by Laura Wilson
‘So she was strangled?’ asked Stratton.
‘It would appear so,’ said McNally, ‘but I can’t be certain until I’ve finished. Would you like me to move to the child now, and do the internal examinations later?’
‘Please. If you don’t mind.’
McNally finished his dictation, then motioned to Higgs to cover up the body. When the baby was unveiled, Stratton saw that its face was swollen and bluish. It was wearing a fancy knitted cardigan and a dress, and had a large white handkerchief wrapped around its neck, but its legs and feet were bare. The sight of the tiny, wrinkled soles was almost more than Stratton could stand, and he turned away, blowing his nose.
‘The body is of a well-nourished baby girl. Height is thirty-three and a half inches …’ McNally held up his hand to indicate that Miss Lynn should stop writing. ‘Start removing the clothes, please, Higgs.’
The procedure was repeated, with Ballard noting down the items. After taking off the top clothes, Higgs fumbled at something stuck inside the vest. ‘Something in here, sir. Aha … here it is. One toy duck.’ He held it up for Ballard and Stratton to see. It was a small, cheap thing, but, judging by its worn appearance, much loved. Stratton felt a lump rise in his throat.
‘One … toy … duck,’ repeated Ballard in a choked voice, writing in his notebook. Then he looked up, and Stratton saw that there were tears in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he said, ‘If you could excuse me for a moment, sir …’
‘Of course.’ Stratton took the notebook and pencil. ‘Get yourself some air.’
Ballard left the room in a rush and, after a moment’s silence, Higgs continued, ‘One white handkerchief.’
‘One white handkerchief.’ Stratton wrote it down and kept his eyes on the page, waiting for the next item. A sharply indrawn breath made him look up and he saw that tied tightly round the baby’s neck was a man’s tie. ‘Strangled,’ he said.
‘Certainly looks like it,’ said McNally. ‘Poor little thing.’
After a moment, Higgs said, ‘Shall I carry on, sir?’
‘Yes.’
‘One vest.’
‘One … vest.’
‘One nappy.’
‘One … nappy.’
‘One nappy pin.’
‘One … nappy … pin.’
‘You all right, Mr Stratton?’
Unable to speak further, Stratton simply nodded.
‘If you need some air …’ Higgs continued.
Stratton swallowed. ‘Yes. I’ll be … outside.’
As he left the room, McNally was saying, ‘Decomposition is most advanced in the upper part of the body …’
‘Sorry about that, sir.’ Ballard was in the yard, white-faced and leaning against the wall.
‘No need to apologise. Cigarette?’
‘Thank you.’
They smoked in silence for a moment before Stratton, feeling that he ought to say something, no matter how inadequate, said quietly, ‘Terrible business.’
‘Yes.’ Ballard, staring down at his feet, shook his head. ‘Just …’
‘I know. Doesn’t do to dwell on it.’
‘Hard not to, sir.’
‘Yes, it is.’ Stratton allowed his hand to rest, momentarily, on the sergeant’s shoulder. ‘Never gets any easier, unfortunately.’
‘Katy’s got a little duck like that. Sleeps with it tucked in next to her … Duck and Teddy. She has to have those, or she can’t settle.’
‘Mine were the same at that age.’
‘You can’t help remembering, can you, sir?’
Stratton shook his head. ‘Wouldn’t be human if you didn’t. The mother’s about the same age as Monica.’
‘Makes you sick.’ Ballard shook his head again, then said, ‘Someone’s going to have to identify them formally.’
‘Yes, they are. I suppose we’ll have to ask Mrs Davies tomorrow. Poor woman.’
‘How could he do it, sir?’ Ballard burst out. ‘Davies. How could he strangle his own daughter?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Stratton. ‘It’s not as if we haven’t had cases of people killing their own children before, but not like this. I suppose he must be off his head.’
‘The bodies are in very good condition, considering the length of time,’ said McNally later, as they sat in his office.
‘Which was?’
‘Approximately three weeks, I’d say.’
‘For both of them?’
‘Yes.’
‘I certainly didn’t notice a smell when we opened the wash-house,’ said Stratton. ‘Did you, Ballard?’
‘No, sir. Nothing at all.’
‘It would have been pretty cold,’ said McNally, who’d been called to view the bodies in situ. ‘Not refrigeration conditions, but not too far off, otherwise the decomposition would be far more advanced. Incidentally, the woman was pregnant – a male foetus, about sixteen weeks along.’
Reminded instantly and vividly of Jenny, Stratton swallowed hard before he spoke. ‘Any sign of interference?’
‘No. A small amount of bruising to the …’ McNally looked at his notes, ‘posterior wall of the vagina, but that’s not indicative. Just to clarify – you said that the woman has been provisionally identified as Muriel Davies, aged nineteen, and the child is …’
‘Judy Davies. According to our information at the scene of discovery, she’s fourteen months old.’
‘That seems about right.’ McNally wrote it down at the top of his notes. ‘Both strangled by ligature – the tie, in the case of the infant.’
‘And the mother?’
‘Well, there was nothing on the body, so one can’t be sure. A piece of cord, perhaps—’
‘The sash cord used to tie up the blanket?’
‘Possibly. Or a scarf or even a stocking. As I said, it’s impossible to be certain. There’s enough decomposition there to muddy the waters, I’m afraid. There’s some bruising on the legs …’ McNally looked at his notes once more, ‘the inner aspect of the left thigh, four inches above the knee, and the inner aspect of the left calf directly below the knee, so it’s possible she might have been held down – if someone had knelt on her legs, or something of that sort. And, as I’m sure you saw, there were blows to the face. She was only a slip of a thing, and as for the baby …’ The pathologist shook his head in disgust.
Chapter Nine
Lally hadn’t changed much in the last eight years, Diana thought. Tall, elegant and blonde – people had often commented on the similarity in looks between the two of them – she was curled up in one corner of the brocade sofa, smoking a cigarette. The baby having been duly admired and removed to bed, and Jock not having arrived home from work (‘some Ministry shindig, darling – frightfully important and bloody annoying because we’ve got people coming for dinner’), they had their first chance to talk. Since Diana had returned to Hampshire in forty-one they’d communicated mainly by letter, with face-to-face contact restricted to social chit-chat at the occasional party when Diana came up (or rather, was permitted by her mother-in-law to come up) to London.
Lally and Jock Anderson had a large house in Albemarle Street, off Piccadilly. ‘It’s falling apart,’ Lally wailed, as they sat drinking sherry. ‘I know the furniture’s lovely, but it’s all bashed about, and with income tax at nine and six in the pound we can’t afford to repair the place – and even if we could we’d probably never find anyone to do it. Jock says the roof’s in such a state that it won’t be long before we’re putting out pails to catch the drips when it rains. But we’d love it if you’d stay. Just so long as you’ve brought your ration book – I’m utterly terrified of upsetting Mrs Robinson in case she decides to retire to her sister’s at Bexhill. She’s the only help we’ve got – well, apart from the nanny – and I still can’t cook to save my life.’
‘I’ve got it here.’ Diana smiled and patted her handbag. Although Lally’s flighty breeziness masked a very good brain and Diana would have been happy to bet that she was a lot mo
re competent than she let on, it was clear that, after the excitement of the war, she hadn’t settled well, even after five-odd years, into the duller routine of being a wife.
‘Oh, good. Anyway, never mind all that. It’s too boring for words. What about you? Are you and Guy … Is it still awful?’
‘We’re getting divorced, if that’s what you mean.’
‘Oh, darling … I did wonder when you asked if you could stay. Why on earth didn’t you tell me?’
‘I wanted to, but it was so difficult to telephone – I couldn’t use the one in Guy’s office, and Evie was so absolutely hawkish about the house telephone that I became quite neurotic about thinking she’d overhear … And she used to open my letters. The ridiculous thing was, I know that she wanted to see the back of me just as much as I wanted to leave, but if she’d thought I was planning it – you know, that it was my idea – she’d have … Well, I don’t know what she’d have done but she’d certainly have made my life even more unpleasant than it was already. In the end, I managed to get Guy to agree to present it to her as a fait accompli, and he’s agreed to let me divorce him, which means that he’s got to go through the ghastly charade of being caught with a tart or a barmaid or something. I’m told it may take a while to arrange, but Guy’s found someone else – or rather, Evie’s found someone else for him, which amounts to the same thing. Local squire’s daughter. She’s young – about twenty-five – and completely awed by the pair of them. I’m sure they’ll have lots of children, which is something I don’t seem to be able to manage, but I don’t envy her in the least. In fact, I’m quite grateful to her – she means I don’t have to feel too guilty about it all. She doesn’t know what she’s getting herself into, poor thing.’
‘With Evie, you mean?’
‘Yes. Guy’s as much under her thumb as ever. More, I think. I was absolutely astonished when he finally agreed with me about the divorce.’
‘It sounds hellish. But he had a bad time, didn’t he, being a prisoner? I don’t suppose one ever really gets over that sort of thing.’
‘He’s never spoken about it, but I think it was pretty grim. One was always told not to ask, so I didn’t. A lot of nightmares, and he’d never seem to want me to comfort him, or … or anything, really. He seemed almost to hate women – apart from his bloody mother, that is.’
‘It must be hard, though, coming back from that and everyone expecting you to get on with things just the same as before.’
‘Yes, but Guy wants things to be the same as before, and they’re not. I’ve changed. He’s changed. We’ve all changed – all except Evie.’ Diana made a face. ‘She’s like a … I don’t know, a monument or something. So sure of herself – as if she’s determined not to change, or allow anything to affect her views. Perhaps that’s why Guy loves her so much. But I’ve thought for quite a while that perhaps we were always destined to fail and it would have happened anyway, without the war.’
Lally sipped her drink and looked at Diana intently. ‘You’re not hoping to run into our old friend Claude Ventriss in London, are you?’
‘No!’ It came out too loud and vehement, and Diana was horribly aware that she was blushing. Claude – impossibly handsome, with velvet brown eyes – was the agent with whom she’d had the affair during the war.
‘Really?’ Lally sounded sceptical. ‘Because if you are, you’re in for a disappointment. The last Jock heard he was in Palestine.’
‘Palestine? What for?’
‘Looking for another war, darling. That’s what men like him do. He isn’t marriage material.’
‘I know that! Anyway, it’s all in the past.’
Lally raised a warning finger. ‘Just as long as it stays there. Claude can cast a very long shadow – believe me, I’ve seen it happen before. You’re better off without him, Diana. Honestly. You’re not the first woman to be stupid about Claude—’
‘Don’t I know it,’ said Diana, ruefully.
‘—and you won’t be the last. But if you really must have someone to be stupid about, there’s plenty of choice. Everyone’s in London – Peter Calvert, Felix Hyde Thompson, Johnny—’
‘I don’t want anyone to be stupid about, Lally. I want a job. I thought I’d ask Colonel Forbes-James.’
Lally raised her eyebrows. ‘I had the impression that you two parted company on … well, less than friendly terms.’
‘Yes,’ said Diana impatiently, ‘but that was ages ago. Surely now it’s all—’
‘Don’t be too sure, darling. F-J’s wonderful, but he can certainly hold a grudge, and he’s in a difficult position. After that business with Neville Apse …’
‘Don’t remind me. I was the one who found him, remember?’ Diana shuddered, recalling Apse’s body, suspended from the banisters of a fire escape by a pair of braces and hanging like a sack, with bulging eyes, mottled blue cheeks and a swollen, blackened tongue protruding obscenely from his mouth.
‘F-J’s got a great deal to lose,’ said Lally.
‘How do you know?’ Diana had never discussed F-J’s proclivities with anyone apart from Inspector Stratton, and that was back in 1940.
‘Jock mentioned something once that made me wonder.’
‘But surely,’ said Diana, ‘it isn’t generally known?’
‘I think it is and it isn’t, if you see what I mean. As Jock says, everyone knows everyone. And most of them,’ Lally added pointedly, ‘went to the same schools. The point is, Diana, that F-J might not be too pleased to see you.’
‘Why? I’m no threat to him.’
‘That isn’t the point, and in any case, he probably won’t see it like that.’
Remembering Claude’s words when she’d told him about Apse – That’s the thing about buggers, darling. Blackmail. Very simple and very effective – Diana said, ‘But I’m not a … I don’t know … a Russian spy, for goodness’ sake.’
‘Of course you’re not, darling, but you might know – even if you don’t know that you know – a man who is.’
‘Claude, you mean?’
‘I didn’t, but I suppose it’s possible. He’s in Palestine, and Jock says the Soviets are giving the Israelis an awful lot of help.’ Lally rolled her eyes. ‘Trying to get them to join the club … Would you like another drink, darling? It’s jolly good, isn’t it? Jock knows a lovely wine merchant …’ She made a dramatic finger-to-lips gesture.
‘Thanks.’ Diana held out her glass.
As Lally got up to refill it, she said, ‘Can’t remember if I told you, but he’s written a book. Naval history – all very learned. I’ve been reading bits of it, but it’s terribly hard going because his handwriting’s impossible.’
‘I can type it for him,’ said Diana, eagerly. ‘I had lots of practice in Hampshire. A woman from the village taught me properly, so I could help Evie with the WVS and billeting and things.’ Seeing Lally’s raised eyebrows, she added, ‘Oh, she was in her element, with the chance to boss so many people around. Honestly, Lally, I’d be delighted to help Jock. It’s so good of you to put me up at such short notice – it would be wonderful if I could do something in return.’
‘I should think Jock would jump at it, but I don’t suppose he’ll be back for ages, so why don’t—’
Hearing the sound of the front door, Lally stopped. ‘That’s odd. It can’t be anyone else, but he told me—’
She stopped again as Jock Anderson walked into the room, an unhappy tension about him that was a world away from his usual urbane and cheerful self.
‘Darling!’ Lally sprang off the sofa. ‘I thought you were out being grand.’
‘Something came up,’ he said with heavy irony, dumping his briefcase on the floor and sitting down in the space that Lally had vacated, head in hands. He rubbed his face for a moment, said, ‘Christ!’ and then, spotting the visitor, ‘Evening, Diana. Didn’t expect to see you here.’
‘She’s staying with us, darling.’ Lally went to the tray. ‘Have you had an awful day? You look as if you could
do with a drink.’
‘Thanks. Scotch.’
Sensing that she might be surplus to requirements, Diana said, ‘Why don’t I go and unpack or something?’
Jock put out a restraining hand. ‘Thanks, but no need to be tactful. You might as well know. It’s F-J.’
‘We were just talking about him, weren’t we, Lally? What’s happened?’
Jock stared at her for a moment, as if he hadn’t seen her properly before, and Diana noticed that the muscles in his jaw were clenched. ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter Ten
‘Dead?’ Diana echoed the word in disbelief. ‘F-J?’
‘I’m afraid so. The housekeeper found him this morning, at his flat in Dolphin Square. He’d hanged himself.’
‘My God.’ Lally handed Jock his drink, her face blank with shock. ‘Why? Did he leave a note?’
Jock sighed, a long, uneven sound like a last exhalation. ‘He didn’t need to explain. He’d been arrested.’
‘Arrested? When? For what?’
‘Yesterday evening, for importuning.’ Jock sounded weary and disgusted. ‘In a public lavatory. Chap turned out to be a plain-clothes policeman.’
‘I don’t understand,’ said Lally. ‘What was F-J doing there in the first place?’
‘Presumably,’ said Diana, keeping her tone brisk to disguise her horror and embarrassment, ‘he wanted to relieve himself.’
Jock shook his head. ‘The place is known for that sort of thing, apparently.’
‘But why go in there?’ asked Diana, bewilderment giving place, with horrid clarity, to understanding. ‘I mean, surely F-J doesn’t – didn’t – have to … well, you know … Go into public places like that.’
Jock sighed. ‘It appears that was the attraction. Meeting a … a certain type of person. Excitement outside one’s social circle. Like a married man who visits a prostitute, I suppose. Really, Diana,’ he added irritably, ‘I don’t understand it any more than you do, but that’s what happened.’