‘No, it’s all right. Be quiet, dog . . It’s Rewley … what’s he doing?’ And then, as he got closer so that she could see: ‘ He’s got blood on him,’ she said.
She moved her arm away. ‘ This is my job, darling, don’t protect me too much.’ Benjy had retreated to sit on her feet; he didn’t like what he saw any more than she did.
‘When I am with you, I want to.’
Husbandly and proper, but not for me, not what I want, and I can’t let you, and she moved forward. ‘What is it, Rewley?’ There was a lot of blood on him, on his hands and on his shirt and jeans. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Not my blood,’ he said huskily. ‘But, by God, there’s a lot of it, all over the place, on the seat, on the path, on the grass, he must have bled like a pig. Alive for some time, I should think, that’s why he bled so much, bled to death.’
‘Who is it?’ It was a man anyway, so not Emily. Did that lighten her mood? Oddly enough, not.
‘My informer. I’ve been on the look-out for him all day, he said he’d be in the park.’
And now he was. But covered in blood and possibly dead. She looked at Rewley, who nodded.
‘Yes, dead. You’d better see for yourself.’ He looked down at her feet. ‘Not the dog, though.’
Charmian turned to her husband: ‘ Call the police … just make the usual 999 call, and they can take over. It may turn out to be something I am interested in too, but let the machine have it first … And take the dog with you.’
‘Yes, I will.’ Humphrey was reluctant; he bent down to put the leash on the dog’s collar. ‘But I will be back. Don’t go away.’
‘I’ll still be here. Where is the body, Rewley?’
‘Up by the fountain, on one of the seats near to the water garden.’
‘Right, so you know where to find me,’ she said to her husband. She turned to George Rewley. ‘Let’s go.’
Side by side they started up the hill to the park, while Humphrey dragged Benjy away.
‘So what happened? How did you come to find him?’
‘I’d expected to see him earlier, any time really, but I had been keeping a look-out on the park all day in case he turned up. I thought if he was there he would wait and be looking for me. This was a last look before I gave up for the day.’
‘When did you last try?’
‘About eight thirty. I’d finished work for the day, that report you wanted me to do on the Morston fraud case, and I’d called in on Anny to see the child, and I went to the park on the way back. No one there. Hardly anyone about, but just enough people to make me feel he wouldn’t be there … he liked it dark and empty. That’s why I tried again.’
‘Do you think anyone was watching you?’
‘No, I was careful. I’m sure there was no one around.’
They were at the top of the hill and looking down on the park in the moonlight.
‘Someone knew where to find him, though.’
‘He might have been followed. I don’t know how he got to the park, whether he walked or had a car.’
The park gates, which were never shut now and which, like the ancient gates of Versailles at that time of the Revolution, probably could not be moved, were behind them. Ahead was the fountain, a memorial to a dead king, and beyond that the water garden. It was heavily shrouded with drooping willows.
‘Yes, I can see you could be private down there … But who was he hiding from?’
‘From whoever killed him, I guess. He was frightened.’
They walked down the path. The moonlight left gentle spreading shadows into which they walked. There was a darker shadow fallen across the seat beneath the trees. They were silent as they walked towards it.
The figure lay with head hanging forward over the edge of the bench, with the torso sprawled at an angle across it, hands dangling. There was blood across the white mask, blood on the long shirt, and a pool of blood on the grass at his feet …
‘What happened to him? He didn’t do this to himself, but who lets a murderer come up to him and cut his throat?’
‘He was hit on the head first, I think. Then his throat was cut … I thought his head would drop off when I lifted it.’
The shadow of Jim Towers rested on them for a moment, darkening the already dark. ‘Was there an attempt to cut off his head?’
‘The pathologist will know more about that … the knife cuts may show up that … There may not have been time … he’s still warm. I may have frightened the killer off.’
‘But you didn’t see anyone?’
‘No. I was on the way to report it when I met you.’ He looked down at his hands, still bloodstained. ‘I grabbed a bit of newspaper from the rubbish bin.’
‘Where’s your car?’
‘I walked here, it seemed more discreet. I thought he might see me, follow me or know I was coming. As it turned out, he and the killer were here before me.’
‘He didn’t wear that mask when he went through the streets,’ observed Charmian, ‘whether he walked or drove. Too unpleasant.’
‘Put it on as he sat down, I suppose.’
‘It is a mask … you thought it might be plaster before.’
‘There is a layer of plaster on it.’
‘It would certainty stop anyone sitting next to him … This time, you had no doubt, you saw a man?’
‘I know, not sure why I was confused before.’
Charmian stared down at the bloodstained figure. ‘I think there is an hormonal imbalance … the breasts are round and the hips soft … Funny, I never noticed it before.’
Rewley said sharply. ‘ You know him?’
As the sound of the police patrol car arriving broke the silence, Charmian put out a hand to gently lift the mask. ‘Oh yes, I know who it is, I saw him when we found the body in the basement, he was there … It’s Albert. Big Albert. He works or did work for Eddy Bell.’
Down the path hurried the heavily built police patrolman; his footsteps must have jarred the ground, because Albert rolled forward off the bench to fall, spreadeagled, face up, on the grass. He fell into the pool of blood which splashed against Charmian’s foot. The blood was very fluid, she thought, how long does it take to clot?
She knelt by his side staring in his face, which was a younger face than she had remembered. But he had passed more or less unnoticed that day in the basement. Poor boy, what happened to you before or since? How did you come into possession of this lethal knowledge so that someone had to kill you? Why didn’t you talk to me, not to Rewley?
There had to be a reason for that which she might know one day. There was always a reason, if you looked deep enough, for the unreasonable. She had to believe that to handle her work, and although she rarely put it into speech, it was there at the back of her mind.
Now she was close, she could see that there was a wound at the base of his head where he had been hit. He had sat on the bench, his back to the trees, while he waited for Rewley. Had he sent Rewley a message to say that was where he would be? Or had he just relied on Rewley looking in the park every so often? Possibly he had watched the detective’s movements earlier. If so, he had not worn the mask and general get-up. He didn’t have to have it all the time, he could have hidden in the trees to dress up.
But this time there had been someone else hidden there too. The watcher had been watched. Albert’s face, empty of life, was not empty of expression. He looked surprised; she had seen that look before on the victims of sudden death. She might be that way herself one day, her mouth open and her eyes wide.
She did not close Albert’s eyes because that was a job for someone else, but she replaced the mask. Blood got on to her hands, but she did not move from where she sat looking at Albert. She had to say it: he made an eye-catching corpse.
She was still there when the police surgeon arrived. He was one she knew, a gentle middle-aged man called Edmunds. Dr Frank Edmunds as she remembered, and they had met before over a dead body
He smiled at her as he depos
ited his black bag by her side. ‘We must stop meeting this way.’ He liked a joke, even if not an original one.
‘Oh well, he’s dead, I can say that straight off and no doubt how it happened. Makes my job easy, this sort of thing.’ He was more humane than he sounded but matter of fact like all police surgeons. Must be hard on the wives, Charmian had thought. ‘Come from the theatre: I’ll be back in time for the last act, murder mystery, Dame Agatha.’ But his hands were moving gently over the skull. ‘Nasty blow there, but it didn’t kill him, just rendered him ready for the knife.’ He looked around. ‘Got the knife?’
I think not.’
‘Well, it was sharp and thin, I’d say, and used with some force.’
‘Just asking: but do you think an attempt was made to cut off the head?’
Frank Edmunds’ expression did not change, he had long since lost the capacity to be startled by people like Charmian. ‘Can’t say. Not just by a quick look. Didn’t succeed if so, didn’t come near it, perhaps there wasn’t time. I’m not an expert on cut off heads. I don’t know if I have ever seen one.’
‘They exist.’
‘Haven’t come my way. No, definitely not. Well, killers have strange ways, no doubt, and everyone to their taste. Must have a reason, I suppose.’
Charmian nodded. Yes, he was right, and there had to be a reason for Alana’s head being cut off, and only Jim Towers was giving it attention, and, like all original thinkers, was in trouble for it. It was time she considered it herself.
‘A mad reason, would you think? Or a sensible reason?’ Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the photographers coming down the path. She’d have to move, they both would.
‘Are you asking me? Well, I suppose there’s Sir Gawain and the Green Knight … he cut off the chap’s head but it grew again. And don’t ask me how I know that because I am no Anglo-Saxon scholar but my daughter who’s an opera buff took me to Covent Garden to see the opera. He did it because he was challenged. Great stuff.’
‘I’ll think about Sir Gawain,’ said Charmian. She might ask Birdie for an idea if Jim Towers failed her; Birdie had been great on suggesting bloody murder close at hand. Dead right too, even to the blood in the open air. ‘But meanwhile, what I am thinking is that there’s a lot of blood, and it hasn’t congealed. Mean anything?’
‘Not as useful as a time check as we used to think. The general opinion now is that blood remains fluid in sudden death for some time. The Russians used cadaver blood in transfusions, handy on a battlefield … in certain cases it may never coagulate. We may have one here.’ He stood up, putting out a hand to help Charmian to her feet. ‘Any identity?’
‘He’s known to me.’
‘Right, well there you are … It’s up to you now. You’ll see my report.’
‘Not really my case. It’ll be for the local CID.’
He laughed. ‘But you will see it, after all you were here first.’
They stood back while the scene of the crime team moved, busy in their usual tasks of taping off the ground, making measurements and taking photographs. Dr Edmunds strolled away, he never walked fast, to talk to the CID sergeant, delivering his provisional report, and Charmian went back to Rewley.
‘So you knew him?’ Rewley put the question. ‘I don’t know why I didn’t recognize him myself.’
They were sitting on the grass where the ground rose in a gentle slope from which they could look down on the scene below. H. G. Horris had not turned up himself, he was out for the evening, but had sent one of his best watchdogs, Sergeant Samson, who was being groomed for the position Jim Towers might be losing. Charmian could have gone home, but she chose to stay for a while longer, although Sergeant Samson, a strong man with a strong name, would have been glad to see her go. Humphrey had come back but the dog had not. He sat silently beside the two of them, watching the scene below.
‘No reason why. You probably never knew him.’ She reached out a hand to touch Humphrey’s. Nice of you to be here, the gesture said.
‘I must have seen him: I had to go to the Bell workplace because of a break-in they had.’
‘I didn’t know about that.’
‘It was some time ago, before I was working full-time for you. I was seconded to Ron Fraser’s team for a few months. The break-in was a small-time affair. Bell didn’t seem worried, I don’t think he would have reported it if a neighbour hadn’t seen the lad running away and got on the blower for him … Bell was more interested in the new outhouse he was building for Dr Yeldon as far as I could tell.’
‘Did you get anyone for the robbery?’
‘Oh, it was one of the Cheasey boys, one of the Elderberry lot, serving his apprenticeship to the local Mafia; he was easily identified, left his fingerprints all over the place, he won’t go far in the trade, I remember thinking. But Eddy wouldn’t prosecute.’
‘Good of him.’
‘Just didn’t want to bother. But his father had just died, so it may have been that. Not that it did the boy a lot of good, he fell under a car a year later and goes round in a wheelchair. I reckon that one of his own lot did it to him, you know how ruthless they are, even with their own, if they get let down, and the boy showed all the signs of being a non-achiever. Anyway, that was when I must surely have seen Albert, passed him in the yard at least.’
‘It explains how he knew you, that’s one question answered.’
‘Doesn’t explain why he went around dressed up like a guy.’
‘It does if he was frightened, scared silly. And it looks as though he was right to be frightened.’
Rewley admitted it. ‘True enough.’
‘What was it he said: I saw her come out? So what did he mean? I’m guessing that he meant Margaret Drue … that she has been around all the time. Wearing a man’s dress. And that he recognized her. Either she “came out” as he put it, or gave herself away in some manner.’
‘Are you suggesting that she killed him?’
‘Yes, it’s what I am thinking. It has to be so, doesn’t it?’
‘Then where has she been hiding? And where is she now?’
‘We’ll find her, don’t worry about that. We’ll get her in the end, whatever face she has put on.’ She got to her feet, Sergeant Samson was coming her way. Chucking out time had come.
The moon had gone behind a bank of clouds, it was no longer a pleasant night, but in spite of this and the lateness of the hour, a small group of onlookers had arrived to see what was going on. The stringer from the local paper had turned up; he recognized Charmian, so he was moving quietly in her direction with the thought that if he was lucky he would get there before Sergeant Samson. He knew Samson too, and would name him in his piece; he got his facts right, with plenty of detail which he knew made for a good sale. He might risk a photograph too, he had his small camera under his arm.
He was not lucky, the Sergeant got to Charmian first. ‘Just packing up, ma’am. Getting the site under cover in case of rain, with a chap on duty to keep an eye on it. We’ll be back tomorrow to carry on. Can’t really do much with the light as it is.’
Even assisted by the lamps that had been rigged up with power from a police van, it was too murky under the bushes and trees for a proper search.
‘Anything useful?’ Charmian asked.
‘No knife,’ said Samson. ‘The doc said it would be a small, sharp piece, so it would be easy to carry away. The perp’ would get blood on his clothes, but he probably had that anyway. Someone might have noticed. We’ll be asking.’
‘Anything else?’
‘A branch from a tree the size of a baseball bat with blood on it,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Have to check it, of course.’
‘That’s interesting … Makes it look as if the killer came with the knife all ready to use, but used something on the spot for the blow on the head. Half premeditated and half spontaneous.’
‘I think it was planned all right, the knife would have to have been ready and sharp …’
‘Yes.�
� Birdie had been right about the blood in the open, she hadn’t mentioned a knife. Perhaps the darkness she had seen at first had been under the trees.
‘We will go over the ground thoroughly tomorrow … I’ve spoken to Superintendent Horris, ma’am, and he would be glad to have a talk with you tomorrow … You identified the victim.’
‘Yes, I did. And I’d like to talk to him. Get him to ring me.’ It would do no harm to remind the Sergeant, and through him, HG, of her superior rank. She didn’t expect a bow from Samson, nor did she get one, but she got a grin.
‘Right, ma’am, will do.’ He considered saluting but thought better of it, you could go so far with ma’am but no further. He was a judicious man as well as ambitious.
The three of them walked out of the park and down the hill, enjoying the movement and the night air; the moon was out again in a clear sky.
‘He nearly saluted you as we left,’ said Humphrey.
‘He knew better …’ She turned to Rewley. ‘Don’t go back to the flat tonight. Stay with us, there’s plenty of room.’
Rewley didn’t need any persuading, he hated his empty home. ‘Thank you.’
She left the two men together, talking, while she went to make up the bed. When she came back with a tray of coffee and sandwiches, they were deep in a discussion. ‘I thought you might be hungry.’ It was obvious to her that Rewley was not eating much lately. Fine, it was part of grieving, possibly a necessary part, but there were limits.
She was pleased when he took a sandwich with a murmur of thanks. Then he turned to her. ‘Humphrey thinks you’ve got it wrong.’
‘Does he?’ She raised an eyebrow. Her husband did not usually pass a comment on her work. It worked both ways: she left him alone.
‘Yes, about Margaret Drue, I think you are wrong there.’
Charmian took a sandwich, which she did not really want, to chew while she thought about it. ‘You think she’s not there?’
‘Oh yes, she’s there. But perhaps you are getting it wrong. You are too obsessed with her.’
Charmian swallowed her mouthful, and began to sum up. ‘ Look, when we found the body and the child’s head, where I came into the case really because my name was there, on the body, it was concluded that it was Drue, and she had been killed in a revenge killing by someone close to the child.’
The Morbid Kitchen Page 16