The Killing Club

by Angela Dracup

  By 7.45 a.m. he was settled behind the desk in a tiny office, the only space the superintendent could find for him at present. It was on the top floor of the building, which was currently undergoing a re-fit. The walls were bare and ready for painting and the room smelled of dust and stale cigarette smoke. The single window was about the size of a tea tray. But the room had a computer and a phone and a pleasing air of quietness, being removed from the hub of activity of the work being carried out on the floors beneath.

  Swift was well aware that the waters had partly closed over him since his decision to take time off work. That happened with everyone who had a long absence from the team: no one, however good at their job and valued as a person, was irreplaceable. He imagined the comments on his file; queries about possible post-traumatic stress disorder, about his ability to deal with it, about his future in the force. Curiously none of this worried him. His main concern was to get to grips with the case in hand and to make good of the opportunity to test himself out once again.

  The sergeant at the front desk had told him that Inspector Fallon was finishing off paperwork in her current station and would not be joining him until the beginning of the next week. Swift was not sorry about that: getting his feet back under the work table would be easier on his own.

  Not that he intended to sit behind his desk all day. Having reviewed the brief details in the file Stratton had given him, he made an appointment to visit the mortuary and speak to the pathologist, then turned his attention to the issue of doing some research regarding the scene of the crime.

  His first port of call was a well-heeled bungalow in a small cul-de-sac about a hundred yards from the base of Fellbeck Crag. The man who opened the door was a tubby, baldheaded man with a grandfatherly appearance. A toddler who looked like a good candidate for fulfilling the role of grandchild was standing behind him, peering curiously around his right leg.

  ‘Good morning, young sir!’ said the tubby man. ‘And who might you be?’

  ‘Good morning, to you,’ Swift said, thinking it was a long time since he had been called a young sir, and showing his ID. ‘DCI Swift.’

  ‘Bertrand Morrison,’ the man responded, waving Swift through the door, whilst the toddler continued to stare in solemn silence. In the sitting room, a large blond dog raised an untroubled head as the three of them filed in.

  ‘Sit down, sit down!’ Morrison said. ‘What can we do for you, Chief Inspector? I’ll guess you’re here about the poor beggar who met his maker on the crag.’

  ‘You’re quite right. I’m investigating the circumstances of the man’s death.’

  ‘Checking out that there was no foul play, I’ll be bound,’ Morrison replied.

  Swift nodded, making no comment.

  ‘Do you know who he was?’ Morrison asked.

  ‘Not yet. I take it you didn’t recognize him.’

  ‘Never seen him before in my life.’ Morrison shook his head regretfully. ‘Poor chap, toppling off the crag and then being set alight. What a terrible business.’

  ‘Yes,’ Swift agreed. ‘And a troubling experience for you, Mr Morrison.’

  ‘Oh well, it wasn’t too jolly, I have to admit. But that’s life isn’t it? You take the good with the bad.’

  Swift wondered if Morrison was more upset than he admitted. ‘One of our Liaison Officers could have a talk with you if that would be helpful,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks for the offer. I don’t think I’ll be needing anything like that.’ He paused. ‘But then if your officer were a pretty young blonde, I might change my mind.’ Immediately he looked ashamed of having made this frivolous remark. ‘Sorry, we mustn’t speak disrespectfully of anything to do with death.’

  Swift judged that Mr Morrison had no need of any counselling, being resilient enough to counsel himself. Or was there another reason?

  The toddler, having carried out his own check on Swift, now sidled softly up to him and held out his hand, offering Swift the Lego brick he was holding in his hand.

  Swift received it with due gravity. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘His name’s George,’ Bertrand Morrison said. ‘They’re all coming back, the good old traditional names. Say hello to the Chief Inspector, George.’

  George stared for a few moments, declined to speak and wandered away to the pile of toys stacked in a box beneath the window.

  Swift looked at the benign, slumbering dog. ‘I gather that it was your golden retriever who found the body.’

  ‘Indeed he did,’ Morrison declared. ‘Barney has a nose like a bloodhound.’

  ‘I see,’ Swift said. ‘Do you walk regularly around the crag?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Every morning, every evening, regular as clockwork.’

  ‘Can you tell me what happened on the evening you, or rather Barney, discovered the body?’

  ‘We set out around teatime. It takes about five minutes to walk from here to the entrance to the woods at the foot of the crag. We’d been walking around fifteen minutes, when Barney did one of his off-piste sloping off away from the path and into the undergrowth. I didn’t think anything about it as he regularly goes off on a nose-to-the-ground job. I went on at my usual plodding pace, and all of a sudden I heard this bark. And then I realized that it was him – and that he sounded excited and somehow worried. I followed the noise and there he was, standing beside the body, barking his head off.’

  He stopped, his amiable, carefree expression stilling into seriousness. ‘Well, I stepped forward to have a look and I was pretty sure the poor chap had had it. But I didn’t touch him. Well, to tell the truth I felt squeamish and anyway they always say you shouldn’t interfere with funny goings-on, don’t they. I put Barney on the lead and calmed him down. And then I got out my mobile phone and contacted the police and the ambulance service. Barney and I sat and waited until someone came. One or two runners came past, but they didn’t cotton on what was happening. Well, I suppose me and Barney were blocking the view. Anyway, the police were there in minutes, and one of them had a bit of a feel at the body and said he thought it was dead. After that they cordoned the body off, then took some details from me. And that was it, really.’

  ‘Thank you, that was a very clear and helpful account,’ Swift said. He let a small silence fall. ‘Mr Morrison, do you have any reason for saying that the dead man toppled from the crag.’ Swift had checked the wording of the press release and there was no mention of the possible reason for the man’s death, or the way he had met it.

  Morrison looked faintly surprised to be asked that question, as though it were quite unnecessary. ‘Well, it makes sense – to me anyway. You see, I do a circular walk with Barney. We walk almost to the top of the crag and then we turn along a narrow path which has a point on it which I’ve long regarded as a death trap. I’d certainly never walk near it without having the little one on reins and even then I’d keep right to the other side of the path.’

  His answer was so ready and straightforward that Swift put Morrison on the furthest back burner of being a suspect as regards the killer he was searching for.

  ‘So presumably you have a good idea of the location from which the body might have fallen?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I know exactly the spot,’ said Mr Morrison. ‘Exactly! Me and Barney pass it every day. And that body was as near-as-damn-it directly underneath that very spot.’

  ‘Would you show it to me?’

  ‘Absolutely would – no problem. Do you mean now?’

  ‘If that’s convenient for you.’

  He wrinkled his forehead. ‘Well, we’ll have to take the little ’un along. I can’t leave him when he’s on my watch. Child-minding duties are my new career, you see, seven and a half hours, three days a week. He fills my days with gold does that little lad. And then Barney’ll have to come too.’

  Swift smiled. ‘No problem.’

  Twenty minutes later, having wrestled the child into his shoes and outdoor gear, then got himself and the dog ready for walking, Mr Morrison carefully locked the
front door behind him and the little party set out. As Swift had guessed, progress was very slow. By the time they reached the site where the body had been found, Swift was familiar with a good deal of Bertrand Morrison’s family history and his views on a number of issues ranging from childcare to the disgraceful state of the British economy. He noted that the site, which was still cordoned off with white tape bearing the blue police logo, was not in full view of the path, as it lay in a channel of hollow ground which formed part of the modulations of the terrain just beneath the slope of the crag. Morrison was understandably reluctant to walk up close to the site in the company of his grandson and his dog. He stood waiting whilst Swift took a few moments to glance at the area and form a general impression.

  They then commenced the climb which would take them to the high reaches of the crag. The toddler made a valiant attempt with the first few steps, then fell and began to cry. Morrison swept him into his arms and stomped forwards up the steps, clutching his burden. Swift found that it required quite an effort to keep up and was impressed with the older man’s stamina.

  Towards the top of the steps Morrison indicated that they were to take a left turn, which took them up an earth path patched with outcrops of rock. There was another climb and then they made a second left turn joining a high path which ran parallel to the path they had started out on. Glimpsing down, Swift was surprised at how much height they had gained. The view across the valley was sweeping and impressive. To the right of them the path was separated from the hilly farmland by tired-looking wire netting. In the distance, Swift spotted two deer, standing on the high point of a ridge, dramatically outlined against the sky.

  ‘Just here,’ Morrison said, gesturing to the left with a nod of his head, keeping the child firmly grasped in his arms.

  Cautiously approaching the cliffside edge, Swift saw that he was standing on the brink of a jaw-dropping precipice. Below him the land curved inwards slightly, giving almost immediately on to serried ranks of bluish-grey rock which ran all the way down to the plateau below – and the place where the body had been found.

  He stepped back a little.

  ‘That poor chap must have fallen from there,’ Morrison said. ‘It’s the only place along here that’s truly dangerous – a death trap, if you like.’

  Swift agreed. He stepped forward again, knelt down and looked at the point just beneath the jut of the land. If a person were to stumble and be taken off balance they would have every chance of falling on to the small platform of grass-covered earth immediately below. But if they were pushed, they would miss breaking their fall and land on the rock. He imagined the horror of it; bouncing down the rock, clutching at emptiness, hurtling on to further injury, powerless to prevent their inevitable fate.

  He got to his feet and brushed the earth off his hands.

  ‘I’ve written to the council once or twice to suggest they put some warning signs or barricades up, but nothing’s happened,’ Morrison said. ‘I suppose in all fairness it’s not a very much-frequented path. Too goatlike for most folks.’ He shifted the child’s position on his hip. ‘Well, that’s enough of all that. Let’s move on, shall we?’

  They resumed their walk, which would eventually lead them on a long gentle slope back to the lower path. After negotiating two streams, the land began to flatten out and Morrison let the child get down. He sped off with glee. ‘Run, run, run!’ he shouted, chasing after the dog.

  ‘If it were up to me to offer an opinion,’ said Morrison, ‘I’d say that your body had a helping hand to send him on his way. You’ve just looked at the lie of the land, Chief Inspector, you’ll have seen that a person would need some force behind his fall to hit the rock.’

  Swift was impressed. ‘Do you know of other fatal incidents that have taken place at that spot?’

  ‘No, strangely enough, I don’t, and I’ve walked all over the crag for years. Still, you’ll be able to look it up on your computers, won’t you?’

  Swift nodded confirmation.

  ‘I’m always around,’ Morrison said. ‘Minding the little ’un and walking the dog. And while I enjoy every minute of it, I wouldn’t say no to a little more excitement from contact with the outside world. So if you need any more wise words from a willing old pensioner, just give me a call.’

  ‘I will,’ Swift said.

  Morrison suddenly stopped dead and struck his forehead with his hand. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you, Chief Inspector. Blow it, I’m such a befuddled old codger these days. You see, on the day Barney and I found the body this part of the crag had been cordoned off all day for some tree cutting. I saw them leaving when I came along with Barney. So that’s maybe why someone didn’t spot it sooner. I mean, if the poor chap had been killed the night before you’d have thought he’d have been found much earlier in the day. There are dozens of dogs being walked in this little spot, which means he must have been killed sometime after dark on the Monday or very early Tuesday before the council tree-cutters got here. That is, after all the general public and all other traffic had departed to bed and the workers had started, which was eight o’clock so one of them told me. I’d say a slot between 11 p.m. Monday and, say, around 7 a.m. Tuesday. Dirty deeds can happen in the night, you know. It never gets really dark this time of year, and I should know – I’m an insomniac.’

  Swift digested all this and committed it to memory. He hadn’t expected to be given an estimated time of death with such cogency so soon. He would ask for a written statement from Morrison later and it would be interesting to compare his evaluation with that of the pathologist. ‘Did you ever think of taking a job with the CID, Mr Morrison?’ Swift inquired.

  Morrison beamed.

  ‘How come the council workers didn’t find the body?’ Swift mused.

  ‘Number one, it was well hidden from the path. Number two, they were cutting trees quite a few hundred yards from where the body was lying. Number three, they don’t take dogs to work.’ Morrison beamed again, getting well into his stride now.

  ‘I take your point,’ Swift said, thinking it almost laughingly ironic that council workers should have been crawling around the crag and not discovered a body lying yards away from them.

  He made a mental note to contact the SOCO team without delay and ask for a further examination on the crag, focusing on the possible point from which the body fell, and the rocks below. He’d advise them they might need climbing gear.

  As they walked on, Swift was aware of a little throb of excitement of his own, a sense that this was a case which merited investigation. It was a few months since he had experienced the rush of purpose and curiosity which came at the start of a murder enquiry. And he realized how much he had missed it.

  The town mortuary was an unobtrusive single-storey building situated close to the local hospital. Rectangular and built out of red brick, it had one single door situated in the middle of one of the longer walls. It was six months since Swift had paid it a visit and he hesitated for a moment before pressing the entry buzzer set to the side of the door. It made a fierce fizzing noise. After a few seconds there was a crackle from the intercom. ‘Yes?’

  He leaned forward to speak into the grille. ‘DCI Swift.’

  The door fell open, releasing a blast of chill air and an overpowering scent of lemon. The entrance was narrow and dimly lit. Swift put a finger over his nostrils and took in a few deep breaths before going downstairs to the basement where the main grisly business of the mortuary took place. Ahead of him were swing doors made from thick plastic sheeting. A yellow light showed behind them showing up the grains and scratches on the plastic. There was the low hum of a radio playing classical music. He placed a hand against each door and pushed them apart. The smell hit his nose like a vicious slap – the stench of rotting meat and the ghastly after-burn of alcohol.

  The pathologist, Tanya Blake, was waiting for him. ‘Are you all right?’ she asked noticing Swift’s pallor. She was small and slender, dressed in green scrubs with a face mask h
anging from one ear.

  ‘Give me a moment,’ he said. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  ‘We’ll need to go into the storage room,’ she said. ‘Are you OK with that?’

  Not really, he thought. ‘Yes … lead on.’

  ‘Sure?’ she said.

  At his nod, Blake used all her slight weight to heave the door open. A rush of frosty, alcohol-scented air shot out into the corridor. Brutal white lights flickered to life in the room beyond which was basically a giant fridge. ‘Sorry, but I haven’t had time to tidy him up much,’ she said. ‘We’re even busier than usual, mainly because my new assistant took himself off mountain-biking last weekend and succeeded in breaking a wrist and an ankle bone.’

  ‘I can see that might be rather a hindrance for someone in your line of work,’ Swift said. Carrying out post-mortems involved a degree of stamina together with a dash of athleticism.

  Swift watched as she slid a steel drawer open, noting the humps and valleys under the white sheet. There was a body under there, brutally damaged, forever stilled. He breathed in and the chilled air bit into the flesh of his throat.

  Blake glanced at him, then pulled the sheet back.

  The man was young, in his mid thirties, Swift guessed. His face was criss-crossed with lines of dried blood, but was otherwise unmarked. Strands of his thick brown hair lay across his forehead, slightly stained with blood.

  ‘At the moment, I’ve concluded that death was caused by severe blows to the back of the head, consistent with a fall from a high place on to rock surfaces. I haven’t been to the crime scene so far but I know the area anyway, and SOCO’s sent me some photographs. It’s not possible to be precise about which separate contact incident with sheer rock killed him, as the severity of each blow as he gathered speed probably made each subsequent impact more severe, but any one could have killed him outright. No major injuries to any of the internal organs, but there is significant bruising to both the trunk and limbs, as you would expect from a long descent down the side of a tall crag.’

  ‘That seems to fit with what I’ve seen of the crime scene,’ Swift said. ‘Was he in good health; was there any alcohol in his blood, any trace of drugs?’