by Stan Mason
‘At least it taught you a lesson,’ she commented. ‘You won’t do the same again, will you?’
‘No, I don’t suppose I will,’ he remarked reflectively. ‘The guilt would overpower me. And there’s one more thing. I’ve just been fired for overstepping my authority with the company I work for.’’
At that point, the waiter returned to stand close to the table couching lightly with his hand in front of his mouth to attract their attention. Hunter released Ellen’s hand and they picked up their menus to search for suitable dishes for dinner. There was no doubt the chemistry between them was excellent. He inspired a new emotion within her that was both romantic and loving; she created an excitement within him and he was delighted to have found a woman whom he could love to distraction. However, before either of them could progress further in their relationship, he had to find Amy’s killer otherwise Ruth would haunt him for eternity.
***
The ordeal of night-time became harder to bear as time passed by. Hunter undressed in the guest bedroom and went to bed in the master bedroom where the medium sat in a chair. She did nothing to disturb him but the presence of a stranger in the room was extremely discomforting. She simply sat quietly in the darkness waiting patiently for Ruth Hunter’s apparition to appear but she was to be greatly disappointed because it never came. It was a most unsatisfactory situation for the architect and he wondered how long he would be able to endure it before sending the woman packing. Indeed, after a few nights, it seemed quite clear to him that his dead wife’s apparition would refrain from showing itself while the woman waited there. The matter of Amy’s killer was clearly a private matter between him and Ruth’s ghost. On the other hand, there were some benefits in that he didn’t have to face the vision alone while the medium waited patiently in her chair night after night. Seven days went by and nothing happened so he told the woman there was no point in her staying, dismissing her amiably once and for all. Naturally, she was extremely disappointed not to have made contact with the apparition, having never seen it at first hand, but she quietly left the house never to return again.
After she had gone, the architect was plagued with thoughts about the case. There was something missing in the details but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He recalled many television programmes where the detective felt exactly the same way trying to determine the missing element. It was something he had never considered before as he had watched them agonise in the crime episodes but now he realised the impact. He studied the wall im his study which was by now covered with pages of information ... Tome Houghton, Antonio Perrera, Mervyn Jones, Hamptons Supermarket, Cheryl Weston, Elsie Chester, Alice Prescott, Duggie Prince, Roger Watson, the pathologist, the Maltese Cross, the bloodstained clothes in the cupboard on the third floor... it was all building up but he knew in his heart that he should have noted was missing. He sat quite still staring at the pages for quite some time but, to his disappointment, nothing came to mind. There was only one thing to do when one was stumped... it was necessary to go back to basics. The missing link had to lie within the realms of the pathologist. Perhaps there was something that either she wasn’t telling him or she was missing herself. After all, the woman wasn’t infallible and doing an autopsy on a girl who had been raped, battered and strangled may have been too obvious a task with regard to the evidence. There were so many clues... so much to do... it was possible that she had missed a vital clue. He definitely had to go back to basics. Without delay, he went to the telephone and made an appointment to visit her.
‘I don’t know what more I can tell you,’ she told him with an element of irritation in her voice. ‘You’ve seen the file. Here it is if you want to read it again.’ She handed him a manila folder containing all the details and he opened it to read the text again and re-examine the pictures. ‘
‘There’s something that you’re missing,’ he accused bluntly. ‘It’s here somewhere... if only I can find it.’
‘You’re fishing, Mr. Hunter,’ she countered sharply. ‘I examined the body very carefully. She had bruises on her neck, shoulders, abdomen and back. Nothing’s been missed.’
He shook his head as he examined the photographs more carefully. ‘I can understand the bruises on the front of her body but not on her back,’ he responded in a puzzled fashion.
‘It’s not unusual in a case of rape. The victim is forced down on her back, she struggles and, consequently, bruises occur.’
‘Have you a magnifying glass?’ he asked, much to her surprise as he took a closer look at the photograph of Amy’s bruised back. She handed it to him and he looked through the lens carefully. ‘There seems to be a great deal of bruising on her back,’ he muttered shortly. ‘Almost as though excessive pressure was applied.’
The pathologist took the photograph from him and stared at it. ‘I agree. Perhaps her attacker was a large heavy man.’
‘Somehow I don’t he was.’ He paused to consider the situation. ‘Look at the way the bruises manifest themselves,’ he said, handing the magnifying glass back to her. ‘You examined the body. Didn’t you think it was overly excessive?’
She shrugged her shoulders. ‘There were so many things to deal with... the exact time of death, the food she had eaten, whether she had taken drugs, the whisky in her stomach, the rape process, the strangulation... it all pointed to a rape and murder situation. The bruises were just an adjunct to her death.’
‘Look at her spine,’ he advanced slowly. ‘See the bruises there. That’s the part of the body that curves inwards. In the case of rape you’d expect them to be on her shoulders but not on the spine.’
‘What are you suggesting?’ demanded the pathologist who was now considering that he was on a flight of fancy.
‘The pressure required to cause such bruising were not those of a single heavy man but of two men. One had to be holding her down while the other raped her. That’s why the spine is bruised.’
The woman paused to look at the photograph more closely. ‘That’s a possibility but quite frankly I think you’re fishing in the dark.’
‘I don’t think so. I’m positive two men were involved in the rape and murder of Amy Chester. One held her down so hard that it bruised her spine. Was there any other damage done to her back?’
‘None that I could find,’ came the answer.
‘You’re the pathologist. What do you think about my theory?’
The woman shrugged her shoulders. ‘I have to admit. It is a possibility. But I can’t understand why one person would hold her down while another raped her.’
‘Perhaps they both raped her.’
‘I don’t think so,’ he was told. ‘There was only one specimen of semen.’
Hunter allowed the notion to pass through his mind before speaking. ‘That doesn’t mean two men didn’t rape her. Either the first or the second man failed to ejaculate. Is it possible to exhume the body?’
The pathologist shook her head with a wry smile on her face. ‘It’s far too later for that,’ she informed him simply. ‘She was cremated.’
‘So it may be that I’m looking for two people who were involved in her rape and murder,’ he uttered eventually.
‘It’s your investigation. You call the shots,’ retorted the woman curtly, retrieving the file. ‘I just did the autopsy. As far as I’m concerned, my work is done.’
‘The only problem is that it makes my task even harder,’ he moaned miserably, ‘having to find two men.’
The pathologist showed complete disinterest in his comments and turned away to continue her work. She had made it quite clear that, whatever his theories, they were of no concern to her.
Hunter left the building with a distasteful expression showing on his face. If he was correct in his assumption, he was now looking for two men. Amy’s murder was turning into a complex double mystery. He felt certain that he was right. The bruising o
n her back was excessive. The photograph showed that to be true and the bruising on her spine indicated that she had to have been held down by a second person while being raped by the first one. Who would want to hold down a young woman while someone else raped her? It could only be the person who intended to rape her afterwards. Poor Amy. She must have suffered badly in those ten minutes of anguish before she was murdered. She had had to face two men who were out to savage her seriously before strangling her to death. Perhaps she was killed because she knew them and could reveal their identity to the police. That element of the mystery was something he had to find out for himself. Yet, at the back of his mind, he didn’t feel he was getting any closer to finding out who had committed the outrage.
He pondered his theory for a while and then decided that his next port of call was the police station where he demanded to see Roger Watson again. The police officer eventually came to the main desk in response, angry at having been disturbed from his important work.
‘What is it now, Mr. Hunter?’ he demanded on coming face to face with the visitor.
‘I thought I’d bring you up-to-date with Amy Chester’s death,’ he began tiredly. ‘You were in charge of the case so I think it’s my duty to bring it to your attention.’
With a grim expression on his face, Watson took Hunter to an interview room and they sat facing each other. As he was the officer who had been in charge of the case, it seemed that he would be haunted by the architect for the rest of his life. ‘You do realise the trail has gone completely cold on this one,’ stated the policeman sharply. ‘All you’re doing is treading over old ground.’
‘I don’t think so,’ retorted Hunter meaningfully. ‘There have been some developments which the police didn’t cover and I’m here to inform you of them.’
Watson clenched his hands in front of him dolefully and shrugged his shoulders. ‘Go on then. Convince me of the fresh facts you have in your possession!’
‘I’ve contacted Mervyn Jones, Amy’s old sweetheart... there’s Antonio Perrera, who she wanted to marry... Duggie Prince, her dancing partner at the Golden Palm...’
‘Where is all this leading?’ interrupted the policeman rudely. ‘They’re just names of people she knew. Jones had an alibi... he was in Newcastle when the murder took place. As far as Duggie Prince is concerned, I don’t imagine for one moment that he had anything to do with her murder.’
‘Are you certain?’ accused the architect. ‘You never bothered to pursue his alibi in depth.’
The policeman inhaled tiredly before responding. ‘We spoke to Mr. Prince and ruled him out. That man has only one thing on his mind... dancing. He’s a waste of time, not a murderer!’
‘You think so,’ criticised the architect brutally. ‘All right we’ll forget about him for the moment. What about the matter of the Maltese Cross?’
‘Oh, yes!’ laughed Watson. ‘The one expressed to you by a clairvoyant. Perhaps you ought to use a ouija board to find the identity of the killer?’
‘You may scoff, Mr. Watson,’ countered the architect sharply, angry at the rebuff, ‘but what I’m telling you is true!’
The policeman stood up as if to leave. ‘Do you have anything more to add?’ he asked nastily.
‘Yes, I do!’ explained the architect, unperturbed by Watson’s negative attitude. ‘Firstly, Amy’s bloodstained clothes are in a cupboard on the third floor of a building.’
‘Which building?’
‘I have no idea at present but there’s one place in the town which is at least three stories high which contains a cupboard with her bloodstained clothes.’
‘Well,’ intruded the policeman sarcastically, ‘that narrows it down to about five hundred places. Any idea where we should start?’ There was silence and suddenly Watson turned on the architect. ‘Hold on!’ he muttered jubilantly. ‘She had no injuries that would leave blood on her clothes. You’ve fallen down on that one, Hunter. She was beaten up and strangled. There was no blood.’
‘I was told that there was bloodstained clothes in a cupboard on the third floor of a building.’
‘Well it’s not possible,’ came the audacious reply.
The architect refused to allow the issue to block him. ‘The other thing is that there were two men involved with Amy’s death... one held her down whilst the other raped her and then vice versa,’ he informed the other man.
‘How do you come by that theory?’ The policeman’s voice became quite irate.
‘From the photograph shown to me by the pathologist. There were bruises on her spine which indicate that’s she was held down by one man while another raped her.’
‘I see,’ riposted Watson. ‘You looked at a photograph and came to the conclusion that two people were involved. Two rapists!’
‘It stands to reason. Two people were involved. And there’s something else. Did you know that two pupils from Lampshire Secondary School found the body at about nine thirty as they wandered along the beach. They ran off but didn’t ring the police because they thought they’d get into trouble.’
‘That’s irrelevant and doesn’t help anybody,’ snapped Watson dismissing the information out of hand. There was silence for a short time as the theory of two people being involved in the rape and murder was considered by the policeman. ‘I have to say I admire you, Hunter. Despite your unwarranted intrusion, I have to admit that you’ve done your homework on this case.’
‘I’ve had to,’ muttered Hunter solemnly. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to have my dead wife come back to me at night demanding that I find the murderer. It’s terrifying.’
Watson stared at him directly for a few moments. ‘You’re still sticking to your story... about the vision of your dead wife coming to you in the dead of night.’
‘I am because it’s true. It’s no fun, believe me!’
‘If she’s in another world looking down on you, why doesn’t she tell you who did it?’
‘I have no idea,’ returned the architect.
‘Who’s this Antonio Perrera you keep mentioning. We never turned up anyone by that name.’
‘I can’t find out anything about the man. I’ve a notion that he’s Maltese. That would tie up with the Maltese Cross.’
‘I’ll put someone on it,’ offered the policeman wilting for the first time.
The architect brightened up at the comment. At last the police were going to assist him in finding Amy’s murderer. They hadn’t had any success before and it was unlikely they would find him now but it felt good to have them on side.
‘What about the Maltese Cross?’
Watson shook his head slowly. ‘No... I don’t think we’ll pursue that one. Let’s take things slowly at first. You come up with suspects and we’ll interview them... if you can let us know their whereabouts.’
‘You believe me at last,’ uttered the architect blandly.
‘Up to a point, Mr. Hunter. Let’s say I have an open mind about you.’
‘That’s good enough for me,’ came the response.
He left the police station as though he had wings. His persistence was finally paying off. By harassing the policeman he had wormed his way into the man’s confidence and hoped to capitalise on it in the near future. At last, he thought, at last!
***
Two weeks passed by quickly without the appearance of further apparitions or any other information. It appeared that Hunter had come to a completely dead end. He continually stared at the pages on the wall of his study trying to get his thoughts behind the details but nothing of any importance came to mind. What was the connection between all the suspects with each other? Could he possible match two of them together? Should he pursue one or more of the people involved in the case? Perhaps he might get more out of Elsie Chester’s neighbour or extract something additional from Duggie Prince. But, then again, was h
e wasting his time interviewing them once more? There were so many imponderables... so much to discover!
In the meantime, the relationship between Ellen and himself blossomed. They saw each other practically every evening with Hunter being careful to keep her away from his house. The last thing he wanted was a confrontation with his dead wife if he brought his new amour into his home. He met her every day after school and they went to the little cafe where they had tea.
‘You look more glamorous every time I see you,’ he told her flatteringly.
‘I don’t believe you,’ she laughed. ‘After teaching Class 3B in arithmetic for an hour this afternoon I’m surprised I’m still compos mentis. You have no idea what they’re like.’
‘I’m sure you can handle them,’ he responded warmly, taking her hand over the table.
‘But seeing you makes the pain of it go away,’ she said staring directly into his eyes. There was silence before she continued. ‘There’s something I want to ask you. You may not like it.’
‘Go ahead,’ he advanced wondering what she was about to ask him.
‘Would you mind if I came to your house to see whether Ruth’s apparition will appear? You know I’m an afficionado of the paranormal. I’d love to see her ghost.’
He resented the request initially with refusal edging on his tongue. The last thing he wanted was for Ellen to confront his dead wife. But then, as he thought more deeply about it, he relented considering that no harm could be done. After all, Ruth was part way into another world. Ellen was firmly fixed in this one. There could really be no conflict. ‘Okay,’ he conceded reluctantly. ‘Come home with me tonight... but you’ll have to sit in a chair in my bedroom. Is that all right with you.’