Where Death Delights

by Bernard Knight

  She glared at the solicitor. ‘Of course it must be Anthony. Now we must prove it!’

  ‘That’s what we’ve been trying to do for over a year, Mrs Oldfield,’ said Lethbridge, in gentle exasperation. ‘We have spent a lot of time – and I may add, you have spent a lot of money – in trying to trace your nephew, with no success whatsoever.’

  ‘But now it’s different,’ she said triumphantly. ‘You have had the actual remains to examine by a specialist.’

  She gave Pryor a regal wave and a fleeting smile.

  Richard felt he should make some contribution to help out poor old Edward.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Oldfield, but unless we can discover some unique characteristic in your relative that can be matched to the bones, we are no further forward.’

  ‘Such as what?’ she demanded.

  ‘Did he have any old injuries, for example? Had he been in hospital for anything?’

  As he said it, he knew he was being false, because there was no sign of any old injuries or disease in the remains that could be matched to anything. In fact, if the missing Anthony had had any such features, it would exclude him from being the body at the reservoir.

  The old lady pondered for a moment. ‘I just don’t know, Professor! You see, until the last year or so, my nephew was often abroad. For all I know, he might have broken a leg in the Alps or caught beriberi in Africa!’

  She looked across at Trevor Mitchell, who was trying to keep as quiet as possible.

  ‘Mr Mitchell should be able to help. He can find out from various hospitals and perhaps embassies overseas, if Anthony was ever treated there.’

  The ex-detective groaned inwardly, trying to imagine himself touring the clinics of Europe and the consulates of far-flung countries.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s really feasible, madam,’ he pleaded.

  Agnes turned her attention back to Richard Pryor.

  ‘I was told that one of the ways in which you destroyed that woman’s claim was by means of blood groups? Surely that would give you the answer?’

  Richard took a deep breath. ‘I’m afraid it’s a slim hope. The blood group of the remains was the second most common in Britain. Out of interest, do you happen to know your nephew’s blood group?’

  Mrs Oldfield looked severely at the pathologist.

  ‘Indeed I do not concern myself with such matters! But there must be some way of discovering it.’

  ‘Was he in the Forces?’ asked Richard. ‘They might have it in his records.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, he was exempt during the war. He had such an important job in his father’s aircraft factory, you see.’

  Trevor took a turn in the discussion. ‘Was he ever a blood donor? There might be a card amongst his possessions.’

  Again his aunt had no knowledge of this, but promised to search amongst the belongings he had left at her house. It then transpired that he had lived with her in Newnham only for a short time, having previously lived in a flat in Cheltenham. He was supposed to be seeking another place of his own and some of his furniture and other possessions were in store until then.

  Having delivered her orders that proof must be found, she departed, leaving the three men to gratefully have the tea that Lethbridge’s secretary brought in on a tray.

  ‘She’s a real old battleaxe, isn’t she?’ said Richard.

  ‘I reckon her nephew is well out of it, dead or alive.’

  ‘They didn’t get on that well, apparently,’ said Trevor. ‘When I was snooping around at the start of this job, I talked to neighbours and friends of the family and they said they had heard the old girl and Anthony going at each other hammer-and-tongs sometimes. He used to push off on holidays and trips a lot, just to get away from her.’

  ‘Didn’t he have a job of any sort?’ asked Richard.

  ‘No, he was rolling in it. I don’t know why he didn’t get himself his own place again in the first week.’

  ‘That’s why she’s so keen to have him declared dead, so that she can get probate, as there’s a lot of money involved,’ commented Lethbridge.

  ‘Well, he has been gone for over three years,’ said Trevor.

  ‘Why is she so convinced that this chap at the reservoir is Anthony?’ asked Pryor.

  ‘This is the third time she’s been convinced that a body was his,’ said the solicitor. ‘But this time, there was no head and no means of saying it wasn’t him, which was what eventually happened with the others.’

  ‘What about this ring and the watch, then?’ persisted Richard. ‘Does she claim to have recognized those?’

  Mitchell shrugged. ‘She’s deliberately vague about it. He had been married many years ago, his wife died and the old lady says he did wear a wedding ring. As for the watch, she never noticed whether it was an Omega, just says that being Anthony, it must have been an expensive one!’

  Their tea finished, Richard and Trevor rose to leave.

  ‘So what more can we do now?’ asked Lethbridge.

  ‘If we could find Anthony’s blood group, it might get her off our backs, if it’s not Group A-positive,’ said Richard.

  ‘I’ll have a scout around and see what I can find in various records,’ offered Mitchell. ‘But let’s hope it’s not A-positive, or she’ll be absolutely convinced it’s him!’

  Inspector Lewis was once again talking confidentially to Michael Prentice’s technical director at the industrial estate on Jersey Marine. They were in his small office upstairs, Lewis having checked that the black Jaguar was not in the compound outside.

  ‘I can’t tell you why I need to know this, and I can’t legally tell you to keep it from your partner,’ he said to Eric Laskey. ‘It’s about that additive you told me about when I was here last?’

  The engineer looked puzzled, but went along with the inspector’s request.

  ‘As I told you, it’s only in the testing stage at present. We add this compound to the engine oil, which reduces friction. Several firms are working on it, success depends on who gets it perfected and commercially available first.’

  ‘Does it work?’ asked Lewis. This query was not part of the enquiry, he was just curious.

  ‘Sure, there’s no doubt of that! The problem is getting the right concentration in the oil and making it stay there.’

  ‘So what’s the “it”? You did tell me and I’ve forgotten.’

  ‘Molybdenum sulphide – physically, it’s a lot like graphite, the molecules are flat and slide over each other, reducing friction and wear.’ Laskey became enthusiastic and insisted on getting into detail. ‘The molybdenum atoms are sandwiched between two layers of sulphur, which bonds to the metal of bearings, so the stuff slips sideways.’

  Lewis, who years ago did General Science for his School Certificate, had a vague idea what Laskey was talking about, but returned to the purpose of his visit.

  ‘Now then, have you started using it in engines yet?’

  ‘God, yes, for the last three years! We have special fixed engines on test beds, which we run for a long time, then take to bits to see how they are wearing. Lately, we’ve been testing it on vehicles actually on the road.’

  ‘That’s just what I want to know, sir. Which vehicles in particular?’

  Laskey looked a little furtive. ‘Why on earth do you want to know that? Look, Inspector, there’s a lot of competition in this field, until we get patents arranged on our final products, we wouldn’t want any information to be bandied about outside this building.’

  Lewis hastened to reassure him.

  ‘This is purely a police matter, Mr Laskey. All I want to know is how many vehicles in the Swansea area would have molybdenum in their sumps?’

  Still mystified, the other man began ticking off on his fingers. ‘There are the two vans we use for running around – though one of them is God knows where, as it’s been stolen. Then we have a Bedford truck for heavier stuff. Two of our floor engineers are trying it out – and then of course myself and Michael Prentice have joined i
n the testing.’

  This was what Lewis wanted to know. ‘That would be in his Jaguar, I presume?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s right, he’s been using it for almost a year, the same as I’ve had it in my Lanchester. These are very peculiar questions, Inspector. Can’t you tell me why you want to know?’

  The detective shook his head. ‘Sorry, sir, not at the moment. What I would like is a small sample of this molybdenum that’s in Mr Prentice’s crankcase.’

  Laskey was very reluctant to hand over any of their secret substance, but after Lewis had assured him that he was not involved in any industrial espionage and hinted that he could get a magistrate’s order if it wasn’t handed over, he caved in. Taking him down to the workshop floor, he took a small bottle of oil labelled with a serial number from a locked cupboard and handed it to the policeman. ‘That’s the one we’re testing now, the code on the label refers to the strength of molybdenum in that particular batch.’

  Laskey was very uneasy as he watched the inspector drive away, then went back to his office and picked up the telephone.

  There was a hiatus in both cases for the next few days.

  Agnes Oldfield went back to her gloomy house in Newnham and started searching through her nephew’s belongings in the hope of finding something that would help in her crusade to prove that the reservoir remains were his. When he left his flat in Cheltenham, he had come to stay with her and had his own large room upstairs, for which he paid her rent, as well as a weekly contribution for food and household expenses. Their relationship was not always cordial and he spent a lot of time away, either staying with friends in various parts of England or going abroad on undisclosed trips. When he was there, he often went fishing or attending the races, both the Chepstow and Cheltenham courses being a favourite haunt for him to meet his friends.

  The circumstances of his final departure had been gone over with her repeatedly by Edward Lethbridge and Tony Mitchell, but threw little light on where he might have gone.

  ‘I went for a long weekend to stay with an old schoolfriend in Hove,’ she had told them. ‘When I returned on the Monday, he was gone. I thought little of that, as Anthony was always taking it into his head to disappear on an impulse without telling me, but this time he never came back.’

  Pressed to explain why she thought he might have turned up at the reservoir, she had no real answer, except that he had often gone for walking trips in that area and was very fond of the Golden Valley and the borders of Wales and Herefordshire.

  ‘He would sometimes spend a week there, staying in inns and small hotels,’ she declared. ‘So that place where the body was found was right where he might be expected to be.’

  Now, with almost a hundred thousand pounds at stake, Agnes was more than keen to find evidence that would prove him dead, but all her efforts to find something proved fruitless. She had vague ideas about discovering a receipt or a guarantee for an Omega wristwatch or a Blood Transfusion Service Donor’s Card, but there was nothing in the few papers he had left in a desk in his room. She wondered if he had left anything with his bank or in a safe-deposit box somewhere, but had no idea how to follow that up – she must ask Lethbridge about it, she decided.

  While Mrs Oldfield was rooting around at her home, eighty miles to the west Michael Prentice was pacing around his living room at Bella Capri in a much greater state of concern.

  He was trying to make sense of Eric Laskey’s phone call, to tell him of the detective’s visit to the factory. What earthly connection could their research into lubricant additives have to the matter in hand? And why did the inspector insist on taking some of the new product away with him? Like his business partner, Prentice was unhappy that a sample of their closely guarded innovation had left the premises, but even he could not believe that a police officer had any commercial motives.

  He poured himself a strong whisky and added a spot of water, then marched out into the garden with the glass in his hand. Walking around the corner of the house, he went to where his car was parked in front of the garage and stared at it, as if seeking inspiration. He circled the Jaguar, but saw nothing that triggered any explanation.

  Opening the boot, he looked inside and felt around the carpeted floor, again without result. Mystified he slammed it shut and stood back to sip his drink. As he stood there contemplatively looking at the ground, his eyes focused between his feet and became aware of scattered black stains on the concrete.

  ‘Bloody useless mechanics!’ he hissed. After the first two thousand miles his car had travelled since the molybdenum had been added to the engine oil, the condition of the main bearings and big ends had recently been checked. It seemed obvious now that when the sump pan had been replaced, either the ring of bolts had not been tightened sufficiently or the gasket had not been renewed, leading to a slight oil leak.

  He hurried back into the house, then came out again with a raincoat and went to the garage, where he found a wire brush on the workbench, which he pushed into his pocket. With rapid strides, he set off eastwards along the track, scanning the uneven stones as he went.

  FOURTEEN

  Richard Pryor could stay up working or reading late into the night without protest, but once in bed, he detested having to get up again. That was the one thing about forensic medicine that he disliked, the frequency of being called out in the early hours.

  It was fortunate then, that just before midnight on Sunday, he was still reading in his room when the phone went and his presence was requested in a wood about twenty miles away. The call came from a Detective Superintendent Tom Spurrel in Cheltenham.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you so late, Doctor, but we’re in a bit of a spot. We’ve got a shooting and no pathologist to attend the scene.’

  He went on to explain that their regular Home Office pathologist from Oxford was already out on a double murder that would keep him occupied until late next day.

  ‘My old friend Trevor Mitchell had told me about you and suggested that if we ever needed a backup, you might be able to help us out,’ he added.

  Richard was only too happy to oblige, as he was keen to get a foothold in the Home Office work. He asked the Gloucestershire officer for more details.

  ‘We’ve got a chap shot dead in a car in a forestry area between Ross-on-Wye and Gloucester. It looks like a suicide, but the DI that was called is not happy about it, mainly because the deceased is a known villain from London. We can fill you in more when you get here.’

  He gave some directions to Richard, suggesting that the best route was up to Ross via Monmouth, then down on the A40 towards Gloucester.

  ‘I’ll have a police car waiting for you on that road a couple of miles before you get to Huntley village. He’ll lead you to the scene, as it’s hidden away up some country lanes.’

  With a promise to be there within an hour, Richard ran upstairs and tapped on Angela’s door.

  ‘Are you in bed or decent?’ he called.

  She was not in bed, but was in a dressing gown when she opened the door.

  ‘What’s this, Richard? Are you desperate enough to come knocking on a lady’s door in the middle of the night?’ she quipped.

  He quickly told her about the phone call. ‘Do you want to come?’ he asked. ‘Be like old times for you.’

  She agreed readily. ‘Give me time to get some clothes on. I’ll see you downstairs in five minutes.’

  The Humber’s headlights were soon carving a passage through the slight mist that filled the valley as they drove. There were few other cars on the road and at Ross, they turned east towards Gloucester. Some miles down the A40, Angela spotted the illuminated roof sign of a police car parked in a field gateway. They slowed to a crawl until the big Wolseley flashed its headlights at them and Richard pulled up alongside.

  ‘We’ll go on a short way, Doctor and then turn left,’ called the driver from his open window. They followed him for a couple of miles through a sleeping village called Dursley Cross and then along narrow roads with woods o
n either side.

  Angela was looking at a folded road map by the light of a small torch. ‘There’s a huge area of woodland here, must once have been part of the Forest of Dean.’

  After another half mile the brake lights of the police car came on and he slowed to turn left into a bumpy track which went deep into the trees, seen dimly in the reflected light of their headlamps. A few hundred yards more brought them into a clearing, where two other police cars, two unmarked cars and a plain van were parked.

  The other driver came across to them as they were retrieving their bags from the back seat.

  ‘We’ll have to walk a little bit now, sir,’ said the officer. ‘The way we came in isn’t the direct way to the scene, but we didn’t want to drive over any tyre marks.’

  Another uniformed bobby was standing guard over the cars and took their names down on a clipboard.

  ‘I’ll take you through, I’ve got a decent torch here,’ said the police car driver, leading the way.

  Walking through the forest was an eerie experience, as soon a glow appeared ahead where portable lights had been set up. A dense mist was hanging at head height between the trees and the dim light revealed only the straight black trunks of the larches on every side. The macabre effect was heightened when they overtook two men in black carrying a coffin through the ghostly scene, presumably the duty undertakers coming from the van parked in the clearing.

  When they reached the lights, propped on tripods over car batteries, they saw a dark-coloured car at the end of a barely visible firebreak running through the wood.

  Around it were half a dozen men, two of them in uniform. One of the others came to meet them as they approached.

  ‘Good of you to come, Doctor! And you, miss’ he added to Angela, assuming she was his secretary.

  ‘She’s a doctor too,’ explained Richard with a grin. ‘Doctor Bray, formerly of the Metropolitan Police Laboratory, until I stole her away!’