Gift Wrapped (4 page)

Hennessey advanced confidently across the linoleum-covered floor of the laboratory until he stood shoulder to shoulder with Dr D'Acre, who handed him the magnifying glass. ‘Just here.' She pointed to the right side of the ribcage of the skeleton with her slender first finger.

‘I can't ...' Hennessey struggled. ‘Where?'

‘A little nick ... a small V-shaped groove in the upper rib ...'

‘Oh, yes, heavens, you know, I freely confess I wouldn't have seen that ...' Hennessey spoke softly.

‘But you're not a pathologist.' Dr D'Acre smiled. ‘I am, and I am expected to notice such things, but I can't think what could have caused it, though.'

‘A knife?' Hennessey handed the magnifying glass back to Dr D'Acre.

‘No ... it's been forced in upright; a knife would slide on its side between the ribs, but this is not a knife.' Dr D'Acre turned to Eric Filey. ‘Eric ... come and look at this, and tell us what you think.'

Eric Filey strode across to the dissecting table and took hold of the magnifying glass. ‘Just a few millimetres deep,' he observed. ‘I've never seen an injury like this, ma'am, but, you know, I think I have a tool at home which would probably cause such a wound.'

‘Oh?'

‘Yes, ma'am,' Eric Filey continued, ‘it's a file ... it is V-shaped in cross-section, or rather it's triangular in cross-section with three sides and with a different texture on each side. It's about ten inches long and has a blunt tip, but the tip could easily be filed down into quite a murderous point.'

‘I think I know the type of file,' Hennessey growled. ‘I have indeed seen the like.'

‘Yes, I too think I have seen the sort of file about which you speak,' Dr D'Acre murmured, ‘and if that sort of file was used with a pointed end ... and if it was as long as your file, Eric, then it would easily be of sufficient length to reach the heart. So the blow to the head disabled the man, and the thrust into the ribcage with a long file which is thin and triangular in cross-section finished him off. It would have stopped the heart in an instant.'

‘Then he was buried in a shallow grave with trees planted on top of him.' Hennessey sighed. ‘He deserves justice.'

The woman sat content in the living room of her home and glanced out of the window at the full array of bloom that was her back garden. She had just listened with interest to the hourly news bulletin broadcast on the local radio and she had heard about the discovery of a body near the village of Gate Helmsley, the report saying only that the remains were those of an adult male and adding that the police were appealing for anyone with information to come forward.

The woman allowed herself a brief smile. ‘Well, they have got themselves there,' she said to herself. ‘They have got there ... so far so good.' She stood calmly, switched off the radio and then walked into her kitchen; she had her husband's evening meal to prepare.

‘So,' Dr D'Acre said, ‘let us now return to the issue of identification.' She drummed her slender fingers on the stainless-steel table. ‘I'll have the skull photographed, front and side – that will be sufficient for a computer-generated image of his probable appearance. The process takes just a few minutes now; it used to take weeks by slowly building up layers of plasticine on a cast of the skull.' She looked again upon the length of the skeleton. ‘I see nothing at all that might help you identify him in terms of significant appearance; there is no damage to one of his legs that would cause him to walk with a limp, for example. One of his arms, say, is not shorter than the other. He had fully formed hands and feet. So ... unless toxicology comes back with reports of arsenic or other heavy poisons, which in this day and age is unlikely, I think we have a gentleman in his early middle years who was smashed over the head with a blunt object and then had a thin metal object, possibly a file, as we said, thrust powerfully between his ribs and reaching his heart. It would definitely have killed him if the blow to the head did not.'

‘How long ago do you think he was killed?' Hennessey asked.

‘You should know better than to ask that question by now, Mr Hennessey,' Dr D'Acre smiled reproachfully, ‘but I confess I did like the other CID officer's ...'

‘DC Webster?'

‘Yes. I did like his observation about the oak tree roots, how they had wrapped round the skeleton rather than pushing through it ... and the trees themselves seem to be about ten years old. It means that the body was buried, more or less, within about three years, at the same time the trees were planted. If the body had been completely skeletal when the trees were planted the roots would have grown between the ribs, but when the roots reached the body they came across an impenetrable substance and grew round it. So we discovered a skeleton embraced by tree roots. He was buried close to the time that the trees were planted, minus two or three years, and the trees did indeed seem to be about ten years old.'

‘Thank you.' Hennessey nodded. ‘That gives us a very useful time window to work with, and a likely cause of death and also sufficient information to trawl through our missing persons files looking for a possible match. That's easily good enough to be going on with.'

‘Thank you for working late, Eric.' Dr D'Acre turned to Eric Filey.

Filey inclined his head and said, ‘Six forty-five, ma'am – that's not late,' and by doing so, once again demonstrated a generosity of spirit which Hennessey had also observed during previous post-mortems. Hennessey had liked the young man upon meeting him and had, over the years, continued to do so.

‘We'll get back to you with the deceased's DNA profile as soon as we can; if you can trace a living blood relative that will confirm his identity.' Dr D'Acre returned her attention to George Hennessey.

‘Thank you,' Hennessey replied. ‘As you say, that will settle the issue of his identity very nicely.'

‘It should be with you tomorrow, along with the facial reconstruction,' Dr D'Acre added.

George Hennessey left the low rise, slab-sided sixties building that was the York District Hospital and walked across the car park in the mild early evening air towards Wiggington Road. As he walked his eyes were drawn to a highly polished red and white Riley, circa 1947, and once again he found himself pondering the large size of the car with its graceful lines and yet, by the standards of motor cars built in the early twenty-first century, it had a very cramped interior into which passengers had to step up into, rather than lower themselves down into. Ah, but, he further pondered, great compensation was to be derived from the vehicle – the rich leather upholstery, the solid wooden dashboard, the long bonnet, the envious glances of other motorists and pedestrians, the strong camaraderie of the jolly fellow owners at the Riley Owners Club musters, and even now the car was still a comfortable ride despite the low roof and the cramped leg space. Although it would and did take the salary of a doctor to buy and run one, and he knew that Louise D'Acre had inherited it, lovingly cared for it, and intended to bequeath it to her son.

Hennessey continued to stroll into York, joined the walls at Lendal Bridge and walked weaving amid the tourists to Micklegate Bar where he carefully descended the steep stone steps down to street level. He crossed the street when the traffic lights stopped all vehicular traffic thus allowing foot passengers thirty seconds to make their way across the road, and entered Micklegate Bar Police Station. He signed as being ‘in' at the enquiry desk and walked up the stairs to the first floor and to the CID corridor. He walked into the detective constables' room, collected the file on the Gate Helmsley skeleton from the top of Webster's desk and took it to his office. He read Webster's recording, noting that he had made a comment about the age of the oak trees and the manner in which the roots had seemed to wrap around the skeleton, thus giving some indication of the time the body had been buried. Hennessey then added Dr D'Acre's preliminary post-mortem findings as had been verbally given to him, then placed the file in his filing cabinet. He reached for his panama and as he did so he glanced at his watch: 8.10 p.m. He would be home reasonably early for once.

Wednesday, 31 May, 13.40 hours

George Hennessey, relaxed and fully satiated after lunch at the Starre Inne, reputed to be York's oldest hostelry, sat back in his chair in his office at Micklegate Bar Police Station and scanned the newly arrived report which had been faxed to him from Dr D'Acre at the York District Hospital. He picked out the salient points as he read: the toxicity test on the skeleton found near Gate Helmsley had proved negative, as, in fact, had been expected. DNA had been extracted from the marrow in the long bones and a profile had been created should any blood relative be found, thus enabling a conclusive identification to be made. A cross-section of one of the teeth suggested that the deceased was approximately forty-seven years old when he died. The cause of death, he read, was likely to be a combination of both the blow to the head and a long-bladed instrument entering the right of the ribcage at a slightly upward angle. Individually Dr D'Acre wrote, either might be fatal, but the combination of both injuries definitely would have been, especially if the blade had reached and had entered the aorta. Hennessey laid the report upon his desk top just as his phone warbled. He let it ring three times before leisurely extending his hand and picking up the handset. ‘DCI Hennessey,' he answered.

‘It's the switchboard here, sir.' The voice was female, young and sounded nervous. Hennessey heard an evident desire to please in the shaking voice; he also detected an enthusiasm behind the nervousness.

‘Yes, switchboard,' he replied, calmly but authoritatively.

‘There is a caller on the line, sir, a lady caller,' the switchboard operator explained. ‘She says that she is calling in response to the e-fit which appeared in the morning edition of the local paper, sir.'

‘Well, well, that is indeed a rapid response.' Hennessey groped for his notepad with his free hand and drew it towards him, then took his pen from his jacket pocket and held it poised over the notepad, which was firmly in his left hand, the pen in his right, and compressed the telephone handset against his right ear, in a practised manner, with his right shoulder. ‘Very well, thank you. Can you put the caller through, please?'

‘Hello ...' the voice seemed meek, hesitant. ‘Hello ... hello ...'

‘Yes, madam,' Hennessey replied warmly. ‘I understand that you are phoning in response to the e-fit which was printed in this morning's newspaper. Is that so?'

‘Yes, yes I am ...' the voice continued to sound nervous and hesitant. ‘I think it may be my husband ... he vanished some time ago. In fact, I know it's him.'

‘I see.' Hennessey spoke softly, hoping thereby to encourage the woman's confidence. ‘Very well.'

‘I am certain,' the woman continued. ‘I am confident that that is a picture of my husband. It is him ... after all this time. It is him.'

‘Your husband?' Hennessey repeated. ‘I see.'

‘Yes ... his name is ... was ... James Wenlock.'

‘James Wenlock,' Hennessey repeated as he wrote the name on his notepad.

‘Yes, spelled exactly as it sounds ... spelled like the place in Shropshire, you know ... Wenlock Edge.'

‘Yes ... yes.' Hennessey wrote in his notepad.

‘You know it?' The woman remained hesitant.

‘Well ... I know the location only by courtesy of the poem by AE Houseman,
On Wenlock Edge
,' Hennessey explained, ‘so I have the correct spelling.'

‘Yes, that's it,' the woman became more confident, ‘spelled as in the poem,
On
Wenlock Edge
. James, my husband, disappeared about ten years ago, at about just this time of year, in fact. He vanished as if into thin air ...' the voice became excited, ‘ten years ago ... now his picture's in the paper ... his e-fit or whatever it's called, but it's him, it's him.'

‘All right,' Hennessey spoke in a calm voice, ‘so long as you're sure, this is very good.'

‘Yes, the e-fit has given him hair while in fact James was almost totally bald ... his nose was much smaller than the nose shown in the e-fit ... but the face, the cheekbones, his pointy little jaw, the high forehead, the overall thinness of his face ... I tell you, sir, it's him all right ...'

‘Good ... well, thank you for calling, Mrs Wenlock,' Hennessey replied. ‘I assume it is Mrs Wenlock?'

‘Yes, it is Mrs Wenlock; I have not reverted to my maiden name, nor remarried. It's still Mrs Wenlock, it always will be. Never will change it.'

‘Very well. What is your address, please, Mrs Wenlock?'

Mrs Wenlock gave an address in Selby and added, ‘Is that all right? I mean, is it all right to call the police in York? It was the number printed in the newspaper.'

‘It's all right, Mrs Wenlock – it is the correct number that you phoned. The Vale of York police cover Selby.' Hennessey allowed his calming smile to be heard down the phone line for the benefit of the anxious and excited Mrs Wenlock. ‘It's all our area, or our patch, as we say, so no worries there. Can I ask if you'll be at home this afternoon? I'd like to arrange for two of my officers to visit you to take a statement from you ... and also to ask you a few questions?'

‘Oh, yes, I was going out – there is something I want to do, but for this I will stay at home ... for James I will stay at home, of course I will. Heavens ... it's been a long ten years, so yes, yes, I'll wait for the police.'

‘I assume you reported your husband as a mis per?' Hennessey asked.

‘Mis per?'

‘Sorry, police speak, I meant a missing person,' Hennessey explained.

‘Oh, yes, yes I did, but to the Wetherby police, not the York police.' Mrs Wenlock was by then calming, quite rapidly.