Chapter 7
Alexander’s
police whistle was repeated by the next nearest person, and presumably by
others.
“Go an’ wave
at them, sir, I’ll swim over an’ check she’s beyond ʼelp,” said Campbell.
“Photograph
first,” said Alexander. He had brought his vest-pocket Kodak, and photographed
the floating body in the reeds.
Campbell
nodded, and began stripping. Alexander went back up lover’s lane, waving to
Braithwaite and Billy, who were nearest.
“Not good
news, I’m afraid,” he said to Braithwaite. The older man paled.
“Is it the
same devil who killed our Sally?” asked Billy, pugnaciously.
“It seems
unlikely but I don’t rule anything out,” said Alexander. “We have to rule out
accident as well.”
“You don’t
believe it’s an accident,” said Braithwaite.
“No, I don’t,”
said Alexander. “But the best way to catch a killer is to go with due process,
however slow it is, because it’s methodical.”
“They didn’t
catch whoever killed my Sally.”
“And when
was that?”
“June,
1918.”
“It sounds
as if it was bungled, but I imagine with troops moving around at the last
German offensive of the war it got more difficult, as well as resources being
stretched before returning troops increased the numbers of available
policemen.”
“Sally
reckoned she was going to do well for herself,” said Braithwaite. “It’s one
reason I’m so strict with Maud.”
“You ought
to tell her that, you know Mr. Braithwaite,” said Alexander. “Now this is being
raised again. And when we’ve stopped this poison pen, I’ll reopen Sally’s
killing, I promise, and try to get you closure.”
“I’m not
sure I’d have accepted it out of the blue, but with all this bringing up
memories, I’ll say, ‘thank you,’ and do what I can to help. You can call me
‘Neddy.’”
“And I go by
‘Alex’ to friends,” said Alexander. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. And maybe
the killer is the same; if it’s some old biddy deranged over something who is
poking at what she sees as immorality, especially a relative of the young man
who got Sally into trouble, she might have killed someone she saw as a seducer of
a virtuous young man. It doesn’t have to be true, only the perception of the
killer. Was she strangled by hands, or a ligature?”
“With her
own silk scarf,” said Braithwaite. “Oh – a woman could do that.”
“Or a weak
man,” said Alexander. “We don’t have to consider only a man strong enough to
subdue someone who, like Maud, I assume, was used to shift boxes of fish.”
“Nobody ever brought that out
before,” he said. He had accompanied Alexander back to the river, leaving Billy
to bring others. “Mind, neither the missus nor I recognised the scarf, either;
reckon it was something the killer said was a gift, and put it on her, then...”
he tailed off.
Campbell
swam to the near bank, towing a limp body.
“Life’s
extinct,” he said. “No chanst at all. All battered from the drowning machine in
the weir I s’pose?”
“Quite
likely,” said Alexander. “Dress, and run into the village to get warm, and
phone Barrett to ask for the police surgeon and Mr. Morrell now it’s murder.”
“Yessir,”
said Campbell.
Alexander
gave the body a cursory look over. Petechiae could be caused by drowning or
strangulation, but the crossed scarf tightly biting into the neck spoke its own
story.
“That’s how
Sally’s scarf was,” said Braithwaite, who had gone white.
“Sit down,
man,” said Alexander. “Are you absolutely sure?”
“Absolutely,”
said Braithwaite. “And the ends crumpled the same like they were held tight and
wrapped round the hand.And look, it’s still got the price tag on it. Fifteen
and six! Irma didn’t have that sort of money to throw around.”
“Then I’ll
recommend the reopening of the case, in order to link them,” said Alexander.
“Right now, we need to take her to the church and into the cool of the crypt to
await the police surgeon. And her parents need to be notified.”
“And that
ain’t your job,” said Braithwaite, with rough kindness. “It’s up to Timmy
Mapp.”
“I... yes,
it would be impolite for someone unofficially associated to do so,” said
Alexander. “I had thought that I should take it on myself as senior officer,
but I’m not officially here.”
The next few hours were filled with the
removal of the unfortunate Irma from the water, the borrowing of a sheet, and
making of a makeshift stretcher to carry the body to the church and into the
crypt.
“Poor young
thing, so unfortunate, so foolish,” said Dr.
Brinkley, the vicar.
“She boasted
of having seen something,” sighed Alexander. “And apparently she said she had
written to someone. It looks as if she
saw enough to make someone want her silenced.”
“You don’t
think it might just be like Sally, nothing to do with the poison pen?” asked
Dr. Brinkley. “I fear I could imagine
Irma misbehaving with a man friend.”
“It’s
possible, but it is a huge coincidence that she told Dan Reckitt that she knew
who had delivered a letter to Braithwaite,” said Alexander.
“Dear me,
yes, it does rather argue cause and effect,” said Brinkley. “I could wish she
had taken advice of wiser heads.”
“The problem
with people like Irma Savin is that they think themselves too clever for most
people, and she was certain she could gain some advantage from her knowledge,”
said Alexander. “I suspect she tried a little blackmail.”
“Dear me,
yes,” Brinkley sighed. “I recall, when she was newly in the Girl Guides and
started coming to church to show off her uniform... dear me, I should not say
that, it is most uncharitable.”
“Doubtless
true, however,” said Alexander. “She was already fond of blackmail?”
“She sidled
up to me after church and said, ‘I seen you. I seen you with a lady, putting
her in a car.’ I’m afraid I permitted my
tongue to answer before my brain, and I replied, ‘Why, that was no lady, that
was my sister,’ which is a calumny, but when I spoke to my sister next and told
her, she laughed, and said it was the best way to deal with a little madam like
that. It did disconcert her, and I never had any more trouble.”
“Good that
your sister has a sense of humour,” said Alexander.
“Ethel has,”
said Brinkley, gloomily. “If it had been Alice, now, I should still be hearing
about it. Alice corresponds with Serena Craiggie.”
Alexander
winced. Dr. Craiggie’s sister ran him
with a rod of iron.
“I must ask
the doctor to come over to see the rehearsals on Wednesday, in case of injury
in acrobatic dancing,” he said.
“Dear me, I
did not realise the ‘Mikado’ calls for acrobatic dancing,” said Brinkley.
“It doesn’t;
but we’re having fish and chips, which Miss Craiggie does not permit him, and
we can always claim he vetoed any athletic moves,” said Alexander.
“For a
policeman, you are altogether too good at economies of truth,” said Brinkley,
severely.
“That’s
because I serve justice more than I serve the law,” said Alexander.
There was a
disturbance and Mrs. Savin clattered noisily into the crypt on high heels,
teetering dangerously on the uneven flags.
“Where is my
little girl? Did nobody check if she still lives? What is wrong with you all?
Why have you brought her here not home to me?” she screeched.
Alexander
headed her off.
“My man swam
out to check if she lived, and found that she did not,” he said. “He has had
medical training. As this is a murder enquiry, she is here for a post mortem
examination to find out as much as possible about who did this.”
“I don’t
permit it!” said Mrs. Savin.
“I’m afraid
you have no say in the matter,” said Alexander. “It is now sub judice and the law will take its course. Though I would not be
surprised if the coroner, when it comes to inquest, does not have something to
say about you permitting her to wander off willy-nilly without check or
hindrance. If she had felt she might confide in you what she saw, you could
have told her to go to the police and she might now be alive. I do not advise
you to look; the killing has not left a pretty corpse.”
Alexander
disliked those who threw blame on others, but he had to shock Mrs. Savin enough
to stop her trying to destroy evidence in sheer ignorance.
She stared
at him foolishly, and fished out a cigarette.
“Madam! You
are on church premises!” said Dr.
Brinkley.
“What of
it?” said Mrs. Savin.
“You can
hardly feel it proper to smoke here!” said Brinkley.
“You lot,
you’re all ruddy Victorians,” said Mrs. Savin, but put her cigarette away.
“What happens now?”
“The autopsy
will be performed this evening, and inquest will be heard tomorrow,” said
Alexander. “And then the death will be investigated, and hopefully, an arrest
will be made.”
“I never got
who you are,” she said, insolently.
“Inspector
Alexander Armitage of Scotland Yard, on medical leave,” said Alexander. “I have
called in a colleague to handle the case.”
“Gawd! The
Yard for my little Irma?” said Mrs. Savin.
“Indeed,”
said Alexander. “I suggest you go home; there is nothing you can do now. And
your husband will doubtless need your support. You may make arrangements for
`your daughter’s obsequies; the law will be finished with her soon enough.”
“Will I get
anything from the government for her being murdered?” asked Mrs. Savin. “We
haven’t got no child tax allowance since she turned fifteen, so it’s only
fair.”
“The payment
of wergild is, I fear, no longer practised in this country,” said Alexander.
“Wot?”
“The law
forcing a killer to pay the family of his or her victim was abandoned in 1066
when the Normans came,” said Alexander. “No, there will not be any money.”
Mrs. Savin
left, sobbing theatrically into a lace handkerchief, sincerely mourning a lack
of wergild.
“I cannot
like her,” said Alexander.
“I don’t
believe you are alone in that,” said Dr.
Brinkley, dryly.
Campbell met
the train bearing the police surgeon and Jeff Morrell.
“Can’t keep
himself out of trouble, I see,” said Jeff. “I know he was worried about a bad
outcome, but barely two days round before there’s a body?”
“It looks as
if the silly little mutt tried blackmail,” said Campbell. “You’re eating at
ʼEywood ʼAll first, Mrs. Fringford brought dinner forward. It’s a nice piece of
ʼaddock, wiv all ve trimmings, an’ pea soup first, an’ ice cream an’ treacle
tart after.”
Jeff let a beatific smile cross his face.
“Mrs.
Fringford and Miss Ruth set a good table,” he said.
oOoOo
Alexander
went with his colleagues to the autopsy. Dr.
Craiggie attended out of courtesy.
“What have
we here, now,” said the police surgeon. “I hate seeing them this young. But
they will do these things, my dear chaps, they will do these things, and it
gets them into trouble. Well-built girl somewhere between sixteen and twenty.”
“She was
seventeen,” said Craiggie.
“Thank you,”
said Dr. Hammond. “Interesting note about her clothing; she has
the most up to date and quite dashing corsetry, sheer stockings, but, well, her
undergarments are, hrm, definitely the heavy sort worn by schoolgirls rather
than the lighter weight kind or camiknickers most girls favour nowadays. I don’t know if it means anything. Death
almost certainly caused by asphyxiation; probably caused by the ligature, but
I’ll test the lungs for water. She is not virgo
intacta, so one has to assume she had had intercourse at some point, unless
she rode, or rode a motorcycle, or did strenuous dancing?”
“I believe
she was one for dancing,” said Tim Mapp, who was also there, and looking as if he
wished he was anywhere else.
“Well, well,
it can happen,” said Hammond. “But I do
need, in that case, to check if she was with child at all.”
“Go ahead,”
said Jeff. “If not, then nothing need be said about the state of her hymen
unless there is some question of the cause of her demise being something like
cheating on her best boy.”
“I am given
to understand she kept a number of swains on a string,” said Alexander.
“That’s
almost a motive in itself,” said Jeff. “I’ll need to question them all as a
matter of form. In case it is not about her knowledge; I understand there was a
former girl strangled in the same way?”
“Yes, and
she was with child and swore she would confront the man who got her in that
condition,” said Dr. Brinkley. “But she
never told anyone who it was.”
“No
pregnancy here,” said Hammond. “Let me test the lungs... no, no fluid there.
Cause of death, strangulation by ligature, to whit, one silk scarf, curiously
mangled as if the strangler felt a need for a better grip. Possibly someone of
low physical strength. A pity you can’t get fingerprints off silk; I wager
those ends could tell a story.”
“No
fingernails caught in it?” asked Alexander.
“No such
luck,” said Hammond, examining the ends of the scarf. “Shortish nails, I should
think, the silk’s not cut any more than it has torn off any nail. Presumably a
man.”
“Some women
keep their nails short, too,” said Alexander. “Maud does, because of working
with fish; and so does Miss Thripp. And, I believe, Mrs. Reckitt, from
recollection of seeing her.”
“And those
are your suspects?” asked Dr. Brinkley.
“All seem unlikely.”
“Poison pen
is usually a woman’s crime,” said Alexander, unhappily. “They are three who may have some jealousy
motive, though if Miss Thripp’s voice improves, it makes her less likely. Maud
can have odd moods, I believe, and Mrs. Reckitt is jealous of the time her
husband and son give to the players.”
“Of the
three, I’d say she was the most likely, but to kill?” said Brinkley.
“I’d have
added Mrs. Savin to the list, bored, not very clever, but fairly well educated,
spiteful,” said Tim. “But her own daughter? That’s a long stretch.”
“It’s been
done before,” said Alexander. “But her nails are a mile long, and they were not
chipped when she came into the morgue, which I am sure they would have been for
the rough treatment of that silk.”
“Saved by
her vanity,” said Tim. “They were a dark pink this morning, sort of maroon; was
it still the same colour?”
“She had a
moon manicure in Rose Foncée, this morning and in the crypt,”
said Alexander. “And you don’t manage a moon manicure in a hurry.”
“And you
wouldn’t strangle anyone with that force without causing damage to a manicure,”
said Hammond. “The girl’s father?”
“Likely came
home on the train after you,” said Alexander. “He will be called to the
inquest. And Fred Chaffinch would mention if he had come home during the day.”
“It’s likely
to be person or persons unknown for now,” said Hammond. “I brought up the
evidence of the girl who was killed in 1918; but there’s precious little to go
on.”
“We’ll do
what we can,” said Alexander.