After the Flood

by Peter Turnbull

  ‘Your case, your shout.’ Pippa Booth paused and then said, ‘You know, you have the advantage over me.’

  ‘I do?’

  ‘Yes. You know my Christian name, but I don’t know yours.’

  Yellich paused. ‘Somerled,’ he said softly, pronouncing it as ‘Sorley’, then spelling it for her. ‘Somerled Yellich.’

  ‘Somerled! That’s a lovely name.’

  ‘I grew to like it. School was a bit of a problem, but I was tall and good at sports, so just one bloody nose and no one else gave me grief over it. Yellich—well, I understand that’s a corruption of an east European name, the nearest some harassed customs official could get to pronouncing the original.’

  George Hennessey and Louise D’Acre relaxed by the log fire, sipping a brandy; by their body language, their eye contact, they were one, an item. By the approving but discreet looks from the staff, they knew that as their game had worked, as it had been polished over time, this weekend had been a particularly successful play.

  ‘Shall we go up?’ Hennessey laid his glass on the low table between their chairs.

  ‘Yes.’ D’Acre smiled. ‘Let’s go up.’

  FOUR

  In which a phone call is received from a gentleman in Salop, and DS Yellich is at home to the gracious reader

  MONDAY, 4th APRIL

  ‘He’s a very likely candidate, boss.’ Yellich poised the coffee cup on his leg and stroked his chin. ‘It’s all there really, the motive—he hated, he still hates Dunney—and his marriage was shaky, shaky and violent. He said his wife never walked out on him then said she had, so he lied through his teeth.’

  ‘Enough to arrest him then?’ Hennessey leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak.

  ‘Yes. I was on the verge of it but decided against it. Pippa Booth, the DS from Humberside—lovely lass—she said the same thing, enough to arrest him; but as I said to her, he’s not going anywhere. He’s totally down and out, he’s nowhere to go, no one to go to. He couldn’t go to ground; if we need to quiz him further, we’ll know where to find him.’

  ‘Very good. Confess I’m rather pleased you didn’t arrest him. Don’t know why, but it would seem too…neat, somehow.’

  ‘You think so, sir?’

  ‘Oh yes, I think so. You see, the victims were buried together in a shallow grave, the head of one, and everything except the head of the other. Somebody clearly wanted us to assume that we had found the body of Amanda Dunney, somebody who knew that identification of the dead can be determined by accessing dental records.’

  ‘Yes…’

  ‘So clearly the person who did that was trying to conceal the identity of the second murder victim. Now, I can see a man like Lepping battering the life out of Amanda Dunney, and similarly battering the life out of his wife, I have no problem with that. What doesn’t ring true with me is that that same impetuous, violent personality could premeditate not one, but two murders.’

  ‘Did he premeditate them, boss?’

  ‘Well, he’d have to make sure both murders coincided. They only required the one grave didn’t they? With the skull positioned exactly on the shoulders of the other corpse.’

  ‘Aye, I see what you mean, skipper. Solemn…very solemn.’

  ‘Solemn, as you say, Yellich. But ponder the shallow grave often, but not always, associated with premeditated murder, that is in my experience. Burying two victims in the same grave is speaking loudly to me of very premeditated murder. There may even be a symbolic or ritualistic significance to the mixing of body parts, but whatever, it’s very calculating. Do you think Lepping could be capable of sufficient calculation?’

  ‘Hard to say, boss. He’s a fiery temperament, that’s for sure.’

  ‘But does he have sufficient detachment to premeditate the murder of two women?’

  ‘Pass.’ Yellich held up his hand in a gesture of exasperation.

  Hennessey smiled. ‘All right, impossible question to answer. Put it another way: did Lepping, even when a farm manager and a man with some credibility, did he have the wherewithal to lure Amanda Dunney to her death?’

  ‘Oh.’ Yellich’s jaw sagged. ‘I see what you’re getting at, skipper. Well…no, I have to say I doubt if he could lure anyone anywhere. His victims would have to be captive, already trapped in some situation.’

  ‘Like marriage?’

  ‘Like marriage,’ Yellich conceded. ‘So he’s not our man.’

  ‘Well, let’s not jump to conclusions.’ Hennessey smiled. ‘Let’s not allow ourselves to be overenthusiastic, but let’s not dismiss Mr Lepping too easily. He may still have some explaining to do. Let’s just put him to one side for the present. So, what is firm footing in this situation?’

  ‘That the skull belonged to Amanda Dunney.’

  ‘And…?’

  ‘Well, nothing, skipper. That’s the long and the short of it.’

  ‘Exactly. What we can assume is that the two skeletons are of people who in life had something or someone in common.’

  ‘Can we?’ Yellich asked. ‘You see, boss, suppose the victim was the skeleton, and the skull was there to throw us off the scent, the skull of any person, any woman of the right race and age would do, and it just by coincidence happened to be Amanda Dunney. I mean, if that’s the case, we’re really no further forward.’

  ‘We aren’t, are we?’ Hennessey sat forwards and rested his elbows on his desk top. ‘So what you’re saying is that all that hatred surrounding Amanda Dunney at the time of her death was coincidental to the murder of the second victim?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, boss.’

  ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘You know, what beats me is why the murderer just didn’t make a thorough job of disposing of the corpses of his victims. He clearly disposed of one skull and of one body sans skull. Not easy.’

  ‘Because folk are queer and twisted and illogical, which makes our job easier. If people thought logically and calmly and gave themselves enough time, their victims would never be found. The underworld do it all the time. If organised crime wants rid of you, you disappear as totally as if you’d been abducted by aliens. I shudder to think how many corpses are in the foundations of the Humber Bridge, or what that motor launch is carrying which sails from the Humber estuary out to the North Sea at dusk, to return an hour or so later. All you need is a weight attached to the body and it’ll never be found.’

  ‘It wouldn’t, would it?’

  ‘Which brings us back to Lepping. Not a pleasant man, but could he be detached enough to murder not once, but twice, in a short period and then play games with the body parts, switching skulls and everything?’

  ‘You mean there’s another shallow grave to be found? Another head and body separated but together?’

  ‘Oh…I hope not. But it’s a possibility. We’re dealing with a real sicko here, Yellich, a real sicko. And that lets Lepping out of the frame, so you were right not to arrest him. He’s too volatile. Our man is calm, detached, a man with no outward emotion, so I believe, but I’d like to pick learned brains about this matter. Have you met Camilla Joseph?’

  ‘Don’t think so, skipper.’

  ‘Delightful woman, really delightful.’

  ‘Can’t promise to be of help, Chief Inspector.’ Camilla Joseph sat at her desk. Behind her was a large poster advertising Brunei. She was slender, with short hair, dark-skinned but with aquiline facial features. ‘And I’m teaching in half an hour.’

  ‘We’ll be as brief as we can. Like the poster, haven’t seen it before.’

  ‘I went home for Christmas.’

  ‘Ah.’ Hennessey then went on to appraise Dr Joseph, forensic psychologist, of the discovery in the shallow grave, of Sydney Lepping, of Amanda Dunney and the hatred she had generated.

  ‘It’s clear, as you say, that this man is cold and calculating.’ Camilla Joseph pyramided her fingers beneath her chin. ‘Any other unsolved murders that you can link to these two?’

  ‘None that we can
identify.’

  ‘The detachment that it would take to kill two women, to murder two women, in a short space of time and then have the—the audacity is the only word I can think of—the audacity to mix up the bodies or parts thereof, either as a game, or to evade capture, is a trait of a character which I would consider to be psychopathic’

  ‘A game?’ Yellich asked. He had never met Dr Joseph before, and was taken by her soft-spoken manner and her strong presence.

  ‘It’s an old-fashioned term now, and discredited, but once serial killers, for example, were classified as being either organised or disorganised. The organised ones were those who left the bodies of their victims in certain poses, or in public places to maximise the shock value of their discovery; the disorganise ones left their victims where they lay, or attempted to hide the body. The organised serial killers were playing a game as well as murdering people. Strikes me that this fellow, whoever he is, has traits of both. He hides the bodies, yet allows for the possibility of their being discovered, in which case he places the ”wrong” head on the skeleton. Intriguing.’

  Yellich took his gaze from the view from Dr Joseph’s window—the lake, the modem, low-rise university buildings, two female students sharing the same scarf.

  ‘Why—I asked this question of DCI Hennessey—why not just get rid of the bodies?’

  ‘Well, when and if you catch him, you can ask him that, or her, because I have no answer for you. Not for that one. So, the identity of one victim is known, not a popular woman—salvation through suffering indeed! What else do you know about her, her appearance for example?’

  ‘Well, by all accounts her appearance left much to be desired. A very large woman, bat-faced…’

  ‘Yes, this could be interesting.’

  ‘What of her lifestyle?’

  ‘Quiet,’ Yellich said. ‘Lived alone…well, alone in a house full of single female lodgers, each with their own room, rather than with a partner.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Didn’t go out at all after work except for the book club…she was a member of a book club, people who meet once a month to discuss a book they’ve spent the last few weeks reading, then nominate a book to read prior to the next meeting.’

  ‘A reading group?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘A book club implies a book-purchasing scheme. So a reading group…actual face-to-face contact?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She wasn’t a random victim.’ Camilla Joseph spoke with calm authority.

  ‘She wasn’t?’

  ‘No. Random victims fall into a pattern. Either they are vulnerable and so easy targets—prostitutes, the elderly, for example—or they represent something that the killer wants and hasn’t got: they’re fulfilled whereas he or she isn’t, or they are appealing in terms of their appearance. They attract…good-looking young women will attract all kinds of men, and I mean all kinds. The men they fancy and the men they don’t. Their looks attract.’

  ‘Amanda Dunney wouldn’t have attracted. Is that what you’re saying?’

  ‘Yes, in a word, though we mustn’t be judgemental. I’m sure Miss Dunney had some good qualities, but by all accounts she had difficulty attracting a partner, and such a woman would not have to fear sexual attack as much as a more attractive woman. So she was murdered for one of two reasons: either there was a motive to murder her, over and above the unnecessary suffering she caused her patients—’

  ‘Why do you say over and above, Dr Joseph?’

  ‘Because any angry relative of one of her patients would be likely to lie in wait for her with a pick-handle, beat her to death, then leg it. They wouldn’t go to the trouble of planning the murder and digging a shallow grave.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Hennessey smiled. ‘That confirms an earlier observation of ours.’

  ‘So, she was killed for a motive, or because she was convenient.’

  ‘Either way, she was known to her attacker.’

  ‘I’d say so.’ Camilla Joseph raised her eyebrows. ‘But I am of the persuasion that she was killed for her head, which was the right age and sex, to possibly throw you gentlemen off the scent.’

  ‘So someone knew her, someone had her confidence?’

  ‘I would say so.’

  ‘Someone who wanted the other woman dead for a motive.’

  ‘Again, I would say so.’

  ‘Her only social contact was the reading group.’

  ‘And in there you’ll find her killer. Look for a male, who would have been in his thirties or forties at the time of her death, possibly a single person, someone whose household is fastidiously kept. A great deal of planning went into this murder, so care and attention to detail are important to this person. He’s likely to be strong, well built: Amanda Dunney was not a small woman, and that further points to her knowing her killer. If the killer was slightly built and wanted a skull of a forty-year-old woman, he would have chosen a smaller, more finely made woman whose body was more easily manhandled.’

  ‘That makes sense.’ Hennessey nodded and stood up. Yellich did the same. ‘Thank you for your time, Dr Joseph.’

  ‘My pleasure. Please feel free to pick my brains any time. I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more useful; the pattern left by serial killers is one thing, but a one-off double murder doesn’t give a great deal to work with.’

  ‘But enough,’ Hennessey smiled, ‘to point us in the right direction. You’ve given us a profile of the offender. That’s always useful.’

  Walking back across the campus to their car, Hennessey said, ‘Back to the reading group, methinks.’

  ‘Seems so, boss, not Dunney’s patients or relatives of same after all.’

  ‘I’d like to meet her landlady for myself, and the organiser of the reading group too. Casting no aspersions about your work, in which I have the utmost confidence, you understand?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘Just for my own edification really. The reading group holds the key to this puzzle.’

  ‘I don’t think I can tell you anything that I didn’t tell the other officer.’ Gwen Pedder received George Hennessey in the front room of her house, just as she had received DS Yellich three days earlier.

  Hennessey read the room: a woman’s house, having a softness of furnishing and decor and a fragrance that only a woman could achieve. The building he thought late Victorian, and best described as ‘rambling’. ‘Anything else spring to mind about Miss Dunney following DS Yellich’s visit?’

  ‘Clearly, as one would expect, a conversation here, a passing glance of her there that I had forgotten, but I haven’t recalled anything that would point to the reason for her disappearance. She was obviously troubled just before she disappeared, but I told the other officer that. No callers, no social life that I could detect, and if she had a social life I would have detected it. I make it my business to know about the personal lives of my residents.’

  ‘You do?’

  ‘It isn’t interfering. Chief Inspector, it’s self-preservation. By allowing people into my house, I leave myself open to being compromised—you would understand that. That is why I insist on professional ladies only, people who have a position to maintain, and a job, a career even, to lose if they break the law. Students, unemployed women, unskilled working women would be more likely to smuggle unthinkable men, or drugs, into my property that would put me in an impossible position as the owner.’

  ‘That’s true.’ Hennessey nodded in agreement. ‘We would charge you as well as your tenant for use of controlled substances. It’s the law.’

  ‘Which is an ass sometimes, but it’s the law and I therefore keep an eye on my residents. There is a strict no-men rule, and I discourage alcohol on the premises. The regime is a bit convent-like, but that appeals to some women—I think they feel secure. And the all-female house means that within these walls there is an absence of the competitiveness which they have to cope with outside.’

  ‘I can understand that. So, Amanda Dunney: I u
nderstand that her only social contacts appear to have been a once-a-month meeting of the reading group she was a member of?’

  ‘So far as I could tell; and her brother, of course. She had occasional contact from him, such as a card at Christmas, that sort of occasional.’

  ‘And she received an invitation to dinner with the reading group. I understand that you remember a handwritten invitation; you mentioned “spiky” handwriting.’

  ‘Did I?’ Gwen Pedder raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, I think I did, come to think of it.’

  ‘Can you describe what you meant by “spiky”?’

  ‘Well, spiky…pointed.’

  ‘Joined-up letters?’

  ‘No, printed.’

  ‘As if someone was disguising their handwriting, you think?’

  ‘Yes, it could be that sort of writing. In fact it’s hard to see anyone writing a letter like that.’

  ‘Big letters, small letters?’

  ‘On the big side, I’d say, took up all the space that was available…very large in fact, sort of shouted at you. I have a grandson who is fascinated by computers. I was talking to him once and he was explaining the good manners of the Internet, and he informs me that capital letters are regarded as shouting if you’re in something called a “chat room”, or if you are sending e-mail messages. I mention this because the handwriting as I recall it, and as I recall my reaction to it, it did seem like I was being shouted at.’

  ‘That could be interesting. A man or a woman, would you say—by your intuition and as you recall, given the lapse in time?’

  ‘I’d say a man. I would be surprised if it was a woman’s printing: the size, the angularity of the lines, no curves…Yes, a man’s hand, I would say.’

  ‘Now, the last time she left your house…’

  ‘Yes, I saw her leave, said goodbye, said I hoped she was going to have a pleasant evening.’

  ‘So she left to attend the dinner, as invited?’