Wild Chamber

by Christopher Fowler

  ‘No bag,’ said May. ‘A woman dressed like this is bound to want a hairbrush and make-up. Manicured nails, nothing underneath them. What’s in her wallet?’

  Kneeling awkwardly, Bryant removed a black patent-leather purse from her coat pocket and examined its contents. ‘Lots of lovely credit cards. Helen Forester, number thirty-eight, Clement Crescent, Holland Park. That’s just over the road. No cigarettes, no smell. Assuming she wouldn’t smoke in her flat, it would have been the most logical reason for her coming here.’

  ‘He’s right-handed. The bruising is deeper on one side of the throat,’ said Banbury. ‘There are a couple of tiny upright marks on the neck, possibly caused by her nails as she tried to get her fingers under the ligature.’

  ‘She didn’t come out here for a cigarette and she didn’t bring a bag with her,’ said Bryant. ‘She didn’t need one. Would anyone like a banana?’ He removed a mottled bunch from the voluminous pocket of his overcoat.

  May was disgusted. ‘How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?’

  ‘I didn’t have any breakfast. I could murder a kipper. So, where’s the dog?’

  ‘What dog?’

  ‘She’s got a plastic poo bag hanging out of her pocket.’

  ‘Of course. It must still be around here.’ May eased himself out of the tent.

  Grunting with the effort, Bryant bent closer to the body and felt in her tracksuit pockets, producing a set of keys. ‘So she comes over from her flat, unlocks the gate and enters the garden with the dog. The gardener is already inside. She gets what – halfway around the crescent? The dog’s ears go up – he sees someone. Maybe he hears the gate open and shut. She stops, apprehensive. It’s still too dark to spot anything but she feels safe. She’s in a small London park a few yards from the main road, but in a way she might as well be in the heart of the countryside. Then what?’

  ‘Her attacker suddenly appears and runs at her,’ said Banbury. ‘He pulls out some kind of ligature and manages to wrap it around her throat, which he’d have to get very close to do.’

  ‘And he’s able to do this before she has time to fend him off? If the dog stopped and alerted her she would have had advance warning. Wouldn’t she be wary and protect herself as he came at her?’

  ‘Not if she knew her killer,’ Banbury said. ‘There are no defence marks.’

  ‘What kind of defence marks would you find in a case of strangulation? He didn’t attack her with the knife; there are no palm slashes.’ Bryant chewed his banana ruminatively. ‘She let him get close enough to choke her, so it was a friendly face. I’ll need to get in and out of this park – can you get me a skeleton key?’

  ‘I’ve told you before, Mr Bryant, I’d get you one if I could be sure you wouldn’t go around opening every locked door you come across.’

  ‘I’m naturally curious, that’s all,’ said Bryant.

  ‘No, Mr B., you’re just nosy.’

  Outside, Bryant found his partner checking behind mossy stacks of wood. ‘Any luck with the dog?’

  ‘He must have got out.’ May leaned on his arm to stand up.

  ‘Walk with me, John. Let’s think this through for a moment.’ He tossed his banana skin at a bin and missed. ‘There are unusual elements here. The locked park, the knife, the marks, the missing dog. I’m inclined to assume that it wasn’t a drunken lovers’ fight, which means this is a case for us. “To prevent crimes capable of causing social panic, violent disorder and general malaise in the public areas of the city, without alarming the populace or alerting it to ongoing operations” – our remit, engraved upon the flinty stone that replaced my heart. If people can’t feel safe in residential gardens, they won’t feel safe anywhere.’ He sniffed the air noisily. ‘It doesn’t even smell like London in here. There’s no CCTV and even in midwinter the cover’s dense. No wonder Winston and Julia conducted their affair in rural surroundings in Orwell’s 1984. A murder in the prelapsarian paradise of an exclusive locked garden square – I’ve never come across such a crime before, have you?’

  ‘Only in dreadful old murder mysteries,’ said May.

  7

  ‘WILD CHAMBERS IN THE URBAN MACHINE’

  John May smoothed his silver mane in place and looked around. He was as handsome as he had been a quarter-century ago, with dark, sharp eyes and features that seemed better for their silver setting, as if he had finally grown into his ideal age. ‘I remember investigating an attack in Victoria Park once,’ he said. ‘A violent altercation with a drunken boyfriend, marks everywhere, torn branches, gouges in the grass where he had dragged her by her hair. By comparison, this looks like a kind of dismissive execution. She came here to what should have been a place of calm reflection. Instead, she was choked to death.’

  They walked slowly along one of the side paths behind Banbury’s tent, in the dripping gloom of the great plane trees. The branches should have been bare at this time of the year, but still had their leaves. They formed a dense canopy overhead that trapped the sickly sunlight and snuffed it out.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ continued May. ‘Why would he wait until she was inside the park? There’s a section of road where he wouldn’t have been seen.’

  ‘You mean over there, between the parked cars and the railings?’ Bryant hopped about to see between the bushes to the curving pavement beyond.

  ‘Exactly. If he kept low behind those vans and jumped out at her, nobody would have spotted him. I mean, assuming it wasn’t the gardener.’

  ‘There certainly would have been more light.’ Bryant unpacked his tobacco and began filling his Lorenzo Spitfire. ‘At seven on a winter’s morning there are no lamps on in here. The only street illumination is behind those trees.’

  ‘Perhaps she disturbed someone who was already in here. Maybe he was a vagrant, which might explain why he was carrying a knife.’

  ‘If he had a knife, why not stab her? Why kill her at all? Why not just scare her away?’

  ‘Someone on the main road must have heard something.’

  Bryant squinted up at the sky. ‘I’m not so sure. We’re surrounded by sound-deadening greenery. We’re also under the Heathrow flight path and on a major bus route.’ He stopped and slowly turned on one foot, listening. Like many low, stocky men he sometimes possessed the grace of a dancer. ‘Hear that? The London engine. There’s no such thing as silence or darkness in the city any more.’ He allowed his fingers to brush a laurel bush, its wet leaves as shiny as plastic. ‘We’ve made these green spaces a unique feature of England. We copied Italian designs, you know, replacing bare windswept piazzas with plants and lawns, cluttering up the vistas and creating these arbours of tranquillity, islands of pastoral freedom.’

  ‘I suppose I never really think about them,’ said May.

  ‘You’d notice them if they weren’t here. People need parks. That’s why they must be kept safe. They’re a national legacy. I’m surprised the government hasn’t found a way to monetize them.’ They made their way back to the geodesic tent. ‘Dan, can I look for the weapon?’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t, Mr Bryant,’ Banbury called. ‘The eliminations are going to be hard enough as it is. We’ve already had three EMTs and four officers in here, plus whoever else has been using the place since it rained the day before yesterday. I need to find out how this bloke got in.’

  ‘I rather think you need to find out the reverse.’ Bryant headed for a wooden bench and eased himself on to it for a puff and a ponder. ‘It was either the gardener, who, let’s not forget, called the emergency services as soon as he could, or someone who had a key to the main gate and let himself in behind her, or someone who was already in the park, possibly overnight, in which case how did he get out? She has flat shoes, yes?’

  Banbury looked puzzled. ‘Trainers.’

  ‘And she’s what, five six?’

  ‘Give or take an inch.’

  ‘Then we need to get her neck examined.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘The depth
and angle of the ligature might give us an idea of his height.’ Bryant took a laborious drag on his pipe, releasing a curl of blue smoke. ‘The park’s reserved for property owners granted keys by the residents’ association. The railings are specifically designed to keep out lowlifes. So, how did he leave?’

  ‘Up a tree and down the other side from an overhanging branch?’ May suggested.

  ‘Do you see any overhanging branches?’ Bryant rose from the bench. ‘The council always remove them. Health and safety. And where’s the dog? Did he take it with him?’

  As he headed back to the tent a pair of grey squirrels tumbled past. When they saw Bryant they froze, as if realizing that it might not be a good idea to get in the way of his walking stick. ‘Have you got anything more for us, Dan?’

  Banbury ducked out of the tent, removing his gloves. ‘Nothing so far. It was very fast, which doesn’t make sense. Strangulation is not a quick option, and yet she just dropped where she stood. I’m wondering if she had a heart attack.’

  ‘Is it normal to have blood forced from the eyes like that?’ Bryant sucked noisily at his pipe.

  ‘With this level of sudden force it’s not unusual,’ Banbury replied. ‘Something’s bothering me about the ligature marks, though – they don’t look right. I need to examine them more carefully with Giles Kershaw.’

  ‘He could have got blood on himself, couldn’t he? You didn’t find any on the gravel?’ May looked down at the ground. ‘It would be good to find a witness or get a CCTV grab on him before he has a chance to change his clothes. Have you got a decent team to help you?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s going to be a long day,’ said Banbury. ‘We’ll map out and search every square inch of the garden. It’s only a small space but there are a lot of bushes.’ He stretched his back and looked about. ‘It’s all so immaculately laid out. It doesn’t look like anything violent could ever happen here.’

  ‘You’re not going to tear it up,’ said a determined female voice. ‘You have no right. This is private property.’ Margo Farrier stepped forward and stood firm. Although tiny, she cut a formidable figure. She had wrapped herself in an ancient grey fur coat that suggested kinship with the squirrels. ‘I am a resident here. Clement Crescent’s garden is under our guardianship.’

  ‘I appreciate your concern, madam—’ May began, meeting her halfway. He wanted to try to keep her away from his partner, who took particular pleasure in upsetting pensioners, but Bryant was already on his way over.

  The old lady held out her hand. ‘I’m Margo Farrier. You’ve probably heard of me.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Bryant. ‘Are you wanted by the police?’

  ‘I’m on the board of the Clement Crescent co-operative committee.’

  Bryant exhaled a cloud of aromatic smoke. Mrs Farrier coughed theatrically. ‘You mean you decide who moves into the street?’

  ‘We can’t prevent a purchase, of course, but we can make the process awkward for the wrong sort of tenant. For the past thirty-seven years I have lived at number nineteen. You’re not allowed to smoke in here.’

  ‘I’m in the great outdoors, Gran, it’s hardly a casus belli.’ Bryant was tempted to blow smoke right in her face.

  ‘It’s not an act of war, I agree, but if we allow a pipe it’ll be the thin end of the wedge.’

  ‘Actually, we can’t allow you in at the moment. There’s been a violent assault in this park.’

  ‘It’s not a park, it’s a garden.’

  ‘Very well, this garden, and as the circumstances of the attack have not yet been established it’s our duty to protect the residents and users of the – garden. So hop it.’

  Mrs Farrier tried to peer around him. ‘It’s not the lady who walks her dog, is it? Because she’s not supposed to let her dog off the leash in here. She’s been told before. She only moved here in September and she’s been nothing but trouble.’

  ‘What makes you say that? Did you see her enter this morning?’

  ‘I heard her front door go – she does have an annoying habit of slamming it.’

  ‘What time was this?’

  ‘About seven, I think. She’s had warnings from the committee—’

  ‘So you know her name?’

  For the first time Mrs Farrier’s resolve flickered. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she? That’s what the tent is for, to cover her body.’

  ‘Would you be prepared to identify her for us?’ Stepping aside, Bryant allowed her to fully see the geodesic tent.

  ‘Arthur, this is unorthodox—’ May began.

  ‘We need to verify her identity, John. It’ll be quicker this way. Go and have a word with Dan.’

  Banbury covered the victim’s body, leaving only her face clear. ‘Hang on a second. OK, you can bring her over.’

  Margo Farrier moved in, more intrigued than upset. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed, gripping the lapels of her fur coat tightly as if suddenly feeling a chill. ‘That’s Helen Forester. She was one of the new people. We’ve never had trouble here before.’

  ‘Sorry to put you through that,’ said Bryant insincerely. ‘Would you like a banana?’

  Mrs Farrier ignored the offer of bruised fruit. ‘We didn’t get on well. She told me to mind my own business. Even so – poor soul.’

  ‘What do you mean, she was one of the new people?’

  ‘She moved in only a few months ago, and with that yappy little dog. Where is the dog?’

  ‘Do you remember his name?’

  ‘Beauchamp, I think. Spelled like the Earl of Warwick, not the cold remedy. Such a pretentious name for a West Highland terrier. She’s a tenant, not an owner. She said she was going to buy her flat, but – I don’t know – she must have changed her mind.’

  ‘I think we need to get you out of here, Mrs Farrier.’ May took the old lady’s arm and led her away. ‘For all we know, the person who attacked her could be in here.’

  Mrs Farrier’s eyes widened in fright. ‘You think he’s still inside the garden?’

  ‘For your own safety I’d prefer it if you went back to your home. I’ll be happy to escort you. We’ll need to talk to you a bit later.’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she said, quavering just a little. ‘I hope you find him.’

  May walked her back, mainly to make sure that she didn’t touch anything. ‘Do you have a key?’ he asked gently as she was standing before the gate without making an attempt to unlock it.

  ‘Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude when I said we didn’t get along. It was just the dog. The committee has rules. How did you get in?’

  ‘We have the gardener’s key.’

  ‘You don’t think it was him? He’s new. He’s, well – coloured.’

  ‘We won’t know anything for a while,’ May said.

  ‘She was getting a divorce,’ Mrs Farrier volunteered. ‘The husband came around a couple of times. You’ve never heard such language.’

  ‘They argued?’

  ‘He was outside very late one night and shouted at her, right from the street.’ Mrs Farrier bridled at the thought. ‘One doesn’t expect that sort of behaviour here. It’s always been a decent neighbourhood.’

  ‘What did they argue about?’

  ‘I think he must have needed money. He said he’d come back for it and she couldn’t stop him.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘I couldn’t hear very clearly.’ Mrs Farrier’s eyes watered. ‘And now she’s gone to meet her maker.’

  ‘Best not to dwell on it,’ said May. ‘Perhaps you should make yourself a nice cup of tea.’ He waited on the pavement, watching until she was inside.

  Arthur Bryant tossed his banana bag at a bin and missed. ‘You don’t think he’s still hiding in here somewhere, do you? I mean, it’s not that big. What could he do, dig a pit and cover himself with leaves?’

  Banbury rose and looked over Bryant’s shoulder. It seemed to be getting darker, not lighter. ‘It wouldn’t be logical to stick around. Would you?’

 
‘If I didn’t have a way of getting out, I wouldn’t have much choice, would I?’ Bryant replied. ‘Look at it, flowers and lawns, it all seems so safe. Parks weren’t always, of course. Racist and homophobic attacks were part of everyday life in parks, as well as assaults on lone women. I honestly thought we were getting past all that, then along comes something like this. You know what they used to call parks? Wild chambers. Wild chambers in the urban machine.’

  Together they stared off into the dankness of the rain-ticking bushes.

  8

  ‘GARDENS AREN’T SUPPOSED TO BE LETHAL’

  Janice Longbright walked into the freshly painted operations room and threw her bag on to a chair, only to find Jack Renfield standing before her, as awkward as a coal miner in a cake shop, looking around for somewhere to sit and something to do with his great meaty fists that wouldn’t break or spill anything.

  ‘Move my bag, will you?’ she told him. ‘Stick it on the floor.’

  He did as he was told. ‘Blimey, what have you got in there, bricks?’

  ‘Just the one. What are you doing here, Jack?’ There was no animosity in her voice, only curiosity. She set down her coffee and removed her coat.

  Renfield blew through his mouth, raised his dimple and let his eyebrows creep upward in a catalogue of awkward male responses. ‘I got a call to come in. You’ve got a new case and Raymond is short-staffed.’

  ‘Are you back for good? Or is this a temporary thing?’

  ‘I think his idea is to see how it goes.’

  Longbright pointed to the opposite desk. ‘Fraternity was going to take that space but he’s moved on. He’s going to specialize. You may as well have it.’

  Renfield didn’t budge. He couldn’t have looked more awkward if he’d been caught donning drag on the Titanic.

  ‘Look, I don’t want there to be any bad feeling between us, Jack. What happened before—’

  ‘Water under the bridge, Janice, I assure you.’ It was an unfortunate turn of phrase, seeing as they’d been standing beside the canal when Renfield had announced he was leaving her and the unit. ‘I’m not here because of you. Don’t think that. This is work. You’ve got a job to do and so have I.’ He cut the edge of one palm against the flat of the other, showing he meant business.