Season of Darkness

by Maureen Jennings

Reluctantly he agreed.

  He sat for a moment at his desk, tempted to take out the paintings that he had stowed at the back of one of the drawers. My God, Tyler, you might as well be a silly girl mooning over a film star. Take hold of yourself.

  Admonishment received, he grabbed his hat and coat. Sergeant Gough had gone home for his tea. Tyler locked the door behind him.

  He didn’t hear the telephone ringing.

  The hospital where Dr. Murnaghan had conducted the post-mortem was on the edge of town. Not willing to wrestle with the Humber, Tyler decided to walk there. He was hoping the coroner would have something helpful to tell him. He had many reasons to want this investigation to be concluded quickly, not the least of which was his desire to be seen as an officer capable of dealing with serious crime, not just a kind of headmaster slapping the knuckles of petty thieves and rule breakers. Not for the first time he regretted moving back to the quiet backwater of Whitchurch. The work in Birmingham had been much more dangerous and challenging. And I wonder who you’re trying to impress, mate?

  At the turn of the century, the hospital had been a poorhouse. The plaque was on the wall. This house is intended for the Relief and Comfort of the Poor of this Parish. In spite of the soothing words relief and comfort, there was nothing welcoming about the place. In fact, in the deepening dusk, the square, severe building appeared grim and cheerless. Can’t make the poor too comfortable or they’ll want handouts all the time.

  There was a masked light over the entrance, but all the windows were blacked out.

  Tyler went into what was now the lobby, deserted except for a young woman in a white, starched nurse’s uniform who was sitting behind the reception desk. When she saw him she broke into a wide smile.

  “Inspector, what a lovely surprise! What brings you here? You not be ill I hope.”

  Tyler knew they’d met before but for the life of him he couldn’t remember where. “No, I’m quite healthy, thank you Miss … er …?”

  “Parsons, Winifred Parsons.”

  “I’m here to see Dr. Murnaghan.”

  “He’ll be downstairs. I’ll let him know.”

  She switched on the intercom. Tyler thought she seemed disappointed that he hadn’t known who she was. She was a pretty girl, nicely round with smooth skin and light brown hair tucked under her stiff cap. Why was he thinking Christmas? More to the point, why did he feel vaguely guilty?

  The coroner’s voice crackled over the line. “Yes?”

  “Inspector Tyler to see you, Doctor.”

  Murnaghan’s answer was unintelligible to Tyler, but Miss Parsons replied, “I’ll send him down.” She looked up. “He be in the morgue. Go through that door at the end of the hall and follow the stairs down.”

  “Thank you.… Excuse me, I have a pounding headache. Do you have any aspirin?”

  “Of course.”

  She reached into a drawer and took out a bottle. “You can have the whole thing if you like, we’ve got lots.”

  “Thank you. How much?”

  She gave him a wink. “Ten shillings.”

  “What!” For that price he’d expect an entire box of pills.

  Her face fell. He’d disappointed her again.

  “Never mind. I was joking. There’s no charge.”

  He popped three pills into his mouth and swallowed them down.

  “I would have fetched you some water,” said the nurse.

  “Thanks. I couldn’t wait.”

  He put the bottle in his pocket, tipped his hat, and headed for the morgue. Where the heck had he met her before? As he shoved open the heavy wooden door, he suddenly remembered. Last Christmas there had been an auction at the church hall to raise money for the Spitfire fund. Some of the local girls were sitting at a row of booths, a sprig of mistletoe over their heads, selling kisses. Ten shillings a kiss was steep, Tyler thought, but all for a good cause. Most of the men gave perfunctory pecks on the girls’ cheeks or a hasty press on the lips while their wives watched. The coroner’s nurse was in one of the booths. She looked appealing with her wavy hair down about her shoulders, her lips rouged and her eyes bright.

  She’d called him over. “All in a good cause, Inspector.” She reached up and grabbed his face between her hands, giving him a smacker on the lips.

  The vicar was standing nearby supervising. “I think that was worth at least a pound,” he said disapprovingly.

  Tyler had paid up, but he saw the look in the girl’s eyes and suspected she’d be more than happy to give him a kiss for free next time. He was almost ready to hand over another ten shillings for a repeat performance, but Vera had come along at that moment.

  “Sins catching up with you, are they?” she’d asked. Perhaps they were.

  The morgue was the same one that had been used for the poorhouse when it probably had plenty of business. Long and narrow with a low ceiling, the walls were thick whitewashed brick, the floor grey slate. High windows on one side let in a meagre light and a huge stone fireplace took up a large section of the rear wall, although its presence seemed to contravene the necessity for low temperatures. A portrait of Queen Victoria in her regal, plump prime was hung over the hearth. She stared at a round railway clock on the opposite wall. Several storage rooms led off from the far end, used for maintaining samples and, on rare occasions these days, a body. The place was so cool even on a warm day that refrigeration for short stays wasn’t always necessary. One single bright electric light dangled from the ceiling over the antique porcelain gurney where Murnaghan conducted the post-mortems, but the original gas sconces had been retained and they hissed softly, casting out a yellowish light.

  As Tyler entered the hall, Murnaghan was just removing his surgical gloves. He was a short, trim man with a neat sandy moustache and springy, greying hair. Underneath his rubber apron he was dressed in a brown corduroy jacket and high-necked jersey. Tyler could understand the need for all the clothes. He could almost see his own breath.

  The coroner greeted him. “Good timing, Tyler. I’ve just finished. I should probably have sent her over to Shrewsbury or Birmingham where they have more equipment, but I know you wanted a result as soon as possible.”

  “I rather thought you were glad of the opportunity to work again, sir.”

  The coroner chuckled. “True enough. When I got the call I was in the middle of cleaning out my mother’s attic. Mostly old books, lots of filth.”

  Tyler assumed he was referring to the state of the library, not the contents.

  Murnaghan rubbed his hands together. Tyler couldn’t tell if he was cold or excited. Perhaps both.

  “Basically the girl was in excellent health. I have taken the usual organ and blood samples, but I don’t think we’ll find anything remarkable there. Liver and kidneys look to be in excellent condition. There was some indication of early malnutrition in the bones, but she was well nourished as an adult.” He walked over to one of the specimen jars standing on an antique marble-topped table. “There were partially digested fish and chips in her stomach. That was the last thing she consumed, probably last evening. She smoked and there is some residue in her lungs, which would indicate she has been a heavy consumer for some time.” He glanced over at Tyler. “She had sexual relations not long before she was killed.”

  “Rape?”

  “No, I don’t think so. She was not a virgin, but as you saw, her clothes were intact and there was no sign of forcing in the vagina.” He went over to one of the wall shelves and took down a cardboard box. “She had money concealed in her dungarees. Two pound notes in the straps. I might not have found it, but I cut off the clothes for easier access. Of course, she might have put it there for safekeeping. Strange girls at the hostel and all that, but it’s a lot of money for a Land Army girl to have.”

  “Are you saying she was on the game?”

  Murnaghan raised his eyebrows. “Not necessarily. Ordinary young women are, shall we say, giving favours for as little as a pair of silk stockings. Sad really. It’s yet another o
f the consequences of war. There was absolutely no sign of venereal disease, but she may have been paid for the sex. There’s no way to tell really.… Here you go, I put the bills in here with the rest of her effects, the hair combs and so forth. I’ll have everything sent over to you, shall I?”

  “Thanks.”

  Murnaghan returned to the gurney and removed the sheet. “Look at this. I found something quite unexpected. This is the pièce de résistance.” He had sewn up an incision he’d made in the upper thigh, but surrounding it was a livid bruise extending all the way from knee to hip. “I thought there was something wrong with the way the body was lying when I put her on the gurney, so I opened up the hip and the thigh. Her femur was broken in two places.”

  “Did she fall off her bike?” asked Tyler.

  “Most unlikely. The bruising goes very deep.”

  “What then? Don’t tell me somebody put the boots to the poor lassie?”

  “No. There is no sign of imprints. I’d say she was struck by a vehicle of some sort.”

  He gave Tyler a moment to digest this information.

  “I’ve looked for any evidence of paint chips on her clothes, but so far I haven’t found any. Besides, when it comes to a collision of machine and human flesh, there is no contest. The vehicle might be completely unmarked.”

  Tyler stared down at the dead girl. The coroner had wiped away the blood and fluid from her face, and if you didn’t look at the gaping hole at her temple, she looked normal. Death had smoothed away all expression, leaving the face as white and cold as the porcelain she was lying on.

  “Let me get this straight, Doctor. You’re saying that somebody knocked her down, then shot her?”

  Murnaghan shook his head. “Don’t jump to conclusions, Tyler. It’s more correct to say she was struck by a vehicle, shortly after which she was shot at short range with a pistol. There was powder residue on the cheek, and as you ascertained earlier, the bullet entered at a sharp angle. The assailant was standing over her, quite close.”

  “Was she knocked unconscious? Is that why there are no signs of defensive wounds?”

  “She didn’t defend herself because she couldn’t,” said Murnaghan. “She couldn’t have lifted her hands to fend off an attacker even if she’d wanted to. She was paralyzed.”

  “What!”

  “I cleaned away the blood and bone fragments and cut off her hair so you can see more clearly. Help me turn her over.” The coroner indicated a wound at the base of the skull. “That wasn’t caused by the bullet exiting. This injury happened first. The second and third thoracic vertebrae are shattered and they in turn severed the spinal cord. In common parlance, she suffered a broken neck. She would have been completely paralyzed from the neck down.”

  “My God!”

  “It is most likely she remained conscious. I didn’t see any signs of concussion. And even with that sort of injury, she wouldn’t necessarily have died immediately. I’ve known a similar case. Remember Squire Otley from Bitterley?”

  “Dimly.”

  “His horse threw him when he was riding to hounds and he landed smack on top of his head. He was a big man and his neck was broken in three places. He couldn’t move a muscle, poor chap, but he could still talk. He was quite compos mentis. The servants carried him into the hall and he was able to tell everybody what sort of funeral arrangements he wanted. Made them promise they wouldn’t blame the horse. He said goodbye to his wife and kiddies who were all gathered around him. Terribly sad the whole thing. He lasted for seven or eight hours.” The coroner paused, lost in thought.

  “You’re saying Elsie could have lived after this injury?”

  “Yes, quite likely. But minutes, hours, there’s no way to know.”

  Tyler ran his hand over his hair. “In other words, she was lying there helplessly when her killer shot her? She would have seen him, probably understood what he intended to do, but been unable to move or defend herself.”

  “Yes. Precisely.”

  “And after he shot her, he moved her over to the hedge, and propped her up.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why? Why didn’t he just leave her where she was?”

  “That’s your province, Inspector, not mine. Maybe he intended to bury her in the woods but got interrupted or frightened and ran away.”

  Tyler didn’t think so. The careful arrangement of Elsie’s body was too deliberate. Too complete.

  “Anything else?”

  Murnaghan shook his head. “Nothing directly pertinent to her death, but I thought you might find this interesting.” He pulled away the sheet and pointed to a tattoo in the middle of Elsie’s left buttock. It was a heart shape around the word LOVE.

  “She couldn’t have drawn that on her rear end by herself. But it’s not a permanent tattoo. It was done with an indelible pencil. My wife uses one to mark the laundry, but that’s the first time I’ve seen it for tattooing.”

  “How long has it been there?”

  “Impossible to tell. On the laundry, it would last forever, but on human flesh, I can’t say. Maybe a week, maybe less. I’ve taken a photograph. I’ve got a dark room here; I’ll develop it for you. Let’s turn her back, shall we?” He covered Elsie with the sheet. “When can I release the body?”

  “We’re trying to contact her next of kin now,” answered Tyler.

  “Very good. I’ll have my report typed up and sent over to you with the effects.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  “Not all. I’m glad I could be of help.” For a moment, the coroner looked grim. “It’s easy to detach oneself in this line of work. You have to, really. A body ceases to be a person. But I think this death is particularly tragic. She had so much to live for. I hope you catch the blighter who did it.”

  They shook hands and Tyler went back upstairs. The nurse had left.

  The previous raucous evening that had followed the football game was taking its toll, and Tyler felt bone tired. However, he was propelled by a sense of urgency. The image of Elsie lying conscious while she saw her own death approaching had profoundly disturbed him. But it happened. It happened to soldiers on the battle field. He’d killed, himself. Fast, to be sure, but he’d bayonetted a German soldier who had fallen in the mud. As the man struggled to get to his feet, he’d looked into Tyler’s eyes. He’d known what was going to happen.

  Tyler shook himself like a dog coming out of the water, trying to shake the memory. It was war. The Jerry would have just as quickly and mercilessly killed him if he’d had the chance.

  18.

  SERGEANT BASIL GOUGH WAS BACK AND WAS SEATED behind the high counter in the front hall. He was working on one of his endless crossword puzzles. Gough’s passion for crosswords was legendary in the station. As Tyler entered, he put the paper aside.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  The aspirin was helping Tyler’s headache but he would have shaken hands with the devil for a beer.

  “Anything to report, Guffie?”

  “Yes, sir. We had a call from a Sergeant Donaldson in London. He said he was able to get hold of Mr. and Mrs. Bates, but they cannot do anything about their daughter just now. Might be several more days.”

  “Ring Dr. Murnaghan for me. The body will have to stay in the morgue until we get further instructions. Got any better news?”

  “The constables put what they collected into the gas mask boxes as you suggested. They are all there in the duty room.”

  “Anything interesting?”

  “No, really. The bullet hasn’t shown up yet. The rest of the stuff is mostly sweet wrappers, fag ends, and bits of newspapers. We haven’t had any luck with footprints or tire marks. Everywhere is so dry and dusty, Sherlock himself wouldn’t be able to make out anything. Constables Pearse and Eagleton are still out there. I told them to call it quits by seven and we could continue in the morning if we need to. Did you get anything from Mrs. Clark?”

  “She gave Elsie Bates a very good report. Mrs. Clark didn’t actually see
her leave this morning and she takes off her hearing aids for the night so she didn’t hear her either. There is a most convenient tree outside the girl’s room and, even more convenient, a ladder. I’m betting she left the house that way. She could have been anywhere and with anyone after eight o’clock last night until this morning. However, there’s something you should know. Dr. Murnaghan has done a post-mortem.” He filled the sergeant in on what the coroner had discovered.

  Gough whistled between his teeth. “Are we looking for one killer or two people working together?”

  “At this stage, it’s impossible to tell. All Dr. Murnaghan could say was that she was hit first and then shot. He couldn’t determine how much time elapsed. But we’ve got to get onto the vehicle right away. Start with registered vehicles in the vicinity. The car that knocked her over could have been coming from Edinburgh for all we know, but let’s not complicate our lives unless we have to. I want all available officers checking up on the owners. There can’t be that many people cruising around the countryside at six in the morning. Get alibis, as they say in the flicks.”

  “Will do. I’ll start on it myself.” Gough reached into the cubbyhole behind him. “Mustn’t forget. There are two messages for you, sir. A reporter named Madox from the Gazette rang and wants a statement.”

  “Like hell he does. He’s a prurient son of a bitch. Crass as a monkey. Give him a call. I don’t want to talk to him. Tell him it’s a suspicious death, but for God’s sake downplay it. He’ll have some mad killer running around the countryside raping and killing Land Army girls if he gets half a chance. Make murmurs about national security and so on. Also let him know I’ll kill him personally if he exploits this situation.”

  “Very good, sir. Would that be with your bare hands?”

  “Yes. What else?”

  “Do you want the other message, sir?”

  “Is it from Mrs. Fuller down the road offering to read our tea leaves? What would she tell us, Guff? ‘I see … I see a newspaper … white and black squares.’ ”

  “Sorry, sir,” said Gough, ducking his head in embarrassment. “I thought I’d keep myself busy …”