The Fragments That Remain, Page 2

  She moved her head, so that the torch shone into the thoracic cavity. ‘Removal of the sternum and part of the ribcage occurred post mortem, as did extraction of the heart. There is minimal bleeding, and the pooling of blood is due to the arteries and veins collapsing and emptying their contents into the thoracic cavity.’

  ‘Time of death, Doc?’ Stick asked.

  ‘Contraction of the muscles – rigor mortis – has already taken place, and the body is returning to a flaccid state . . .’ She checked her watch. ‘It’s now five past ten. I’d say death occurred between one and three in the morning.’

  Xena leaned over and looked into Mr Lloyd’s chest. ‘Where’s the heart now?’

  ‘It doesn’t look as though it’s here, so I guess the killer took it away with them – to eat, put on display, or maybe as a keepsake. What I can tell you is that it wasn’t stolen for use as a transplant organ. Presumably, the knife used to cut the victims’ throats was also used to remove Mr Lloyd’s heart. Some of my students do a better job than this, and that’s not saying much.’

  ‘Anything else, Doc?’ Xena asked.

  ‘Nothing medical. But if I was asked to put forward a motive, I’d say the killer got what they came for – the heart.’

  ‘Thanks, Doc,’ Stick said, nudging Xena.

  Xena grunted. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Post mortem tomorrow at ten, but I doubt there’ll be much more I can tell you. The knife was a knife, and not very sharp. The three-quarter inch chisel was a chisel, also not very sharp.’

  Stick and Xena wandered out onto the landing and peered in the other bedrooms.

  Xena stopped a forensic officer. ‘Name?’

  ‘Jackie Roche, Ma’am.’

  ‘Nobody’s mentioned children.’

  ‘There are two children – a boy of seven, and a girl of five.’

  ‘Dead?’

  Roche shook her head. ‘No. The boy discovered his parents’ bodies at around eight o’clock this morning and called the police.’

  Stick said, ‘He must be traumatised?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know, Sir.’

  ‘Don’t call him “Sir”, Roche. As a Sergeant he’s lower than a snake’s belly.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am. There’s something else as well?’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘There are bloody glove prints on both the children’s bedroom doors . . .’

  ‘Which means the killer opened the doors after killing the parents?’ Stick said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there any evidence the killer went inside the rooms?’

  ‘No, Ma’am.’

  ‘Any chance of lifting fingerprints from the doorknobs?’

  ‘No, S . . . Sergeant.’

  ‘Thanks for being so helpful anyway, Roche,’ Stick said.

  ‘You’re welcome, S . . . Sergeant.’

  ‘I could be a “Sir”,’ Stick said as they went down the stairs.

  Xena grunted. ‘Have you still got a hole in your arse?’

  ‘Not long ago, you were lower than a snake’s belly.’

  ‘I was never that low, Stickaroo. It’s just you.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Outside, Stick questioned the two children in the back of a three year-old yellow VW Beetle in the presence of the car’s owner – a Social Worker named Janette Hail from Essex Social Services in Chelmsford, but they couldn’t add anything more.

  ‘So, what have we got here, Stickamundo?’

  ‘The killer could be a woman. It looks as though Mrs Lloyd was killed merely because she was asleep next to her husband. If she’d been sleeping in another bedroom, she’d probably still be alive.’

  ‘Agreed. Why take the heart?’

  ‘It’s personal. This woman knows Peter Lloyd. She came to get what he’d already given her – his heart.’

  ‘You think it’s that simple?’

  ‘I think it’s a good place to start.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  ‘Why are you agreeing with me all of a sudden?’

  ‘I’m showing you how it’s done for future reference.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘You’re paying for lunch, aren’t you?’

  ‘Agr . . .’ Stick laughed. ‘You nearly got me there.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter whether you say the word or not, you’re still paying for lunch.’

  ‘Isn’t it your turn?’

  ‘It’s never my turn.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Chapter Two

  ‘On September 11, 1971 . . .’ Professor Emma Lovelock said. ‘. . . 260 safe-deposit boxes at Lloyds Bank on Baker Street, London were emptied by robbers. These robbers tunnelled under the Chicken Inn Restaurant at weekends and then used explosives to gain entry into the bank vault. After four days of news coverage, the British authorities issued a D-Notice, which is now called a DA-Notice. The “DA” standing for “Defence Advisory”, and is an official request to news editors not to publish or broadcast items on specified subjects for reasons of national security.’

  They were two months into UK Public Law and were now dealing with the subject of State Security, which included the security services, terrorism, official secrecy, the interception of communications, and Defence Advisory (DA) Notices.

  ‘You mean censorship, Prof?’

  ‘It could be construed as censorship, Larkin. An alternative viewpoint, however, might be that publication would be helping our enemies. The DA-Notice system is a set of voluntary guidelines aimed at helping the media with the publication of National Security information.’

  ‘It’s voluntary?’

  ‘Yes, Pettigrew.’

  ‘Well, if it’s voluntary why don’t they just ignore it?’

  ‘Would you do that, Stevens?’

  ‘Damned right.’

  ‘So, you’d be happy to give National Security information to our enemies and put people’s lives in jeopardy?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘You feel comfortable about being a traitor?’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘Yeah, Stevens,’ Lucinda Mannheim shouted from across the room. ‘I always knew there was something not quite right about you.’

  Richard Stevens’ face flushed a bright red. ‘Okay, maybe it’d depend on what the information was.’

  ‘Why are we discussing a case that occurred forty-five years ago anyway, Prof?’

  ‘You again, Larkin?’

  ‘Me again, Prof.’

  ‘I take it you’re familiar with the concept of “Case Law”, Larkin?’

  ‘Isn’t that what the British legal system was founded on?’

  ‘That’s right. Well, there’s an important lesson to be learned from the proceedings of The Baker Street Robbery.’

  ‘Sounds like something from Chicago in the 1920s,’ Cherry Wornley said.

  ‘Very helpful, Wormley.’

  ‘You’re thinking of Ma Baker and her boys,’ Paul Dorkin advised her.

  ‘What did they do?’

  ‘They had a gang.’

  ‘A gang of what?’

  Jerry put her hand up.

  ‘Yes, Kowalski?’

  ‘What does the robbery of 260 safe-deposit boxes from a Lloyds Bank in London have to do with National Security?’

  ‘Ah! Now we get to the real reason we’re discussing the Baker Street Robbery. It’s good to see that at least one person in this lecture hall has a brain.’

  ‘I have a brain, Prof.’

  ‘No, Larkin. You’re confusing the word “brain” with “dick”.’

  After the laughter had died down, Larkin said, ‘I hope you’re not . . . ?’

  ‘Make of it what you will, Larkin. Right, would anybody like to provide Kowalski with an answer?’

  Rowena Tolliver put her hand up. ‘There was something in the boxes relating to National Security?’

  ‘Very good, Tolliver. And what might that have been?’

  The room went quiet.

  ‘There were no wars in 1971,’ Harr
is Walters said.

  ‘What about the Cold War – when did that begin and end?’ Murray Golightly asked.

  ‘We’re covering that in Political History,’ Gerald Bowker said. ‘It’s generally agreed that it occurred between 1947 – 1991, so 1971 was well within the time-frame.’

  Lily Ellroy half put her hand up. ‘Does it have to be about a war?’

  ‘What does National Security involve?’ Maureen Todd said.

  Professor Lovelock smiled. ‘I knew if I waited long enough somebody might ask the question. Would anybody like to give Miss Todd an answer?’

  Students began shuffling on their seats and surreptitiously glancing at each other, but nobody spoke up.

  ‘What about you, Larkin? You seem to know everything about everything. How is it you’re unfamiliar with the concept of “National Security”?’

  ‘I think everybody knows what it is, Prof, but you want the legal definition, don’t you?’

  ‘There might be hope for you yet, Larkin. Yes, and there is such a definition. A PowerPoint slide appeared on the screen behind her and everybody began copying the definition:

  National Security

  . . . is the requirement to maintain the survival of the state through the use of economic power, diplomacy, power projection and political power.

  ‘It’s not that simple though, is it?’

  The Professor’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why do you think that is, Linklater?’

  ‘You’re talking about National Security now, but I’m with Jerry Kowalski in this – what does that robbery have to do with the survival of the state? I mean, the government weren’t keeping their maps and secret documents in safe-deposit boxes at Lloyds Bank, were they? So, what was in the boxes that needed a D-Notice to be issued?’

  ‘Very good, Linklater. Okay, you also need to know what a DA-Notice covers.’

  Another PowerPoint slide appeared on the screen and there was a hiatus as the students copied down the details in their notebooks:

  DA-Notice

  01: Military Operations, Plans & Capabilities

  02: Nuclear and Non-Nuclear Weapons and Equipment

  03: Ciphers and Secure Communications

  04: Sensitive Installations and Home Addresses

  05: United Kingdom Security & Intelligence Special Services

  ‘Which one of the five categories did the Baker Street Robbery come under?’ Clarissa Walker asked.

  The corner of the professor’s mouth creased upwards. ‘None of them.’

  Students were sitting there with their mouths hanging open. Joe Larkin was the first to voice the question bouncing around in people’s heads. ‘None! But it must have been one of them?’

  ‘No. An investigation in 2007 found that a request was never made to the D-Notice committee.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘I’m going to put you into groups of three, and I want you to work together to find out what exactly happened in 1971 and subsequently. Each group will write a report and prepare a presentation, and the deadline is one week from today . . . one week. Not two weeks, or one week plus one day – One week exactly, which will be Monday December 15 before the festive Bank Holidays and you forget everything you’ve learned. Does anybody not understand what “one week” means?’

  None of the students indicated that they were in any way confused, so Professor Lovelock began reeling off the names in each trio: ‘. . . Kowalski, Larkin and Stevens . . .’

  Jerry couldn’t believe that the professor had put her with the class idiots, loudmouths and troublemakers.

  Joe Larkin and Richard “Shakin’” Stevens came over with all their bags, books and notebooks and flopped down beside her.

  ‘You’re lucky, Kowalski,’ Larkin said. ‘Me and Shakin’ know what we’re doing.’

  Jerry smiled. ‘Is that right?’

  Shakin’ nodded. ‘Yeah, I think Joe should be group leader.’

  The professor came over. ‘Jerry Kowalski will be group leader, Stevens. You two haven’t got a brain cell between you.’

  ‘Oh!’

  ‘That means she’s in charge. You two idiots want to listen to her. If I hear that you’re causing her trouble, I’ll fail you two and pass her. Any questions?’

  Joe Larkin shook his head. ‘I don’t think so, Prof. You’ve made it quite clear where me and Shakin’ appear on the evolutionary ladder.’

  ‘Good. Remember, you’re competing against all the other groups. I expect you to come top Kowalski, even though your dragging these two dumbbells along behind you.’

  ‘I’ll do my best, Professor.’

  The Professor moved to another group.

  ‘I’ll do my best, Professor,’ Shakin’ mimicked Jerry.

  She turned to stare at Stevens. He was barely out of short pants, had dark brown wavy hair that he kept brushing away from his eyes, an angry flare of acne covered his cheeks and neck, and his yellow teeth were in desperate need of dental treatment. ‘Have you got a problem with me being group leader, Richard?’

  ‘Well . . . no.’

  ‘Good. What about you Joe?’

  ‘No, no problem. You can be group leader in name, but I’ll be group leader in reality. If anybody asks, you’re the group leader, but we’ll all know where the real power lies.’

  ‘Here’s how it’s going to work, Joe. I’ll be the group leader in name and in reality. You two do what I say when I say . . .’ She put a hand on the nearest leg of each of them and began moving the hands up towards their crotch.

  They pushed themselves backwards.

  ‘. . . Otherwise, I’ll inform every female on campus about the tiny size of your tackle, and what lousy lovers you are.’

  ‘Hey, steady on. I have a reputation to . . .’ Larkin protested.

  ‘A reputation that will be lying in the gutter by the time I’ve finished with it.’

  Shakin’ grinned. ‘Maybe you need to try out the merchandise before jumping to any conclusions.’

  Jerry jerked her right hand upwards, grabbed his testicles and began squeezing. ‘I could do that, but I like it rough. Do you like it rough, Richard?’

  ‘No . . . no . . . no. I think Joe and I are happy that you’ll be group leader – aren’t we, Joe?’

  ‘Sure – it takes the pressure of us, and if you get “top student”, we’ll get “top student” as well.’

  ‘We all know where we stand then. Before we start planning, is there anything you don’t understand about the way things will progress?’

  Shakin’ and Joe looked at each other and shook their heads.

  ‘Good. Right, between now and tomorrow lunchtime, get yourselves over to Lloyds Bank on Baker Street and find out what you can about the robbery. We especially need a list of who owned those 260 safe-deposit boxes, and . . .’

  Joe snorted. ‘It’s been forty-five years since the robbery. None of the staff there now will know anything.’

  Jerry screwed up her face. ‘You don’t think they’ll have kept records then?’

  ‘Even if they do have records of the robbery, they’re not going to show those records to two law students.’

  ‘I thought you knew what you were doing, Joe?’

  ‘I do, but . . .’

  ‘You’ve never heard of the practise of disguise, subterfuge, trickery and deception . . . maybe as a journalist, a television reporter, or a writer doing some research for a forthcoming book.’

  ‘That’s brilliant, Mrs K. Yeah, I’ll be the television journalist, and you can be my assistant, Shakin’.’

  ‘Why do I have to be the assistant?’

  ‘You don’t think anybody would ever believe you’re anything other than a spotty student, do you?’

  ‘I could . . .’

  ‘Okay, Mrs K,’ Joe interrupted Shakin’. ‘Consider it done.’

  ‘Make sure you take photographs of the buildings – inside and out. Talk to the owner of the Chicken Inn Restaurant, and anybody else that can remember what happened.’

&
nbsp; ‘The intrepid television journalist and his spotty assistant can do that. What are you going to do?’

  ‘Research. I’ll draw up a timeline, a list of people we need to talk to, get hold of any newspaper report and so on.’

  ‘Good plan, Mrs K.’

  ‘Thanks, Joe.’

  ‘Aren’t you glad we voted for Mrs K as group leader, Shakin’?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ***

  ‘Keep love in your heart, Toadstone. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.’

  They’d entered the Wormley Village Hall having just donned their forensic disguises in the entrance and signed in. The press had been waiting to ambush them, and a crowd of people with nothing else better to do with their lives had gathered beyond the crime scene tape.

  Toadstone turned on his heel. ‘Oscar Wilde said that.’

  ‘He did say that, didn’t he, Sir?’ Richards said, looking into Parish’s eyes.

  ‘It’s a possibility. I’ll have to double check my records.’

  ‘Don’t lie, it’s a certainty Oscar Wilde said it. Paul is never wrong.’ She squeezed Toadstone’s arm. ‘Hi, Paul.’

  ‘Hello, Mary. Are you still all right for tonight?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll be ready at eight o’clock.’

  Accompanied by her wraith-like assistant, Doc Riley followed them in. ‘So, what have we got here?’

  Wormley Village Hall was large, bright and airy with a brilliantly-polished parquet floor. It had freshly-painted white walls, nets with black-out curtains at the windows, and a naked bloodless male body hanging upside-down from the roof. One end of a green nylon climbing rope was tied around the man’s left ankle, and the other end was wrapped around the central metal beam holding up the plasterboard ceiling.