by Alex Walters
'You know DI Winterman?'
'I work with him.' Taking pity, she added, 'On the civilian side, you understand. I'm trying to track him down. Do you know where he is?'
'I'm not sure that I should–'
'It's just that I've some information he asked me to collect for him. I'd understood he needed it urgently.'
'If you pass it to me, I'll make sure he gets it. As far as I know, he's over attending to the other murder enquiry with DS Spooner.'
The reference to another murder enquiry meant nothing to Mary, unless it was a reference to the Fisher case. She decided it wasn't the time to express her ignorance. 'That's very kind of you. Perhaps that would be okay.' She pretended to hesitate. 'But it's all rather complicated and he was adamant I should give it directly to him. DI Winterman can be a little crotchety if he thinks his instructions aren't being followed to the letter.' She was doing her best to avoid Brain's eye as she spoke.
The officer looked back over his shoulder. 'We're nearly done here so we'll be heading over there ourselves shortly. We're just waiting for the ambulance team to collect the body.'
Brain leaned forward eagerly. 'If it helps, I'm happy to keep an eye on things till they turn up. No sense in wasting your time.'
The officer had the grace to know when he was beaten. 'Okay, give us a few minutes and we'll head on over there.' He tuned and stamped across the snow-covered ground.
'Thanks, Bryan,' Mary said. 'I owe you a favour.'
Brain coloured slightly. 'Just doing my job. Anyway, it's nice to remind that bunch that I exist. What do you think he meant by another murder enquiry?'
'The Reverend Fisher's death, I imagine. Probably the inspector's having to brief them or something.' Even as she spoke the words, she realised she didn't believe them. Her thoughts were ill formed and unsubstantiated but the sequence of events – Marsh's disappearance, the spilled blood – had left her fearing the worst.
Chapter 50
After finishing with Pyke, Winterman donned a pair of the clean cotton gloves he always carried and made a careful examination of the other downstairs rooms in the cottage. He proceeded cautiously, mindful of the risk of disturbing fingerprints and other possible evidence, but was able to examine the drawers and cupboards in the kitchen and hallway with reasonable thoroughness.
A cupboard in the hall contained a substantial pile of paperwork, but a brief examination of the contents revealed nothing of interest – electricity and gas bills, water-rates, some contracts for acting work, a couple of battered scripts. The kitchen drawers contained more paperwork, again mostly trivial – an unused 1946 diary, some handwritten copies of recipes. Tucked into a drawer near the cooker, he found a manila envelope containing four five-pound notes. Conceivably, this might be the remnants of a blackmail payout. More likely, it was simply money put aside for some domestic purpose. They could have the bank notes checked, but Winterman had little hope of a positive result.
The other kitchen cupboards were full of standard domestic detritus – brushes, a dustpan, a galvanised mop bucket. Nothing likely to be significant, though it would all need to be examined in due course.
He was disturbed from his half-hearted task by an imperious hammering at the front door. It took him a moment to unlock the door, and before he had it fully open, Spooner was already pushing past him into the hallway.
'Bloody hell, Winterman, hurry up. It's brass monkeys out here.'
Outside, Winterman could see a long black police car – rather larger than their own Wolseley. A Jaguar saloon. That, he supposed, was a measure of Spooner's style. Two plain-clothed officers were huddled by the car, clearly feeling the cold but showing no sign of following Spooner into the cottage. Spooner was going to make sure his back was fully covered before he allowed any witnesses to be present.
'Good to see you, sir,' Winterman said. 'You've made good time.'
'I'm not one to dawdle with something as serious as this, Winterman. Mind you, this bloody snow's a nightmare. They've got some of the main roads cleared, but it's all treacherous. Still, change on the way, or so they reckon.' He stopped and looked around him at the impressively decorated hallway and let out a low whistle. 'Nice looking place. This belong to the victim?'
'One Howard Merriman. Alias Howard Martin.'
'Alias?'
'An actor. Martin was his stage name.'
'Oh, I see.' Spooner's tone suggested actors were barely worthy of police attention. 'Okay, fill me in.' With his squat figure and brindled hair, Spooner resembled an overgrown badger.
'There's one thing you ought to know first of all, sir.' Winterman paused for a moment, savouring Spooner's expression of baffled anxiety. 'The individual who found the body is known to us.'
'Predictable enough,' Spooner snorted. 'Bloody actors.'
'I meant someone we've worked with. Doctor Pyke, actually.'
Spooner gazed back at Winterman in blank bafflement. 'Pyke? The quack?'
'The pathologist, yes, sir.'
'He found the body?' Winterman knew from previous dealings with Spooner that his favoured tactic was to repeat his interlocutor's words until there was no possible room for ambiguity.
'The body's out in the garden. Doctor Pyke found it this morning.'
Spooner blinked, still not quite absorbing what Winterman was saying. 'Pyke found the body? What the bloody hell was Pyke doing here?'
'He was staying here, apparently. He was a friend of the deceased.'
'So that's why we couldn't find the bugger, eh? Anyone remind him that he's paid to do a job? Still, convenient that he's here. Presumably he can give us the gen on the body.'
'With respect, sir, I'm not sure that would be entirely appropriate.'
Spooner blinked again and the badger resemblance grew even more pronounced. 'You mean–?'
'I'm afraid so. We have to treat him as a suspect. At least for the moment.' Winterman felt a little guilty at immediately leading Spooner in this direction, particularly after his promises to Pyke. But Spooner would have reached the same conclusion himself soon enough. 'He was the only other person in the house. His story is that he stayed overnight and that he came down this morning to find Merriman's body out in the garden. There's no particular reason to doubt that but–'
Spooner was catching on rapidly now. 'But if we don't it means that Merriman was killed by person or persons unknown.'
'As you say.' Winterman was settling into the flow of this new relationship with Spooner. 'Of course, it's quite possible that that was the case.'
'But for the moment we should stick with the obvious.'
'Or at least not discount it. Quite so. Occam's razor and all that.' As he spoke the latter words, it occurred to Winterman that Spooner might take that as a reference to the murder weapon. 'Probably best if I show you the body first, and then we can decide what to do with Pyke.'
'You've not interviewed him yet?'
'I thought that best left for your arrival, sir. Given the sensitivities. DC Hoxton is looking after him through there.' Winterman gestured towards the sitting room at the end of the hall. 'The body's this way.' He led Spooner into the kitchen. The back door had been left ajar and, by contrast with the rest of the house, the room was now chilly. Winterman pointed out into the garden. Spooner followed with more elephantine steps, apparently careless of the impact on any evidence.
Spooner's eyes followed the pointing finger to where Merriman's body lay prone in the snow. 'Bloody hell. Stabbed?'
'Stabbed. It may be only coincidence but the positioning of the body is almost identical to that of Reverend Fisher's.' Winterman thought there was no harm in bringing this point to Spooner's attention at the earliest opportunity.
'Reverend…? Oh, the murdered sky pilot. Just the same, eh? That's interesting.'
'It may be. Two almost identical stabbings in an area like this in a few days does seem unlikely.'
'Any reason for Pyke to be in the frame for Fisher's murder?'
'Not that I'm aw
are of. But obviously it's not an angle we've pursued. Pyke actually did the examination of Fisher's body, but there's no other connection I know of.'
'That doesn't mean there isn't one,' Spooner pointed out. 'Or that Pyke didn't decide to copy what had been done to Fisher. Throw us off the scent.'
Spooner moved to stand close to the door. He showed no inclination to venture out into the garden, though it was unclear whether this was the result of squeamishness or aversion to the cold.
'What about motive?'
'Difficult to say, until we've interviewed Pyke. We don't know the nature of his relationship with Merriman.'
Winterman had tried to keep his voice neutral but it was clear that Spooner's investigatory antennae were functioning.
'Relationship? They had a relationship?'
'I presume so. Of some sort. Doctor Pyke stayed here last night.'
'Just good friends, eh? Or are you suggesting something more?'
'Just giving you the facts, sir.'
'What you'd expect though, isn't it? Bloody actors. Nancy boys.'
'A little outside my experience, I'm afraid,' Winterman said. 'And I don't really know about pathologists.'
Spooner stared at him for a moment, as though suspecting irony. 'Is that what this is then? A lover's tiff?'
'Rather serious for a tiff. But I suppose that's one possibility.'
'How did Pyke seem?'
'Shaken, as you'd expect. But no more than anyone would be who'd just found a friend murdered, I'd say. Any kind of friend.' Winterman was conscious he was drifting away from the tone of neutrality he'd been striving to maintain. 'He didn't seem like someone who had just committed a murder, but the ones who have usually don't.'
'That's true enough.' Spooner gestured out towards the garden. 'What about those footprints in the snow? Whose are they?'
'We need to get them looked at properly, see if there's anything that can be sketched. I've not gone too close because I didn't want to risk disturbing the site till the doc had looked at the body. They're fairly jumbled but my impression is that there are two sets leading from the body. Pyke said one of them was his.'
Spooner raised an eyebrow. 'Pyke's?'
'Yes, he says he went out to examine the body and saw a trail of footprints leading round to the front of the house. Also reckons there are some tyre marks in the snow on the road.'
'All very convenient. We can follow the tyre tracks all the way back to the murderer's house, no doubt.'
'Not if the main road's been cleared. Pity.' Winterman smiled to show Spooner he was sharing the other man's irony.
'Okay,' Spooner said, 'let's get the show on the road. 'The quack's on his way. We called Carson because we couldn't run Pyke to ground, but I sent him out to the kiddie's body first with a couple of my team. From what you said, we needed to get that one sorted before some old biddy stumbled across it. But I've got a couple of trained crime scene officers here. I'll get them started on the ground around the body till Carson turns up.' He paused. 'So what about the kiddies' bodies, Winterman? What's that all about?'
'I haven't the foggiest, sir. It's like nothing I've ever seen. Three children's bodies. Dead for years. Noone reported missing. Makes no sense at all.'
'Christ, Winterman, I'll say one thing for you. You know how to make things happen. We send you out to the back of beyond, and not only do the locals drop like flies, but you even manage to conjure corpses out of nowhere. Must be some sort of gift.'
'Not one I'd recommend acquiring, sir.'
'You don't think there's any link with this? Or with the sky pilot's murder?'
'Who knows? Fisher found one of the children's bodies, but that could have just been coincidence. There's nothing so far to link Merriman with them.'
'Except that he's a nancy boy.'
'I don't think that implies any link in itself, sir,' Winterman said smoothly. 'Even if Merriman was a homosexual, my understanding is that that just means he was sexually attracted to men. Nothing else.'
'A deviant's a deviant in my book.'
And a very enlightening book that must be, Winterman thought. 'I suppose we have to keep an open mind.'
'That's the spirit, Winterman. Let's see what Pyke's got to say for himself.' He smiled. 'Should make quite an entertaining exchange. Last time I saw our Doctor Pyke, he was on his high horse because I'd supposedly messed up some of his precious evidence. I'm going to enjoy taking him down a peg or two.'
Chapter 51
With one final glance at the prone body, Spooner strode back out into the hallway. In the process, Winterman noticed, his heavy boots managed to stamp very effectively on any lingering evidence that might have been left on the kitchen floor. Still, Pyke was in no position to complain.
Spooner was halfway across the hallway when there was a further knock at the door. He looked back quizzically at Winterman, who took his cue and moved past Spooner to open it. He was greeted by the long morose face of Carson, the pathologist. 'DI Winterman,' he intoned, solemnly then, glancing over Winterman's shoulder, he added, 'And Superintendent Spooner. I believe we have another body?'
By contrast with Pyke, who had always maintained a degree of gallows humour, Carson seemed singularly well fitted to his job. He exuded a deathly air, and any lingering lightness of spirit tended to evaporate in his presence. But – and this was his only similarity to Pyke – he knew his job inside out.
'We do indeed,' Spooner said. 'Give him the guided tour, Winterman.'
Winterman led Carson into the kitchen and pointed to the French windows. 'The body's out there in the garden. You can't miss it.'
A faint smile played across Carson's lugubrious face. 'If I have any difficulty, I'll come back for more detailed directions. By the way, there's someone outside waiting to see you.' He spoke the last words in a slightly clandestine tone, as though it were some secret between the two of them.
Winterman nodded his thanks and stepped back into the hall, intrigued. Spooner was standing near the door of the living room, clearly eager to begin his interview with Pyke. Winterman gestured to the front door. 'Someone wants me, apparently. You go on, sir. If you want someone to take notes, DC Hoxton's very experienced. I'll be with you shortly.'
Spooner looked irritated, presumably because Winterman was exercising some independence of thought. 'I'll wait. You know the background.'
'I'll be as quick as I can.'
Winterman peered out the front door, half expecting to find Marsh standing outside. Instead, Mary was waiting a few yards away, close by a newly arrived Humber police car. Winterman glanced back over his shoulder. Spooner had moved so that he could follow Winterman's gaze out of the front door. His expression of irritation was mingled with one of undisguised curiosity.
'Inspector, I've brought the information you asked for,' Mary called.
Winterman was fazed for only a second or two, glad that his back was to Spooner. 'Thanks, Mary. Well done for tracking me down.' He looked back at Spooner, who had moved down the hall to witness the exchange at close hand. 'Mary Ford,' he explained. 'Works in the office. Asked her to track down some names and addresses for me. Villagers to be interviewed.' He stepped out into the cold air. 'Better stay out there, Mary. Crime scene and all that.'
She greeted him by the car, fumbling in her handbag for a small leather-covered book. 'It's just my diary, but I've got to give you something.'
'I'll give it you back later,' he murmured, 'and I won't peep.'
'You won't find much of interest if you do. I need to talk to you.'
'I gathered that.' He glanced back to where Spooner was watching them, framed in the cottage doorway. 'Why so secretive?'
She hesitated, her eyes following Winterman's gaze. 'Who's that?'
'Superintendent Spooner. From HQ. He's overseeing the investigation.'
She nodded, absorbing this information. 'It's about Paul.'
'DC Marsh?'
'Bryan told me you didn't know where he was.'
It was Winterman's turn to hesitate. He lowered his voice still further. 'It looks as if he went out last night sometime. Hoxton thinks his bed wasn't slept in. I don't know whether to be concerned or not.' He paused. 'I haven't broken the news to DS Spooner yet.'
'Bryan said you found some blood.'
'There was some blood by the gravestone, yes. Where we found the child's body.'
'Do you think it was Paul's?'
Again, Winterman found himself wondering about the relationship between Marsh and the young woman in front of him. 'We don't know. Carson will have collected a sample, but until it's analysed we don't know anything.'
'Do you think it might be?'
'Mary, we really don't know. There's no reason to think it is. There's no real reason to worry about Paul yet. He can look after himself.' Winterman glanced over his shoulder again, conscious Spooner's patience was likely to be limited.
'Ivan, there are some things I need to tell you.'
Here it comes, he thought. The truth about her relationship with Marsh. It was probably best to have it confirmed sooner rather than later.
'Paul's my cousin. We try not to make a big thing of it now we're working together, but we're pretty close. Like brother and sister.'
Like brother and sister, Winterman found himself mentally repeating. 'I thought Paul wasn't local?'
'He's not. Not originally. His mother was Mam's sister. She moved to Nottingham after she married. Paul was sent out here at the start of the war with his younger brother.'
Winterman was working out the ages. Marsh was in his early twenties – maybe twenty-two, twenty-three. At the start of the war, he'd have been a teenager. 'They were evacuees?'
'Not part of the official programme, though we had plenty of those around here. But they were living in the centre of Nottingham. His dad worked in the Players factory. When the war broke out, their mam and dad thought it best to send them to stay with us.' Winterman noticed that there were tears in the corner of her eyes. 'We got on well. Paul's a couple of years younger than me. His brother was a few years younger still–' She stopped, as if she didn't know how to go on. 'I'm sorry,' she said, registering his backward glance. 'You're busy.'