by Evelyn James
He sighed as he settled further into his chair and the day’s troubles lifted off his shoulders.
“Why do you always end up becoming involved in my cases?” The inspector asked as the refreshments were concluded.
“I think it mainly because there is not that much crime to go around,” Tommy said. “Also, people sometimes like an outside opinion.”
“You mean they distrust the police,” Park-Coombs raised his eyebrows. “Well, I can’t deny that. Things have happened in the past that have stained our reputations. Still, most people appreciate we do our job to the best of our ability.”
“I certainly appreciate that,” Clara promised him. “Mr Spinner is another story. I think it safe to say he has a paranoid streak. From some of the things I have heard, he is always convinced people intend to cheat him or cause him harm.”
“Who have you spoken to?” The inspector asked.
“Only Mr Steadman, who Spinner was drinking with the morning of the murder, and Mrs Yates. I have been attempting to establish an alibi for Spinner.”
“By the note in your voice, I take it that has not gone so well?”
Clara waved a hand.
“So far, there is no one who can confirm where Spinner was at every hour of the day, and thus there are points when he was perfectly alone for some time and could have killed William Beech. However, the most prudent question is why would he murder an old man so violently?”
“That is something I am working on,” Park-Coombs admitted. “At this moment in time, motive is my biggest challenge. William Beech appears to have been a harmless old man, unless you take into account the witchcraft angle.”
“Not you too Inspector?” Tommy said ironically. “That seems to be all anyone can say, is that this is a witchcraft killing. Strikes me people are looking to avoid admitting that someone in their midst, a perfectly ordinary someone, could prove capable of such a vicious crime.”
“You have to take these things seriously,” Park-Coombs correct him sombrely. “If a person murdered William Beech because the perpetrator believed in witchcraft, then it is important not to simply dismiss the idea as irrelevant. We might consider it nonsense, but if someone took a man’s life because of witchcraft, that is just as significant to this case as if they did it out of jealousy or for money.”
“Exactly how does the witchcraft theory work?” Clara asked. “People keep saying this was about witchcraft without properly explaining what they mean.”
Inspector Park-Coombs looked pleased that he knew something Clara did not.
“There are two ways witchcraft could have been involved, and I have heard people in the area spouting both. The first is that someone who dabbles in black magic decided to sacrifice old Bill for the purposes of some spell or curse. The date is significant for that reason, because Valentine’s Day is believed to be magical, when the line between this world and the next is a little thin. I have spoken to people in Hove and Hangleton who tell me in all seriousness that this was a blood sacrifice, a ritual to ensure the fertility of the land, or to make a person stronger and more vital,” Park-Coombs had a smile on his face. “It sounds incredible, but these were very sane and sensible people who said as much to me. I was told a sacrifice has more power on a mystical day, of which there are a few through the year. And a human sacrifice has the most power of all.”
“They haven’t suggested who might be behind such arcane brutality?” Tommy asked.
“On that they are somewhat stumped, seeing as they can’t think of anyone in the district who is involved so heavily in witchcraft,” Park-Coombs smiled, amused by what he had learned. “However, the latest rumour is that the killer arrived from London. Travelled all this way for the express purpose of carrying out his crime in a place where no one would know him, or her, of course.”
“A bit preposterous,” Clara was trying to imagine how any sane person could believe such an elaborate theory. “What is the second way witchcraft could have been involved?”
“Ah, well that is simpler,” Park-Coombs grinned. “Honestly, it makes better sense to my copper’s instincts. It goes like this, someone suspected William Beech of being a witch and believed themselves to be cursed. Driven to desperation because of this supposed curse, they took out their wrath on the old man. Violently killing him and wedging his body into the hedge to stop his spirit walking. According to one of the people I spoke with, the drama of the murder was necessary to remove the curse thoroughly. A witch has to be thrice killed to destroy them and their work.”
“Thrice killed? How was Beech killed three times?” Tommy said.
Inspector Park-Coombs was now plainly enjoying himself.
“One, William Beech was struck hard over the head. Two his throat was slashed. Three he was stabbed with a pitchfork. Thrice killed, though the exact cause of death was bleeding out from the neck wounds.”
Tommy whistled through his teeth. Clara shook her head.
“I don’t like it. It sounds all too complicated. Anyway, William Beech, according to his neighbours was a kind and generous man, not the sort you would imagine casting curses.”
“He was also a loner and people are prone to thinking ill of people who are different,” Park-Coombs replied.
“Then you believe this crime was committed because of witchcraft?” Clara said, alarmed.
“Oh no,” Park-Coombs chuckled. “I believe it all comes down to one of the three primary causes of crime, greed. I think money was involved. I just don’t know how.”
Clara thought this sounded as improbable as witchcraft. William Beech had no money, he was not robbed for it, so how could greed be at the heart of all this?
“That brings us back to Spinner, why do you suspect him?” She asked.
“There are a few reasons, actually,” Park-Coombs sounded pleased with himself. “Primarily, Mr Spinner’s behaviour on the day of the murder and the hours afterwards. He claims he had no idea that Mr Beech was working in his field on the fourteenth, yet he walked past the very spot the man was at least twice that day.”
“On his way back and forth to meet Mr Steadman.”
“Yes. Also, he acted erratically around my officers. The morning after the slaying, he returned to the murder scene and spoke to the constable. Complaining about the weather and how it was going to disrupt his day. At that point, the body had not been moved and was just on the ground nearby, yet he chatted as if nothing were wrong.
“He spoke to another of my constables later on and told him he had handled the pitchfork that was piercing Mr Beech. He confessed to it, saying he had acted without thinking. He had supposed William could be saved and grabbed the pitchfork before he remembered himself. My constable was concerned, as it sounded rather like Spinner was trying to give an explanation for his prints being on the pitchfork. Besides, who comes across a man with his throat cut and pinned to the ground and assumes he is still alive and possible to save?
“Lastly, Mr Spinner has been difficult and is constantly revising his story, adding new details or denying he said other things. His behaviour does not strike me as normal. If I was being blunt with myself, I would say he is acting suspicious and that makes me suspicious.”
They were all sound reasons, based on the policeman’s instinct for what was right and what was wrong. Clara had that instinct too.
“You still have not suggested a motive,” Clara said.
Park-Coombs sighed.
“No, and that is where I find myself stuck. Without a motive, I cannot say Spinner killed William Beech, especially considering the little circumstantial evidence I do have.”
“And that is a problem,” Clara elaborated.
“Just a bit,” the inspector groaned. “However, I am sure if I dig deeply enough, I shall find one.”
Clara was thoughtful a while.
“The watch, of course, raises an issue,” she said.
“It does,” Park-Coombs agreed. “We have tested it for fingerprints, but no luck. You know, the place
where it was found seems odd to me.”
“Why?” Clara asked, though she had her own ideas on the matter.
“It suggests the killer walked in the direction of Spinner’s Farm, rather than away from it. If you had just committed a brutal murder, wouldn’t your first thought be to distance yourself and avoid being seen? Had the attacker gone in the opposite direction, he would have had miles and miles of fields to disappear into. It is unlikely anyone would have spotted him. In the other direction you had Spinner’s farmhouse and, according to his wife, around the time Beech was killed the farmyard becomes busy with men employed on the farm going back and forth. The killer would have risked running into any of them. Also, not far away is Three Pigs Farm and they have cattle in the field near the copse. More potential witnesses.”
“I see your point,” Clara nodded. “Anyone who was local to the area would know of the many people around the two farms and have avoided it. However, someone who was not local might not have known and could have run off in any direction in a panic after slaying an old man.”
“I don’t like that idea. Tracking a man who was not known to the victim makes things extremely difficult for us. The crimes that most often go unsolved are those committed by strangers against random individuals,” Park-Coombs sighed. “No, I would rather not go down that route unless I have to. The locals are hopeful the culprit is an outsider, makes them feel better to think it was not someone they knew or grew up with.”
“Is there any evidence this was the work of a stranger?” Tommy asked.
Park-Coombs inspected the dregs of his teacup, as if looking for a clue there.
“No, other than the lack of a motive. My money is still on Spinner.”
They were all silent a moment as this sank in.
“Spinner is clearly worried,” Park-Coombs finally said. “His hiring of you, Clara, makes me feel even more confident in that. Innocent people don’t generally go around asking detectives to prove their innocence, unless they have been wrongfully arrested. Spinner’s pre-emptive actions are curious.”
“He has a reputation for being paranoid,” Clara reminded the inspector. “That does not make a man guilty of anything.”
“We shall see,” Park-Coombs had a glint in his eye. “I have a strong hunch on this one Clara. I doubt you will prove me wrong.”
“This is not a competition,” Clara reminded him. “We both have the same purpose of finding who killed Mr Beech.”
Park-Coombs merely smiled at her. It was a very knowing smile that annoyed Clara deeply.
Chapter Twelve
The following day they paid a call on Dr Deáth, Brighton’s police surgeon and coroner, to learn what they could about the murder of William Beech. Inspector Park-Coombs had given them his permission to speak to the coroner and examine the corpse.
The morgue was fairly modern, and very light and airy. It was always cold, and the gleaming white tiles seemed to make it colder. Sometimes Clara thought it reminded her of an icy palace set deep into the earth, something ethereal and alien.
Dr Deáth was one of the happiest men Clara knew. Utterly contented in his work. He had a purpose and he did not find it a morose or disturbing one. He discovered how people died and in his own way brought them peace. He saw horrible things, and some did upset him, but he was able to set that aside and sleep easy at night because he knew his actions brought killers to justice, as well as proving the innocence of people falsely accused of wrongdoing.
He was humming to himself as Clara and Tommy entered the morgue. It was a Christmas carol.
“A little out of season,” Tommy remarked.
Dr Deáth looked up at them with his big, innocent eyes. He did not look like a man who knows his way around a scalpel, but behind his innocuous gaze was a mind that was incredibly clever.
“What is?” He asked.
“The song.”
“What song?”
Tommy waited just a second to see if Dr Deáth was teasing him, then he concluded the coroner really had not been aware of his humming.
“Never mind,” Tommy said.
“Park-Coombs told you we were coming?” Clara asked.
Dr Deáth smiled.
“He did,” Dr Deáth moved away from the table where he had been sorting out a selection of knives and bone saws, and walked to another just behind him. “I have only just finished the post-mortem. I sent my report to the inspector just an hour ago.”
The table was covered by a clean white sheet. The ominous lumps and bumps beneath it indicated plainly what was resting on the metal surface. Clara and Tommy were both far from squeamish, having seen their fair share of gruesome things, but there was always a moment when you first saw a corpse when the shock of it hit you.
Clara braced herself and Tommy noticeably tensed beside her as Dr Deáth neatly folded back the sheet from the head and shoulders of the late William Beech. The coroner had done a good job of cleaning the man up and he looked almost restful on the table, as if he had just fallen asleep. Except for the nasty great gash in his neck, that is.
“Where would you like me to begin?” Dr Deáth asked.
“What killed him?” Clara asked. “Park-Coombs said he had suffered three separate forms of attack?”
“That is correct, and I can give you a rough order based on my own suppositions. Let’s start with what I think came first,” Dr Deáth indicated the dead man’s head. “There is a nasty blow to the back of the skull. Angle appears to suggest someone hitting him on the head in an overhand fashion. The damage is to the back of the crown.”
“How severe a blow?” Tommy asked.
“Severe enough to fraction the skull, not severe enough to force fragments into the brain itself. Mr Beech could have survived it, though there was a lot of blood around the wound and in an older person there is always a possibility of such a blow causing a haemorrhage on the brain.”
“Why do you say that blow came first?” Clara interjected.
“Well, the angle suggests Mr Beech was stood up when hit, with his back to the culprit. I noticed during my examination that the poor man was suffering from arthritis in his spine and I suspect he would have had a noticeable stoop which could have reduced his height by several inches. A reasonably tall person could have inflicted the blow from behind by bringing something down on Mr Beech’s head,” Dr Deáth demonstrated his story by adopting a hunched posture and then acting as if someone was reaching over the top of his head. “His hat has blood on the inside, suggesting he was wearing it when this occurred. It was found beneath his head. By the looks, he fell partly onto his side and the hat was pressed beneath his head. He then seems to have rolled, or been rolled, partially onto his back so the attacker could slash his throat.”
Clara pulled a face at the blunt assessment of the injuries.
“It is highly unlikely that the blow could have been done while on the ground. The position would have made it extremely difficult and you would have to consider how such a blow could be achieved with him lying down,” Dr Deáth continued.
“Someone could have kicked him in the head,” Tommy suggested.
“Yes, but this was one heavy blow, and that is hard to achieve with a single kick. The other vague possibility would be someone swinging something at his head in a parallel direction to his skull, but that would be very peculiar,” Dr Deáth shook his head. “I can’t say for certain, of course, but I am satisfied that Mr Beech was initially struck by a blow from behind. The weapon was heavy and had a rounded end.”
“You could find all sorts of things like that on a farm,” Tommy groaned.
“Would the blow have knocked him unconscious?” Clara asked.
Dr Deáth pulled a face.
“That is a tricky one to answer. Certainly, it would have dazed him and presumably knocked him to the ground. The attacker may have hoped to kill him outright, when that failed, he needed to look for other means.”
Clara grimaced at the thought of the ‘other means’. Poor Mr
Beech looked so humble and pathetic on the table, his frail, skinny torso making him appear especially vulnerable. He looked as if he might have been dead for a week, rather than a couple of days.
“What do you think came next?” She asked carefully.
“My suspicion is it was the slashes to the neck. They were caused by a curved blade, with a blunt edge. Park-Coombs supplied me with the hedging tool Beech was using that day and which was still jammed in his chest when he was found. I have no doubt that weapon was used to slay him,” Dr Deáth was matter-of-fact, laying out the situation without emotion or elaboration. “I contend that these blows had to happen after the head wound was inflicted and before the pitchfork was used, because once the pitchfork was in place it would have been difficult to have made the slashes, if not impossible. The hedging blade would have struck the handle of the pitchfork and the attacker would have had to have leaned around it to get to his victim.
“This is how I see it. The killer hit Beech over the head and the old man crumpled to the ground. The way the hat was beneath his head seems to imply he fell on his side and his head rested on the earth. He then rolled onto his back. It may be he turned by himself as he reached for the head wound, or the killer may have shoved him to get a better angle for his next attack.
“The murderer held the hedging blade in his right hand and slashed Mr Beech’s neck from left to right. The stroke is quite plainly deeper at the left where it first entered and then shallower at the right. There were at least three slashes, but I can’t tell you which one severed the poor man’s windpipe or artery, only that once that occurred, he had seconds to live.”
Tommy was pulling a face now. There was no doubt the last moments of Mr Beech’s life had been deeply unpleasant.
“The hedging tool was a weapon of opportunity,” Clara said, tasting a hint of bile in the back of her throat.
“Seems that way,” Dr Deáth had picked up the weapon which had been laid on a separate table. It still bore the stains of Mr Beech’s blood. “I imagine there were a few seconds between the blow to his head and the killer deciding what to do next and picking up the hedging blade. It is possible Mr Beech was briefly unconscious and then started to awake, certainly he was aware of his killer’s next attack.”