‘My team will handle it,’ put in Hallows quickly. ‘All as before.’
Charmian nodded. It was routine: first the Scene-of-the-Crime team – although the crime scene was probably miles away in both cases. The Surgeon, Photography, Forensics. Then off with the bodies to Dr Lily.
‘Two for the price of one,’ said Chance.
‘They’ll take for ever,’ said Hallows sadly.
Jamey Lily received the new bodies calmly later that day and put them into cold store while he finished up a recent drowning in the river Thames. Not his favourite corpse, the drowned, they smelled so.
But a body was a person and had to be received with dignity. They were stacking up, he thought, he still had not finished work on the first one. Better hurry on a bit. Stay later that night. He never minded night work.
He was interested in the sailor, more of a puzzle, might do that first, except that Hallows and Madam would be shouting.
Forensics had found an envelope in his pocket that gave him a name: Bill Henderson. Nothing else was found on him, but this scrap of paper had been overlooked.
Bill Henderson was what Lily described as a ‘dry job’: in other words he was sufficiently skeletalized to have no body fluids to deal with. He had said truthfully to Tiger Yardley that he had a blunted sense of smell, but he had to admit that when he made the deep abdomen incision on a dead body a wave of nausea often overcame him.
Bill gave him no trouble. A young man in his early twenties, he had been dead about fifty years. He had died from a blow to the head: the skull had a hole in it, and his left cheekbone was fractured. Not a fight, a deliberate act of murder.
Jamey made careful notes and took some photographs. The rest was up to the investigating team, but he prepared himself for any questions that might be asked.
‘I dare say you were a nice boy, Bill, but you certainly were an unlucky one. Still, never mind, in the fifty years since you got that gash you could have died anyway. And more painfully; there’s some nasty things around. I don’t suppose they’ll catch your killer, he’s probably dead. And between you and me, I don’t think they will try very hard with so much else to worry about. Murder’s booming round here.’
Jamey called his assistant to return the sailor’s body to the tray in the freezer which was its home until the coroner had decided what to do with it. A relative, a widow or even a child might come forward to decide Bill’s future. But they were all probably long gone.
He turned to his next task which was to check his findings of yesterday; he was not quite certain of his accuracy on one or two small points, on the body now identified as Daisy Winner.
This careful, pedestrian checking was not without pleasure to him, and was what had made him decide to be a forensic pathologist.
She was a reasonably fresh corpse and had not been dead very long when discovered, although she had been missing for some time.
Say a week to ten days, so many factors came into it, but he thought he could be precise and say seven days before discovery which meant that the body had been stowed away when Birdie Peacock and Winifred Eagle were moving in.
This date was not as surprising as it might have seemed because the house and garden were in some disarray. No one watched over the shop in Gallows Passage at night except for the odd ghost.
The young woman had not eaten much for some days before her death; there was little in her stomach. He must record however that there was evidence of a sedative drug.
Then the bag over the head.
Bruises on the hands as if she had been defending herself.
The telephone rang, he considered ignoring it, but as it went on ringing, he picked it up.
‘Dr Lily here.’
‘This is Tiger. What about coming out for a drink and a bite to eat?’
Jamey suddenly realized he was hungry. ‘Could do with a bite.’ Then his conscience gave him a nudge. ‘But I ought to work on.’ He wanted to do a good professional job, and as quickly as possible, because you never knew. Dealing with death so much, he felt time’s winged chariot hurrying up to him. As well it might be. Still, he was hungry. ‘Yeah, I’ll join you. Where?’
‘The pub on the hill.’
This was their usual drinking place where the food was good too. A quiet pub, a drinking man’s pub, to which tourists rarely found their way. The hill was not a hill but a gentle slope leading down to the river near Runnymede. King John may have sealed the Great Charter nearby, but his ghost did not walk.
‘Just give me a few minutes to tidy up. I’ll join you there.’
His assistant was already on his way out, but he stopped to give Dr Lily a questioning look.
‘You get off, Harry.’ Harry Easton was a good worker, and he and Lily worked in companionable silence most of the time, except when Harry wanted to tell Jamey about the successes of his family, a numerous, clever and competitive lot. ‘I’ll lock up and set the alarm switches.’
They were very security conscious in the pathology unit, although Jamey asked himself sometimes who would want to steal a body or the various bits and pieces appertaining to it, all carefully put back and labelled.
And needing high quality refrigeration to be tolerable.
The thought of the labelling reminded him that there was as yet no name for the new body tagged: ‘Woman, victim 3’ together with time and place of her discovery.
The woman with one eye removed.
He would be glad when he could put her name on the tag.
He parked his car next to Tiger’s at the Runnymede pub. If this area were ever flooded, and it could happen with rising Thames waters, the cars would be swept away.
I could swim for it, though, he said to himself.
Tiger was already seated in a corner with drinks and a pile of
sandwiches in front of him. Tiger pushed a drink towards him.
‘Dog’s Nose.’
Jamey looked at the dark glass, gin in a half of bitter. ‘ That
looks a powerful nose.’
‘Do you good.’
Tiger took a good drink, ate a ham sandwich, then leaned forward.
‘I hear that the latest body is the one that lost the eye. I wondered
when it would turn up.’
‘So did I.’
Tiger lowered his voice: ‘I wonder why her eye was taken out
and …’ he hesitated, having a feeling heart, ‘used the way it was.’ Jamey shook his head slowly. ‘Perhaps that was her seeing eye.’ ‘What does that mean?’ ‘There’s always a master eye.’ He finished his drink and took
up a sandwich. ‘Good sandwiches, Tiger.’
‘They do them well here.’
Jamey leaned forward. ‘ Something else, just for you, Tiger. I
haven’t done the post-mortem, just looked at her, but I can tell,
she was a little distorted, wouldn’t show up ordinarily, but to the
trained eye it is apparent. One leg is shorter than the other.’
‘That ought to make her easier to identify,’ said Tiger.
Charmian went to call on Birdie and Winifred that night.
‘Not come to arrest us?’ asked Birdie.
‘Shut up, Birdie.’ Winifred was quick to speak up. ‘Take no notice of her, Charmian.’ She led Charmian to a comfortable chair, made her sit down and poured a drink. ‘ You look done in. Had a bad day?’
‘So so. What about you?’
‘We went down to the police station and went over our statements again, with one of your acolytes.’
‘I know.’ Sergeant Lucas, one of Hallows’ young men, bright and good. Charmian had already seen a transcript.
‘Answered questions: same questions, same answers. The truth, you see. Can’t change it. He was polite enough.’
‘Glad to hear it.’ She paused. ‘The body of another woman has been found—’
‘Plastic bag?’ asked Winifred sharply.
After a moment, Charmian said: ‘Yes. Under the head this time
.’
Winifred studied her face. ‘It’s the poor creature who gave up an eye.’
‘Our eye,’ said Birdie. ‘ I think of it as our eye … watching.’
Winifred put out a hand. ‘Please, Birdie.’
Charmian said, as gently as she could: ‘We don’t know yet which of the missing women we have found, but I think it lets you out. I don’t believe you could have known her.’ Then she added: ‘And we are looking for Joseph Davy, the Horseman. He hasn’t yet been found. But we will find him.’
‘You think he’s the killer?’ Birdie spoke up. ‘ I couldn’t like a man who attacks animals.’
‘I don’t know that anyone likes him, but if he did the killings, and I am not saying that he did, he may have help. He’s a clever man, Birdie, and could get up to anything.’
‘Do you think he knows you are looking for him?’
‘I think he must do, not too difficult to guess.’
‘Or someone might have told him,’ said Birdie. Charmian had thought of that, and it was just what was worrying her.
Chapter Nine
The identity of the woman buried in the horse trough was soon discovered. Charmian realized almost at once who this victim was and chose to visit her parents herself.
The body was in the police forensic laboratory where Dr Lily was in charge. He had promised that the body would be ‘ neat’ for inspection by any next of kin, and should he put a name on her?
Not just yet, Charmian had said.
She was Louise Sherry from Old Windsor, that part of Windsor which was older than the castle itself, being the village that had seen the Normans come, had provided the slave labour to build the first castle on its great mound of earth, and had now become a comfortable suburb hanging upon its royal neighbour. It had the oldest church in the town and if excavated would have provided evidence of a settlement there since the hominids first raised their heads and walked.
The Sherry family lived in a large detached house with a well cared for garden all around it. There were two cars parked in the drive. But signs of neglect were creeping up on it: the grass needed cutting, the brass on the front door was dull.
Charmian hesitated before ringing the bell, knowing that she was going to bring great unhappiness to this already beleaguered household which must already suspect what had happened to their child. The newspapers had filled in the details of the women so far found. The headlines had been strong.
She had Dolly Barstow with her because Dolly could be very steady and calm on such occasions. It was not an errand that Charmian had to perform often these days as the head of SRADIC, but she had met Mrs Sherry once at a party in the castle, and she felt this was something she had to do herself.
Dolly had studied her face, and offered her support, which, with some gratitude, Charmian had accepted. They had both seen the photograph of the body which they must show to Peter and Martha Sherry to see if this was their child.
‘All the physical details match; Charmian said. ‘ The body has been tidied up and made as presentable as possible. It’s going to be tough, I know, but better than being ushered in to see the body.’ She paused, still not ringing the bell. ‘Although that will have to come. One of them will have to do it. Make the formal identification.’
‘It might not be Louise.’
‘If it isn’t we will have to go to some colleagues or friends of Lily Green’s in Bredon.’
She rang the bell. ‘We’re expected, they know why we have come, someone is watching from the window.’
Now, in the presence of Martha Sherry, Dolly was glad she had come. While the husband was quiet and wretched, Martha was raging. She said nothing, stayed quiet when her husband greeted Charmian and Dolly, but the fury showed in her eyes.
There was rage here that was going to be vented on someone. Unconsciously, Dolly positioned herself nearer to Charmian.
‘We know why you’ve come,’ said Peter Sherry. ‘You’ve found her, she’s dead.’
‘A body was found yesterday,’ said Charmian.
‘Yesterday. Why did you wait?’
‘We needed to check certain things.’ Charmian was evasive. ‘I’d like you to look at a photograph. But it may not be Louise.’ She held the photograph back, not wanting to be quick about handing it over.
‘But you think so. Let me see the photograph.’ Peter Sherry reached out. ‘ Let me have it, I’ve got to see.’
They were still standing in the hall, the parents by the front door, and a young girl looking at them from the stairs.
‘In a minute. Can we go through to the sitting room?’ She put the photograph into her briefcase.
She walked forward, not waiting, into a room that bore the same signs of neglect as other things about the Sherry house. Charmian had seen it all before, could even have predicted the disarray. Grief, anxiety, worry about what was happening took you that way. She finally reached into her briefcase for the photograph.
Martha Sherry pushed at her and grabbed the picture. Then she began to scream.
‘Martha, darling,’ said her husband, trying to control her. He took the photograph from her and handed it back to Charmian.
‘It’s her, it’s Lou. Couldn’t you have managed an easier photograph?’ He turned away to the window, leaving his wife, no longer screaming but giving hiccuping moans. Dolly went up to her to see what she could do.
Martha Sherry pushed her away. ‘Don’t for God’s sake offer me a cup of tea.
The other daughter slid into the room. ‘Shut up. Be quiet, Mum. You’re not helping anyone. Let me see.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Charmian tucked the photograph away. ‘Your parents have identified your sister.’
‘She’s my sister, I want to see her.’
‘Later, perhaps.’ Charmian knew she wasn’t handling this well. She sent a look for help to Dolly.
‘Don’t look,’ said Peter Sherry from the window, his back still towards them. He swung round. ‘I’ll come with you now, do the formal identification. Get it over.’ He spoke to his daughter. ‘ Frances, look after your mother.’
‘I want to come.’
He ignored her, addressing himself to Charmian. ‘I’m ready. You can leave that other one here if you want. Stop my wife killing herself.’
Charmian understood well that his normal good manners had been burned away by grief, leaving a rock bottom of communication between two human animals. He could use language, grace had gone.
Martha followed them to the door, moving herself decisively away from Dolly Barstow. ‘You go with them, you’re not wanted. I’m not going to kill myself. I know what’s going on, we all do. I know all about that shop. It’s the witches, they did it. I am going to kill those two cursed women.’
Frances came up behind and put her arm round her mother.
Charmian ignored the threat to Birdie and Winifred. ‘Frances, help your mother.’
‘Oh I am going to help her,’ said Frances. ‘If she doesn’t kill them, then I will.’
‘Nice family,’ murmured Dolly to Charmian as they drove off. Peter Sherry had refused the offer of a lift, and was in front of them in his own car. ‘You have to give them their grief, I suppose.’ She looked at the car ahead of them. ‘Is he safe to drive?’
‘He’ll get there.’
She drove on, keeping Peter Sherry in sight. He was not driving fast.
‘They’ve got two cars, haven’t they?’
Dolly thought for a minute. ‘Yes, saw two in the drive.’
At the main road, where they were stopped by a traffic light, Charmian said: ‘I am going to let you off round the corner where I can park, and I want you to go round to Birdie and Winifred, tell them in a tactful way not to let anyone in.’
Dolly sat quiet as the light changed and Charmian drove on, then stopped the car. ‘Are you saying you think Mrs Sherry will really go for them?’
‘She might, she’s unbalanced, I think. Can’t blame her. They ought to be warned. But don’t
frighten them.’
Dolly nodded, thinking that while in the normal way it was not easy to frighten the two witches – usually they did the frightening – this time she thought Birdie was nervous. Thanks, she thought, as she watched Charmian drive off. Nice job.
Charmian had lost Peter Sherry, but she caught him further down the road where he had parked. He had his head on his hands, resting on the wheel. He looked up when Charmian banged on the door.
‘Sorry about that,’ he said. ‘I just had to move. Where is it I am to go?’
He got out and stood on the kerb by her.
‘I understand …’ She thought she did. But she didn’t, not altogether.
‘It was because of the way Lou was, you see. She was so pretty but …’ he hesitated ‘she wasn’t clever’ He swallowed hard. ‘She was what they call subnormal … and she trusted the world. It explains the baby, you see. She was … innocent. The child will be cared for – don’t worry. But I wanted to explain about Lou.’
Charmian nodded. ‘I didn’t know.’
‘We didn’t want anyone to know … No one knew, that’s what we hoped. Kidding ourselves, of course. She went to a special school and then we moved house. Used to live the other side of Windsor, in Merrywick … She looked so pretty, then came that picture.’ He was silent for a minute, and then: ‘ You know what my wife said about killing? I had a flash of the same feeling when I saw that picture. I would kill whoever did that to Louie. I was filled with the feeling that only a killing, any death, would do.’ He gave a half ironic laugh. ‘And that’s me, I am a vegetarian, don’t even want to kill a chicken. Have you ever felt like that?’
Charmian shook her head. But I might one day, who knows, she thought.
He was crying.
‘She had a very loving heart, our little Louie, you could see it in her eyes.’
‘I am sorry I had to show you that photograph.’
‘Thank you …’ He meant it. He gathered himself together and went towards his car. ‘ So which way?’
‘Follow me.’ We will go through this together, she thought. Whether he knows it or not, and I think he does know it, he is punishing me for being the messenger.
Stone Dead Page 14
