Unnatural Wastage

by Betty Rowlands

  ‘Found this in some soft earth just under the brambles, Sarge,’ he said. ‘We thought you’d like to see it before we take a cast.’

  Rathbone inspected the picture. ‘Looks promising,’ he said. ‘We’ll come and have a look.’ Together with the two DCs he studied the impression of a man’s shoe, clearly visible in the soft earth. ‘It’s a good, clear print – size ten or thereabouts so it’s almost certainly a man’s and from the depth of the impression he was carrying a heavy weight. At a guess, I’d say he’d left his car over there, where our lot are parked.’ He handed the camera back. ‘Nice work, Andy. Anything else?’

  ‘Nothing along the path itself; the grass has worn away and the ground has been trodden too hard to show prints. The grass and stuff has been trodden down between the path and the place where the body was found, but we didn’t find anything useful.’

  ‘Well, the shoe print is pretty distinctive, so let’s hope that’ll be enough to nail the bastard,’ said Rathbone with considerable feeling. ‘Here’s the hearse . . . now the ghouls are in for a treat.’

  The four detectives waited in a respectful silence as the body was lifted on to a stretcher, covered and taken away. The moment they had gone Rathbone and his team returned to the road to face the reporters, who plied them with questions. ‘All I can tell you at this stage is that the body of a woman has been recovered from the area known as Fiddler’s Patch,’ he said. ‘She has not yet been identified and a statement will be issued in due course.’ To the knot of curious onlookers he said, ‘I advise all you good people to return home and leave us to get on with our enquiries.’ Followed by the three DCs he returned to the rendezvous point, ignoring the barrage of further questions. ‘See you back at HQ,’ he said to Sukey and Vicky as he and Penny got into their car.

  ‘I’ve got a feeling this is going to be a long day,’ said Sukey as she and Vicky prepared to follow them.

  Rathbone had evidently alerted DCI Leach on the way back to HQ and as soon as the team reassembled they went straight to his office.

  ‘OK, Greg, what have you been able to find out about the dead woman?’ Leach began.

  ‘So far, not a great deal I’m afraid, sir,’ said Rathbone. ‘We think she’s probably a woman known as Aggie, possibly of Middle Eastern or Indian origins, who works as a cleaner for an outfit called Clean as a Whistle and hasn’t been seen for several days with no explanation. Tim and Mike have interviewed her employer and we hope she’ll be willing to go to the morgue to see if she can identify the dead woman, but I gather they haven’t yet been able to contact her again. It was pure chance she was in her office earlier today – she isn’t normally there on a Saturday but she had some admin jobs to catch up on. Mike will give you the latest.’

  ‘We tried her number about an hour ago, as soon as we’d seen the body,’ said Mike. ‘There was no reply – just a recorded message to say the office was closed till Monday morning. We checked in the personal directory under Shilling, but the only one turned out to be a reverend gentleman who was most affronted at the notion that his wife might run a domestic agency. Our Mrs Shilling must have a landline, so we assume she’s ex-directory.’

  ‘So no hope in that direction until Monday,’ said Leach resignedly. He turned to Sukey. ‘I gather you and Vicky have been to Aggie’s flat. What did you find there?’ He listened attentively while Sukey gave their report. ‘Do you think there’s reason to think the dead woman is Aggie?’ he said when she had finished.

  ‘Yes we do, sir, and we think it’s significant that she hasn’t been seen since she cleaned for Marcus Ellerman on Wednesday.’

  ‘What about the other woman – the one called Minnie who told the handyman about Aggie getting het up over having seen the knife? Have you spoken to her?’

  ‘Not yet, sir,’ said Vicky. ‘We have her address and we planned to call on her after leaving Aggie’s place, but then DS Rathbone told us about the body on Fiddler’s Patch and instructed us to go straight over there.’

  ‘I see.’ Leach doodled on his pad for a few moments. ‘You think Aggie’s a Catholic; maybe Minnie can tell you what church she goes to. If so, go and see the priest and ask if he knows her well enough to identify her. And if all else fails, maybe Minnie would be willing to help with the ID if Mrs Shilling refuses.’

  ‘Well, you were right about it being a long day,’ said Vicky as, the meeting over, she and Sukey went back to their car. ‘Let’s hope Minnie isn’t quite as fierce as Aggie’s neighbour.’

  Minnie’s address was a bungalow in a development of retirement dwellings about a mile from Holmwood, set in pleasant gardens with a small lake in the centre of a circular lawn. The name beside the bell push was Jackson and the door was opened by a man of about seventy, with white hair, clear hazel eyes and an upright bearing that to Sukey suggested a military background. ‘Yes?’ he said enquiringly.

  ‘We apologize for troubling you,’ said Sukey, ‘but we’re from Avon and Somerset CID and we need to speak to Mrs Minnie Jackson.’

  ‘Police eh?’ he said as he inspected their IDs. ‘You’d better come in.’ He closed the door behind them and led them into a cosy combined sitting and dining room where a table was laid for a meal. ‘I hope this won’t take long – we’re just about to have our supper. The wife’s in the kitchen. Min!’ he called, ‘you’re wanted by the police. What’ve you been up to?’ he added, winking at the two detectives.

  ‘Police?’ A pleasant-looking woman of a similar age to her husband emerged, holding a tea towel. She looked enquiringly at the two detectives. ‘Why do you want to speak to me?’

  ‘We think you may be able to help us with some enquiries and we’d like to ask you a few questions,’ said Sukey. ‘It will only take a few minutes. Perhaps you’d like to sit down.’

  ‘I’ll help if I can.’ She handed the tea towel to her husband and sat down on the sofa. ‘Go and turn the gas down under the potatoes, Vic.’ He disappeared for a moment and then returned and sat beside her. They exchanged slightly anxious glances before looking back at the detectives. ‘All right, I’m ready,’ she said.

  ‘We understand you’re employed by Clean as a Whistle cleaning agency and that you do a regular cleaning job at Holmwood Care Centre,’ Sukey began.

  ‘That’s right. Three mornings a week for a couple of hours – Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. I’ve been doing it for several years.’

  ‘I’ve been on at her several times lately to give it up,’ her husband interposed. ‘It isn’t as if we need the money.’

  ‘I enjoy chatting to the people there . . . and it gives me something to do while you’re playing golf,’ she retorted. She turned back to Sukey. ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘We’re enquiring into the death of a young woman whose body was found today on a piece of wasteland known as Fiddler’s Patch. We have reason to believe it may be that of a woman employed by the same agency who hasn’t been seen for several days. We understand that her name is Aggie, and that she has at some time spoken to you about the knife used to kill Fenella Tremaine.’

  Minnie turned pale and clutched her husband’s hand. ‘Oh, no! I told her . . . I begged her to tell you about it,’ she said shakily, ‘but for some reason she was too scared. She wouldn’t say why.’ She took a paper tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes. ‘Do you really think this dead woman might be Aggie?’

  ‘We can’t be sure,’ said Vicky. ‘We need formal identification, but we have no idea how to contact her next of kin. As the two of you have been seen speaking together several times we’re wondering if you can help us.’

  Minnie shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I’ve no idea. She’s always been quite cagey about her family. I know she’s a Catholic – I’ve an idea she goes to the Sacred Heart church in Westover. Maybe the priest there could help you.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very useful; we’ll certainly go and see him after we’ve spoken to you,’ said Sukey. ‘Now, about the knife, did Aggie give you any idea where she
saw it?’

  ‘None at all,’ said Minnie. ‘Actually, it wasn’t the knife itself, but the sheath. She saw a picture of it in the Echo with the report that it had been found and got very agitated; she said she’d seen it, but when I asked her where or when that was she clammed up. I told her she should report it at once, but the mention of the police seemed to scare the pants off her.’

  ‘What day was this?’ asked Vicky.

  ‘It was . . . let me think . . . yes of course, it was Wednesday of last week. She was helping out at Holmwood that morning – two of the residents had left and their rooms had to be thoroughly cleaned ready for the next people to move in so I was extra busy. The report in the Echo was on the front page of the midday edition – it’s delivered to the home every day. She must have picked it up off the hall table; she came rushing to the room where I was working with it in her hand. She was shaking and looking quite shocked.

  ‘And that’s really all you can tell us?’

  Minnie shook her head in evident regret at her inability to help further. ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘We understand she did her regular cleaning job last Wednesday, presumably after she left Holmwood. Do you remember what time that was?’

  ‘It must have been about a quarter to twelve. She said she had to catch the bus that stops just by the gate. Now I come to think of it, I had a feeling she wasn’t all that keen to go to her next job.’

  ‘Do you know where the next job was?’

  ‘I’m afraid not – Mrs Shilling at the agency will tell you.’

  ‘Could you give us a description of her?’

  Minnie half closed her eyes and thought for a moment. ‘I think she may be either Indian or from one of the Arab countries because of her colouring. Straight black hair, sort of coffee-coloured skin. Rather pretty in fact. Slight build, about my height.’

  ‘Age?’

  ‘Somewhere in the late teens, at a guess. Does that mean . . .?’

  ‘All we can say at the moment is that your description fits that of the dead woman in some respects,’ said Sukey. ‘We shall of course do our best to trace her next of kin, but if we are unable to do so and her priest can’t help, would you be willing to come with us to the morgue to see if you can identify her?’

  ‘Oh dear . . . I’m not sure if I could . . .’ Minnie faltered, clearly shocked at the suggestion.

  ‘You don’t have to answer right away,’ said Vicky. ‘We just want to know how you feel about it if we can’t trace anyone close to her.’

  ‘Of course she will,’ her husband said firmly. ‘It’s your duty,’ he told his wife, seeing her look of horror at the prospect. ‘I hope it won’t be necessary, but if it is I’ll come with you. We owe it to the poor woman to do whatever we can. And I’m sure,’ he added, turning back to the detectives, ‘we both hope you’ll find the person who killed her.’

  ‘We will,’ Sukey assured him.

  TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Whatever the Jacksons were having for supper sure smelt good,’ said Sukey with feeling as she and Vicky returned to their car. ‘It seems like forever since we had anything to eat – I’m starving!’

  ‘Me too,’ Vicky agreed. ‘I wonder if there’s a pub anywhere near the church where we could pop in for a snack before calling on the priest.’

  Sukey glanced at her watch. ‘It’s ten past seven. We’d better locate the church first and then decide. I’ve got a feeling we drove past it on our way to Aggie’s flat.’

  They found the church without difficulty. There was only one car in the parking area and she pulled in beside it. ‘It doesn’t look as if there’s a service on,’ she said. ‘Perhaps that’s the priest’s car. He may be inside; let’s try the door.’

  The door was unlocked and they cautiously pushed it open and stepped inside. The scent of incense hung in the air and the sanctuary lamp glowed red in a side chapel. Slanting rays of the late evening sun through the stained glass window above the west door laid a multicoloured mosaic of light on the aisle. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it?’ Sukey said softly.

  ‘Sure is,’ Vicky agreed. There appeared to be no one about, but after a moment they heard the murmur of voices. ‘There’s obviously someone here. Shall we go and investigate?’

  Sukey put a finger to her lips and ushered her to the door. ‘We’d better wait outside,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t think we should interrupt.’

  ‘Interrupt what?’ Vicky asked as Sukey closed the door carefully behind them.

  ‘I’m not exactly sure, but something’s just occurred to me. Let’s go and have a look at the notice board.’ They studied the information on the board; below the name of the priest in charge and the list of services was the time for hearing ­confessions. ‘From six to seven on Saturdays,’ Sukey read aloud. ‘I thought that might be what those murmurings were about.’

  ‘In that case it’s a good job we didn’t go barging in,’ said Vicky. ‘The presbytery’s next door – I saw the notice on the gate as you drove in. There’s sure to be a housekeeper; why don’t we find out what time Father –’ she glanced back at the board – ‘Father Burke is likely to be finished. He’s running late as it is,’ she added. ‘It’s almost half past seven.’

  ‘That’s not a bad idea,’ Sukey agreed.

  The housekeeper was a plump woman with short, straight grey hair and a bloom on her rosy complexion that owed nothing to make-up. ‘You’d better come in and wait; he should be back any minute,’ she said after they had explained the reason for their call. ‘I hope your business won’t take too long; the poor man had to go without a proper lunch because . . . ah, here he is,’ she added, her face lighting up with pleasure at the sound of a key in the lock. ‘These two ladies are from the police, and they think you might be able to help them,’ she explained in response to his inquiring glance at Sukey and Vicky. ‘Just ring the bell when you’re ready for your supper, Father.’

  ‘Thank you, Mavis,’ he said with a smile and she hurried away.

  Father Burke, a tall, striking figure with strong features, ushered them into a book-lined study and pulled up a couple of chairs for them before sitting down behind his desk. ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘We’re enquiring into the disappearance of a woman known as Aggie – which we believe is short for Aghami – but we don’t know her surname,’ Sukey began. ‘We have been told she worships at your church.’ Reading from their notes, the two detectives gave Father Burke all the information they had about Aggie and their reasons for believing she might be the woman found dead on Fiddler’s Patch. He listened at first with careful attention, then with dawning recognition and finally with concern.

  ‘This is very distressing news. Poor woman.’ He made the sign of the cross. ‘May she rest in peace, whoever she is.’ He reflected for a moment before saying, ‘Your description could certainly apply to a young woman who comes to hear Mass in this church from time to time, although I’m afraid I don’t know her name or anything about her. She seems very shy and retiring . . . almost, I would say, withdrawn. She sits at the back of the church and leaves as soon as the service is over. She doesn’t come to confession so I have never had an opportunity to speak to her. I’m afraid I know nothing of her family or where she comes from.’

  ‘We’re doing our best to trace them,’ said Vicky, ‘but we haven’t much to go on at present except that, as we explained, for some reason she is afraid of the police. Her handbag – if she had one – is missing, but we hope it will turn up, in which case it may contain some clues to her identity.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ said Father Burke, ‘and if there’s anything at all that I can do to help, don’t hesitate to ask.’

  ‘If all else fails, we may ask if you would be willing to come to the morgue to see if you can identify her,’ said Sukey, and he gave a grave nod.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I guess we’d better update the Sarge,’ said Sukey as the door of the presbytery closed behind them.

  ‘OK, y
ou do that,’ said Vicky. ‘I’m going to update Chris; he’s been sending me texts for the past hour wanting to know when I’m going to be home.’ She spoke on her mobile. ‘Hi, we’ve had one hell of a day with no time to eat and we’re both famished. Sukey’s just checking with the Sarge and I know we’re hoping we can sign off. Looks like it,’ she added as Sukey gave her a thumbs-up, ‘yes, glory be, we’re on our way home. See you soon. And rustle up something special, there’s a love . . . What? Hang on a minute, I’ll ask her.’ She turned to Sukey. ‘He wants to know if you’d like to join us for a meal.’

  Sukey shook her head. ‘That’s very kind, but I’ve sent Harry a text to say I’m on my way home and to get something out of the freezer. The Sarge says Tim’s been trying to contact Ellerman but he’s not answering his phone,’ she went on. ‘He’s checked with the SIO, who says we might as well go home and try again tomorrow. And seeing as we can’t get much further until we talk to him, with any luck he’s away for the weekend and we can all have tomorrow off.’

  ‘In our dreams!’ said Vicky as they headed for home.

  ‘Harry and I had planned a romantic evening together,’ Sukey sighed. ‘I’m beginning to wonder what possessed me to join the CID.’

  Vicky laughed. ‘I guess we all have moments like that – especially when there’s nothing really interesting to get our teeth into.’

  When Sukey reached home, Harry was waiting for her. He gave her a quick hug and then held her at arm’s length for a moment, studying her face with concern. ‘Darling, you look exhausted,’ he said. He ran his fingers through her hair and gently kissed her on the brow. ‘Come and relax with a snifter.’