by Hylton Smith
“I have two names for you, Inspector, and if they aren’t able to help you, they can at least point you to someone who can.”
“Ok, just a second while I get my pen and notebook, Mr Stark. Right, go ahead.”
“Eric Paisley had been the operations director and Neville Travers was the engineering manager. Both of them were working there until production ceased. I‘ve asked them to ring you as soon as possible at the Newcastle police station.”
“Thanks, Mr Stark. I’ll need to speak with you when you’re up in Newcastle again, when will that be?”
“I’m travelling up from London the day after tomorrow, I can call at the station and if we need another site visit then so be it.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t seem to be overly concerned at the discovery of these bones.”
“Not at all, but I wouldn’t like to see this affect the actual winding down process. And, as I said, I’m currently in London. Will another couple of days make any difference?”
“I suppose not. See you then.”
Black rubbed his chin as he filed another note, this one in his memory rather than his notebook.
“Come on, Maggie, let’s all get back to the station.” Turning to the security boys he couldn’t suppress a smile.
“I don’t think you guys would make it as detectives, the packet’s empty and there isn’t a single crumb in sight from the sausage rolls. My money’s on the dog. By the way, you might get on to your head office and get that breach in the perimeter fence sealed, I’ll be back tomorrow to check that it’s done.”
Chapter 2
Winlaton Mill Coke Works Site: The Next Day
For once the weather forecast was accurate, and the downpour remained unabated. As Black and Constance arrived back at the site, he explained that he’d authorised the security men to get the contractors for the site to erect some protective shuttering in the area around the skeleton.
“The best had to be made of a bad situation, and I didn’t want the skeleton to suffer any further damage. The head contractor called me at the station before we set off to say they’d managed to drive steel girders into the softening soil, in a horseshoe shape, around the projected shape of the skeleton. This is intended to prevent damage or break up of the remains if the surrounding soil starts moving again. He told me that the hand has already become detached. Apparently, the fingers had been lowered into the mud by random erosion of the stepped face.”
He stared at Constance, expecting some kind of approval. She raised an eyebrow and offered a mild reprimand instead.
“You really should have checked this out with me last night when you dropped me back at the station, Inspector. It’s our job to determine if there is anything suspicious here, not yours alone. Which brings me to something else, Freda mentioned an ‘expert’ of some kind. Are you going to enlighten me?”
“Yes, well err, that could be him over there by the cabin. I didn’t want to speculate about what might have caused this landslide, and more importantly, whether this poor sod was buried under the slab or not. That’s not your field of expertise, is it Constance?”
“Perhaps we should find out, let’s go and introduce ourselves.”
After exchanging pleasantries it seemed as if the ‘archaeological’ phase was going to take on the complexity of a potential Caesarean section, demanding intervention, but not without risk. Allowing more time for the rain to abate could endanger the find. The expert Black had recruited looked up at the sky and advised that they should wait no longer than another four hours regardless of the weather.
“The more shear stress which builds up as the water table rises, the more the bones will be disjointed or fractured. I’m prepared to use a water lance with minimum pressure to carefully loosen the soil around the target, in a controlled way. You have to make a decision before it is made for you.” Black turned to Constance, she nodded.
“Right, what the hell, go for it now,” said Black, “we don’t want to be pissing about in the dark again today.”
Several additional personnel had been brought in by the security men, to ensure that any emergency rescue requirement of operatives could be employed quickly and expertly; a second landslip seemed more likely with the wind now approaching gale force.
Two hours into the water lance phase they found that the right leg had been detached from the hip, and it became the first new section to join the hand, which was already marked up and residing in one of many sealable plastic boxes Constance had brought.
There was worse news when the clumps of clinging mud were gently encouraged to desert the torso; the rib cage was collapsed and several bones were broken. Miraculously, there was no more serious damage, and there was considerable relief that the skull seemed to have survived in good condition. The better news, or so it was thought, came in the form of isolated pieces of semi-rotted fibres, which were assumed to originate from what the unknown person had been wearing.
However, the most intriguing revelation was an oval metallic disc with holes punched opposite each other, and in between these holes there was some kind of numeric or alpha-numeric pattern. The disc was so badly pitted that it was impossible to make sense of the legend, but it was a starting point.
Meanwhile, Constance had managed to arrange the connected parts in the pre-labelled boxes and sketch in the recovery location of any individual bones, giving each one a reference number. This was important as they didn’t yet know if there was just one skeleton involved.
Black immediately called the station and spoke with Moss.
“We’re going to try to identify this person by two methods. Firstly, I’ve arranged a conversation with two ex-managers of the plant, to be certain about the layout prior to the demolition. Then I want to decipher some funny symbols on a disc we’ve found. I’m going to speak to them independently, in case I get a whiff of bullshit from one or both of them.”
“What did you have in mind, by independently?”
Black knew his plan would cost money and suspected Moss would want it accurately itemised before approving any speculative foray, prior to having evidence to support it.
“The university has all manner of equipment and people who can do this. I seem to recall that you still have friends who lecture there. They must be able to help, and they’re people who should have nothing to hide. There’s something fishy here, sir. Can you set this up? It would allow me to get Constance straight back to the station and work on the boxes of bones we have recovered so far.”
Black anticipated a pause. It was longer than expected but he wasn’t going to speak again before Moss did.
“Very well, I’ll make discreet enquiries as to what can be done in this field and get back to you. I think you should dispense with the archaeologist chap, we don’t need to join any more dots for outsiders.”
“I agree,” replied Black, “I’m sticking my neck out here, but I can’t believe these remains are recent. Just a second, sir, I’m hearing that we’ve pulled out more stuff from the same area as the bones.”
Moss puffed on his pipe while he waited, and waited. He took the morning paper from the top drawer of his desk and looked briefly at the crossword; he’d been infuriated over breakfast by being stuck on three across, and he entertained the notion that the compiler was in error. Eventually, Black spoke again.
“Sorry about that, Super, it looks like broken remains of a barrel and bits of hessian. Anyway, I’ll speak to you as soon as I know more.”
Black thanked the archaeologist and asked the security men to see him off the site. He was really anxious to get the bones and other stuff checked out, to the point that Constance was becoming annoyed. Having finally squeezed all of the boxes into his car, they set off back to the station, and the skies still showed no promise of the rain easing off. The late afternoon gloom thickened by the minute.
*
Newcastle C.I.D. Station
PC Reichert heard they’d returned and couldn’
t resist going along to the lab. She stared at the disc.
“There’s something familiar about the markings on that disc, sir,” said Maggie, “I just can’t think where I might have seen them before.”
Black didn’t offer any response, he was more concerned to hear what Constance might make of the remains. He expected her to dampen his impatience by telling him to call her in the next couple of days. He was still confident he’d be able to winkle first impressions out of her.
“Sorry Maggie, what’d you say?”
“Nothing, it will come back to me, I’m sure.”
“Ok,” said Black, gazing at the empty office of Moss.
He asked where his boss was and was told that he’d left for the University of Newcastle. If the journey back from the site hadn’t taken so long this wouldn’t have happened, and he was annoyed.
Detective Inspector Richard Black didn’t like being controlled by events, and his patience on this occasion was rapidly running out. It got worse, as he was having difficulty in persuading Eric Paisley, the ex-operations director of Derwenthaugh coke works, to take him seriously. The man simply didn’t believe they’d found a body at his former workplace.
During this verbal exchange Black was informed that Neville Travers, the ex-engineering manager was on another line. He was just about to deal with this when he was given a message from Moss – to get along to Newcastle University as soon as possible. He put Paisley on hold and turned to D.C. Freda Collins.
“Take the damned call from Travers and tell him he can either come here to assist us or we’ll land on his doorstep, well, at least you bloody will.”
When he picked up again with Paisley the line was dead.
“Shit, this guy is trouble, I just know he is.” Black waited impatiently for Freda to finish speaking with Travers, but once he heard her giving him directions to Market Street and then the car park, he realised the man was actually coming to the station. He rushed out of the office, telling Freda he was going to the university, and headed to the car park himself.
Kicking the flat passenger side front tyre, he yelled,
“Bollocks, that’s all I need.” He ran back to tell Freda he needed her to drive him to the university.
“It’s not too far to walk, sir, and anyway I’ll have to stay here to see Mr Travers, won’t I? He’s on his way.”
“I’m not walking anywhere in this bloody weather, I’ve had more than enough of it already at Winlaton Mill. Give me your car keys.”
“I can’t do that, sir. Remember, you aren’t insured to drive my Beetle. I can take whatever you need to the university if you would like to stay to see Mr Travers.”
“No way, I’ll get someone from uniform to take me.”
He found that wasn’t an option as all cars were out dealing with traffic restrictions and accidents. He capitulated to calling a taxi, and was promptly informed that it would be a minimum of fifteen minutes before a cab could be there.
“Forget it!” he said, conceding that he would have to walk. At least the all-weather clothing was still in his car. Somewhat unexpectedly, the short journey helped to restore his even-tempered professional persona, and upon arrival he was directed by the receptionist to a meeting room on the second floor.
*
Newcastle University
“Thanks, is there somewhere I can leave this cape and hat?”
Two passing students glanced at the rain-soaked detective and began to whistle the theme tune to Batman. The receptionist couldn’t resist a snigger, but composed herself and pointed to the rear of her desk.
“Of course, just leave them there on the floor, sir, and I’ll get one of our janitors to dry them off for you.”
Moss was in his element, holding court with three university staff.
“Ah, here he is, gentlemen, can I introduce you to Detective Inspector Black. He has a puzzle to solve and thinks you may be able to help us. Do you have the object with you Black?”
“Yes, of course, sir.”
The disc was laid on the glass table and they all peered at it intensely. Moss had explained earlier about how and where the disc had been found. Black broke the protracted silence.
“I think this disc must be related in some way to the coke works or the individual, or both. It was exposed by a large foundation slab sliding down a slope. Apart from the disc itself, I’d be grateful for any ideas with respect to the mechanics of the landslip, because I need to know if the body was buried under the concrete or just happened to be alongside the excavation prior to the foundation being poured.
“We’ll have more evidence shortly as to the bones, but I’d like to know if we’re dealing with an accident, an old grave, or something suspicious. Well, anyway, I’m hoping you can help me figure this out, do you think you can?”
Two of the ‘dignitaries’ politely excused themselves, citing impending lectures as the reason. The third expressed more interest. He was an expert in mechanical engineering and fluid dynamics. He was introduced as Dr Joseph Leven. He nodded.
“I’m sure we can use imaging technology to clean up your disc, but I’m intrigued by this landslip. From what you’ve said, I should take a look at the site before any further erosion takes place. Can we go first thing in the morning? I have a lecture at 9.30, but if you can meet me at the site, around say 6.00 am, we would miss the rush hour and it would give me time to take photographs and measurements.”
Black privately thought, ‘Up at sparrow-fart to slosh about in the mud again. No thanks, Professor.’
He smiled through the prospect of a third day at the coke works, expressing utter delight that Dr Leven was so keen.
“Certainly, sir, I’ll be there on the dot. Can I leave the disc with you now?”
“Yes, I’ll get one of my people on to it right away.”
As Black was about to bundle his caped crusader kit into the back of Moss’s car, he was brought up short by his boss.
“There are some old newspapers in the boot, put some in the passenger side before you get in with those filthy shoes. It was very embarrassing to see you so dishevelled in such a revered seat of learning, Black. A bit scruffy to say the least.”
“Yes sir, it won’t happen again,” apologised a downtrodden Black, thinking only of the flat tyre awaiting him at the station.
Chapter 3
Newcastle C.I.D. Station
Everyone seemed to be preparing to go home, and Black just managed to catch Freda as she was coming out of the ladies locker room.
“Well, what did Neville Travers have to say?”
“He wasn’t much help, but he seemed really upset that we’d found human remains on the site. All he could say for certain, when I showed him a photo of the metal disc, was that it couldn’t have been used at the works for personnel identification. Apparently they used fabric badges, which were stitched on to the work-suits. He did agree with the man who found the remains, about the engineering office being set on a large concrete slab, but said he would need to go to the site to check the position before he could be sure of the exact location. I asked him to do that and called the security people to tell them he’d be going there to check it out. That’s about it really.”
“No it isn’t, Freda, did you recover Eric Paisley’s number? I asked you to do it when I rushed off to the university.”
“Yes, it’s on your desk. And don’t say thanks, SIR!”
“Oh right, thanks for merely doing your job D.C. Collins. Wouldn’t it be nice if we all went around thanking each other for doing what we’re paid for? Like answering the phones or taking a statement. What’s wrong with you? Why the long face? Oh dear, don’t tell me I’ve interrupted your coffee break, now that would be inconsiderate. Still, life goes on, so come on what’s got you so prickly?”
“You obviously haven’t looked at your car since you got back. I asked PC Reichert to take your wheel to a garage and get the puncture fixed. You owe me one, and don’t think that I’ll forget.”<
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Freda Collins was indeed a rare breed of police officer. Never having ‘lived’ with or been married to anyone, she didn’t have to deal with bitching from a partner about late, unsocial, or irregular working demands. She cohabited with her mother who offered continual praise for her dedication to society. One consequence of this was her ability to compartmentalise her life. Her desk was always neat, she seldom got really bad-tempered, controlling it with sarcasm, and never took the job home. She wasn’t interested in promotion, and yet was fiercely proud of her ability to spot details which others missed, which occurred fairly frequently. So, Black was regretful about mistaking her reaction for petulance.
“You’re wonderful, Freda, of course I noticed the tyre had miraculously recovered,” he lied. “I just didn’t know who’d sorted it. You must admit it’s not like you to go the extra mile when it’s almost time to go home. Anyway, sorry, I’m really grateful.” He blew her a kiss and flashed a contrite smile.
“Don’t think that makes us even, and for your information, I just felt really sorry for you, getting drenched all day and then having to walk to the Uni. I’ll let you know when I need a favour.”
Black fastened on to this, realising that she was in one of her manipulative moods.
“Right, I see. Well, as heart-warming as it is to hear you felt sorry for me, you didn’t actually have to lift a finger to sort out my tyre, in fact you just lifted the phone and got someone else to do the legwork. You never got off your arse at all, did you?”
“I would have done, sir, but then I thought that PC Reichert wouldn’t want to miss a chance to suck up to you. She’d do almost anything to get your attention. Almost… why did I say almost? Are you blind or what?”
“Yeah right, get off home or you’ll miss kids’ TV. See you tomorrow, although I have to be at Winlaton Mill at 6 am, so I may not get back until lunch time.”
It was a stand-off of sorts, Black increasingly felt that Freda was, at best, ‘a work to rule’ type, and he reiterated that she should go home. She was happy to do so, and she was out of the car park before Maggie Reichert returned.
Maggie actually went straight to Black’s office and seemed to be bursting to tell him something, but he got in first.