‘So where is the place Jim Post had you photograph him standing?’
‘Not yet, darling, I’m hungry, I haven’t had a proper meal for two days. Hope you have a lovely thick wallet; food doesn’t come cheap in the Bull. Not cheap at all, darling. Once I’ve eaten, then I’ll take you there, where he had me photograph him.’
The man smiled at the woman and softly spoke, ‘It is time,’ he said.
The woman returned the smile and replied, ‘Yes, if you say so, then it is time.’
Dr D’Acre emerged from the heat of the white tent which had been erected in a corner of a field, some half a mile from the village of Temple Chitton, and brushed a fly from her face. ‘Male,’ she said, ‘comparatively recent burial. . some clothing still intact, but definitely male. Some flesh still in evidence but almost skeletal. Strange place to dig a shallow grave,’ she glanced around her. ‘Well tilled soil, not very remote. I would have thought someone would have noticed that some digging and burial had gone on. . but. . that’s your neck of the woods Chief Inspector.’
‘I was thinking much the same but that’s for later discussion. Right now we have a deceased male in a shallow grave exactly where an informant said it would be.’
‘You’ve got more than that.’ Dr D’Acre smiled and allowed herself a brief and fleeting eye contact with Hennessey.
‘Oh?’
‘Yes. . you’ve got a corpse with a present for you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really, there’s something in the mouth. It’s a plastic bag. It could have been used for a gag, but it would be difficult to force into someone’s mouth, and I can think of more convenient forms of gagging someone.’
‘So can I.’
‘So I felt it with my fingertips and there is something inside it. . small and thin. . difficult to tell what because of the layers of plastic, like a lump in a carpet which feels like it should be caused by a child’s glass marble, but when you lift the carpet you find it’s caused by something the size of a pea. So it’s probably smaller than it feels to me but there is something in the mouth. I could take it out now but I’d prefer to do it in laboratory conditions.’
‘Yes,’ Hennessey spoke softly, ‘I think that would be better especially since there might be other “presents” for us.’
‘Good point. Will you be observing for the police?’
‘Yes, definitely.’ Hennessey also looked about him, the field of wheat, the small stands of woodland, the green rolling hills beyond and the ridge of skyline which gave to a clear blue sky. ‘Yes,’ he turned to Dr D’Acre, ‘yes, I will definitely be attending this one.’
Nigel Post, pale of face, drawn of expression, opened the door of his house to Carmen Pharoah. ‘Yes!’ he said, with a mixture of curiosity and aggression borne out of a sense of being threatened.
‘Police,’ Carmen Pharoah showed him her identity.
‘Yes?’
‘About your brother. . your late brother, James Post.’
‘Yes?’
‘My boss, Mr Hennessey, asked me to call and see you.’
‘Mr Hennessey?’ Short Nigel Post looked up at the statuesque Carmen Pharoah. ‘He’s the gentleman. .’
‘Yes, he was with you when you identified James Post.’
‘Yes, nice man,’ he glanced across the road and noticed curtains begin to twitch. ‘You’d better come in, keep the nosies guessing.’
Carmen Pharoah read Nigel Post’s house, neat, clean, cramped. All seemed appropriate to her for a man of Nigel Post’s age and social standing. She accepted his invitation to sit. ‘There has been a number of developments in respect of Mr James Post’s murder.’
‘Oh?’ Nigel Post sank into an armchair opposite Carmen Pharoah.
‘Yes. I am not at liberty to disclose anything, I’m afraid, not yet.’
‘I understand, miss.’
Carmen Pharoah thought Nigel Post seemed lost. ‘This can’t be easy for you?’
‘Well, first it was my wife, now it’s my brother, both taken before their time. My wife was knocked down and killed by a drunken driver and now James. You can’t help just sitting here and thinking about them when they were alive. . what we did together. . the conversations we had. .’
‘Yes, I do understand. Really I do.’
‘You’ve lost someone?’
‘Yes. . yes, I have,’ Carmen Pharoah remained stone-faced, ‘but can we keep this relevant, it’s about James.’
‘Yes. Sorry.’
A fly appeared as if from nowhere and began to buzz noisily against the window pane. Nigel Post rose from his chair, opened a window and the fly found its escape route.
‘Most men I know would have swatted it,’ Carmen Pharoah commented.
Nigel Post resumed his seat. ‘I prefer to feed the birds and spiders. So, how can I help you?’
‘James took photographs.’
‘Yes, he did.’
‘We have found some but the indications are that there are many, many more. So the question is, do you know any place that your brother might have placed any photographs or photographic negatives for safe keeping?’
‘Old technology,’ Nigel Post commented, ‘so few folk talk about photographs and negatives, it’s all digital cameras with lots of pixels. . whatever a pixel is. But James did use a conventional camera so he dealt with negatives and prints.’
‘Do you know where he might have kept them, somewhere other than his house on the Tang Hall Estate?’
‘His “drum” he used to call it. There’s only one place I can think of.’
‘Oh?’
‘His bank.’
‘His bank?’ Carmen Pharoah paused and then said, ‘You mean within a safety deposit box?’
‘Yes. It’s a long shot but it’s the only place I can think of.’
‘They’ve paid off before. Do you know which branch of which bank?’
‘Yes, I think I do. He wrote me a cheque once and I framed it,’ he smiled and stood.
‘You framed a cheque?’
‘Yes, I’ll explain when I come back down.’ Nigel Post left the room and was heard by Carmen Pharoah to go upstairs and then return a few moments later. As he re-entered the room he handed Carmen Pharoah a small photograph frame in which was a cheque made payable to Nigel Post for fifteen pounds and dated some ten years earlier.
‘It was only fifteen pounds I lost, and when he gave this cheque to me in repayment of a loan I sensed that it was probably the only thing I was going to have to remember him by. So rather than cash it, I framed it. Anyway, he did once mention a safety deposit box he had at that branch.’
Carmen Pharoah took her notepad and ballpoint from her handbag and copied down the bank’s name and address and the number of James Post’s account therein.
Dr D’Acre carefully removed the plastic bag from the mouth of the deceased and equally carefully began to unfold it. She found it stiff and brittle with age, but eventually she removed a credit card, which had expired some three years previously and the name on the card was one R. E. Malpass. She handed it to George Hennessey who took it in his latex gloved hands and read the name with some satisfaction.
‘The net closes.’ He smiled as he placed the card in a self-sealing cellophane sachet. ‘The net closes.’
‘That is your suspect, I take it?’
‘One of them. . it is a husband and wife duo.’
‘You’ll be arresting them?’
‘Now we can. With this credit card they can be at least linked to this murder, but it is still less than we need to prove guilt. . but it’s a significant step in the right direction.’
‘See what else I can let you have.’ Dr D’Acre turned her attention to the body on the dissecting table, which was still clothed in the remnants of the garments he had worn when murdered. ‘I think this post-mortem is going to be inconclusive, even before I start, unless there is a significant injury such as a skull fracture. I don’t think I am going to be able to determine the cause of death. . but a note of his clothing. . odd shoes. I mean a different shoe on each foot, an old duffel coat, still discernible as such only one toggle out of the original three remains and look,’ she gently pulled away a thin thread which appeared to have been wound round the waist of the deceased, ‘this is the remnants of twine. So who wears odd shoes and ties his coat together with string?’