The White Sack Mystery

 

PART ONE – BREAKFAST

     As Detective Inspector Harry Penvelly carried his laden plate over to an empty table in the Station’s canteen, he could feel his mouth start to water.  He was looking forward to this, his favourite meal of the day, breakfast, a full English Fry Up.  Placing his plate on the table and his bum on the chair he prepared to tuck in.  The rich fatty juices spurted out of the sausage as he stabbed his fork into it, then, slicing a generous piece off, he was about to dip it into his fried egg when he became aware of a presence standing at his left elbow.  

“Yes officer, what do you want?”  He asked, his eyes never leaving the sausage.  The young uniformed officer shuffled his feet and launched into his message.  
“There's been a phone call sir, you’re wanted at Clovey Common sir, a dead body was found by a member of the public, and it’s looking serious.”  The youngster blushed furiously at the last part, which was of his own devising and sounded so right in his head, the redness in his cheeks deepened as DI Penvelly slowly answered, 
“Yes, being dead would give one cause to look serious.”  Dropping his fork pierced sausage on to the plate with a clatter, DI Penvelly pushed back his chair and rose to his feet, 
“OK lad, radio ahead and tell them I am on my way,”  he said briskly, but at the same time giving his breakfast one last, longing, loving look.

Crossing the Station car park on the way to his car Harry was joined by his Detective Sergeant, Bob Halmer.  “Well,” Harry barked, by way of greeting, “What do you know about this body then?”  
“Not much sir, except that it is a body, and it is dead, and it is on Clovey Common.”  DS Halmer could, in Harry's opinion, be irritatingly glib at times, especially first thing in the morning, Harry shot him a furious sideways look as he got into the passenger seat of the car.  As they pulled out into the busy main street, DS Halmer reached down to switch on the flashing blue light and siren which would warn other road users that they were in a hurry.   
“No, no, no.  Switch that bloody racket off,” moaned Harry, “I can’t tolerate that noise on an empty stomach.”   
“No breakfast sir?” replied Bob, somewhat surprised, it was rare indeed for Harry to forego a good fry up first thing in the morning.  
“Well,” Harry went on to explain, “I very nearly had my breakfast, but then some bright spark decided to dump a body on Clovey Common.  Why do you think they do that?  Wait until I am about to eat and then dump a body, or commit a murder, or bash each other up over drugs, or if they want an easy night of it, go out on the town mugging.  I think they chose their times  on purpose, what do you think Sergeant?”  
“Yes sir, it is without doubt a Criminal Conspiracy,” replied Bob, grinning broadly.   Harry snorted out a laugh, but thought, although they may have been joking, that was exactly how it felt…….A Criminal Conspiracy to prevent him eating.




PART TWO – AT THE CRIME SCENE

          Clovey Common was a popular place to go for all sorts of reasons.  Whether it was for walking the dog, taking the kids out for exercise and fresh air, serious down on the ground courting, and on occasion, down in the ground disposal of bodies.  Harry let out a long sigh as Bob and himself walked over to the forensics van to collect their latex gloves and plastic over shoes (bath caps for feet is what they reminded Harry of.)  This wasn’t the first time a corpse had turned up on (in) the common, and without doubt it wouldn’t be the last.  The Common was in danger of becoming a murderer's first choice dumping ground for the local area.  

The detectives didn’t have to wait for long at the blue and white striped taping surrounding the scene before Pathologist, Dr Marcus Dolhern, came over to brief them before allowing them on to the scene.  
“Alright Marcus, what have you got for us today then?” chirped Harry.   
“A body.” replied Dolhern, his voice was as glum as his overall presence, and for some reason this always made Harry feel cheerful, 
“Oh Marcus, the things you say, you're such a tease!”  Harry joked at him.  Dolhern grunted before saying, 
“Come and see for yourself, it’s……..different.”  Not allowing Harry to get another wise crack in, Dolhern turned and walked off toward the tent erected over the site, shielding the find from the over curious eyes of the public and press, and should the weather turn bad, preventing any evidence from being washed away, or even worse, Senior Crime Scene Pathologists getting soaked to the skin.

Once inside the tent Harry looked down into the shallow grave and commented,   
“Noooo, in my experience, and correct me if I am wrong, that is not a body, that is a sack.”  
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Dolhern said, “The body Harry, is in the sack, and please stop winding me up, I’m not in the mood.”  
Harry turned to Bob and gave a wink, then noticing Bob’s uneasy frown said to him, “Off you go then, oh you of the queasy belly, interview the ‘member of public’ that found our sack…..err, I mean body.”  
Turning back to Dolhern he demanded, “Well open it up then, let’s see what we’ve got, could be anything in there, one of those blow up sex dolls,  a shop mannequin, or a very large dog.”  
Sighing once more Dolhern replied, “Put your nose a little closer Harry, and inhale, and I think you will agree that neither doll nor mannequin would give off that particular aroma, and the shape’s all wrong for a dog.   I’ll open the sack when I get it back to the mortuary, I have no intention of losing any evidence there may be just to satisfy your curiosity.”  
Feeling well and truly ‘put in his place’ Harry retorted, “Yes, well, alright then, but mind you call me to observe BEFORE you open the bloody sack.”  
“Mm, that’s the odd thing,” said Dolhern, more to himself than Harry, who had turned to leave, “A brand new white sack, containing what smells like an old corpse.”

Back in the car on the way back to the station Harry asked Bob what the ‘member of the public’ had to say about finding the corpse.   
“Nothing much really,” said Bob, consulting his mental notes, “Pretty much the usual, he was walking his dog, the dog wandered off and started barking, owner goes to see what the fuss is about and, hey bingo, dog is digging up a suspicious looking sack, man dials 999.”  
“I don’t know,” replied Harry, “Jo Public’s dogs are better at finding dead sacks than our own police dogs………..Damn Dolhern!  I should have made him open the bloody thing there and then; we can’t get on with any investigations until we know what we’ve got to investigate.”   With a jerk of his arm, Harry brought his wrist up to look at his watch, “Oh double damn, the canteen will be closed now, stop off at the Riverside Cafe Bob, you can treat me to a sausage and egg sandwich for my brekky.” 





PART THREE – WHAT WAS IN THE SACK

     Harry managed to eat his cholesterol sandwich and gulp down half a mug of what looked like river water tea before Dolhern texted him.  The message was short, but to the point, 

“Starting PM, half an hour, with or without you, stay the other side of the observation window, do not want a repeat of last fiasco!”  
“Blimey!” said Harry, staring at his mobile, “That Dolhern can certainly hold a grudge, come on then Bob………..it’s show time!”   

The ‘fiasco’ Dolhern referred to was at their last attendance, which had been the victim of a rather grisly murder.  Bob, after taking one look at the carnage on the table, had succumbed to his sensitivity and passed out.  Unfortunately he had passed out onto the deceased, causing them both to tumble to the floor.  Dolhern was outraged, and had gone as far as ordering Harry, supporting the woozy Bob, not only out of the room, but right out of the building whilst his Attendants and Porters sorted the mess out.

This time they were safely ensconced behind the window of the observation gallery, where Harry insisted Bob sat down on a chair, telling him with an authoritative nod, 
“Best to be safe than flat out on the floor.”  
Looking up from the Autopsy Room below, Dolhern checked to see if the insisted upon police presence was in fact present.  Much to his annoyance, they were.  Harry returned his glance with a hearty wave and a cheesy grin, all Dolhern could see of Bob was the top of his head, his eyes just peering out above the window’s cill.  Heaving an exasperated ‘tut’ Dolhern pulled the microphone/tape recorder down and prepared to start his PM.  He had just got into describing his first observations when Harry’s voice boomed over the intercom, 
“It’s just like one of those television game shows isn’t it?  You know, not so much ‘What’s in the Box,’ but ‘What’s in the Sack?!’”  
“Detective Inspector Penvelly, IF you don’t MIND,” Dolhern boomed back at him.  
Harry gave a faux hurtful shrug and loudly stage whispered to Bob, “Just trying to lighten the mood.”  Dolhern marched over to the Room door, for one moment Harry thought that maybe he had gone a tad too far with his jokes and Dolhern was on his way up to punch him on the nose, but although Dolhern’s intention was to silence Harry, it was by nothing more violent than switching off the intercom to the Observation Gallery, allowing them to hear him, but not for him to have to tolerate any more of Harry’s glib comments.  Now satisfied that he could get on with his work without further interruptions, Dolhern returned to the sack and its as yet unknown contents.

The Mortuary Assistant carefully snipped upwards with his scissors, starting at the foot of the sack toward the neck which was tied tightly with orange agricultural twine, the sort they used to bale hay.  He then began to peel back the sides of the sack to reveal its contents.  Bob closed his eyes tight at this point; he loved his job as a copper, but just wished it wasn’t so gory at times.  Harry let out a groan at the sight of the sacks contents and said, 
“What we have here is the work of one of those crack-pot killers who like to present their victims dressed up to the nines, open your eyes Bob, there’s nothing yucky to see, and I would value your opinion.”  
‘Dressed up to the nines’ was a good description of the frail looking corpse that Bob looked down upon.  It was of a thin, very elderly man.  His white wispy hair looked freshly washed and brushed.  His suit was of reasonable ‘off the peg’ quality and probably would have once been classed as his best suit.  His shirt was of white. crisp cotton and his tie was a plain navy blue, matching the colour of his suit.  On his feet was a pair of very shiny black brogues.  But it was the old man’s face that Bob kept coming back to, something wasn’t quite right about it, and he had seen the ‘something’ before.  Depending on how long they had been dead, or even how they had met their deaths, the faces of murder victims came in a variety of colours, but never had Bob heard of one having a healthy looking tan, which was in stark contrast to the old man’s white dead hands folded neatly across his chest.  Along with the ‘just back from the Costa del Sol’ facial glow were rosy red cheeks, and a faint pinkish tinge to the lips, it looked like he had make-up on. 

With a flash of inspiration Bob hammered on the window to attract Dolhern’s attention.  Swearing softly under his breath Dolhern crossed the room and turned the intercom back on, 
“What!” He snarled.   Now up on his feet, the chair knocked over in his excitement, Bob gasped out. “Turn him over, please; I want to see the back of his jacket.”  Noticing that Harry was looking at him as though he had taken leave of his senses, Bob explained, “I have a theory sir, an idea, but it doesn’t make any sense.”  
Frowning, Harry moaned back, “Well, are you going to share, or do you intend to keep us all in suspenders?”  By this time Dolhern and his Assistant had carefully tipped the corpse over onto its side, revealing the back of the jacket.  
“Look, look there sir,” yelled Bob, “I was right, the jacket and shirt have been cut up the back for ease of dressing him, and what with the make-up, that’s how undertakers prepare bodies for viewing at the Chapel of Rest, my Granddad…..”  
“Bob, Bob, calm down, and listen” interrupted Harry,  “That’s also how some crackpot killers dress and present bodies for their own pleasure….Stop jumping to wild conclusions and wait.”

They didn’t have long to wait.  Once the corpse had all its clothing removed the tell-tale ‘Y’ shaped incision held together with untidy stitching had Bob nodding in satisfaction, it marked the conclusion of an autopsy, the final step of intrusion in the quest to find answers.  
Dolhern was examining the bodies arms whilst he said, “Your Sergeant is right Harry, sorry, but there is no murder for you to investigate here, in all probability this man died of natural causes whilst he was in hospital, there are IV marks on his arm.”   
Harry’s frown deepened as he replied, “Mm, maybe so, maybe so, but, then WHAT the bloody hell was he doing up on Clovey Common, in a sack, when there is a perfectly respectable graveyard just outside of town?”   
For the first time in what could have been years Dolhern smiled and sweetly said, “That, Harry, is for you to find out, for my part I will find out who he was, what he died of and when, and who did the original autopsy.” 




PART FOUR – ‘WHERE DID HE COME FROM?’

     Back at the Police Station Harry placed his cup of coffee down on his desk, then with a loud groan he slammed the as yet thin case file down beside it.  ‘Wait for it,’ thought Bob, wishing he had a pair of earplugs.  Harry switched the hard stare he was giving the case file toward Bob, who diplomatically kept quiet and slumped down in his chair.  

“Just what do they expect us to do?”  The ‘they’ being Harry and Bob’s superiors, who had insisted that they sort the case of the mis-interred old man out.  
“Perhaps, they think we ought to take out an ad in the Lost and Found column of the local bloody newspaper.” Harry was in loud and full flow rant mode now,  “This is NOT a case for the Serious Crime Squad, this is for the Missing Persons lot to sort out, you have been in touch with them, haven’t you Bob?   BOB!?  Pay attention for crying out loud.”  
Righting himself in his chair Bob answered, “Well, no sir, I couldn’t  see the point, Missing Persons deal with LIVING missing persons, not dead ones, and this dead one isn’t missing, we know exactly where he is, we just don’t know the  who or why….yet”  
Harry’s voice softened as he said, “Alright Sergeant, alright.  Let’s see if we can get this nonsense sorted out quickly, I really don’t want to be wasting too much time on it.”

Going over what they had so far didn’t take long.  Dolhern had already mentioned, at the PM, that the sack, plus body, hadn’t been at Clovey Common for long, it had highly probably been put there the night before its discovery.  
“OK” mused Harry, “How did it get there?  Were there any fresh tyre tracks leading to the site, or nearby?”  
“Heaps,” replied Bob, “Quad bikes, Mountain bikes, Motor bikes, and the tyre tread of that stolen Astra those fourteen year old boys nicked.”  
“What!  All on one night?” demanded Harry.  
Bob gave a shrug and explained, “It was a Wednesday sir, everyone had recovered from the weekends boozing, there wasn’t much on telly, benefit giros don’t come in till Friday, so, they all go ‘joy-riding,’ on whatever they can find, over the Common.  Singling one set of suspicious tracks from a whole fleet of them would be like searching for a needle in the proverbial.”   
Harry shook his head, “Don’t the local beat bobbies break these joy-ride meets up?” he asked.  
Bob went on to explain further, “No sir, everyone, including the public, would rather the bad boys were up at the Common joy riding, and not down in the town vandalising.”   
“Yes,” replied Harry, “I suppose there is some sort of twisted logic to that…..Right then, witnesses, someone must have seen something.  I am going to assume that uniformed do know who our joy riders are, and are out there now collecting statements.”  
“Yes sir, I organised that a short while ago,” confirmed Bob.  
“Jolly good, jolly good,” replied Harry, “You and I Sergeant, are taking a mug shot of our mysterious misplaced dead gentleman, and are going to visit all the Undertakers in town, see if any of them recognise him.  Bye the way, how many Undertakers do we have in town?”  
“Uhmmm, six,” answered Bob, “Dying’s big business around here.”

Their visits to the Undertakers, which took up the rest of the day, turned up the same results.  It was almost as though each Undertaker in turn had read from the same script, the story was the same, “We keep no photographic records of our dearly departed, that would be beyond distasteful, so unless you can give me a date of when the gentleman passed through our establishment, then it would be most difficult to even hazard a guess.  Truth to tell, they all look pretty much the same when they are dead.”  
When pressed into looking at what the ‘dearly departed’ was wearing, or if the make-up was done in a way that might be a signature to their ‘establishment’, again the reply was much the same for all six businesses, “Nope, doesn’t ring any bells.”

Once more at the police station and no nearer to finding out who the old man was, or where he had come from, Harry and Bob decided to call it a day.  Until Dolhern had completed his side of the inquiry, and the statements from possible witnesses were in, there was really nothing more to be done.  They both found themselves taking one last look at the photo of the old man before they left for their respective homes, 
Bob commented, “Ah well, with dawn comes hope.”  
To which Harry replied, “Not for that poor old sod it doesn’t, he’s not even been allowed to RIP.”





PART FIVE – “LUCKY DOLHERN”

      Dr Marcus Dolhern had earned the nickname ‘Lucky’ when he was a medical student; the exact reason why was lost in the passage of time.  But he was hoping that by starting his inquiries at the Geriatric Ward of the hospital attached to his Mortuary,  he would once again be able to live up to the youthful handle.  (Dolhern would never consider the Mortuary as being a department OF the hospital.)  He had completed his autopsy (second time round for the old man) before lunch and had found nothing  untoward, but had taken what bodily fluid samples he could extract to be sent off for analysis as a matter of precaution.  He knew the Pathology Lab. would hate him for the note he had attached to the samples, ‘Anything that doesn’t look right!’ but it should serve to keep them on their toes.  He knew the chances of the old man coming from his particular hospital were one in how ever many old people’s homes, private hospitals, or even home care geriatrics there were, not only in this town, but the surrounding area.  But the Geriatric Ward in his hospital seemed as good a place to start as any.

The Senior Nursing Officer (Matron) looked at the photo of the old man that Dolhern presented her and commented, 
“Well, doesn’t anyone in your department recognise him?  I mean, if he was a err, um, patient of yours.”  
“Madam,” Dolhern rather brusquely replied (what did one call Matrons these days?)  “Owing to the number of patients, as you call them, that your department sends us we hardly have time to become acquainted with their looks on what is, after all, routine autopsies.  According to our files he could be one of several dozen that died in the past few months.”  
Totally unfazed by Dolhern’s pomposity the Matron simply replied, “Oh.  Wait here, I’ll ask one of my Ward sisters.” And with that, taking the photo, she turned on her heel and briskly marched off.  Dolhern frowned at the ‘Wait here’ part, but in a way he could understand,  a Pathologist asking questions round a Geriatric Ward could mistakenly be seen as touting for business.

‘Matron’ returned with a painfully thin, sharp featured young woman in tow, 
“Dr Dolhern, this is Sister Maydew, she believes she might know your deceased,”  Matron gave by way of introduction.  
Sister Maydew wrung her hands, probably a nervous habit reflected Dolhern, 
“He looks rather like a patient we had admitted about a month ago,” she said nervously,  
Dolhern felt at last he was getting somewhere and asked, “Did he die on the ward, have you his medical records and the note of who signed him in to the Mortuary?”  
“No, no!” The sister said quickly, and went on to explain, “The gentleman was admitted with a mild respiratory infection; he made a full recovery and was discharged to return home, I believe his daughter picked him up.”  
“And, of course Sister, you are going to tell me the gentleman’s name and address,” Dolhern felt no guilt whatsoever at his sarcasm, the wretched woman should have realised he would have needed those particulars.  
“Yes Doctor, I will get them for you now,”  she made her way across Matrons office to the computer, half way there she paused,
“Doctor, there’s something odd, I don’t know if it is important, but…”  
“What Sister?  What is your something odd, pray do tell?”  Dolhern’s patience was beginning to wear a bit thin, and quite honestly he had become more than a little bored with the whole saga.  The Sister was slightly taken aback by Dolhern’s rudeness, but valiantly gave up her information anyway, “Well Doctor, it’s just that he looks a lot healthier in this photo than he did in real life.”

Back in his office Dolhern put together all the information he had collected on the old man, whose name turned out to be Peter Abbot, or at least Dolhern hoped it was, the Ward Sister could yet be proved to be mistaken in her identification, but that was for Penvelly to sort out.  He scribbled a covering note listing what was in the large brown envelope:  Original autopsy report, his own autopsy report, Geriatric Ward medical records and patient number, and the name of the Ward Sister who recognised him.  He also noted that the results of the samples he had sent to the Lab were not yet in, not that would come as any surprise to Penvelly.  On the front of the envelope he wrote “DI Penvelly, urgent.”  He sealed the envelope and looked up at the wall clock.  Much to his surprise it was gone nine pm.  Feeling self-satisfied that he had completed his part of the inquiry within the day, he decided to drop the envelope off at the Police Station on his way home; he did drive right past it, so he regarded it as an act of benevolence on his part.  His self-esteem rose even higher when the Duty Desk Sergeant, to whom he handed the envelope, recognised him immediately, called him ‘Sir,’  and assured him he would personally hand the envelope to DI Penvelly when he came in the next morning.  
Dolhern had left the building when the Desk Sergeant turned to one of his officers and remarked, “What a tosser!”  And then placed the envelope into a pigeon hole marked TWIMC (To Whom It May Concern.)

PART SIX – PETER ABBOT, IS IT YOU?

Harry belched loudly as he opened the envelope that had eventually found its way onto his desk.  This morning had been a rare luxury; he had managed to get through breakfast without any interruptions.  Reading quickly through Dolhern’s covering note he took a sip of coffee before looking at Bob and declaring, “Aha!” which was followed by another burp.  

“Aha sir?” asked Bob, ignoring the vulgar add on.  
“Yes, indeed Sergeant, Aha!  It would appear that my mate Marcus actually got off his arse and did a bit of proper work for a change.”  The triumph in Harry’s voice was undisguised. 

 For the next couple of hours they poured over the contents of the envelope.  Peter Abbot’s story was one  that was played out all over the world on a regular basis………Simply put, he had run out of life, and he had done so just barely three weeks ago.  He had died of old age in his sleep, at home, surrounded by his loving family.  (His daughter, with whom he lived, and was his only living relative, was at least in the same house as he when he passed away.)  The mild chest infection that had occasioned his brief stay in hospital had not contributed to his death directly, but probably had just weakened him enough to slightly hasten the inevitable, which had occurred two days after being discharged from hospital, which further explained the IV marks still present on his arm.   An autopsy had been performed, as is required by law, when someone dies in their own home.  Nothing unexpected was found at the initial autopsy or the one performed by Dolhern.  There was no need to inform the Coroner.  Mr Abbot’s remains were signed over to the Funeral Director within hours of his autopsy.  And that should have been that, another life laid to rest.  Except that it wasn’t…….the last mortal remains of Peter Abbot had turned up on Clovey Common, in a pristine white sack, and were causing Harry Penvelly the most dreadful bout of indigestion.

“I suppose,” said Harry, stifling a yawn but not a hiccup, “We ought to make sure that it is in fact this Peter Abbot, I suppose we ought to go and talk to the daughter.”  
“Not an easy interview sir, shall I ask one of the WPC’s to come with us?”  offered Bob.  
“Yes, yes,” replied Harry, trying to take on a more solemn air than the threatening re-flux would allow.  “We might need someone on hand with the tissues.”

 After confirming that she was in fact MRS Deidre Abbot, the late Peter Abbot’s widowed daughter-in-law, Harry, Bob and WPC Susan Carter were shown into a rather cluttered and dusty front room.  Bob kicked off the interview by saying, “Mrs Abbot, perhaps you would care to sit down, I am afraid we have some rather difficult questions to ask regarding your late father-in-law.”  
Harry was impressed by Bob’s opening gambit, he would have launched straight to the point, Mrs Abbot’s next words, however, did peg him back a bit, 
“Why not?  He was a difficult old bugger when he was alive, can’t see why it should be any different now he’s dead.”  
‘Blimey,’ thought Harry, ‘What ever happened to not speaking ill of the dead?’ 
Bob too found Mrs Abbot’s lack of concern off putting, but pressed on anyway, 
“I’m going to show you a photo, Mrs Abbot, and I would like you to confirm, or not, whether it is a photo of your late father-in-law, Peter Abbot.”  
As she took the photo with one hand; Mrs Abbot used the other to place the spectacles, which hung around her neck by a cord, onto her nose.  Squinting her eyes behind the spectacle lenses she brought the photo up closer to her face, 
“I’m not sure, it could be I suppose, when was this taken?”  
Bob felt his eyebrows shoot up in surprise.  He quietly and gently answered, “It was taken at the hospital mortuary yesterday morning.”  
“Oh well then,” replied Mrs Abbot, placing the photo onto the coffee table, “It can’t possibly be father-in- law, I laid him to rest at St Bartholomew’s church yard about two weeks ago, sorry I couldn’t have been of any help.”  
And with that she stood up preparing to see her guests out.  Harry’s stomach had by this time gone into full cramp mode and he was desperate to pass wind, the ability to be diplomatic about a very delicate issue had long since gone out the window, 
“Mrs Abbot,” he said sternly, “Would you please sit down and take another look at the photo and just say yes or no, is it your bloody father-in-law or not?”  
Mrs Abbot all but plonked herself back down on the sofa and once more took the photo in her hands,  “Yes,”  she said meekly, “It is, but I don’t see how…….”  
“Thank you Mrs Abbot,” Harry interrupted her, “The WPC will stay with you and explain what has happened, and we will keep in touch with developments.”  
Clenching his buttocks tightly together Harry, followed by Bob, made as fast an exit as was possible.  As he left the front room Bob could hear Mrs Abbot explaining to the WPC,  “Well you can understand my confusion, I thought it was an old holiday snapshot because in all the years he lived here with me, he never looked so well as he did in that photo.”

 Once out into the street Harry’s build-up of intestinal gases could no longer be contained.  Standing a good few feet away, Bob patiently stared down at his feet, pretending that the alarmingly noisy explosions emitting from his Superior were not happening.  His silent sojourn was broken by Harry yelling, as he walked to their car, 
“Get a move on Bob, stop day dreaming.  I forgot to ask Mrs Abbot to confirm what Funeral Director she used,  It’s on Dolhern’s notes back at the station, and you can stop off at the Chemist on the way,  I’ve had a bit of a gyppy tummy all morning, need to get some Galveston.”  
Bob, albeit silently under his breath, replied “I think it would take the whole state of Texas to cure your gyppy tummy……….sir.”

PART SEVEN – THE NEW EMPORIUM

          “It’s called what?!!”  
This exclamation from Harry was accompanied by a liberal spraying of Gaviscon covered Hobnob, which he was eating at the time, not, thought Bob, one of his bosses more endearing moments.  Reading from his computer screen Bob repeated the web site advert,
“‘The Heavenly Gate Funereal Emporium, we supply all your needs to take the grief out of grieving.’   Apparently they opened for business about six months ago, which is why they were not on our list.”  “Come on then” Harry all but shouted, the Gaviscon had seemed to do the trick and he felt a lot more comfortable, internally wise,
“Let’s see what these funereal people have to say for themselves.”

It didn’t take them long to establish that the Heavenly Gate Funereal Emporium’s premises in the High Street was just the offices for the business.  The receptionist was most helpful in printing off the files for Peter Abbot from her computer.  Heavenly Gate had arranged everything for Mrs Abbot, including preparing the deceased for viewing, should any relatives or friends wish to say their final goodbyes.  

Nervously Bob looked around and asked, “That, I assume is not done here, is it?” 

The receptionist smiled kindly at Bob as she replied,  “No, no the Chapel of Rest is where the old Fire Station used to be, just on the outskirts of town, Mr Edwards should be there at the moment, if you should wish to speak to him.”  

“Yes, we indeed should like to speak to Mr Edwards,”  Harry answered for Bob, who was ‘temporarily out of order’ due to the receptionist’s sweet feminine smile,  possibly her blue eyes, but almost definitely her ample bosom,  his total downward spiral into compete lunacy was also aided by the lack of a ring, wedding or engagement, on her finger.  The receptionist in turn seemed to have found something fascinating about Bob’s face; they had become transfixed on each other’s gaze.  Harry looked from one to the other, then tutting in exasperation grabbed Bob by the scruff of the collar and nodding to the receptionist aided the smitten Bob out of the building, saying, 

“Well, thank you for your help Miss, I would think that at least one of us will be in touch in the near future.”

Back in the car, driving to the Chapel of Rest, Harry tolerated Bob’s poetic ramblings over The Beautiful Receptionist, whose name was Tracey, for all of ten minutes before telling him, 

“BOB!  Will you get a grip, shut up, and focus.”  

Shaking himself like a wet dog Bob returned to earth with an embarrassed half grin.  He had all but regained his composure and lost his blushes as they pulled into the courtyard of their destination.  They were shown into an office by a man who could only be described as ‘almost’ He was almost tall, the slouch in his shoulders denying him his full stature.  He was almost red haired, but in a washed out fashion, rendering his hair more a sandy colour.  The only thing he never appeared to be in danger of almost being was happy, Harry supposed that such a dour, miserable persona was only fitting for an undertaker, but even so, this was taking it to the extreme.   After confirming that he was in fact Mr Edwards, the owner of Heavenly Gate, he put his head back round the office door and yelled for an unseen person to, “Bring a pot of tea and three cups.”  After seating himself behind the desk he leaned solicitously toward Harry and Bob, who were seated in front of him, and asked, “Gentlemen, how can I be of assistance?”

By the time Harry and Bob had explained their business, and just before they showed Mr Edwards the photo, the ‘unseen person’ arrived with the tea tray.  

“This is Ashley Barrett, my apprentice.”  Mr Edwards gave in explanation to Harry’s raised eyebrows at the entrance of the rather gangly and spotty youth bearing the tray.  

“Yes, thank you, please close the door behind you Ashley, and see that I am not disturbed.”  Edwards told the youth.  Once Ashley had left the room he turned to Harry, 

“Officer, are you suggesting that I failed to carry out my obligations toward Mr Abbot in a full and proper manner?”   

“We are not suggesting anything at this point in time, Mr Edwards, we are just looking for a plausible explanation as to why your client, Mr Peter Abbot, ended up on Clovey Common, buried in an altogether IM-proper manner,”  returned Harry.  

“And I can assure YOU Detective Inspector, Mr Abbot was buried with all due respect and ceremony in the church yard of St Bartholomew’s.”  

Mr Edwards face was losing its pasty look and becoming infused with blood.  The DI and the Funeral Director had both partially risen out of their seats, leaning across the desk, face to face.  Harry ended the face off by slapping the photo of Peter Abbot down on the desk in front Mr Edwards, yelling as he did so, 

“And I can further assure YOU,  Mr Edwards, that he bloody well was not, not according to this photo which was taken at the Hospital Mortuary yesterday morning.”  

Mr Edwards glanced down at the photo and letting out a mournful “Ahhhhh!” returned to his sitting position.  

“Right, now then, perhaps we can get on,” said Harry, also reseating himself.  “If you would be so kind Mr Edwards as to take us through all, ALL, of what occurred to the remains of Mr Peter Abbot once he was signed into your, your, Chapel of Rest…………In fact perhaps you could start from when you picked him up from the Mortuary itself.”

Mr Edward’s narrative was unexceptional and quite boring, until he reached the ‘preparation for viewing’ part, where he admitted that although he dressed the deceased in the clothes supplied by Mr Abbott’s daughter-in-law he did not, in fact, attend to the make-up.  

“Who did then?” asked Harry, 

“Well,” replied Mr Edwards, looking somewhat embarrassed, “Due to the total lack of bookings for any of the bereaved to pay their final farewells, I decided to let my apprentice attend to Mr Abbott.”  “Was your apprentice alone when he did this final prep work?” asked Harry, Mr Edwards  looked offended, 

“Certainly not Detective Inspector, I supervised him myself, true, he may have been a little enthusiastic with the amount of make-up, but other than that I feel we presented Mr Abbott in an entirely satisfactory manner.”  

“Yes well,” came Harry’s reply, “The poor old sod was hardly in any position to object, was he?”  After a moment or two of glaring at each other in mutual dislike, Mr Edward’s continued his narrative.  

“We would have ceased taking any bookings for viewing a day before the funeral, then the lid of the coffin would have been firmly, FIRMLY, screwed down, so you see Detective Inspector, there is absolutely no way that Mr Abbott’s mysterious disappearance was from this Establishment, we are, in fact, in no way to blame!”

PART EIGHT – HELPING WITH THE INQUIRY

      “We are going to have to dig up the grave site, you know that don’t you?”  

Harry was leant back on his chair with his feet on his desk as he said this.  He had his eyes closed so Bob was a little unsure if the question was directed at him or to the world in general.  Bob had been going through the statements collected from the ‘joy-riders’ on the night of the dumping of Mr Abbots body.   Not one of them, unsurprisingly, had seen a thing.  But Bob was concerned about what wasn’t there, not what was, and it was this problem that had caused him to put aside the delicious day dreams of the delectable Tracy for a moment to concentrate.  He gave the stock and uncommitted answer to Harry’s question, 
“Sir?”  
Harry took his feet off the desk and returned the chair to all four legs with a clatter, 
“Don’t bloody sir me Bob, the paper work for an exhumation terrifies me too………..what are you looking at?  You look as though you have been sucking on a lemon, what’s up?”  
“The Astra!!” Exclaimed Bob, 
“The whater?”  asked Harry, 
“Astra sir, it’s a type of car and……….” Bob started to explain but Harry butted in, 
“I know what a bloody Astra is sergeant, what about it?”  
Bob took a deep breath to quieten his annoyance at his boss’s rude interruption, and continued, 
“An Astra was stolen and taken over the Common that night, stolen by two young tearaways, remember I mentioned it sir, well I need to see the charge sheet to get their names, no eye witness statements were taken from them.”  
“Oh ye Gods, are we that hard up for an answer that we have to resort to questioning a modern day Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid, who, by the way, will swear on their old Mum’s head that they saw absolutely nothing, go look then Bob, at least at the end of the day we can say we left no stone unturned.  I’m off upstairs to get the proper authorisation for an exhumation.  The sooner we find out what, or who, was buried instead of Mr Abbot, the nearer we will be to an answer.”  
With that Harry straightened his tie, picked up the case file and left the office.

 About an hour later Harry returned to the office with the relevant paper work.  He had decided that the actual organising of the exhumation could be left in Bob’s capable hands, delegation, his favourite word.  A few moments later Bob burst through the door, 
“Sir!!  You must see………..”  he gasped, 
“Ahh Bob,” this time Harry didn’t bother with an interruption, he just talked over the excited Bob,  “So glad you came back, I’m leaving the organisation of this exhumation to you, I’ve, err, got other things to do.”   
“Sir, please, will you just listen!”  
Bob's voice had risen a little more in volume than he had intended, it did, however have the effect of gaining Harry’s attention.  
“Go on then, and it better be good, you have a lot of telephone work to be getting on with.” 
There was a warning in Harry’s voice for Bob not to overstep the mark.  Bob triumphantly placed a charge sheet in front of Harry and stabbed his finger at a name on it, 
“We need a connection of some sort, right?  Well sir, there IS your connection.”  
Pushing Bob’s finger out of his line of view Harry took a look at the name written on the charge sheet, “Well I’m blowed!” He said, a grin spreading across his face.  
"Let’s get them both in, to ‘help with our inquiries’ shall we say.  Make sure they don’t have a cosy chat amongst themselves either, put them in different rooms.”

 “Hello Ashley,” said Harry as he took a seat on the opposite side of the table to the slumped and sulky Undertaker’s Apprentice.  Bob was talking into the Tape, recording Harry’s full name and rank.  “I aint done nuffin’” grumbled Ashley.  
“No one has said you have, yet, you are what is called, ‘helping us with our inquiries.’  Now then, what do you know about Mr Peter Abbot?”  Asked Harry, opening a file in front of him.  
“Don’t know no Mr Peter Abbot” replied Ashley, crossing his arms in front of him.  
“Well, not personally, I grant you,” said Harry, placing a photo in front of Ashley,  “But,” he continued, “I think you will agree that you have made his acquaintance, so to speak, in fact you did his make up for his fare well performance.”  
Ashley’s rather large Adams apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed repeatedly, 
“Oh, that old geezer.”   
“Yes Ashley,” said Harry, “That old geezer, the one who was rather disrespectfully dumped on Clovey Common, on, so it happens, the same night as your little brother and his mate swiped an Astra and, now here’s the really interesting part Ashley, they also turn up on Clovey Common.”  Harry paused for breath, then went on, 
“So Ashley, once more, what do you know about Mr Peter Abbot?”  
Ashley lifted his gaze, from where it had been unblinkingly fixed on the table top and replied, almost calmly, but with a certain cockiness, 
“And once more Mr Penvelly, nuffin’, and as for what our Kev and his mate did, all I can say is, ‘am I my brother’s keeper’?”   
Harry twisted round on his heel and growled in Bob’s direction, 
“The little git’s quoting the bloody bible at me now!”  
After replacing the photo back in the folder Harry picked it up and waving it in front of Ashley’s nose said, “You just stay put, you cocky little sod, I’m not finished with you yet.”  
Both Detectives left the room, leaving an officer to attend on the now smirking Ashley.  Back out in the corridor Harry turned to Bob with a grin, 
“Now let’s see what ‘our Kev’ has to say shall we?”

Kev, sitting next to his Social Worker in Interview Room 2, did not look quite as self-assured as his older brother.  Harry smiled, what he hoped was in a kindly way at the fourteen year old.  When Bob had set the tape running and introduced all the people in the room, Harry opened his questioning by saying, 
“Hello Kev, we’ve just had a nice long chat with your big brother Ashley.”  
The Social Worker raised her hand to attract Harry’s attention.  Harry’s attention didn’t waver from Kev’s face, but she continued anyway, 
“DI Penvelly, with regard to the Astra, the charges against Kevin have been dropped.”  
“I know Miss Allen,”  Harry replied, still not taking his eyes off Kev, “That’s because it was your cousin Tyler’s Astra, wasn’t it Kev?  But we are not here about the Astra, are we Kev?  We are here about a certain large white sack you carried in the Astra, isn’t that right Kevin?” 
Kev shuffled uneasily in his chair, he quickly glanced at his Social Worker before answering, 
“What’s Ash been saying?  I didn’t know what was in the sack, Ash drove Andy and me to the Common, then he got out with the sack and told us to just drive up and down like everyone else was doing.”  
Yes, thought Harry, Kev and his mate would have jumped at the chance to show off in the Astra to the other Wednesday night joy-riders.  
Harry frowned and then asked, “Did Ash say anything about what he did with the sack when you picked him up after you had finished driving up and down?”  
Kev shook his head furiously, “He said we were not to pick him up, he said when we had finished having fun to take the Astra back to Tyler’s house, which we did.  We didn’t know Ash hadn’t told Tyler we was borrowing his car.”  
Harry grunted and asked one more question, “And you absolutely didn’t see what Ash did with the sack?  Think carefully, it’s important.”   
Again there was more furious head-shaking from Kev, 
“No, we dropped Ash off in the bushy, tree bit, we joined everyone else on the other side of the common.”  
Harry suspended the interview and waited in the corridor whilst Bob gave the time of suspension into the tape.  When Bob joined him Harry frowned and said, 
“We need to exhume that grave, pronto.”  
“Already in place, sir, as soon as it is dark we can begin.”  
“When did you arrange that?”  Asked Harry, 
“Before you got the paperwork,” replied Bob.  
Grinning, Harry looked appreciatively at his colleague and said, “You’re destined to go far in the Police Force Bob, very far indeed, just don’t get caught out”  

As Harry threw open the door to Interview Room Number One, he hoped his grin had just enough edge to it to make Ashley feel not so cock sure of himself.  It worked. Before Bob had a chance to set the tape up, Ashley blurted, 
“So what did that lying little toad say?”  
“Ashley, Ashley,” said Harry, sadly shaking his head, “That is no way to talk about your baby brother, your very truthful and talkative baby brother.”  
Ashley slumped forward in his chair and laid his head despondently on his folded arms.  When the tape was ready Harry continued,
“Come on Ash, let’s hear your side, why on earth did you bury that poor old man up on the Common?  If it was a joke, it was in poor bloody taste.”  
Ashley lifted his head, and shook it, 
“No, it wasn’t like that Mr Penvelly, I swear.”  
“Want to tell me what it was like then?”  Harry asked quietly.  
Taking a deep breath Ashley started to talk.

 

PART NINE – A FISTFUL OF MONEY (ASHLEY’S STORY)

     “More than anything in the world I want a car.  Even my dozy cousin’s got a car.  But to buy a car, you need money, and I aint got none of that either.  Neither has my family, you know us Mr Penvelly, poor as church mice.   The banks and the building societies didn’t want to know, because of that bit of bother I got in a while back, blast ‘em, it’s not as though I wanted much, just a couple of hundred would’ve done me.  Most people can ask for overtime, but I’ve not got that kind of job.  I didn’t know where to turn, and my girlfriend’s been on at me, blimey how that girl can nag, telling me how nice it would be if I had a car, we’d get to go places, out of here, this bloody boring town, just for a day, maybe a weekend.  Then I was telling Mr Edwards my troubles, over a coffee break like, you know the way you get chatting.  And then he says that if I could be trusted and keep my mouth shut, he would let me have, not loan, but actually let me have, two hundred smackeroonies, a fistful of money, all he wanted in return was a little favour.  I said yes, then asked him what it was he wanted me to do.  I must admit it did sound a bit odd, I mean, picking up a sack from the Chapel of Rest and taking it over the Common and burying it, that isn’t what people usually ask for a favour is it?.  But I didn’t think it could be anything too dodgy, Mr Edwards is all respectable like, a pillar of the community, or so my Mum says.  He said it was up to me to arrange it all, well, he said not to ask questions, so I didn’t.
I knew Wednesday night would be a good time to do it, lots of kids over the Common see, all interested in what they were doing, and showing off and all, not taking any notice of anyone else.  Besides, no one with any sense would go walking their dogs up there on that night.  I asked our Kev to borrow Tyler’s car and pick me up at the Chapel of Rest.  Borrowing Ty’s car would have been easy, I said he was a dozy buggar, always leaves his keys behind the sun screen.  I didn’t know Kev would bring his mate Andy though, but by the time they arrived at the Chapel it was a bit late to say anything.  Mr Penvelly, Kev and his mate didn’t know anything, they had nothing to do with the burying, I told them nothing of what I was doing, mainly ‘cos I couldn’t trust the little twerp to keep his big trap shut, well, I was proved right on that score, wasn’t I?  I knew it was a body in the sack, as soon as I picked it up, I knew.  I didn’t know who’s though, not until you showed me the photo, I swear.  But I was like, committed, by then, and I had already said to my girl that I was getting a car, and soon, believe me, my life wouldn’t have been worth living if I didn’t produce a car, she would have seen to that!  Yes, anyway, Ty’s car is a hatchback, so I folded down one of the back seats and slid the sack in.  I made Kev sit in the back, one day I was going to tell him that he had sat next to a dead body………..well, I thought it was funny, Andy was in the front with me, and I drove.

When we got to the Common I got the sack out of the back of the car and told the twerps to go and join the others and have some fun, and not to bother picking me up after.  I was well away from all the others up there, in a what-u-may-call-it, you know, a small clump of trees and bushes, yeh, that’s right, a thicket.  It was then that I realised that I hadn’t brought a spade, so I had to dig as best I could with my hands and a sharp stick and a flat stone, couldn’t get it deep, but there was nothing much I could about it was there?  Believe me, I earned my money digging that bloody hole.  When I was done, and covered it with dead leaves and twigs and stuff, I left to meet my girlfriend outside the cinema.  I didn’t get it though…….. what?  The money, I didn’t get it.  You came before Mr Edwards could pay me, he was that mad when you left, not only didn’t he give me my money, he sacked me!   It’s weird, we buried Mr Abbot in St Bart’s bone yard a good two weeks before I buried him in the Common, creepy or what?  That’s it Mr Penvelly, that’s all I know, can I go now, only Mums expecting me home, she says she’s heard of a job at the Co Op…………..”

PART TEN – EXHUMATION

     They let Ashley and his brother go, with the usual caution of not leaving the area, a comment that seemed to deeply offend Ashley, because as he left he was heard to mumble something about not having a car.  Back in their office Harry and Bob arranged for uniformed officers to pick Mr Edwards up, again to just ‘help with their inquiries.’  They then sent out for a bite to eat and prepared to wait for night-fall when the exhumation of Mr Peter Abbot’s official resting place could begin.

Exhumations take place after dark for good reasons, the main one being they do not attract the attention of members of the public, the other, and equally valid one, was to not seriously upset the visiting relatives and friends of the already interred residents.  And so it was, with the church yard guarded against those whose habits, or even jobs, would have them up and about at that time of night, the bright arc lamps were switched on and the digging machinery was brought to life.

Harry, Bob and Marcus Dolhern stood by the bonnet of Harry’s car.  Marcus’s wife had kindly packed sandwiches and supplied a flask of tea, which they were now just in the process of polishing off.  Wary of what the coffin might contain, Bob had waved the sandwiches away, much to Harry’s delight, Mrs Dolhern didn’t go in for the usual run of the mill sandwiches, hers were of a much classier type, these were flaked smoked salmon and watercress, although the tea was, in Harry’s opinion, a bit of a disappointment, being in a flask did nothing to improve the already insipid taste of Earl Grey.  Their attention was drawn once again to the grave site by the sound of the grave-diggers jumping down the opened grave to finish digging out the remaining soil.  
“Not long now.” Said Harry.

That did indeed prove to be the case.  The coffin was lifted out of the ground by a mini crane and placed on a trestle.  The two police officers and the pathologist hovered over the grave-diggers as they unscrewed the coffin lid, then their job completed, they left.  The first job for Dolhern’s team was to check the brass name plate, it did indeed say “Peter Abbot” and gave the correct dates of birth and death. They then placed the lid to one side.  Dolhern was the first to look inside the coffin, giving a soft grunt and a sigh  he removed several piles of towels which had been tightly stacked to the brim of the coffin, then he said, 
“Nothing for me here, all yours Harry.” 
With that he turned on his heel and left, waving his team to follow.  Harry gave Bob a confused frown, then they too peered into the coffin.  (Bob, on hearing that there was nothing of interest to Dolhern in the coffin, had deemed it safe to draw near.)  The bottom of the coffin contained a row house-bricks, more towelling was tightly packed around the edges of the coffin, presumably to stop the bricks from sliding around during transport and burial.  Firmly wedged between each brick was a roll of white linen.  Harry eased a linen roll out of its place and opened it.  Carefully separated from each other by cotton wool balls were rings, both gold and silver and some set with gems.  Wrapped in a sheet or two of lavatory paper was a gold watch, in another a silver Rolex watch, and in yet another was a gold necklace with what very much looked like a diamond pendant.  Several other linen rolls revealed similar booty, 
“My, my,” said Harry, replacing everything back to where it was in the coffin, including the stacks of towelling Bertie had removed, “Mr Edwards has been a busy boy.”  
Then waving his own team to take the whole lot back to the station for a thorough examination, he turned to an astounded Bob and asked, 
“Fancy a decent cuppa before we see what our ‘pillar of the community’ has to say for himself?”

The Riverside Café was still open for business, Harry and Bob were its only customers at that time of night.  Harry was staring thoughtfully at his cup of tea swirling in dark muddy circles as he stirred it.  Tapping the teaspoon on the side of his cup before placing it on the table, Harry looked up at Bob and remarked, 
“OK, I get where the jewellery came from, but why hide it in a coffin and bury it in a church yard, it doesn’t make sense, why put himself in a position where he could possibly, if not definitely, be discovered digging it up again?”  
Sighing Harry once more picked up the teaspoon and began to idly twirl it between his fingers, continuing to cogitate as he did so, 
“It was the action of a desperate man, but what made him so desperate?”  
“Perhaps,” replied Bob, “Someone else had found out what his little side line was, and they either wanted a piece of the action, or were blackmailing him by threatening to turn him in.”   
“Possibly,” answered Harry, “Let’s go ask him, shall we?”

 PART ELEVEN -  IN CONCLUSION

     Mr Edwards sat in Interview Room One crying.  He had, so the Duty Officer informed Harry, been doing so since he had been brought in.  The usual routine of turning on the tape recorder and recording who was present in the room was accompanied by racking sobs.   

“Mr Edwards, if you please, I don’t mean to sound insensitive but this tape is classed as evidence In a court of law, how is it going to sound with you weeping and wailing on it.  Pull yourself together man.”  Harry was in no mood to show sympathy.  
“Now then,” he continued, “you understand what you are being interviewed in connection with, the duty officer has kept you up to date?”  
Mr Edwards blowed his nose noisily and nodded, 
“Answer out loud please, for the tape,” chimed in Bob.  
“Yes,” replied Mr Edwards, but it sounded more like a bleat.  
Harry decided to let that one go and went on, 
“What I am going to do Mr Edwards is to take you through what I firmly believe happened, should at any point you disagree with what I say then when I have finished, and not before, you may have your say.  Is that clear?”  
Once again Mr Edwards bleated out an affirmative.  
Harry went through all that had happened and what they had discovered over the last few days, concluding with their discovery of what was in the coffin.  
“Is there anything you wish to add or dispute Mr Edwards?”  Bob asked. 
“No,” Mr Edwards replied, having at last composed himself and stopped crying, “That is indeed what happened.”  
Harry allowed a moments silence descend on the room.  Taking a deep breath he then asked the question that he hoped would wrap this case up.  
“OK, so that is the what, now would you please be so kind as to tell me the why.”  
Once again deep rasping sobs wracked the Undertakers body.  Regaining himself once more, and in between gulps and nose blows, he gave his statement.

“It all started by accident, I inadvertently forgot to put a client’s jewellery on her after dressing, the families of the departed often send little trinklets along, things that had a special meaning to them I suppose.  I was going to return it to the client’s family, but thought it would look negligent, not very good for business.  Besides, who would know, who would care, certainly not the client.  And then I took a good look at what I thought was a piece of costume jewellery, it was a real ruby, and a whopper.  At the time I needed money, the business, being newly started, was slow in taking off.  Having done it once it was easy, so very easy to do it again, and again.  A victimless crime, no one got hurt, no one was left out of pocket, no one ever complained……..that is until, until, oh, it was so shameful, so sordid.  Mr Penvelly could I please have a glass of water?”  
Harry nodded to the uniformed officer standing by the door.  Taking a plastic cup from beneath the water dispenser the officer filled it and handed it to Mr Edwards, who after taking a large gulp was ready to continue.  
“The client was a very elderly lady, her family had expressed no wish to view her before burial, so I simply didn’t even bother to put her diamond necklace on, I put it straight in with my other, erm, trinklets in my safe.  I was out arranging an order of service with the family of another client when, in the late afternoon before the morning of her funeral, her nephew from Australia turned up.  That idiot, idiot boy Ashley let him view her, right there and then, no appointment, no consulting me, nothing.  Well, I came to hear what he done when the client’s daughter turned up in my office, a day or so after the funeral, demanding to know why the old lady wasn’t wearing her necklace.  Apparently the nephew had remarked on it at the wake, thinking it odd that she wasn’t wearing it due to the deep and romantic attachment she had to it.  I, of course, denied all knowledge of the necklace, but the daughter was adamant, and then she said she was going to inform the police and have them search my premises.  A search would have turned up, well Mr Penvelly, you know what it would have turned up.  I had to get rid of everything, all trace, and get rid of it in a place that nobody would dream of looking for it.  My greatest fear is going to prison, I couldn’t cope, it would kill me, I am so, so scared.”

The sobbing kicked off again, this time on a more subdued level.  Harry’s jaw tightened in disgust.  This man wasn’t crying because of any remorse he felt over his crime, he didn’t even acknowledge that there was a crime, no, this particular piece of human garbage had reached new levels in self-centred pity.  But a criminal master-mind he was not, in fact he was pathetic.  But there were one or two things Harry had to clear up, so he asked, 
“Mr Edwards, did it not occur to you the near impossibility of retrieving the stolen goods?”  
In a voice that was remarkably quiet and calm Mr Edwards, not raising his head, answered, 
“I had absolutely no intention of retrieving any of it, being found out was such a near miss, as I have already told you, my greatest fear, my all-time nightmare, is being locked away, nothing was worth the risk of that happening, nothing.”  
“O.K.,” said Harry, “I’ll leave it the jury to make sense of that.”  
This spiteful hint of what the future held for Mr Edwards worked, Mr Edwards raised his washed out, watery blue eyes to Harry’s face.  If Harry expected to see fear, or remorse or any plea for pity, he was wrong, Mr Edwards eyes were full of malignant loathing.  Criminal master-mind he may not have been, but there was something very creepy and disturbing about those eyes.  Harry gave a slight cough to steady the slight wobble of nerves that look had given him and asked his second question, 
“Almost in conclusion Mr Edwards, I must ask how in all that is holy did you hope to conceal Mr Abbot’s body on Clovey Common for any length of time, you must have known it would be found eventually, surely it must have occurred to you that finding a body where it is definitely not supposed to be involves a police investigation?”  
Mr Edwards spread his hands and sighed, 
“If that brain dead moron Ashley had done his job correctly then we would not be having this conversation.  You would never have been looking for Mr Abbot, why should you?  He would never have been reported missing, you would have no reason to go digging around on the Common, and after a short passage of time, barely six months, if by chance his skeletal remains were found, just how would you have gone about identifying him?”   
Not just creepy and disturbing, thought Harry, but coldly and evilly calculating.  
Mr Edwards frowned, “Mr Penvelly, you said ‘almost in conclusion,’ I believe I have told you everything.”  
“Indeed you have, at least enough for this next bit, and then we are going to go over it all again, in minute detail,” replied Harry, and taking a deep breath he proceeded to wrap things up by quoting those words that put everything on a very official footing, 
“Mr Joseph Edwards, I am arresting you in connection with………….”

Four weeks later Harry and Bob were sat in the Station canteen.  They had returned late after attending the second funeral of Mr Peter Abbot.  Had they returned earlier, lunch would have been hot Shepherd’s Pie, at this hour it was still Shepherd’s Pie, but of the luke warm variety.  They had settled for a cup of tea instead.  
”Sir, do you know what for me the most satisfying thing about the case was?”  Harry grinned at Bob’s question and answered, 
“What, you mean other than meeting the delectable Tracey?”  
Seeing the younger man’s blushes, Harry took pity and continued, 
”Go on then Bob, what was the most satisfying thing about the case, for you?”   
Smiling, Bob answered, “Putting Mr Abbot back to rest.”  
“Ah well Bob me lad,” replied Harry, “A copper’s duty isn’t just to see the letter of the law is carried out for the living, the dead……….”  
He stopped when he saw Bob look up to a point somewhere over his left shoulder, then he felt the presence, that presence, that heralded a young uniformed officer with something important to say, “What?!” Barked Harry, not even bothering to turn round.  
A timid and respectful voice answered, 
“Sir, patrol has reported finding a body.”  
“Please, please,” groaned Harry, winking at Bob, “Please don’t tell me it was found in a white sack.”  “No, sir,” replied the now confused young officer, “It was found in an alley.”

‘Here we go,’ thought Harry, ‘Another dollar, another day.’