Roller Coaster

by Michael Gilbert

  The boys’ faces had cleared as he was speaking.

  “We can do that,” said Arnold. “We were talking about it when you come in.”

  “No problem,” said Winston. “If we pal up to him and promise him some of the cash, he’ll come across, for sure.”

  “It’s got to be done without anyone else knowing.”

  “What we’ll do,” said Delroy, “we’ll tell him that if anyone else gets to know about it, they’ll have to be cut in for a share of the money.”

  Arnold said, “Can we tell him you’ve promised us the reward?”

  “Certainly not. All I can tell you is that it puts you in line for it if what you tell us leads to the killer being caught. It will be for the Sentinel to decide. Perhaps you’d rather forget about it. I could sell the idea to Len Farmer. I expect he and his boys could make Barry talk.”

  From the energetic shaking of three heads he saw that the point had gone home.

  “We’ll do it,” said Arnold.

  “Very well. As soon as you’ve got the information, let me have it. I’ve written down two telephone numbers. One’s my office. The other’s my flat. And there’s one thing more. If you really mean to help us, that is. You know this area pretty well, I guess.” Three nods. “Then keep your eyes open. If our farming friends come back, I’d like to hear about that, too. Money for telephones.” Some coins changed hands. “And now push off before I change my mind. You can make a proper exit. By the front door.”

  Once out in the street the boys lost no time, slipping away like small animals let loose. Petrella said, “Home to base.” And when the car had been backed out and turned, “Do you want me to give you directions?”

  “No, sir,” said Hoyland gravely. “I think I can manage.”

  He had no idea what the superintendent had been up to, but since he was grinning it seemed that it must have gone well. In view of the change in climate he was encouraged, on the way back, to pass on some of the things Lee had said, particularly about Lampier. Petrella listened in silence.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Members of the jury,” said the coroner, “we are here as the result of the discovery of a body inside the entrance channel of the East Stepney Dock. You have all been provided with plans to enable you to follow the evidence, which I hope you will do very carefully. The body was on the mud and shingle beach, a short distance in from the river. A cross on the plan indicates the spot.”

  The coroner had examined the jury as they were being sworn. He could see at least one who would need careful handling; a grey-haired woman with a powerful nose, who was known to him as a member of a number of East London committees dedicated to improving the welfare of their fellows.

  Petrella was more interested in the onlookers than in the jury. He hated inquests. In a court of law you knew where you were. It was a straight fight, with the prosecution and the police on one side, the accused and his legal champions on the other. An inquest was without form and void. He had to be present because, as senior police officer in the district where the body was found, he had been charged with collecting the necessary witnesses and taking statements from them; statements to which they would, hopefully, adhere when giving evidence.

  In the middle of the front row of spectators was a man he identified as Frank Callaghan, editor of the Sentinel; flanked by Murdo Wintringham and a foxy-faced man, probably the Sentinel’s legal eagle. Seats had been kept in this row for three or four well-dressed City types, none of whom he knew, but he had made arrangements to find out about them.

  The coroner said, “The body was discovered last Friday, so you will appreciate that the police have had only five days, so far, to prosecute their enquiries. However, at the request of the Sentinel newspaper – a request which the police have not resisted – it was decided to hold this preliminary hearing forthwith, in order to dispose of two important matters. The first, as always, is the identity of the deceased. Fortunately, as you will hear, that presents no real difficulty. The second is the cause and likely date and place of death. When these points have been disposed of”—the coroner glanced sharply at the Sentinel block—“I shall adjourn the hearing in order to allow the police to continue their investigations. It may then be necessary to recall you.”

  Interesting, thought Petrella. It looked as though the coroner had been pressed by the newspaper to go further than he wanted. However, Dr Guy was a stubborn Welshman, about as susceptible to pressure as the Rock of Gibraltar. He looked at the list in front of him and said, “Sergeant Belling, if you please.”

  The sergeant explained that it was one of the duties of the Thames Division to make periodical inspections of the many derelict docks in the area. It was during one of these inspections that he had found the body.

  “Can you tell us,” said the coroner, “how the body can have lain there so long – nearly a fortnight, it seems from evidence we shall be hearing – without being seen by anyone else?”

  “There are only two points, sir, from which it could have been seen. From the dock itself, which is very tightly locked and barred, or by taking a boat, as I did, up the entrance channel. It’s marked as ‘Private’ and none of the boats which normally use the river have any reason to go up it.”

  “When you found the body, Sergeant, just exactly how was it lying?”

  “On its side, sir. A yard clear of the water.”

  “Did you have any idea how it got there?”

  “Well, sir, that was a bit of a puzzler—”

  The coroner, who had been examining his list, said, “I see that Superintendent Groener is to give evidence. He is, as I know, greatly experienced in everything connected with the river. Probably he will be able to give us his ideas on that point.”

  Sergeant Belling agreed and was about to leave the box when the coroner noticed that one of the jury had a hand raised.

  “Yes, Mrs Winlaw.”

  The grey-haired lady said, “We are frequently told that our police force is under-manned and over-worked. Why should it have to spend its time inspecting this dock?”

  “We inspect all the docks, madam.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “To see that no one has been tampering with the gates or the dock fixtures.” Here he shot a quick look at the coroner before adding, “Also to take samples of the water.”

  The coroner picked up his cue. He said, with well-simulated surprise, “Now why would you do that?”

  “When a dock is closed, sir, local factories sometimes see it as an opportunity to discharge illegal waste into it.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant.” The coroner noted with pleasure that this answer had been recorded by the reporters, who were present in force.

  Mrs Winlaw had resumed her seat.

  “Normally,” said the coroner, “identity is established by a member of the family. In this case, no family witnesses being available, we are relying on the employer – I should say the presumed employer – of the deceased. If you please, Mr Callaghan.”

  Mr Callaghan observed the formalities calmly and stated that a wallet discovered in the deceased’s pocket had contained a letter on Sentinel notepaper and signed by the news editor. This, coupled with the clothing and general appearance of the deceased, had raised a strong presumption that he was the man whom the letter was addressed to – a Mr Poston-Pirrie who had been pursuing enquiries in that area on behalf of the paper. The matter had then been conclusively settled by dental evidence. If any doubt of any sort arose the dentist could give evidence in person.

  “At the moment,” said the coroner, “I am content to rely on the evidence we have and we will proceed on the assumption that the deceased was, in fact, Philip Poston-Pirrie. Yes, Mrs Winlaw?”

  “I was only wondering, sir, why the more normal method was not adopted. I mean, identification by the features of the deceased.”

  “I understand,” said the coroner, “that the deceased had no face. All the softer portions, including the eyes and tongue, had been eaten by t
he rats which infest … oh, dear, better take her out.”

  A lady in the second row was hustled out of the room, but the door was not closed in time to shut out the sound of her distress.

  “While my court is open to the public,” said the coroner testily, “people should surely realise that some of the details they hear will be unpleasant. Thank you, Mr Callaghan. Superintendent Groener, please.”

  The superintendent explained his idea of how the body had got into the dock entrance, but speaking, Petrella noticed, with increased conviction. He had evidently thought the matter through and could see no alternative solution. His conclusions were listened to respectfully.

  The coroner said, “Enlighten us on one point, Superintendent. When you speak of barge traffic one visualises a string of barges towed by a tug. But that is not what you had in mind on this occasion?”

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t clearer, sir. The sort of vessel I was talking about would be a self-propelled load carrier. It would probably be proceeding by itself. They come in all shapes and sizes and in most cases are directed by a man standing on some sort of raised platform at the back. They sometimes have a second man as look-out in the bow.”

  “Thank you, Superintendent.”

  The foxy-faced gentleman stood up. He said, “Andrew Batson of counsel, representing the Sentinel newspaper.”

  “Yes, Mr Batson?”

  “I wasn’t clear if the superintendent had finished. But since he had reached a point on which I have instructions, I should like to put one or two questions to him.”

  The coroner thought about it. He had heard of Andrew Batson, QC, as an expert in running-down cases. He was quite capable of saying ‘No’ even to leading counsel. He thought he would let him have a little rope.

  “If your questions bear directly on the matters we have to decide today, you may put them to the witness.”

  “I am obliged. They concern two matters which you yourself indicated were in front of us. The time and the place of death.”

  “Very well.”

  “Let me preface my questions, Superintendent, by saying that no one here – I include myself – knows as much about the river Thames as you do.”

  Groener smiled, but said nothing. He had met Andrew Batson before.

  “Then tell me, is not the method by which barges are steered open to some criticism?”

  “It has been criticised, yes.”

  “In a recent case of collision with a pleasure steamer?”

  “In that case the other vessel was a dredger.”

  “Agreed. But was not the method of steering the same? A man at the back, with rather limited powers of observation, and a second one in the bows.”

  “Yes.”

  “We are, of course, dealing here with a theoretical barge. But supposing it to be of that type and suppose that a half-submerged body floats past, quite close to the barge, might I put it to you that the only circumstance in which it could have been overlooked would be if the incident happened in the dusk.”

  “Or at first light.”

  Since this did not fit in with the theory that counsel was trying to build, he ignored it. He said, “On the last day that Mr Pirrie is known to have been alive, sunset in London was at five minutes past eight. Allow half an hour of twilight after the sun had gone and that brings us to around eight thirty. I am suggesting that this was the probable time that the deceased went into the river.”

  “Possible. Not probable.”

  “I’ll compromise on possible, if you insist. So much for time. Now, as to place. I believe that, when the point was first put to you, you said, ‘Between fifty yards and a quarter of a mile.’”

  “If I said anything of the kind, and I can’t pretend to remember my exact words, it would have been when I was discussing the matter with Superintendent Petrella and Dr Summerson. Mr Cracknell, I remember, was also present.” He swung round as he said this and Cracknell was seen to shift uncomfortably in his seat. “If this snap judgment seems important to you, sir, they could be asked about it.”

  The coroner said, “I don’t think that your snap judgment is of any importance. What we want is your present considered opinion.”

  Batson said, “I agree, of course. But snap shots sometimes hit the target. And if we take the distances which you mentioned – fifty yards and a quarter of a mile – and look at the map”—he had one open in front of him—“does it not stand out that Cannon Wharf is the most likely place?”

  “One of several possible places.”

  “Such as?”

  “Shadwell Pier or Hermitage Wharf, to name two.”

  Counsel was busy with a ruler. He said, “One of these is four hundred yards up river. The other eight hundred and twenty yards.”

  Groener said, with a smile, “I haven’t measured the distance myself, but I’m quite prepared to accept your snap measurements.”

  “Then surely you must agree that Cannon Wharf is the most likely candidate?”

  “No, I don’t agree.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you are asking me to arrive at a specific answer to a sum where both the relevant factors are unknown. One of them is the speed of the river, at the moment when Mr Pirrie went into it. A speed which can vary widely, from day to day and hour to hour, depending on such matters as the state of the tide, the direction of the wind, the management of the up-river weirs and regulation at the Thames Barrier. Again, the state of the deceased’s clothing is equally full of imponderables, which are so obvious that I needn’t elaborate on it.”

  “Even agreeing with those points, Superintendent, I must return to my original suggestion, that Cannon Wharf is the most likely place.”

  “I can’t prevent you returning to it,” said Groener politely, “but by doing so you don’t make it any more – or any less – probable.”

  “Really, Superintendent, aren’t you being a little unreasonable—”

  “I think we’ve had enough,” said the coroner. “You started by complimenting the witness on his knowledge of the river. Now you’re suggesting that you know more about it than he does.”

  “I only wanted—”

  “I said, enough. Has anyone else any questions? Thank you, Superintendent. Dr Summerson, please.”

  Dr Summerson, with one eye on his notes, repeated what he had told Petrella. He added that a further examination was proceeding, but had, as yet, taken him no further.

  The coroner said, “This blow that knocked out the deceased: if he had been standing near the river, it could, I presume, have knocked him into it?”

  “It’s possible. Though there’s nothing to show whether a period of time might have elapsed between the time when the blow was given and the deceased was thrown into the river.”

  “And in either event, if he went into the water unconscious, and in that damaged state, he would have died almost at once?”

  “Certainly. A supposition borne out by the very small amount of water in his lungs.”

  “That seems quite clear. You spoke of continuing your examination. What would be the object of that?”

  “Simply to negative any suggested alternative causes of death – by poison, for instance. Also to show whether he might have been under the influence of alcohol when he went into the river.”

  “He was practically a teetotaller,” said Callaghan loudly.

  The coroner looked at him over his spectacles for a long moment. Then he said, “If you have further evidence to give it should be given formally. Not by interrupting the proceedings. Particularly with irrelevant statements. Dr Summerson was not suggesting that the deceased was intoxicated. He was saying that it was part of his duty to show that he was not.”

  The editor, who was unused to having his face slapped in public, looked as though he would have liked to have said something, but evidently thought better of it.

  “Thank you, doctor. If that is all … yes, Mr Batson?”

  “A couple of questions, if I might.”

&n
bsp; The coroner had had almost enough of Mr Batson. However, having snubbed his employer he thought he ought to allow him one more short innings. He nodded to the barrister.

  “When you were describing the fatal blow you gave us a number of alternatives. Club. Fist. Open hand. Is it not possible to be more precise?”

  “The difficulty about being precise about that point is that the blow appears to have landed on the throat. Normally there would have been imprints or bruises or other marks which would have suggested the source of the blow. In this case the outer portion of the skin and flesh of the throat had been destroyed by the rats. My deductions about the point of impact and the force of the blow had to be made by following its effect. As, for instance, the destruction of the sound box, the fracture of the hyoid bone and the damage to the oesophagus.”

  “But you think it was the only blow?”

  “If there had been blows on other parts of the body, they would have left signs which we would have seen.”

  “So if the damage was done by one hard and skilful blow, does this suggest to you that it might have been delivered by someone expert in karate or unarmed combat?”

  “The most I can say is that it is possible.”

  Mr Batson, who could see that official patience was wearing thin, subsided. Dr Guy said to the jury, “There is no reason, at this point, to ask you for a formal verdict. Thank you, Dr Summerson. I understand, Superintendent, that police enquiries are proceeding.”

  “That is so, sir.”

  “Then I will adjourn the hearing for fourteen days. If that is not sufficient, I could adjourn it further.”

  Petrella said, “Thank you.” Since the coroner was addressing him he had stood up.

  Mr Batson, also rising, said, “May I take it, sir, that the superintendent will himself be giving evidence at the adjourned hearing?”

  “If he has anything of importance to tell us, yes.”

  Mr Callaghan and Mr Batson were looking at him. Like two hungry tigers, he thought.