The Body in the Dales

by J. R. Ellis

  ‘Well, it looks like we’ve got even more problems.’

  ‘Why’s that, sir?’ asked Steph.

  ‘According to Alan Williams, the Jingling Pot system would be virtually impassable if you were trying to drag a body along with you. Apparently, some of the passages are only just wide enough to crawl through. There are also one or two ducks. It took a team of six of them and four CSIs to get the body up to the surface. Dead bodies are difficult to move, as I’m sure you’re aware.’

  ‘What are ducks, sir?’ asked Carter.

  ‘Passages partly filled with water where you have to duck down into it and maybe turn your head to breathe. The idea of dragging a body through all that is, well, unbelievable, unless he was also murdered by a team of ten, which is also just about unbelievable. It was bad enough when we thought the four from the Cave Rescue could be in a conspiracy, but ten? And even if there were ten of them, why do it anyway?’ He frowned with frustration and then looked defiant.

  ‘Well, someone got the bloody thing down there and they had a reason for doing it. It’s our job to find out how. I enjoy watching illusions performed but I don’t believe in magic. There’s an explanation and we’re going to find it. Now let’s have a look at those photographs.’

  Oldroyd went to his desk and logged on to the computer, and all three of them gathered around the monitor. He clicked on the file and the photographs followed in a slideshow sequence.

  The periphery of each shot was a sinister black and the subject was illuminated by the powerful flash of the CSI’s cameras. There was a series of gruesome images of the body in close-up sprawled across the passage, neck bent at an unnatural angle. The casual dress of the corpse struck an incongruous note in that subterranean landscape.

  ‘He doesn’t look too happy down there, does he? And he looks completely out of place,’ Oldroyd observed sardonically. In the next shots, the camera zoomed out and the body could be seen at the end of a straight passage. Water was flowing and the flash reflected brightly on the ripples. Finally, the camera panned around the passage and then up to the roof. The walls and roof were very uneven, casting numerous overlapping shadows. The roof seemed as much as twenty feet above the floor of the passage in places. Oldroyd used his mouse to click through each photograph again. He pointed to one that showed a number of smallish rocks lying on the floor of the passage.

  ‘That’s that rock fall Alan Williams told us about. That was the only thing he said was different from when they went through on the previous Friday, apart from the body.’

  ‘Whitaker mentioned that as well, sir,’ said Carter, ‘but do you think it’s significant? Rock falls are common in those caves aren’t they?’

  ‘True, that’s also what Williams said,’ replied Oldroyd, still examining the picture, ‘but we’ve so little to go on that everything has to be considered.’ He clicked on through the photographs. ‘I’ve also read the CSI’s report and that piece of metal I’m fond of was found near those rocks too. You can see it there in that photograph.’

  Carter and Johnson looked on, rather bemused and unsure about what was going through Oldroyd’s mind. There was a knowing smile on Oldroyd’s face and Carter noticed that Steph was smiling too.

  ‘Are we playing games again, sir?’

  Oldroyd raised an eyebrow, rolled his head from side to side but said nothing.

  Carter was puzzled and not sure how to react.

  They continued going through the photographs, but none showed anything strikingly different: dark passage, water, rocks, body. There was something chillingly stark about it all, so different from the standard scene-of-crime shot showing a body on a living-room floor or sprawled on the ground by a car down a back street. The scene was bare, dark and alien.

  ‘Right,’ announced Oldroyd after a while. ‘We’re not going to get any further looking at these. Let’s get back to work in the field. This afternoon I want you both back in Burnthwaite. Steph, you go to the gift shop and interview the Watsons, and Andy, take DC Robinson and start following up Cartwright. We’ve got Bob Craven following up the caving fraternity and the rescue team that brought up the body. By the way, do you still suspect them of being the murderers?’

  ‘Not really, sir,’ replied Carter. ‘I still think the murder could have been some kind of conspiracy, but it’s odd they claim not to have seen a body only two days before it was found. I can’t think why they would tell us that if they were the murderers. There’s also the problem of motive – surely not all of the Cave Rescue team could want Atkins dead?’

  ‘Well, at least one of them seemed to have a pretty strong dislike. He shouted out something nasty about Atkins, didn’t he?’

  ‘That’s a fairly general feeling though, sir, but I think I agree with you that murder by a conspiracy of ten people is very unlikely.’

  ‘But not impossible, remember Murder on the Orient Express? Anyway, you’ve a lot to follow up. I’m staying here to think.’

  ‘To what, sir?’

  ‘Think, Carter. Use the “little grey cells”, as Agatha Christie’s Poirot says in the stories. All the great detectives spent time reflecting on the case. Remember Sherlock Holmes playing his violin far into the night.’

  ‘And injecting himself with cocaine?’ interjected Steph. ‘You won’t be doing that, will you, sir?’ she asked cheekily.

  ‘No,’ replied Oldroyd. ‘The similarities between myself and Conan Doyle’s creation are few, apart from our brilliantly perceptive minds.’

  ‘And exceptional modesty,’ laughed Steph.

  Oldroyd laughed too, then slapped his legs decisively and got up.

  ‘Right, off you go. We need to get on with this; the super’s been asking me how it’s all going, worried about the media coverage as usual. There’ll be people ringing in from Wharfedale complaining about the slow progress.’

  ‘Slow progress, sir? This is only day two.’

  ‘I know, but they think it’s bad for the tourist trade to have a murder in the area; not good for the image of the place.’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘Not that I think it makes a damned bit of difference. In fact, if you ask me I’d say it increases the number of visitors. There’s nothing the ghoulish public like more than gawping at the scene of a murder. No doubt some enterprising caver could make quite a bit of money by organising trips to where the body was found.’

  Carter and Johnson left the chief inspector in his office and their last image was of him seated at the computer again concentrating hard on the macabre pictures of the body in Jingling Pot.

  ‘Do you fancy a bit of lunch in the canteen?’ Carter asked as they made their way down the corridor.

  ‘No thanks,’ Steph replied and Carter felt a little pang of rejection which was thankfully brief.

  ‘But they do nice sandwiches at the Royal Oak. I can’t stand the canteen, it reminds me too much of school dinners.’

  Carter’s mood immediately rose again.

  They left the building and walked the short distance into the town centre.

  ‘You seem to be very well in with Oldroyd,’ Carter began.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, you know, what you can say to him and get away with it.’

  ‘I suppose so. He’s got a good sense of humour and he doesn’t mind being teased.’

  ‘Do you like working for him?’

  ‘Yeah. He’s great. He can be demanding and he doesn’t always tell you what he knows, but he’s a genius when it comes to solving crimes.’

  ‘Is that what you meant when you said he was playing games?’

  ‘Yes. He won’t share his theories with you until he’s sure. He expects you to work it out too, so it’s like a little game you play with him.’

  ‘That’s not working by the rules, is it? Aren’t we all supposed to share information?’

  ‘He doesn’t always work by the rules, but he gets results. And it makes you think. I like it; he treats you as an equal. You’re not just th
ere to do all the routine interviews and stuff like that. He expects you to have an angle on the case.’

  ‘Good, I’m up for that; had enough of boring drudgery. There must be a downside to working with him.’ Carter immediately regretted saying this as it could be construed as inviting her to be disloyal.

  ‘Not really. He can get quite depressed. I think that’s because he’s separated from his wife.’

  ‘OK. Not surprising then.’

  ‘No. He’s talked to me about it a bit. He’s always very frank and open about personal things and he helped me a lot when I . . .’

  Steph didn’t continue and they walked on in silence. Carter felt that something was wrong. Her mood suddenly seemed very subdued. He wondered what she had been about to say but didn’t want to probe any further. She seemed preoccupied.

  They came to an old, low building with a narrow pavement outside.

  ‘Here we are,’ said Steph.

  They walked down a few old steps and into a little bar. It was rather gloomy owing to the stone-framed windows but when Carter’s eyes adjusted he sensed a cosy local-pub atmosphere. There was a pleasant hum of conversation and laughter.

  They managed to find a small unoccupied table in the corner. Carter got the drinks: orange juice for him as the driver that afternoon. When he returned to the table he felt a sense of pride that he was here with this attractive woman and he couldn’t stop himself from gazing at her.

  ‘Stop looking at my tits and sit down.’ Her tone was mocking but not hostile. The directness gave him a jolt, but he remembered that Oldroyd had warned him that she was a woman who wouldn’t accept any nonsense.

  ‘Sorry.’

  Steph sipped her half pint of Stella and looked away from him towards the bar. Carter took the menu and scanned it.

  ‘What do you fancy then?’ he asked.

  ‘I usually have the light tuna mayo sandwich with salad.’

  She still seemed distracted, looking at her glass, not really connecting with him.

  ‘OK, I’ll go with that but I’ll have mine with chips. I’ll order then.’

  There was no reply.

  The bar was very busy and it took a long time for Carter to return to the table. They sat for a while in silence. Steph’s face looked downcast and she seemed depressed. Suddenly she sighed.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For being poor company, not very welcoming when you’re so new. It’s just that things this morning have reminded me of some issues I have and it’s upset me a bit, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s OK. I didn’t realise.’ Carter was reassuring, but although he was curious, he felt it would be wrong to push for more information.

  ‘How are you finding things in Harrogate, anyway?’

  Carter sensed she was making a big effort to keep the conversation going, even though she was not in the mood.

  ‘Fine. I’ve got a little place near that big field thing – what’s it called?’

  ‘The Stray.’ She laughed but it sounded strained. They sat quietly for a while and then Carter saw that tears were welling in her eyes.

  ‘Are you OK to work this afternoon?’

  She dabbed her eyes with a tissue.

  ‘Sure, I’m fine. I soon get over these little episodes.’

  ‘If you like, we could do some interviews together.’

  ‘No, honestly; we wouldn’t be able to interview enough people and the boss wouldn’t be pleased.’

  The sandwiches arrived and her mood improved. She began to ask him about himself and where he came from and then she told him a bit about herself. She was a local girl, brought up in Starbeck.

  ‘I was always very sporty at school and very responsible and confident; not particularly academic but good enough. I didn’t really want to go to university and I hadn’t thought about the police until a careers officer suggested it.’

  ‘My dad was in the police, that’s why I wanted to join. What did your father do?’

  ‘He was a salesman, cars.’

  Something barely perceptible in the tone told Carter that he had hit a raw nerve.

  ‘But he’s not around any more.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘So what do you make of “oop north” then? Did you expect to find us all wearing flat caps and headscarves?’

  She obviously liked to tease. Maybe she had learned this from her boss.

  ‘So far I like it. It’s very different from London and a nice change. I think Wharfedale is, well, cool.’ He couldn’t think of a better word.

  She laughed. ‘The Dales, “cool”! Well, I’ve never heard them called that, but you’re right, they are.’

  ‘Burnthwaite’s a pretty village. Oldroyd took me into a pub, the Red something?’

  ‘Red Horse.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s it. That’s where we met that mad mechanic. I thought he was going to start messing with me.’

  ‘I’m sure you would have coped, with your experience and a big bloke like you. You must have tackled some hard cases at the Met.’

  Was there a hint of a compliment there, thought Carter.

  ‘Aren’t you going to miss the big city?’ she went on. ‘Harrogate must seem like a very small town.’

  ‘We’ll see. It’s certainly different, but I think I can live without the club scene, and to be honest I’m getting a bit old for that now. They say Leeds has a good night life anyway, and that’s not far from here, is it?’

  ‘Forty minutes by car and there’s also trains and buses.’

  ‘There you are then, cool.’

  ‘Too old? You don’t look it.’

  ‘Thanks, but I’m going to be twenty-eight next. I was starting to feel out of place with all those eighteen-year-olds.’

  ‘I’m sure a lot of them liked you.’

  ‘Well, thanks, maybe.’ Carter wasn’t sure how to respond to this. He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Better be getting back, pick up the DCs and get over to Burnthwaite. You’ll have to direct me; I can’t remember the way.’

  ‘No worries. I know my way around here. We used to go up the Dales a lot when we were kids. Burnthwaite is one of my favourite spots.’

  ‘It’s one of Oldroyd’s too. He had me skimming stones there.’

  Steph laughed.

  ‘Anyway, I couldn’t do it, but he got one right across to the other bank.’

  ‘I remember when I was little, Mum said I took my first steps on that village green by the river.’

  She sounded a little nostalgic, so maybe her early childhood had been happy. Something must have happened since, but what?

  He was still wondering as he paid the bill and they left the pub.

  Throughout the afternoon Oldroyd sat in front of the computer looking hard at the digital photographs and thinking. He clicked the mouse and went backwards and forwards through the series, glancing intermittently at the small rusty piece of metal. After a while he went out for a walk through the Valley Gardens to clear his mind. This was one of his favourite strolls and he liked to think of himself as following in the footsteps of Sir Edward Elgar who had also frequented the Valley Gardens on his visits to Harrogate.

  He passed between the formal flower beds and the Arcadian wildness of the stream running through the gardens, deep in thought. Going off into distracted ruminations had been a characteristic of Oldroyd since childhood. It was a valuable tool in solving crimes, but it could also lead him into a gloomy state of mind if he strayed on to his current loneliness or on to some of the perennial existential problems his mind tended to gnaw at rather obsessively.

  He reached the decorative little pavilion café, where he was a regular customer, and ordered a cup of tea. The café was full of young parents with their small children, and through a window he could see the model boating pool behind the café. This brought a wave of nostalgia and sadness as he remembered bringing his son and daughter when they were little to float their boats in the pond. Once, his son had s
tepped into the water in his eagerness and Oldroyd had had to wring out his socks. He frowned. Those happy days were gone for ever, and what did he have to look forward to now? At times like this he felt bleak about the future and the brevity of life. A line from Edward Thomas would come to haunt him: ‘How dreary-swift with naught to travel to is time?’ He shook his head, dismissed the thoughts and the self-pity and brought his mind back to the case.

  He was trying to solve the puzzle of how the body had got down there. Why was it not there just days before it was discovered when all the evidence confirmed that it had been down in that damp cold world for some time? He didn’t believe the other potholers were lying, but that seemed to leave the impossible scenario of a body appearing from nowhere.

  He drank his tea slowly, then left the happy young families and went back to the station. In the late afternoon, feeling frustrated, he phoned forensics and spoke to Tim Groves, a tall bespectacled pathologist whom he had known a long time. They had great respect for one another.

  ‘No, Jim, I’m afraid there’s no possibility that the body had been down there for only a day or so.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘The discoloured and saturated state of the clothing; we actually found traces of the early stages of fungal growth on the material. The condition of the body indicated that the victim had been dead for about ten days, but only the first stages of decomposition had occurred. That was obviously due to the unusual conditions down there. The temperature is low so it acts like partial refrigeration and the number of bacteria is much lower than at the surface. I doubt if a body would ever properly decompose down there. It would probably just eventually dry out and sort of mummify.’

  ‘Right, so it must have been there a while?’

  ‘Yes.’ Tim Groves was insistent, but as if he sensed Oldroyd’s frustration and wished to help, he added, ‘I don’t normally make suggestions like this, Jim, but don’t we have to assume the body had been moved to the passage where it was found from somewhere else in the caves?’

  ‘We’ve already thought of that, but why? You make the effort to get it down there in the first place, goodness knows why, you presumably conceal it, then you go back later and dump it smack in the middle of the passage where the next person passing through the system is going to walk straight into it.’