Stone Dead

by Jennie Melville

  Dolly knew it wasn’t magic but hard work which sometimes got results and yet sometimes did not. She had known from the beginning that she would end up in a room, possibly underground with artificial lighting, going through document files and record books.

  She had been received politely by a secretary, and then by another secretary, also polite.

  ‘We keep records, of course, it’s necesary in our trade.’ Ha ha, short laugh at the idea of people pretending to be a doctor. ‘Have to be able to check. If required. Oh yes, you had better go into Records yourself.’

  Instead of going down, she was carried up by an escalator to the top of the building where she was not in the dark at all but in a room flooded with light.

  ’70s, I think,’ she said, in answer to a query from the guardian of the records. ‘ Late ’70s, I fancy.’

  They were, of course, microfilmed, group photographs as well, so that concentration was necessary.

  She was surprised at how many J. Davys there were. One or two clearly girls.

  Each first year had a group photograph.

  She studied each group in which a J. Davy figured, trying to recognize a so much younger face. Hard to do.

  Eventually, she settled on the lists and photographs of two years in the mid ’70s. Best I can do, she told herself. She took them up to the desk of the archivist. ‘Can I have these photocopied?’

  ‘Sure.’ A nod directed her to a row of photocopying machines. ‘Over there.’

  Dolly stationed herself at a machine at the end of the row where she could not be easily overlooked, but there was only one other person there, a woman who showed no interest in Dolly.

  ‘All the first-year students are there?’ she asked as she came back.

  ‘Yes, with a tutor and a lecturer.’ Dolly tucked them away in her big shoulder bag. Best I can do, she told herself. See what ma’am makes of them.

  Charmian looked at the lists. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Well done, Dolly.’

  Dolly preened herself. She too thought she had done well. ‘What about the photographs? Hard to tell one face from another. You need a magnifying glass.’

  Charmian produced one, and bent over the two group pictures, studying the faces.

  ‘Faces change so, more than you think,’ said Dolly. ‘I’m not good at faces, couldn’t do much with them. Sorry about that.’

  Charmian leaned back in her chair. ‘Don’t be sorry. Leave it all with me. I am getting thoughts.’

  ‘Right then.’ Dolly went to get some coffee and then drove herself home. She felt she deserved a break as it was now early evening. Not that she had an interesting evening ahead: the television or silence.

  She could get nervous when Charmian had what she called ‘thoughts’. You never knew what would happen.

  Earlier, that same day, even before Dolly Barstow set forth on her hunt, Charmian and George Rewley had sat discussing the case; they were in her car, outside Rewley’s bachelor flat.

  ‘The two witches are out of it now,’ he had said. ‘Not even Sid Chance who badly wanted it to be one of them at the beginning thinks so now.’

  ‘I thought it was Deast who was pressing for them.’

  ‘Chance as well, but he didn’t want you to know what he thought.’

  ‘They are my friends, and I like to think my friends are not murderers,’ said Charmian. ‘But I hope he realizes I wouldn’t let friendship corrupt my mind.’

  ‘Apart from anything else, whoever is doing the killings has to have a car or a van that could be used to transport the victims. Likewise, the strength to kill them, carry them and bury them. We are looking at a man, here.’

  ‘I agree. The Horseman does have a car, an elderly but large saloon, possibly the one in which Birdie was accosted. It was left outside the Great Park, but is now gone.’

  ‘With him in it,’ said Rewley. ‘Be good if we could find it, and get Birdie to identify it. Better still if it had plastic bags and a spade inside.’

  ‘Victoria Janus’s car did have plastic bags and a spade inside it. Still had when she was found.’

  ‘She’s out anyway.’

  ‘Gardening, she said. Forensics couldn’t find anything.’

  ‘Perhaps it was gardening.’

  ‘I don’t think so, somehow.’

  ‘Maybe she was working with the Horseman.’

  ‘It’s possible.’

  Charmian had sat very still, the sun shining through the car window on to her hair. Rewley was casually dressed in a soft shirt and jeans. Working clothes.

  ‘I bet you keep a neat flat,’ said Charmian, looking up at the windows of his third-floor home.

  ‘Not bad.’ He sounded surprised. ‘Would you like to come up and have a cup of coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks but no, I want you out on the trail.’

  ‘I thought Dolly was.’

  ‘Yes, but this is different. You’re the intellectual in this team.’

  Again he was surprised. ‘I wouldn’t say that.’

  ‘Think about the places where the victims have been found: Dragon’s Hill, probably Dagon’s Hill, pre-Christian, perhaps pre-Celtic, then in a Roman coffin, which in its time may have been used for a Saxon burial. This earlier victim, hanged probably. Judicial murder there, it’s true. Then Archer’s Piece in Ledbourne Park. Think archaeology, Rewley. Find out if the Horseman had interests that way, if he had friends who were archaeologists, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Will that help us find the Horseman?’

  ‘I’ve got Dolly trying to find out if he ever had any medical training, now I want you to find out if prehistory interested him. It all goes to fill out his character, and that may help us find him.’

  She started the car. ‘Have a good day.’

  Left to himself, Rewley wondered where he was going to start.

  Public library, I know the woman there, get a list of local societies

  interested in historical sites.

  Molly Garden responded to his ‘Hello, Molly’ with good grace since it had been some months since they had last had a drink or gone to the theatre or to a concert together.

  Rewley was aware, in an embarrassed way, that he had dropped out of her life, but he dropped out of many people’s lives as he travelled in and out of SRADIC’s cases.

  He told her what he wanted and she nodded, and returned with a pile of pamphlets. ‘ Here you are: Local History Society, Archaeology of Surrey, Our Past in Pictures, Society to Protect our Ancient Sites.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Here are a few more, all have the secretary’s name and address from whom you can make enquiries.’

  In an awkward way, Rewley hesitated at the door, then he turned back.

  ‘There’s a good concert in the Guildhall next week … I wonder—’

  Before he could finish, she said: ‘But of course, you don’t know … I am getting married next week. John Lodger … he’s a doctor, a GP. We shall be living in Frimley.’

  He was ashamed of himself for being relieved as he walked away.

  At the end of four hours, he had spoken in person to each secretary, as well as scanning the available membership lists.

  After a fruitless morning, he took himself to a pleasant pub he knew down by the river not far from Runnymede where you could get a decent sandwich, a good sherry and a strong cup of coffee to go with it.

  Since the Duke of Wellington was a pub much favoured by his fellow officers, he was not surprised to see Sergeant Yardley tucked away in one corner with a mate. He did not recognize the man who had his back towards the room but as he got up to get another drink, he saw it was Dr Jamey Lily. He hardly knew the man himself but knew he was a friend of Tiger’s.

  Everyone knew Tiger and everyone was his friend. Obliged to be. Tiger beamed at you, slapped your arm, and as you reeled away from the force of it, claimed you as his own. Rewley never dared to think what treatment an enemy of Tiger’s got.

  Tiger waved a great paw. ‘Come and join us, h
ave a drink … Jamey, go and get one. Dry sherry? See, I remember.’

  Jamey trotted away to get the sherry; he seemed obedient to what Tiger ordered.

  ‘That’s a good boy,’ said Tiger, as he came back. He himself was drinking a dark, thick beer known locally as Tinkling’s Windsor Special.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Rewley politely to Dr Lily who seemed to be drinking either plain tonic or gin and tonic.

  ‘How’s the case going?’ asked Tiger. ‘What does your boss lady say?’

  Rewley shrugged. ‘Not much.’

  ‘Too many bodies, eh? Biggest murder case we’ve had in Windsor ever.’

  ‘Not all in Windsor.’

  ‘No, they are scattered about a bit,’ agreed Tiger jovially. ‘I blame the witches … oh, I don’t say they did the murders, but being what they are, opening that shop, it roused up feelings, attracted the wrong sort.’

  ‘You seem to be enjoying it, Tiger.’

  ‘It’s of interest, I won’t deny. I have to tell Mum all the fresh details every night or she can’t sleep. Now the Janus woman has been done—’ he shook his head – ‘I think she knew the killer and was going to tell Chief Superintendent Daniels … I think she was about to say as much in the bookshop … I told you, Jamey, didn’t I? She looked hard at the Chief Superintendent, those two knew each other, did you know that? That’s interesting too. Mum thinks that’s important.’ He took a deep swig of Tinkling’s Windsor Special. ‘Anything new?’

  Rewley shook his head. ‘Looking for Joe Davy still. But we’ll get him. He’ll turn up.’

  ‘He’s good at hiding is Joe, always was.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course, you know him.’

  ‘Know of him more than know him – not a friend. Chief Superintendent Daniels wanted me to tell all I knew, which I did. Don’t know if it helped. Did she say?’

  Rewley shook his head. ‘Not to me.’

  ‘We grew up in the same district, went to the same school, not at the same time, he’s years younger than I am. The old school’s gone now, knocked down, but it had its legends, he’ll have picked them up. Legends are magic, they shape you. There’s a lot of legends when you are growing up.’

  ‘Like what’s under the floorboards?’

  ‘The porn mags? Like that,’ agreed Tiger with no embarrassment. ‘No harm there. Not like now. Times have changed.’

  ‘So what legend shaped the Horseman?’

  Tiger was silent for a moment. ‘I don’t know there. I heard his old man used to beat his mother, perhaps that was it.’

  ‘Some mothers need it,’ said Jamey. ‘Mine did. Never got it, though.’

  ‘Did she beat you then, Jamey?’ Tiger felt awkward but wanted to know.

  He grinned. ‘Not me.’

  ‘Some people are just born bad, Tiger,’ said Rewley.

  Tiger nodded sadly. ‘’ Fraid so.’

  ‘We’ve got to find him, Tiger, before he kills again. Got any ideas?’

  Tiger pursed his lips. ‘ Just look around, he liked the area, did Joe, he won’t go out of it. In one of his haunts, I guess.’

  ‘Was he interested in archaeology? The Chief Superintendent thinks he was.’

  ‘I dunno, no, can’t help you there.’

  ‘I’ve got to look.’ Rewley drained his glass. Not getting much help here.

  ‘Get a map,’ said Tiger. He turned again to Dr Lily. ‘Get the man another drink, Jamey, he needs strength.’ Rewley felt he had wasted half the day. Nothing. NOTHING.

  Since he was in their neighbourhood, near to the shop, he went in to see the witches. They were busy in their shop, – they had been allowed back – and were hard at work tidying up, assisted by some white witches. Both Birdie and Winifred were friendly and willing to be helpful. Frostie, the tall, elegant one, nodded to him as she repaired their computer. ‘Police did this in, dears, I’ll have to re-programme it.’

  Rewley muttered about a few questions.

  ‘Don’t know anything, dear boy, you know we’d help if we could.’ Birdie sneezed with the dust rising from a book which had rested on the floor. She shook it and sneezed again. ‘Another Ripper story, but they are so popular.’

  Winifred said: ‘We are so aggrieved about Victoria Janus; neither of us liked her or even trusted her, but killed like that … she must have known something. It wasn’t like the other poor women.’

  ‘Like enough,’ said Birdie. ‘I’m lucky it wasn’t me.’

  Rewley realized he was talking to a near victim, a survivor, who had actually seen the Horseman trying for a victim.

  ‘You thought it was a woman?’

  ‘Only at first. Afterwards, I wondered. Biggish hands. But not clumsy, no, not clumsy.’

  Not clumsy, thought Rewley, no, the Horseman had not been clumsy with his hands. He went and sat on a bench at the bottom of the hill, in sight still of Gallows Passage.

  I need help, he told himself.

  He drove back to the library where his soon to be wed friend was still at work. She looked up, raised an eyebrow and smiled. ‘What? Still at it?’

  ‘I need help.’

  ‘Again?’

  ‘Yes, have you got a map of ancient sites … they don’t have to be too ancient,’ he said hastily. ‘Nor tourist ridden, not like the Kennedy Memorial, or Runnymede island.’

  She shook her head, rummaged beneath her desk and produced one. ‘And this is mine. So this too is a loan. Can I have it back?’

  Rewley drove slowly around the area, consulting the map at intervals.

  No, not here, even if there were the remains of a Roman villa, too near the main road.

  Not here either, the remains of a Cistercian monastery. Yes, hidden, bleak and isolated even now, but not hidden from the motorway roaring away below. Someone would see you digging, you could bet on it.

  Nor the third, an anonymous looking mound, because there was no road nearby, not even a track, too far to carry a body. Rewley looked from a distance and drove. The name had attracted him – Woden’s grave – but he rejected it as a grave for the Horseman’s victims.

  But the fourth spot, simply called the Wick, was more interesting. On rising ground, with a view of the river, and a crest of trees and bushes.

  A wick was where you took your cattle and valuables and sometimes yourself when the Vikings came marauding up the river.

  A narrow road, lined with trees and very private, led to the Wick.

  Rewley parked his car and walked up to the Wick. Inside the circle of trees was a small patch of roughisn ground covered in weeds and leaves.

  He pushed the leaves aside with his foot. The ground underneath had been disturbed.

  He stood looking at the earth in thought. Then he went back to the car to call Charmian.

  She answered at once. ‘ Yes? You’ve got something?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve got the Horseman, but I may have found another grave.’

  There was silence at the other end. Then she said: ‘You know what to do. Get all the right people there. I will be over.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Charmian and George Rewley stood together, at a distance from

  where the digging was going on, but well able to see into the hole. ‘Something there,’ said Rewley suddenly (he was blessed with

  excellent long range vision).

  ‘I knew there would be.’ Charmian walked towards the digging,

  her eyes fixed on what was ahead.

  Rewley followed her, and noises behind signalled the arrival of

  Dolly Barstow. He swung round to look at her.

  ‘What’s up? Oh well, I can make a guess. Another one for us.’

  One of the constables knelt down, delicately moved the soil

  across the face of the body with his gloved hand.

  The face was masked with a tightly drawn plastic bag but the

  outline was visible. Undeniably female.

  On top of the plastic was a scattering of coins and one twenty

&
nbsp; pound note.

  Charmian stared then turned away. ‘It’s Mary Jersey, her bank

  card was used … he’s given her the money back.’

  ‘Why?’ said Dolly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Who knows.’ Charmian called to Rewley, ‘Tell them to be careful,

  I think there’s another body underneath. I saw a foot. It will probably

  be Lily Green, she’s the only one left.’

  Dolly said: ‘Let’s wait in the car, it’s beginning to rain.’

  When they were sitting in Charmian’s car, Rewley said: ‘You

  don’t sound too surprised.’

  Charmian thought about it. ‘No,’ she said slowly. ‘There was

  just something about the leaves and so on that worried me.’

  ‘And the second body is underneath?’

  ‘Yes, Must be Lily Green.’

  ‘Must be,’ said Dolly. ‘I wish we could catch this bloody man. Where the hell is he?’

  They sat in silence. ‘Shall I go and get us coffee?’ asked Rewley as time passed.

  ‘Not for me, thank you.’

  Dolly licked her dry lips, she would have welcomed some coffee. When had she last eaten? She could hardly remember. Breakfast had been nothing to shout about. She looked at Rewley but he shook his head.

  One of the uniformed men was more helpful because he brought them in beakers of coffee from the Incident Room just improvised in a van.

  ‘Thanks.’ Dolly was pleased. ‘Gratefully received. Got any biscuits?’

  ‘Only plain ones, Inspector.’

  ‘Anything. I am hollow inside.’

  They had finished their coffee while the first inspection of the two bodies was under way. Then Sergeant Dawes, who was in charge of the men doing the digging, came over and tapped on the window.

  ‘I wonder if you would mind coming to take a look, ma’am.’

  Charmian was already getting out of the car. ‘ Of course. What is it?’

  Leading the way forward, he explained: ‘One way and another, I’ve had a bit of experience with these matters … and I had a look at the pile of leaves to the right of where we found these two bodies. I think it would be worth investigating.’