Episode 6 - The dead don't talk

Friday night.

Gary was strolling home from escorting Dorothy home when he got a call on his mobile.

“Hurley speaking. Can I help you?”

“It’s Molly Moss from the pub.”

“Hi ,Molly. I thought you were line-dancing with Gloria.”

“I was. I’ve just found a man flopped over the regulars’ table and called an ambulance. They should be here any minute.”

“Is the man dead, Molly?”

“I think so.”

“Do you know who it is?”

“No.”

“I’m just walking home,” said Gary. “I’ll tell Cleo what’s happened then come to the pub. Can you take some photos?”

“Yes. I can hear the ambulance now.”

“Don’t panic. I’ll be there in a jiffy. I’m just going to tell Cleo where I’m going.”

Cleo wanted to drive Gary, but she could not leave the girls.

“I’ll get back as soon as I can. The fresh air will counteract the wine.”

“The guy can’t have been there long, Gary. The restaurant would not close until everyone had been served,” said Cleo, “and a corpse would not go unnoticed.”

“I wonder where Molly’s great chef and the barmaid have gone. I presume that Molly did not find them in her bed,” said Gary.”

“Wherever they are, I hope it isn’t together!”

Cleo thought of the hysterics Molly would have if Ali was unfaithful.

“Molly and Ali Lewis are not married, Cleo.”

“No, but they are a pair and Molly is interested in more than just having an affair.”

“She probably does not know if Ali is serious,” said Gary. “He needed the job, Cleo, and if he got a mature woman for his bed thrown in I should think he was more than gratified.”

“I’m not sure she was actually thrown in!”

“You know what I mean.”

“If you don’t want me to drive you, I’ll get some sleep. Tonight was quite tiring.”

“I noticed. I’ll be back as soon as I’ve got things organized. Je t’aime,” said Gary.

“Moi aussi,” she said.

“I can think of something I’d rather do than solve a murder,” said Gary, as he gulped down an espresso before leaving.

“It might not be a murder,” said Cleo. “People still die of natural causes.”

“Knowing my luck, it will be. The weekend is going to be spoilt again.”

“No it isn’t. Get Greg Winter onto it. It’s time he had a case of his own to solve. Edith’s case is open and shut and she is not going to be available for a while.”

“That’s a brilliant idea. Can you call him and send him to the pub?”

“Sure. Get going, Gary. Molly will be in a state by now!”

Greg Winter had only recently been promoted to detective status after passing his exams with flying colours. Cleo told him what she knew about the incident and he said he would get there right away.

By the time Gary had marched up the steep hill to the pub in Huddlecourt Minor, the paramedics had laid out the dead man on a low stretcher and were drinking coffee while they waited for he Chief Inspector. The dead man did not appear to have any external injuries.

The accompanying A & E doctor wrote an interim death certificate and the corpse was taken to the ambulance. From there it would go to HQ pathology.

Molly was standing behind the bar counter. She looked distraught, but not because of the corpse.

“Ali has gone, Gary,” she said. “What shall I do?”

Gary’s first instinct was to call HQ and order a patrol car. Greg had come from home in his own car and was no longer in charge of the patrol car rota. Then Gary decided to leave Greg to make the decisions. Cleo had told Gary many times that he had to learn to delegate if he did not want to fall back into that burnout syndrome he had developed when he had been inundated with murders to solve, while trying to run his department like a one-man band.

Gary did not think burnout was an option now he and Cleo were at last together on a permanent basis. He might have avoided those clinic sojourns altogether if she had been able to close the door on her misguided marriage with Robert, but looking back caused him pain and anyway, he did not want to make Cleo feel guilty.

***

“I’ve organized a patrol car,” Greg told him.

“Great minds thinking alike again,” said Gary. “You are in charge of this case, Greg.”

“Is that a good idea? You know the people here.”

“Exactly. I don’t want another personalized case. Roger has taken over Edith Parsnip’s questioning for that reason. You might want to support him”

“I’m not sure I’d want to have to deal with a female rapist, but I suppose I’ll have to cooperate if Robert Jones insists on having her charged,” said Greg. “She tried to take her life, didn’t she? Thanks for sending the interim report.”

“Thank Cleo for that. She’s better at violent incidents than I am,” said Gary. “Oh, and we are not quite sure if it was suicide, Greg, but we are keeping a low profile on that.”

“Cleo is a tough cookie,” said Greg. “Exactly the right woman for you, Gary.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve seen you upset, Gary but it’s really not my place to talk about that.”

“Yes it is Greg. Say what you want to say.”

“I wonder if you wouldn’t have been better in a more intellectual job.”

“That’s what my mother used to say, Greg,” said Gary. “I was squeamish as a kid and I’m still squeamish.”

“But Cleo isn’t, is she?”

“She’s amazingly cool, Greg. I don’t think pathology is through with the Edith thing yet. A stab wound to the stomach and cut wrists could be the work of two, couldn’t it? The A&E doctor praised her for her analysis of Edith’s wounds and she praised me for not passing out!”

“She loves you, Gary, and she’s a fine woman.”

“She is barely shocked about what Robert went through. Rape is a crime, of course, and has to be dealt with as such whoever the culprit is.”

“What does Cleo think about the motive?” Greg asked.

“She says it’s attempted suicide as a cry for help, or it could just be histrionics of a particularly unbalanced kind.”

“Who else who could have stabbed her apart from Robert Jones?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think Beatrice would have stabbed the mother of five sons, but Robert has a strong personal motive and is not a thinker.”

“But he is such a mild man, almost timid considering what a big guy he is. I don’t know him well and he certainly appeared volatile but being a butcher means slaughter on a regular basis,” said Greg.

“Butchers must have a different attitude to cruelty,” said Gary. “And one thing is clear: If another assassin was involved, it will fall us to find out who that is.”

“Not you, Gary. Just make sure you are on your honeymoon or take a baby break.”

“What makes you think…?”

“No one has talked, Gary. But am I on the right track?”

“I know you won’t talk, Greg. I’m getting married next week.”

“I’m honoured to be in your confidence, Gary.”

“And I’m having a problem being serious about Edith’s tragedy when I am so happy myself. And here we have a corpse to deal with as well as a missing cook. ”

“Upper Grumpsfield seems to attract corpses,” said Greg.

“Don’t tempt fate!”

***

The more Gary thought about the possibility of Robert being involved in Edith’s injuries, the more horrific did the drama become. Greg thought he had planted the seed of suspicion. Little did he know that Cleo was already horrified at the idea that her ex-husband might have taken the law into his own hand.

“I was going to ask you to give me a lift home, Greg,” said Gary, “but I’d rather leave you to it here and walk home the short way, through Monkton Wood. “Keep me posted about this incident. If you need help, I will help, but you are in charge.”

***

Gary needed time to think about the dead guy at the pub, but he didn’t get it. Passing the Priory ruins he could hear noises coming from somewhere in or near the crypt.

He had to investigate. The cop in him had an instinct for crime. On the steps of the crypt he saw a small figure. She was whimpering like a dog.

To make sure that the girl was not scared of him, Gary took his ID badge out of his jacket pocket and showed it to her.

“Who are you and what’s the matter?” he asked.

“Polly,” said the girl. “I know you sir. You live with Miss Hartley.”

“I do, as a matter of fact, but I hope that’s not why you are crying, Polly.”

Gary thought he recognized the woman from the pub, though females of all ages seemed to be dictated to by a profit-greedy fashion regime and Polly was no exception. She was dressed in jeans with scratches and holes in them and several tops starting with the longest next to the skin so that the shortest was completely visible. Cleo had once told him that the scratches on the jeans were done with razorblades, even if they looked as if they had been attacked by a tiger; the layer look was the new answer to keeping warm or cool, but the look was more important than the functionality of the raiment.

Polly was shivering so much that Gary took off his jacket and wrapped it round her. Her layers were not warming her. On the contrary…

“What happened?” he asked her.

“I was in the crypt with someone,” she said. “Then someone came up and stabbed him in the back.”

“Are you going to tell me who you were with, Polly?”

“You won’t tell Molly, will you?”

So Cleo had been right. Chef and barmaid having it off where they thought no one would find them. It fitted but was hardly fitting, he decided.

“Who was the third person, Polly?”

“I don’t know for sure,” the young woman said. Tears were streaming down her cheeks. “If I’d been on top they’d have got me and not Ali,” she said.

“Unless Ali was their target, Polly.”

Gary took care to repeat the name. It was possible that Polly did not intend to say who had attacked Ali, but the truth would have come to light soon, anyway.

The suggestion that Ali had indeed been the target of the attack provoked another round of loud wailing.

“I’ll go down and look,” said Gary.

He would not be able to see much. He had no torchlight with him and the crypt had no source of light, but since it was dark and full moon, he might be able to spot Ali’s body with the help of his mobile phone torch.

Gary switched it on for the little light it could give him, walked gingerly down the crypt steps and not much further. In the dim light he could see a figure stretched out on the stones, face down. He knelt and felt the man’s pulse at his neck before taking photos. There was no sign of life. Presumably the crypt was where the couple had decided to have sex. It was not exactly comfortable, but there weren’t many choices given the surreptitious circumstances of their intimacy.

Gary went back up the steps. His jacket lay where Polly had been sitting. She had gone.

“Blast. I should have known,” said Gary, glad that he had taken his phone with him, though it was not much use as a torch. He tapped Greg’s mobile phone number.

“Hi Gary! What’s up? Where are you?”

“Greg, something has happened here.”

“Where’s here?”

“I’m on the crypt steps of the old priory, Greg. Molly’s lover Ali Lewis is lying on the crypt floor face down and as dead as a doornail.”

“That’s all we need. Do you want me to tell Molly?”

“No. I’ll get the paramedics and a patrol team here. I doubt if there’s a connection between the two deaths, but it is possible.”

“Anything’s possible in this god-forgotten place. Did you find the barmaid?”

“I heard her as I was passing and stopped to look. She was whimpering on the crypt steps. Fortunately, as she said, our chief-cook-and-bottle-washer was on top otherwise she could have been killed.”

“That leaves nothing to the imagination, Gary.”

“But the woman has gone, Greg. I put my jacket round her shoulders while I went into the crypt. When I came back, she had gone. She left my jacket on the steps, so she’s thinly clad and in shock.”

“We have a busy night ahead of us,” remarked Greg drily.

“Too true! I’ll phone Cleo to tell her what’s happened. Can you get Chris Marlow to call me when he arrives at your scenario? I’ll wait here for reinforcements. I‘ve taken photos with my mobile, but they won’t be good in the light available.”

“Chris will be thrilled. Upper Grumpsfield has always done him proud with corpses,” said Greg.

Gary rang Cleo and shocked her with his description of what he had encountered on the way home.

“I’ll get someone for the kids and join you,” said Cleo.

“No you won’t, Cleo. I just wanted to tell you why I’m delayed. Everything is under control here,” said Gary, who was none too sure that was the case.

Cleo did not argue. She could decide for herself. She wanted to support Gary. A quick phone-call to Dorothy brought her in double-quick time to the cottage to baby-sit. It was now close to midnight, but Dorothy had been watching one of her late Al Capone type movies, so she was not in bed asleep when Cleo phoned.

“Are you sure you should be wandering about?” said Dorothy. “I could go.”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do from tomorrow, Dorothy. “I’ll take a torch and pepper spray. I’ll be OK and my going there will save a lot of explaining.”

“Well, be careful.”

***

It did not take Cleo long to get to the crypt. Gary was angry to see her there, but nonetheless grateful. A patrol car had been checking for drunken drivers on Thumpton Hill and come quickly. Good photos could be taken with their flash-equipped camera and the forensic team would take shots of their own. The position of the corpse would be marked. The patrol cops would place cones and numbers they could define on paper. The paramedics would deal with Ali’s body.

“I’d really like to look for myself,” said Cleo.

“I’ll take you down. Those steps are dangerous.”

“But not too dangerous,” Cleo retorted.

Helped by the light of the Cleo’s torch and with Gary holding her firmly so that she would not slip and fall, they surveyed the scene of the crime.

“What a clammy place to have sex,” Gary remarked. “Not nearly as comfortable as a dry beach cove.”

“Don’t mix happy memories in with this mess, Sweetheart.”

“I’d rather we were there than here.”

Being nostalgic for Frint-on-Sea’s open-air amenities was not appropriate, but comforting.

“Polly must have squeezed from underneath him,” said Cleo. “I suppose we have to assume that Ali was the target. Just fancy having sex with someone and all of a suddenly the guy falls onto you stabbed. Awful, but that is what must have happened.”

“I’m not sure that Polly sees it that way,” said Gary. “She seemed rather more relieved about her own narrow escape.”

“Molly has a motive, of course,” said Cleo. “Jealousy is a top candidate.”

“But not the only one. We need to know if the guy was killed at a time Molly could have been there.”

“She was out with Gloria all evening,” said Cleo.

“Polly was shivering, but she was only lightly dressed and sitting on the cold steps, so that contributed to shock,” said Gary. “She had probably been crouching there for some time, but I did not ask her how long and she probably would not have known, anyway.”

“So when did Polly and Ali leave the pub?” said Cleo. “That is vital to the case.”

“We’ll have to ask Polly as soon as possible. Or perhaps Molly knows.”

“Molly can’t know when Ali left because she was not there, Gary.”

“Meaning that Ali was taking advantage of Molly not being there.”

“They both were. He and Polly probably hurried the customers out so that they could go somewhere to have sex.”

“But why such a cold, uninviting spot, Cleo?” said Gary.

“If I were to compare it to our exploits, I would say there was enough fire between them to warm even the stones of that crypt,” said Cleo.

“OK. Let’s assume that they left the pub with the intention of going to find somewhere to light their fires,” said Gary cynically.

“Let’s assume that they left the pub between nine and half past,” said Cleo. “You passed the crypt on the way to the pub, but after you had walked home with Dorothy. Did you notice anything?”

“Nothing at all, but I did not go past the crypt. I cut across and then up the footpath. That’s the quickest way.”

”OK. You left the pub round midnight on foot. They were the middle of their smouldering sex act when the assassin crept up and stabbed Ali. That must have been while you were at the pub, unless Polly told you a lie. Did anyone cross your path?”

“No,” said Gary. “And I’m not sorry. An assassin might have attacked me if he thought I had seen something. I think I’ll have to run round equipped with a weapon and handcuffs in future. This is making even me scared. ”

“Of course, they would have been too involved in what they were doing to notice anyone approaching,” said Cleo. “That makes Polly an unreliable witness, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it does, and the people roaming round the Monkton ruins on a Friday evening are not going to be countable, let alone identifiable.”

“Then the timing is extremely vital,” said Cleo. “Molly was with Gloria at line-dancing. After it finished my mother was dropped off at her apartment before Molly drove back to the pub. The class will have ended by ten. Molly would not be home much before eleven.”

“Assuming they did exactly that,” Gary interrupted.

“We can check all that, Gary.”

“You said it.”

“Molly could have found the pub empty, been alarmed and suspicious, and had time to go to the Priory without anyone wondering where she was. Maybe she had an idea or even knew that Ali was using the crypt for trysts with Polly. We don’t know when the lovers left the pub. Molly left the pub unlocked when she presumably went out to find Ali. She found the corpse when she returned  to the pub for the second time, the first time being when she got back from the line-dancing and the kitchen staff was not there.”

“That sequence of events certainly indicates that Molly suspected or even knew where she would find Ali,” said Gary. “In that case she went to catch the pair in flagranti.”

“You’ll have to ask her,” said Cleo. “If she knew about Ali’s side-line, why didn’t she sack Polly?”

“Would that have made any difference?” said Gary. “Can’t you question both of them? Molly certainly had a motive.”

“I’m on baby leave.”

“Postpone it for a day, please, Cleo. You are the best one for the job. Molly might react better to you,” said Gary. ”For the record, the last guest who left the pub could have been a killer, unless the dead man came there alone and died of natural causes.”

“Molly must have left the door unlocked when she went to the old priory,” Cleo said. “It’s all so macabre and complicated. What a pity we can’t ask that poor dead guy who had it in for him.”

“Which poor dead guy? The one at the pub? We know now that Molly had a motive for killing Ali and he was behaving like a skunk,” aid Cleo.

“How does a skunk behave?”

“Like Ali. Let’s just hope someone saw something.”

“Witnesses to the one killing might be useful in the other, especially in nests like Huddlecourt Minor and Upper Grumpsfield,” Gary said.

“I think we’ll have to call on Dorothy,” proposed Cleo. “I’ll phone her now. She’s baby-sitting,”

Gary looked shocked.

“I hadn’t even thought of the girls,” he said.

“It’s the multi-tasking thing, Gary. Women need it, men often don’t.”

“Sometimes I feel like a small boy,” said Gary.

“That’s why I’m here now,” said Cleo.

“Thanks for coming,” said Gary sheepishly and Cleo decided that not much had changed since he was a small boy.

“This calls for a hug,” she said.

“I wish the crypt had not witnessed a murder,” said Gary.

“At least one, Gary. We’ll never know what happened to the monks.”

“You’re referring to Dorothy’s silly story, I take it.”

“Not silly, Gary. Historical! And if you are thinking what I think you are thinking, the answer is ‘no’ and now would certainly be atrocious timing. We have a warm bed at home for when we have finished our work here.”

“We’ll have to wait for the paramedics. I’ll check how long Chris still needs at the pub.”

“Ali was a nice looking guy,” Cleo mused.

“That was his downfall in the end, Cleo. Sometimes I’m glad I’m a bit of a plain Jane.”

Since Gary was well over six feet tall, had an athletic figure, a shock of black curly hair and photogenic looks, he was definitely fishing for compliments.

“That’s why I chose you,” said Cleo, playing up to his sham modesty. For a guy tied to villains and his office for a lot of his time, he really had worn well, and she said so.

"That streak of grey in your hair makes you even more attractive," she said.

"What streak?"

"This one," said Cleo, pulling it.

"Here’s the ambulance now,” said Gary, consternated.

“You could always dye it to match.”

“Dye what?”

“Your grey streak.”

“I will if you dye yours, my love.”

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d kick you where it hurts for that,” said Cleo.

”I’ve had a lucky escape then.”

“You sure have.”

***

Ali’s stabbing had been a vicious, cowardly attack. He could not have defended himself. The corpse was lifted gently onto the stretcher after being turned onto its side and wrapped in a gold foil blanket. He had a body temperature of 34 degrees measured in the armpit, so he had probably not been dead for about two hours, the accompanying doctor said. That tied in with the time plan Cleo had outlined. It would more or less fit in with the Ali and the girl walking or maybe even running to the crypt after leaving the pub with the intention of having sex. They were interrupted by someone who had quite possibly followed them there or at least knew where they would be.

“Someone just looking for someone to stab?”

“Or a voyeur. I expect the crypt has regular visitors hell bent on clandestine sex, Gary, and others hell bent on watching it.”

“Whoever it was would not hang around. The assassin must have brought a knife and done the job quickly before disappearing into the darkness,” Gary deduced.

Chris and the forensic van drove up and Chris instructed the paramedics to take the body straight to HQ pathology.  

“I’ll deal with both corpses tomorrow,” said Chris. “No need to hurry. They can’t run away and analyses are bound to take some time. Molly Moss has not been told about Ali, but I think you’ll have to do that pretty soon.”

“Thanks Chris. We’re on foot. I’ll charge down and get the car,” said Gary. “Cleo, please stay here with Chris. I’ll be back in ten minutes. I should think my glass of bubbly will have lost its clout now I’ve been out in the cold air for hours.”

With those words, Gary sprinted down the hill and onto Monkton Way, thanking his alter ego that he did go to the gym now and again and really was fit.