Kith and Kin

by Jane A. Adams

  Henry turned one of the trays towards him and studied the images. Mickey handed him a glass. The landscape had been a monochrome of browns and greys but the photographs, small black and white contact prints, reduced what little there had been in terms of other tones and just served to reinforce the sense of bleakness and emptiness.

  Mud and reeds and water. Heavy sky, all stark shades of black and grey, and the two bodies resting on the cold, sucking mud. The bodies themselves looked broken, weighed down by earth and water as though, had they waited only a little longer, they might have disappeared into the marsh and be gone for ever, with none the wiser.

  Henry took the glass and studied the faces. Billy Crane he knew, even though the face had begun to bloat and the eyes were fishlike and dead. Henry had examined the hands at the scene and the skin on the fingers was already loosening. He reckoned they might have been in the water two or three days but no more. He turned his attention to the other man and felt a vague sense of recognition but could not place him. It would be difficult to take fingerprints from either body, he guessed, and so they’d be relying on mug shots for identification. Possibly dental records, but Henry knew from experience that many in the working classes did not or could not afford to attend a dentist.

  He cast an eye over the rest of the pictures and then asked, ‘Did you take any wide shots? Looking out towards the sea?’

  Mickey looked slightly surprised, but nodded. ‘I did, but I’ve not printed them yet. You can take a look at the negatives.’ He went to fetch them, pointing out the ones that might be of most interest, and Henry held them up to the gas light. He was silent for several moments and then he said, ‘Where’s the boat?’

  ‘The rowing boat? That’s—’

  ‘No, the sailing barge. They said they dropped anchor at the mouth of the creek when they spotted the bodies. We should be able to see it. The weather didn’t close in until shortly before we left.’

  Mickey frowned. He took the negatives from his boss and studied them carefully. ‘I could have missed it.’

  ‘You’ve taken a panorama of shots,’ Henry pointed out, ‘as you always do.’

  Since Henry owned the cameras that Mickey used and paid for the film, Mickey never skimped with his contextual shots, as many of the official photographers did. Henry believed that you should be able to view a crime scene from 360 degrees if at all possible and Mickey was of the same mind.

  ‘There are no other shots, they’re all here, either negatives or prints. Obviously I’ve only got contact prints, but no, you’re right. Put these together and you’d have a complete panorama. I’ve not missed anything.’ He sounded somewhat relieved though Henry had never been in any doubt.

  ‘You don’t miss things, Mickey,’ he said. ‘There is no boat.’

  ‘It’s a mass of little inlets around there; it could be we just can’t see it. We need local eyes on this. Reliable ones,’ he added. ‘So, what are you thinking, that they lied from start to finish, or that they just lied about part of it?’

  Henry got up and walked to the window. He drew the curtain aside and peered out. It was dark and the rain was still hammering down. ‘I think there’s very little we can do either way tonight. We get hold of the constable and talk to him. He’s coming at dawn to help supervise the shipment of the bodies.’

  The plan had been that they would escort the two dead men back to London, but Mickey guessed that had changed. ‘I’ll tell the landlord that we’re going to be staying on here another night.’ He glanced at his pocket watch, stroking the smooth brass case as he always did. It was an old friend. ‘Speaking of which, the landlord said supper would be ready for six and it’s almost that now.’

  Henry nodded and picked up his jacket from the end of the bed. ‘So, why go to all that trouble for a lie? If someone wanted to dispose of the bodies, all they had to do was let the sea take them. Besides, you and I have both seen them – they’d not been placed in the water in the last few hours; the skin has started to slough off the hands and is slack on the faces. Something had already had a go at the eyes, and abrasions and tears to the clothing suggest the river had held on to them for a time.’

  ‘The man was quick enough to give us his schedule. Cement factory, then around the coast to Cornwall, back with a load of china clay. In my experience, if people want to lie, they fall back on what might be half truths. Most folk are not good at making up a full story.’

  ‘True,’ Henry agreed. ‘So we assume there is some truth in the story,’ he added, as they both made for the stairs. ‘I expect you photographed them both.’

  ‘Did it without thinking,’ Mickey agreed. ‘I doubt either of the pair noticed.’

  ‘Good. I think we have more of a mystery here than just the finding of two dead men.’

  ‘Well, when we’ve eaten we’ll make our way across to the church and see what we can see, now they’ve dried out a bit.’

  The church clock was striking seven when they made their way between whitewashed cottages in narrow streets to the Church of St Mary, bringing the keys which had been dropped off at the Crown for them.

  The church sat low and long, snuggled into the landscape. It was too dark to see but the landlord had told them that it had an unusual stepped steeple, the top section swivelled and settled like a candle snuffer on top of a steeple candle.

  Apparently, in land so low lying as this, even this long low church could be seen from the sea and the strange steeple, with its octagonal top, acted as a landmark.

  ‘Sir Francis Drake’s father was vicar here,’ Mickey commented as he opened the door.

  ‘No wonder he was in such a hurry to leave,’ Henry said.

  ‘Unkind. It’s a nice enough place. You just have a fit of the grouches because it’s made you cold.’

  Henry’s coat was nearly dry. The landlord had left both his and Mickey’s by the fire until the pub opened for the evening trade, and he was grateful of it now. Outside it was bleak and the sacristy was no warmer when they let themselves in. The local vicar, they’d been told, was away with a dying parishioner, but the sacristan was available, should they need him. Mr Falkner, the landlord, had told them that the sacristan was not happy about bodies being dumped in his church without his leave. Henry judged that Falkner was amused by this.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘Billy Crane.’ He watched as Mickey began a more thorough examination than the one they’d been able to make on the foreshore. Mickey was careful not to disturb the body more than they had to – the most thorough examination would be made at the post-mortem – but he drew the jacket aside and examined the chest of the late Billy Crane. ‘Stab wound?’ This was what Henry had noticed earlier.

  ‘Looks like it. Quite a broad blade, I’m guessing. But of course that’s hard to tell; the lips of the wound draw back in the hours and days after death. No sign of rigor mortis; could have come and gone, or could have been delayed because of the cold water. I’ll place that question in the hands of those more expert. But looking at the hands,’ – he held one of Billy Crane’s hands for Henry’s inspection – ‘I’d say our guess is about right. Two, possibly three days, but certainly no more. The skin is lifted and is beginning to slough, but it feels as though it is still connected to the inner layers of flesh. Of course, the chill of the water is an unpredictable factor.’

  He paused, noticing something, and pushed back the cuff of the jacket. ‘Look. He’s been bound. Tight. And there are clear rope marks.’

  Henry took the hand and inspected the wrist more closely. ‘I think most of this bruising is post mortem,’ he said. ‘For the blood to have settled like this, taking on the pattern of the rope weave, I think it’s likely that he was left bound for a time, after he had been killed.’

  Mickey examined the second man, finding similar marks on his wrists.

  ‘I thought I saw a bullet wound, but it was hard to tell with all the mud.’

  Mickey turned his attention to the man’s chest. ‘Well, for my money it’s another sta
b wound, but not from a knife. Or at least not from anything with a flat blade.’

  Henry came over and studied the wound, understanding now why he had mistaken it. The wound was large and the edges rounded and drawn back. Now Mickey had wiped some of the mud away he could see that the sergeant was probably right. With Mickey’s help, he lifted the body so that he could see the back. There was no sign of an exit wound, just what seemed to be a deep, rounded puncture.

  ‘So, two stab wounds, in very similar places in the chest, but with different weapons. Two assailants, perhaps. And it’s possible that both men were bound when the death blows were administered. This was not some bar fight or gang brawl. No one panicked and threw them in for the river to dispose of them. This was cold, Mickey.’

  They checked pockets of jackets and trousers, but found nothing. An hour after they had arrived they left the sacristy and headed back to the Crown. Neither had much to say. They paused at the bar for a nightcap, aware of the stares and local interest. The pub was busy, quiet conversations, the sound of laughter. An easy place, relaxed and peaceful, but Henry could sense the undercurrent of unease. Even though the deaths had, in all likelihood, nothing to do with this community, when violent death chose to visit it sent ripples that took a long time to still.

  Mickey was chatting to the barman; Mickey chatted to everyone with a nonchalance that Henry often envied. They seemed to be talking about employment and the importance of the brickworks. Henry sipped his drink and tuned it out, his thoughts wandering; he knew that if anything of note arose during the conversation Mickey would report back. It was nine o’clock when they went up to their rooms and Henry was dog tired. The brief doze in late afternoon had been helpful, but what he really needed was a sound night’s sleep, and he doubted that that would be forthcoming.

  They reached Henry’s door first. ‘Good night, then,’ Mickey said. ‘I told the landlord we’d be going across to the church first thing and then coming back for breakfast.’

  Henry nodded and opened his door, then paused on the threshold. ‘Mickey.’

  His tone caused the sergeant to stop dead and come and look over his boss’s shoulder. ‘Bloody hell.’

  Henry opened the door wider and took a step back out of the room so that Mickey could see more clearly. They had left the photographs on Henry’s bed and Henry had locked the door, but now the bedroom window stood open, the room had been ransacked and the photographs were gone.

  The landlord was mortified. Hargreaves, the constable they had met earlier, was summoned and now stood in the doorway, surveying the room.

  ‘Well, it’s a fine to-do and no mistake. What was taken, sir?’

  He was an elderly man, and he had told them earlier that he should have been past retirement but was kept on because there was rarely any major demand on his services. He had spent his professional life dealing with the odd drunk and a few family disputes and young lads brawling in the street, but nothing like this.

  ‘As far as I can tell,’ Henry informed him, ‘only the photographs that my colleague took at the crime scene today.’

  The constable swung round, a look of shock on his face. ‘That’s what they came for? But how could they know …’

  ‘My guess is that they came for the camera; it was pure luck for them that Sergeant Hitchens had set up a temporary darkroom and already done some of the printing.’

  ‘And did they get the camera too?’

  ‘Fortunately not. That was in Sergeant Hitchens’ room and it seems whoever broke in did not manage to get out of mine. The door was locked from the outside, I’d taken the key with me, and though it looks as if they tried to break out, both door and lock are sturdy and they did not succeed.’

  Henry indicated what looked like marks from a sharp blade wedged between the door and frame. Clearly someone had tried to lever the door open.

  Henry crossed to the window. Mickey had dusted it for fingerprints and photographed the child-sized footprint on the sill and then Henry had had it pulled closed, but he opened it again now. ‘As you see, it is a small window. There is a convenient downpipe that someone could have climbed up to reach it, but the window itself would not have allowed access for a man.’

  ‘A boy, then. You think the man and the boy we saw today. The sailorman and his boy?’

  ‘Can you think of a better explanation? My colleague took their photographs too. They must have realized that and not wanted to be recognized. Perhaps, although they appeared helpful, they were actually misleading us. Did you know them, Constable?’

  Constable Hargreaves looked even more uncomfortable as he shook his head. ‘Never seen either of them before. The boy went to Cooper’s farm, that’s where we borrowed the cart. Cooper called for me and I called for assistance, as seemed sensible. I sent word with the Coopers that we would need man and boy later but that you’d be some time in coming. I made a guess as to the time it would take Cooper to take the cart down. We all arrived, maybe an hour after that, it would have been just after noon, wouldn’t it, sir? Cooper said the man and boy were already waiting for us when he got there.’

  Henry consulted his notebook. ‘And, according to the call that we received at central office, the bodies were discovered just after eight this morning?’

  The constable was shaking his head vehemently. ‘No, sir, they got that wrong. The bodies were finally brought ashore just after eight. Boatman said it took them a good couple of hours to tow them in.’

  Henry closed his book and looked hard at the constable. ‘So when they saw the bodies it would still have been dark. Saw them, identified what they were, made the decision to tow them in, launched their boat and spent two hours or so on the task. Take that back in time, Constable, and we are looking at an observation made from the sailing barge at around five thirty or six in the morning. At around six in the morning, at this time of the year, there is very little light to see anything by, never mind two sodden, dark-clad, most likely half submerged bodies in dark water. Nothing about the story struck you as odd? You gave no thought to where they might go to wait all this time, while you were contacting our central office in London and asking for the assistance of a detective?’

  ‘I assumed they would go back to their barge,’ the constable said a little testily. ‘Forgive me, sir, but my time was taken up in contacting you, and then rustling up some other men who could come and assist at the scene. All of that took time. The first I saw was the first you saw. Man and boy and the two bodies lying on the mud of the foreshore. As you know, sir, the weather was closing in and the concern was just to get them out of there.’

  Henry nodded, relenting a little. ‘The constables you summoned, did any of them recognize the man and boy?’

  ‘There were none that said so, but the only sailormen we see along here, in the Otterham Creek, are those that pull into the old wharves to take bricks on board or offload cement or lie up at Otterham Wharf. They come, they go, they rarely come ashore at that point. There’s not so much for them out this way, not when they’ve only got a short way to go upriver to moor at Rochester or Chatham.’

  ‘And did you see their boat? No doubt it would have been moored a little way out, perhaps at the entrance to the creek?’

  From his expression, it was clear that the constable hadn’t even looked, but then, Henry thought, neither had he. Assumptions had been made, natural but wrong assumptions, and as the constable said, with the weather rapidly closing in, they had all been keen to get out of the rain as quickly as possible.

  ‘We had already planned to remain here for another day,’ Henry told him, ‘and now it looks as though our stay might be extended further than that. In the morning when we have seen the bodies taken away, Constable, we will all return to Otterham Creek and get a better sense of the lie of the land and we’ll speak to the Coopers. It could be that they can shed some light here.’

  Henry dismissed the constable soon after and went to join Mickey, who had taken up residence again in the bathroom. He knocke
d on the door and was told to wait. Henry leaned against the wall and talked to his sergeant through the door. ‘We’ve been made fools of,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps. They didn’t get the negatives, though, did they? I’d left the photographs on your bed, but all the negatives were back in my room and our housebreaker didn’t get that far. They take anything else? Now that you’ve had a chance to check?’

  ‘I had little with me,’ Henry said, ‘and there was nothing of value in the room. I wore my watch, my pen was in my coat, my lighter and tobacco tin too. They had emptied my clothes out on to the floor and cut the lining of my bag, but that can be mended with tape. It seemed my clothes were not worth their interest. My guess is, the boy was sent for the camera. My room is the only one that could have been reached so easily. No doubt he expected the door to be unlocked, so he was both lucky and unlucky. The window was simple enough to open. Any thin blade slid between frame and latch and the latch could be lifted from the exterior. There is no great security to this building.’

  ‘You can come in now,’ Mickey told him. The bathroom stank of developer and fix, both now somewhat stale and worked out so that the vinegar smell was even more acute. ‘I’ve done what I can, but I need to be resupplied with the chemicals to do more. The prints are not as clean as I’d like, but they will do for now.’

  He’d now made full sets of contact prints and they hung over the bath, dripping on to the enamel surface.

  ‘And you still have pictures of man and boy.’

  ‘I do indeed.’ Mickey pointed them out and Henry peered closely.

  ‘We’ve been taking too much at face value,’ Henry said. ‘I think both you and I were focused on the fact that these were Bailey’s men, that we recognized one of them, that it is not unusual for men like that to turn up dead. That was all we saw.’

  ‘That and the rain clouds,’ Mickey added. ‘There were none of us wanted to get a soaking, let’s face it.’

  Henry nodded. ‘So now we look more closely and more carefully,’ he said. ‘We get the bodies shipped back to London in the morning, spend another day here and then return for the post-mortems. It could well be that we shall come back again but I’d like to set things in motion as far as photographs and fingerprints and any other evidence we can gather are concerned. The landlord is already so put out that I’m sure he’ll not mind keeping our rooms for us, just in case.’