‘You’ve got to identify them, have you?’
She nodded. ‘They’re animal fur, right enough. I’ll have to try to narrow it down to mink, if I can find the right references. Anyway, the cousin said he used the van only for carrying carpets, so it’s obviously an insurance fraud.’
He squatted on a nearby stool, pleased to hear how they were diversifying their business.
‘It’s good to know we’re expanding into the civil side, not just coroners’ and police work. There must be lots of other problems out there that we can help with.’
Angela readily agreed. ‘And the other good thing is that we’re getting almost all our new cases by word of mouth – usually solicitors recommending us to one another. Nothing to beat the old boy network, is there?’
‘Perhaps you’d better join the Freemasons and the local Rotary Club, doctor!’ called Siân from her bench. ‘My dad says that’s where all the power lies these days.’
Richard grinned at Angela at the thought of getting business advice from a red-hot trade unionist like Evan Lloyd, then took himself back to his office to check the last batch of post-mortem reports which Moira had just typed.
Half an hour later his phone rang, switched through from Moira’s office next door. When a few months earlier Post Office Telephones had extended the single line to the phone in the hall, they had put a simple switching device in her office, so that she could divert a call to either the laboratory or to Richard’s room.
‘It’s the War Office!’ she hissed in a conspiratorial whisper before connecting the call.
‘Gordon Lane here, Dr Pryor.’ The voice of the Crown solicitor came across the ether. ‘We’ve made some progress, I’m glad to say. The first thing is that the bullet has arrived from Al Tallah. We’ve got it in a jar in the office here, safely wrapped in cotton wool.’
‘Good. I suggest you ask your ordnance experts in Woolwich to examine it, but I’d like to have a look at it first,’ said Richard. ‘What was the second thing?’
‘That’s the point of ringing, as we also have had consent from both the widow and the Home Office for an exhumation. I wanted to arrange a date with you.’
Richard Pryor was surprised at the speedy action, which normally could take weeks or even months. ‘That’s very quick work, Mr Lane! How did you manage that?’ he asked, perhaps impertinently. The lawyer sounded a little evasive.
‘There are ways and means within government, doctor. Anyway, the widow’s solicitor saw that they were not going to get any further with their claim if they refused – and the coroner for Northolt, where the body came in by air, said that it was none of his concern as he had declined to hold an inquest.’
‘So that left just the Home Office?’
‘Yes, and even they were somewhat uncertain about their jurisdiction as this was an army incident that occurred abroad. However, to be on the safe side they rubber-stamped the appropriate forms, so we can proceed.’
Richard thought rapidly, as the Gloucester trial was now less that a fortnight away. He had the Brecon inquest this week, so that ruled out the next few days.
‘I think it will have to be one day next week, Mr Lane. As far as I recall, the body is buried in south-east London?’
‘Yes, in Lewisham municipal cemetery.’
‘Where could we take it for a post-mortem, somewhere that has decent facilities?’ asked Richard.
‘I’ve discussed this with Paul Bannerman, who’s leading this case. He suggests the Queen Alexandra Military Hospital in Millbank. Perhaps you know it, having been an RAMC officer?’
‘I know where it is, certainly. Very near the Royal Army Medical College, with the Tate Gallery between them.’
‘Paul Bannerman is still a serving officer, so I’m sure he can arrange matters with the hospital commandant. Which day would suit you best?’
Richard decided that Wednesday would be as good as any other, and the solicitor promised to ring back to confirm a time.
‘We’ll have to make arrangements with the cemetery for the exhumation and also for transport from Lewisham to Millbank.’
After he had rung off, Richard went to report to his partner. ‘Trip to London next week, Angela. Know anything about bullets?’ He repeated what Lane had told him.
‘I’m a biologist, not a firearms examiner,’ she said. ‘But I’ve picked up a bit of the jargon and mystique from listening to them in the Met Lab over the years.’
‘Good enough. You can look at the thing with me next week. I’ve got a feeling about what could have happened, but first I need to look at that wound.’
At lunchtime he told Moira and Siân about the developments, but neither of them wanted to join Angela on a trip to London.
‘Must be horrid, an exhumation,’ said Moira with an expression of disgust. ‘How long has the poor chap been buried?’
‘Only a few months – and he was embalmed first, so he’ll be almost as good as new.’
‘I’m happy to be coming to that inquest with you, doctor,’ said Siân. ‘And I saw a couple of post-mortems when I worked in the hospital lab. But I draw the line at exhumations!’
That evening Richard talked to Angela about the arrangements for the following week. ‘We’re not going to get our dirty weekend, I’m afraid. But as the exhumation is bound to be in the morning, we’ll have to travel up on Tuesday.’
Angela made a mock pout. ‘Oh, and I was looking forward to a sinful Saturday night!’
His lean face broke into one of his famous grins. ‘We may as well make a day of it, so we’ll go up early on the Red Dragon and you can have the afternoon to hit the shops while I go to the BMA library to see if they’ve got anything I missed elsewhere.’
‘Oh, you’re so masterful, Richard! The romantic BMA library!’ In a playful mood, she pretended to swoon.
‘Stop taking the mickey, lady!’ he commanded. ‘We’ve got to decide on somewhere to stay. I suppose the Great Western Hotel at Paddington is the easiest, especially as we’re not footing the bill.’
Serious again, she nodded. ‘Sounds fine to me. Better get Moira to book a couple of rooms there. Knowing her, she’ll make sure that they’re on different floors at opposite ends of the building!’
On Friday they set off in the Humber at eight thirty, as the inquest was to start at half past ten. Siân arrived early and they left Garth House in almost a picnic mood, in spite of the sombre nature of the event. The technician sat in the back, enjoying the ride in a large, comfortable car, for there was no such luxury in her household. Though Siân was a very mature, self-possessed woman of twenty-four, for a few moments Richard had a fantasy that she was their daughter, with Mum and Dad sitting sedately in the front!
It was a nice day, getting cooler as the autumn took hold, but dry and sunny between breaks in the cloud. As they drove up to Monmouth, then along the A40 through Abergavenny and Crickhowell to Brecon, they all revelled in the lovely countryside of Monmouthshire, then the grandeur of the Usk Valley through the Beacons. Apart from her one visit to the crime scene, this area was new to Angela. She had been brought up in the flatter Home Counties and today she had the leisure to better appreciate the Welsh scenery. As for Siân, she was entranced, as being a child during the war, with all the shortages and restrictions – and no car in the family – her excursions had been mainly to Barry Island and Porthcawl, with a few holidays in Gower or Ilfracombe.
Brecon came all too quickly and soon they were driving up The Watton into the town, past the grim nineteenth-century barracks that was the depot of the South Wales Borderers.
‘That’s where that young lad who found the body is being called up to National Service this week,’ said Richard. ‘Let’s hope he enjoys it, though he’ll find it a lot different from mending tractors on a farm.’