Shiver

by Andrea Frazer

  Parker rang off before Carol could deliver the appropriate Anglo-Saxon response.

  Her first call was to the pathologist, Dr Bill Austin. There was no reply from his home number, or his mobile. Carol muttered something impolite and rang DC Hall. ‘Diane, it’s Carol. I’ve just had a message from Geoff Parker. We’ve a murder at Lingtoft. Can you pick me up on your way over? I’ve still to contact Forensics, but I can’t get hold of Bill Austin. Without a pathologist we’re going to be well and truly snookered.’

  ‘OK, Carol, I’ll be on my way in ten minutes or so.’

  Carol’s final statement to DC Hall had given her an idea. Acting on it, she phoned the local Conservative Club and spoke to the steward. ‘Is Dr Austin there? This is Detective Sergeant Benson from Thorsby. I need to contact him.’

  Austin had taken the opportunity to indulge his passion for snooker while his wife was visiting her sister in North Wales. Predictably, he was less than happy at the interruption of his night’s pleasure and told Benson so in no uncertain terms.

  Join the club, Carol thought as she ended the call. Anyone would think I rang you for the fun of it.

  The uniformed officers had left the beacons on their patrol cars flashing when they arrived outside the church, which enabled Benson and Hall to locate it with ease. St Jude’s Church was off the main street, down a narrow, winding lane. The Lingtoft village, which was situated high up on the western edge of the dale, had been a settlement since Saxon times at the very least. It wasn’t built around a green, as so many were, but was one long street, with a couple of smaller lanes running from that.

  The church, Carol knew, was a small Norman cruciform building. The lane leading to it was directly opposite the village pub, the Cross Keys. ‘That’s handy,’ DC Hall muttered as she drove round the corner into the lane. ‘You can repent your sins on one side of the road and then go commit some more on the other side.’

  Benson shook her head sorrowfully. ‘Diane, you’re such a cynic. It’s not a good trait in one so young.’

  Hall laughed. ‘Better to be a realist, that way you don’t get disappointed.’

  They pulled to a halt behind the patrol car, which was occupying one of only three spaces in a lay-by presumably intended for the use of worshippers. One of the uniformed men was waiting under the shelter of the canopy over the lychgate. Benson greeted him and asked, ‘This lane is a cul-de-sac, isn’t it? What’s down there?’

  ‘Only a farmhouse. I was told the farmer’s away for the week.’

  ‘Just as well. This road is going to be impassable when the forensics team gets here.’

  ‘OK, let’s see where Romeo and Juliet discovered the corpse. Is there any lighting? If we leave the car headlights on too long we’re going to have flat batteries.’

  ‘We’re waiting for the vicar to come and open the church so we can access the switches. That should help, although there’s no electricity in the crypt, of course.’

  ‘Isn’t there a sexton? He should have keys, surely.’

  The constable grimaced. ‘There is, but we believe he’s in the crypt.’

  ‘In the … oh, I get it, you think the sexton might be the victim, yes?’

  ‘We can’t be sure one way or another. The only ones who have seen the body are the youngsters who found it, and they weren’t making much sense when we spoke to them. About the only semi-sensible thing either of them said was when the lad told us the corpse was dressed like the sexton. Apparently the face is so battered, it’s virtually unrecognisable.’

  ‘Have you thought to check the sexton’s home?’

  ‘I did, but there was nobody in and no lights showing. That could simply mean that he’s in the Cross Keys.’

  ‘What’s the sexton’s name?’

  ‘Blake, Noah Blake.’

  Diane began to giggle.

  ‘What is it?’ Benson asked in a resigned tone.

  ‘His surname. That would make him Sexton Blake.’

  ‘I didn’t think of that.’ The constable started to laugh.

  ‘Will you two pack it in and remember why we’re here. The poor man’s lying dead and you’re making infantile jokes about his name.’ Having restored order and a semblance of dignity, Carol continued, ‘We’ll go across and take a look at the crime scene. I assume your colleague is standing guard at the crypt?’

  ‘Yes, he lost the toss.’

  ‘Will you wait here for the team to arrive and point them in the right direction?’

  In the reflected glow from her torch, Diane could see the look of relief on the constable’s face. It was a dark, moonless night, but their torches lit the way easily enough. As they skirted the graves and passed the front of the building, Diane saw several dark shapes pass close by and above her. The occasion and their grim task had already set her nerves on edge, and she gave a small shriek at the apparitions.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ she demanded. As she spoke, several more flew by, one so close she felt it brush her long hair. She shrieked again, in pure terror.

  Carol put one hand on her arm, trying to steady her nerves. ‘They’re bats. They congregate in dark places such as the bell tower of a church. You must have heard the expression “bats in the belfry”, surely?’

  ‘I have, but I thought that referred to us.’

  Carol grinned. ‘They’re quite harmless, and probably far more frightened of you than you are of them.’

  ‘I wouldn’t bet on it,’ Diane said through gritted teeth. ‘Just what we need on Halloween. A dead body, and now bats. Are you sure they’re not vampires.’

  ‘I don’t think there are vampire bats in this country.’ Carol refused to take Diane’s fear seriously. ‘Better watch out though, if you see someone flying past on a broomstick, then we really are in trouble.’

  They reached the crypt entrance and greeted the constable, who looked relieved to have company. Hardly surprising, Diane thought. The place was spooky enough, without thinking about what lay beyond the crypt door. He had set up an exclusion zone by stringing incident tape between the trunks of three ancient yews, and securing the last part round the headstone of the nearest grave.

  ‘We’re going to take a quick look inside,’ Benson told him as she ducked under the tape, holding it up for her colleague. ‘You wait there. The fewer people who go inside the less chance of contaminating any evidence there might be.’

  ‘Shouldn’t we be wearing overshoes?’ Diane asked.

  ‘I’m not proposing to go right down into the body of the crypt.’ Benson smiled grimly at her terrible pun. ‘We should be able to see all we need from the steps.’

  They stood side by side on the narrow stairs; the musty smell of death was all around them. Benson used her torch to illuminate the stone sarcophagus directly opposite them; then she moved the beam to a second one. It was when she lit up the third that they saw the victim’s body.

  Diane caught her breath. ‘Oh dear God,’ she muttered.

  It was no wonder the young lovers had been unable to identify the victim, Carol thought. The man could have been anything from thirty to sixty years old. When the patrol officer had said he had been beaten beyond recognition, she had wondered if he was exaggerating. Now, his comment seemed more like an understatement.

  Carol inspected the victim for a few seconds, before moving the beam away from the grim spectacle. She moved it slowly around the chamber of death, taking care to examine everything inside, which wasn’t a lot. She noticed the blankets draped over one of the tombs and wondered if they had been brought by the lovers for a little comfort. When her torch beam reached the far corner she stopped. An item leaning against the wall caught and held her attention. She blinked in disbelief. If she had to select an item from a list of those most unlikely to find in a crypt, this would have possibly been her first choice. She nudged DC Hall and gestured towards the incongruous sight. ‘What do you make of that, Diane? The murder weapon, perhaps?’

  ‘I don’t know, you can’t really tell from h
ere, but I can’t think of any other reason to bring a cricket bat into a crypt, can you? One thing for certain, one way or another, I’ve seen more bats tonight than I ever want to again.’

  They were still staring at the bat when a voice from behind them made Diane jump. ‘I thought you’d want to know that the pathologist has arrived, together with the forensic people.’

  A moment later, Austin, clad in his plastic over-suit, bustled past the detectives. ‘Lights?’ he demanded.

  Carol looked round at the constable. ‘Any word on where the vicar is?’

  ‘My colleague managed to get hold of his wife. She’d been at a Wild Indians meeting in the village hall. Apparently, her husband is at one of the outlying farms, over towards Black Fell. He’s ministering to a parishioner who is dying and might not be back until morning.’

  Carol smiled at the constable’s use of the Women’s Institute nickname. ‘Forensics will love that, working by torchlight.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary. They’ve brought a generator and arc lights. They’re planning to floodlight the crypt and the surrounding area.’

  ‘Some good news at last. We’ll hand over the crime scene to them and then go and interview our witnesses. We’ll need one of you along with us.’

  ‘I’ll go. I’ve had enough of churchyards for one night.’

  Benson turned to the pathologist. ‘Sorry to disturb your snooker night, Dr Austin. We thought up something far more exciting for you.’

  Austin sniffed disdainfully. ‘The one chance I get for a relaxing night without the wife nagging at me and you go and spoil it. What’s the situation?’

  Benson told him what little they knew, which wasn’t much. Austin looked surprised when they mentioned the cricket bat. ‘You think that was the murder weapon?’

  ‘We do,’ Hall interrupted. ‘We thought perhaps the victim had a stroke.’

  Austin groaned. ‘I didn’t think tonight could get any worse, but it just has.’

  ‘Anyway, we’ll be in the pub if you need us.’

  ‘Some people have all the luck. No wonder they call it a bobby’s job.’

  ‘We’re going to interview witnesses,’ Carol informed him severely.

  This time, Austin’s sniff was one of disbelief.

  ‘If the dead man was the sexton,’ Diane said as they walked across to the Cross Keys, ‘what were his duties? I mean, what does a sexton do?’

  ‘Basically, they look after the church, tend the graveyard, in some cases dig the graves, and ring the bell for services.’

  Diane giggled, surprising both Benson and the constable. ‘That would make him a dead ringer, then?’

  Her pun was met with synchronised groans from her audience. Desperate to get off the subject and away from Diane’s dire jokes, Carol asked, ‘How old are these lovers?’

  ‘Both sixteen,’ the constable told her. ‘They’re pupils at Thorsby High School.’

  ‘I’m surprised they needed to sneak off to somewhere as uncomfortable as that crypt,’ Diane said.

  ‘Ah, but this is Lingtoft, not some big town. Most of the inhabitants are from families that have lived here for generations. There are a few newcomers, but not many. It’s too far off the beaten track to attract commuters.’

  ‘The other thing that surprises me is that these two haven’t been at it for years. Going from what I know about the pupils at Thorsby High, I’d have thought they would have been bonking one another since they were in year seven,’ Diane commented.

  ‘Oi, do you mind,’ Carol objected. ‘I went to Thorsby High. Only in my day it was a grammar school. And we certainly weren’t at it from the age of twelve.’

  ‘Really? How long did you leave it before you got started?’

  There was a long, cold silence before Carol asked, ‘Does your uniform still fit you? Because another crack like that, and you’ll find yourself directing traffic on the High Street.’

  Diane grinned unrepentantly, and opened the pub door for them to enter.

  The lounge bar, which occupied all the front of the building, had been decked out for Halloween. The room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from candles inserted into hollowed-out pumpkins which lined the L-shaped bar, plus more candles inside a motley collection of decorated jam jars.

  Here and there, black cotton threads fastened to the ceiling supported bats that had been cut out of black paper. ‘More bloody bats,’ Diane muttered. Interspersed with these were paper spiders suspended on elastic. These jumped up and down when touched. Almost directly in front of the door, a life-size skeleton picked out in fluorescent white paint stood to greet new arrivals. Diane brushed against it as she passed, provoking an outburst of ghoulish laughter, presumably activated by some form of sensor.

  Elsewhere, they could see broomsticks placed at odd angles against walls, on window ledges and propped against the ends of the long, padded settle that traversed two of the walls. The spooky illusion was completed by the mirrors and paintings on the walls; festooned in fake spiders’ webs.

  The room was crowded, and many of the pub’s customers were in fancy dress to match the occasion, as were the bar staff. Carol approached Count Dracula, who she’d guessed correctly to be the landlord, and produced her warrant card. As she did so, Carol noticed someone watching them. She glanced sideways to see a man seated on a bar stool against the wall. She felt a vague stir of recognition as if she ought to know him, before the landlord spoke, commanding her complete attention.

  His enthusiastic greeting was explained by his opening words. ‘I kept Derek and Elaine segregated from the customers like the constables asked, but I had to let their parents in.’ He grimaced. ‘I think the pair of them are in a bit of bother, to put it mildly. They’re in the snug. I hope I can have the use of that room before too long. There are some customers who always play dominoes in there and they’re not too happy about being kept out.’

  ‘We’ll be as quick as we can,’ Carol promised.

  The thwarted lovers looked miserable. Their unhappiness was compounded by the presence of both sets of parents, who looked more angry than unhappy. Diane left the questioning to her superior, and watched the faces of all six occupants of the room. It was a technique they had developed during their time working together, and it was often very successful.

  Carol began by telling the parents that the only reason they needed to speak to Derek and Elaine was as witnesses, and, that because they had found the body, the coroner would require a written statement, which they could give at Thorsby police station. If this comforted the parents, it certainly didn’t show in their angry expressions.

  The youngsters could add nothing to what they already knew, and after a few questions, Carol told them they could go. They still looked shaken by their ordeal, and more than a little scared, but Diane guessed this was probably down to fear of parental retribution.

  On returning to the lounge, Carol sought out the publican. ‘You can have your snug back in a few moments, but while everyone is in this room I’d like a quick word with them, if that’s all right? Can you attract their attention?’

  The landlord turned and rang the bell that usually signalled time, which caused some of his regular customers to appear concerned that their consumption was about to be brought to a premature end. Carol addressed the crowded room.

  ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Benson, and this is my colleague, Detective Constable Hall. I am sure you are all aware that a man’s body has been found tonight in the crypt of St Jude’s, in what appears to be suspicious circumstances. We are still awaiting identification, but if any of you saw or heard anything you think might be relevant to our enquiries, please let either of us know. You can find us at the church tonight or at Thorsby police station tomorrow.’

  They thanked the landlord, and as they turned to leave, Carol noticed the man seated at the corner of the bar. He was staring at her, and once again she felt that she ought to know him. ‘Hang on a second,’ she told Diane, ‘there’s somebody I need
to speak to.’

  She walked over and stood in front of the man, still unable to put a name to the face. He was about her own age, tall, she guessed, and extremely good looking. She was about to speak, but he beat her to it. ‘Hello, Carol, how are you?’

  She frowned. She prided herself on her ability to remember names and faces, but he’d got her stumped. ‘I’m sorry; I think you’ve got the better of me. I feel I ought to know you, but I simply can’t place you.’

  He frowned; obviously something in her short sentence hadn’t pleased him. Was that vanity? Carol wondered.

  ‘It must be all of twelve years since you saw me, and I guess I’ve changed a bit since then.’

  He was teasing her. She knew it, but was still no wiser. ‘Twelve years ago I was at Thorsby Grammar. Were you a pupil there?’

  He nodded, but remained silent, still dragging out the suspense.

  ‘We can’t have been in the same year,’ Carol said confidently, ‘I feel sure I would remember you if we were.’

  ‘We were in the same year. We were actually in the same form.’

  ‘I’m sorry, my mind’s a blank. Put me out of my misery.’

  ‘Richard Sugden,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Impossible! Richard sat next to me. I would have known him anywhere.’ She peered at him again, and as she did so, her hand went to her face, her index finger scratching at her eyebrow.

  He laughed. ‘You still do that thing with your finger. You always did it when you were trying to work out an answer.’

  ‘It is you. I have to admit you’ve changed beyond all recognition. For the better,’ she added hastily.

  ‘You haven’t changed,’ he replied with a smile, ‘I knew it was you as soon as you walked in the room.’

  ‘Do you live around here? I thought you used to live in Thorsby.’

  ‘I have a cottage here that I use sometimes. I bought it a few years back. It will be useful when I retire or when I’m home for good.’

  ‘You spend a lot of time away?’

  He nodded, but said nothing. Carol got the impression he wouldn’t have, even had she asked. Instead, he said, ‘How about I pop into Thorsby station tomorrow and tell you what I know?’