, sir.’

  ‘Do that now, please.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll put Detective Constable Waters onto it, he’s our social media expert.’

  In the doorway, Smith turned and said, ‘I know we don’t want to interfere with the body any more than absolutely necessary, sir, but that suit looks to me as if it might have a maker’s label. Just opening the jacket and having a look wouldn’t do any harm.’

  Waters was delighted to have something to do, especially as it involved keyboards and screens. He should go that way, into intelligence through social media and changing technology – one could argue that his apprenticeship at Kings Lake was already over. And then Smith thought, he’ll need to be told soon – and so will John Murray and Serena Butler. He didn’t want them hearing the news from anyone else. As soon as DCI Reeve acknowledged his letter, he would find an appropriate time and place to let them know that he was going.

  At the end of the call, Waters said, ‘So, how are you and the new DI getting on?’

  The phone in the office wouldn’t be on speaker but Smith had the strong sense that at least two other detectives would, if they were not actually listening in, at least be watching Waters’ face and trying to guess the answer.

  ‘Very well. I’ve learned at least three things about him.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘He’s an exceptionally interesting driver, he’s not afraid of corpses and he has a very short memory.’

  Someone laughed in the background, a woman, and Smith thought, the buggers are listening on the earpieces – that’s Serena Butler.

  Waters said, ‘What do you mean about the very short memory?’

  ‘He hasn’t said a word about last year when he gave me the third degree about Lucky Everett having my old phone number in his prison cell. You’d think we’d never met before.’

  ‘Perhaps it’s his way of giving you a fresh start, DC.’

  ‘Yes, perhaps, but I’d rather he said something. It’s hanging around like a bad smell. Talking of which, can you tell Serena that she can cancel washing her hair tonight? We’ll be sending this body in shortly, and I want her to sit with it in the mortuary until we get back.’

  There was a silence then, and Smith could picture the puzzled looks before Waters responded with, ‘OK… Anything else?’

  ‘That’s two of you busy. What can Murray contribute? Oh, I know. Tell him my motor’s in the car park. He can go to the canteen, get a bowl of soapy water and give it a wash for me.’

  More muffled laughter and a couple of swear words from Murray.

  Waters said, ‘Seriously, DC – have you got something up there?’

  ‘I think that some of us are going to be spending a few days on the coast. For a start, we have a body with no name. I’d say find your bucket and spade tonight but it’s not down to me. There’s no telling how the new DI will want to play it. In the meantime, monitor social media. I never thought I’d hear myself say such a thing but there we are – life is full of surprises. Serena, take your knitting and say hello to Olive for me.’

  Walking back to the boathouse, he thought, and so, this might be my last case. At least it looks like a good one. Those empty pockets? Terek hadn’t said as much but he must have realised that there was another explanation for them; those missing items were not hanging up or resting on a table somewhere. Someone had removed them from the dead man’s pockets, and probably before he was dead. If he, Smith, was correct and the man had drowned, then someone had put him into the water with two broken legs. He stopped for a moment before going back inside – that was an odd and strangely cruel thing to do.

  Terek had the right side of the jacket folded open and as
Smith re-entered the boathouse he was leaning over it, taking a photograph with his phone. The flash fired, and Smith blinked a few times until his normal vision was restored. Then he said, ‘What have we got, sir?’

  ‘You were right. Take a look.’

  Terek stepped away, leaving room for Smith to move in close enough to see the label inside the suit. The lining itself was a pale, silvery blue, and Smith thought, well, they say every cloud has one… Nevertheless, it added to his earlier suspicion that the man had been unusually well-dressed for his final outing onto the saltmarshes.

  The label read ‘Shepherd and Fielding. Fine tailoring since 1878. Old Burlington Street, London’. Smith went closer still until he was peering at the label but there was no sign of anything that might identify the particular garment to its maker – no date and no number. Of course, that didn’t mean that the information was not concealed somewhere else, somewhere that only the initiated would look.

  Terek said, ‘I’ve never heard of them – have you?’

  ‘No, sir, but just going by the address I’m guessing that if you or I owned such a suit, we would not be wearing it for work. I’d also guess that you and I never having heard of the maker is rather the point, if you see what I mean.’

  Smith was aware then of Terek’s glance at the apparel of his detective sergeant – the decent, dark tweed jacket that had, nevertheless, seen better days, the nondescript trousers in a cavalry twill, a white shirt with a little wear at the collar, and a plain blue tie. Terek himself wore a dark grey, two-piece suit, new for a new job, Smith guessed, but one which was faintly embarrassed by the quality of that laid out in front of them.

  Both detectives were over-dressed for the weather and the work – was each of them waiting for the other to take off his jacket and roll up his shirtsleeves?