B&K02 - The Malcontenta Read online

  ‘There’s an organ?’

  ‘Yeah. The main part of it - the pipes and so on - are in a pit below the floor of the hall upstairs. That’s what the floor grates are for - to let the sound out. This area down here is where the choir or orchestra or whatever would be. The idea apparently was to fill the space upstairs with sound, without the audience being able to see where it was coming from.’

  ‘Bit weird.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  He turned, and the beam of his light swept round the wall to a recess below the brass rail at the end of the upper floor. The body of a man was suspended there.

  Kathy froze, staring at the figure, taking it in.

  The space beneath the grating was almost as high as a normal room, and she could make out the stops and foot-pedals of an organ console behind him. The organist’s stool was lying on its side below his feet, as if kicked away. Her eyes traced the taut red rope from the back of his head of thick, black, wavy hair, up the short distance to the underside of the grille, then diagonally down to a series of loops tied around part of the body of the console. He was dressed in a green tracksuit, with bright white Reeboks on his feet.

  There was something odd about his posture, she thought, although she had never seen a hanging in the flesh before. He didn’t look slack, like the photographs she had seen on detective courses, where the bodies looked like pathetic sacks of potatoes. He seemed hunched, his right arm half drawn up across his body, and his legs didn’t reach to the same length.

  ‘Was he handicapped, do you think?’ She found she was speaking in a whisper.

  ‘Maybe he was beaten.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Look.’ He moved closer to the figure, pointing the torch at its head. Although the stark contrast of light and shadows from the flashlight obscured it at first, Kathy soon made out what he was talking about. The flesh looked puffy and distorted, its colouring blotchy, with a strong pattern of white and dark-purple areas.

  ‘Could be bruising, do you think?’ the officer asked.

  ‘Mmm. The doctor will tell us. Anything else?’

  ‘Down there, in the corner.’

  He swung the beam away from the body and down into a narrow space at one end of the organ console. All Kathy could see was something black.

  ‘I can’t make it out,’ she said. He handed her the torch without a word. She knelt down within a couple of feet of the thing - two things, she realized, both black, made of leather. One was a bunch of thongs, with a handle shaped like a phallus.

  She straightened up. ‘I see. What’s the other thing, with the whip?’

  He frowned, shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I didn’t touch anything. I thought it might be a glove, or a hood. I’m assuming that the two who found him didn’t spot them. Without a torch you wouldn’t pick them out. They only had the organist’s console light to see by. That’s the only light in the whole building. Apparently it was on when Parsons came in this morning. He noticed the faint glow through the grating.’

  ‘Who turned it off?’

  ‘They did, when they left to phone us.’

  It seemed an odd, parsimonious gesture.

  ‘The switch is over near the foot of the stairs.’ With his torch he showed her the white line of a new length of cable which was tacked to the wall and ran to a switch. She went over and turned it on. There was just enough light to illuminate the organ controls. Kathy could imagine Parsons’ shock as he went down the stairs and saw the dangling figure silhouetted against the glow.

  They heard the creak of the front doors opening, and the voice of the other uniformed constable echoed above them, ‘Sergeant… Hello … You there?’

  ‘We’re down here,’ Kathy called out.

  ‘I’ve got the doctor.’

  He was young, fresh-faced and almost completely bald. He shook hands with Kathy enthusiastically and followed her over to the body.

  ‘Can we have more light?’

  ‘I’m afraid not. At least, it may take half an hour or more for me to arrange it. We can get some more torches, though.’

  ‘Yes, that might help.’ He held the corpse’s wrist for a moment, peering at its head. ‘Long gone.’ ‘How long?’

  The doctor shrugged. ‘Twelve hours at least, I’d guess. But that’s only a guess. I’d like to take his temperature, but …’ He took the torch from the uniformed man and looked closely at the head and hands. Finally he stepped back and shook his head. ‘I’m not going to touch this,’ he said. ‘You’d better see if Gareth Pugh is available. If he is, he’ll want to see it undisturbed. If he isn’t, then I’ll do it.’

  ‘Gareth Pugh?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘He’s the County’s Senior Forensic Pathologist. Professor Pugh. Haven’t you come across him? I’m sure he’ll want to do the post-mortem if he can. I’ll try to call him from my car if you like. And I think you should get some lights fixed up for him.’

  Kathy nodded. ‘And some SOCOs?’

  ‘Well, that’s up to you, really, but I’d say so. Certainly a photographer. In fact, you’ll probably need everything.’

  ‘You think the circumstances are suspicious?’

  He shrugged. ‘Looks pretty odd to me.’

  For the first time Kathy let the sense of anticipation that had been building in her since she first saw the body, come to the surface.

  ‘Good. You go ahead and contact the pathologist, then, doctor. I’ll get things organized down here.’ She turned to the two uniformed men, telling one to remain there and touch nothing, and the other to return to the car park to direct people to the temple as they arrived.

  ‘Several people have come over and asked me what’s going on while I’ve been stood out there,’ the cheerful one said.

  ‘Don’t tell them anything. And both of you, don’t mention anything about the things in the corner - to anyone.’ She saw him smirk. ‘I mean that,’ she glared at him. ‘Not a soul.’

  Dowling and Parsons were sitting talking on the steps at the front of the temple. They scrambled to their feet as they saw her come pacing down the aisle.

  ‘Mr Parsons, would you take a seat inside, on one of those chairs? I won’t be a moment.’

  She drew Dowling away down the steps. ‘Gordon, get on the car radio and send a scene-of-crime team out here. The photographer in particular - right away. Also a mobile generator - there’s no light down there.’ She looked around. ‘It’ll have to stand out here, so they’ll need plenty of cable.’

  He was startled by her energy. ‘What’s going on, Kathy?’

  ‘Looks like we’ve got a suspicious death, Gordon.’ She grinned at him. ‘Something to brighten up your Monday morning, so get moving. Oh, and Gordon … try not to get Inspector Tanner when you radio through.’

  He looked blank, then turned and scrambled off down the path.

  Kathy went back into the temple. She was wearing her black woollen winter-coat, which almost reached her ankles, with the useful deep pockets. From one she drew out a small dictating machine and checked the tape. ‘Mr Parsons -’ she pulled a chair round to face him and showed him the machine in her hand - ‘I’ll use this if you don’t mind. My shorthand’s hopeless.’ Big smile. He gave her a worried look, alerted, like Dowling, by the light in her eyes.

  ‘How are you feeling now?’

  A non-committal shrug. He still looked very pasty.

  ‘I’d like you to describe for me exactly what you did this morning, leading up to discovering the body, and then afterwards.’

  ‘I …’ he cleared his throat. ‘I got up as usual, around six-thirty, got dressed and then came out.’ More throat-clearing. T was on my way to the stable block, but I came here first to open up the temple - Dr Beamish-Newell likes it to be open during the day for patients to come in and sit if they want, and to try to air the place.’

  ‘The doors were locked as usual?’

  He nodded, ‘Yes, I’d locked them myself last evening. It was just getting dark, about a quarter to
five.’

  ‘And what time was it when you came to open them this morning?’

  ‘Oh … about eight. I’m not sure exactly.’ A fit of throat-clearing. ‘Sorry.’ He wiped a hand through his hair.

  ‘And there isn’t another door into the building?’

  ‘Yes, there is. Down in the lower chamber. There’s a service door from a flight of outside steps at the back. That door is bolted from the inside.’

  ‘All right, so you opened this glass door.’

  ‘Yes. I don’t normally spend any time here when I open up. This time I just noticed a couple of chairs that were out of line, so I came in and straightened them.’

  ‘Which chairs?’ Kathy interrupted.

  He hesitated, ‘Those two, over there, at the end of the first row. Anyway, then I thought I could see the organ light showing in the floor grille, there. I went over and saw the loop of rope. I didn’t understand what it was. I couldn’t really make it out through the grille, so I went downstairs. Then I saw him.’

  ‘Did you recognize the rope?’

  ‘The rope?’ Parsons blinked with surprise.

  ‘Yes, the type. Have you seen anything like it around here?’

  ‘Er … I’m not sure.’ He sounded confused. ‘Can I think about that? Offhand … I don’t think so.’

  ‘All right. Did you recognize the man straight away?’

  ‘Yes … well, no, not straight away. The light was behind him. I had to get fairly close.’ Parsons was breathing heavily, his face stark white.

  ‘You were sure that he was dead?’

  ‘Oh yes. He was so cold!’

  ‘So you touched him?’

  Parsons nodded. ‘His hand …’ He was beginning to look as if he might pass out. Kathy reached forward to steady him. ‘Suppose we get you a drink of water, or tea?’ Parsons nodded, sagging.

  ‘Put your head between your knees. Go on. That’s right … Better?’

  The bowed head nodded.

  Kathy called out to the patrol officer and sent him off to find some water. ‘And tell Dowling to hurry up and report back to me,’ she shouted as he ran off.

  She had to contain her impatience as the minutes passed. Parsons remained stooped with his head between his knees. Eventually the doctor reappeared at the door. He examined Parsons briefly, then nodded to the patrol officer, who had followed him in with a flask. While Parsons drank, the doctor indicated to Kathy to step out under the portico of the temple.

  ‘More police brutality?’ he asked.

  She smiled. ‘That’s right. But you won’t find any marks on his body.’

  ‘Unlike the one downstairs. I got through to Pugh. We were lucky. He’ll make himself available right away. About twenty minutes, he says. I’d like to stay if you don’t mind -see the Welsh Wizard in action.’

  ‘He’s good, is he?’

  ‘By repute.’

  ‘Can I continue with Parsons?’ Kathy asked.

  ‘Oh yes. It’s just mild shock. I could give him something, but he’s OK. I might go and wait for Pugh in the car park.’

  Somewhat restored, Parsons completed his account of finding Petrou’s body, running back to the house to tell Beamish-Newell, returning to the temple for the Director to see for himself, and then remaining on the temple steps for the police to arrive. While he was talking, Dowling returned and gave Kathy a thumbs-up.

  ‘All right, Mr Parsons, I’ll let you get off and have a cup of tea. Just before you go, though, could you give me a quick run-down on this place? How big, how many people, and so on?’

  ‘Well, the Director will have accurate figures, but the estate covers almost a hundred acres. It used to be much bigger, but most of the land’s been sold off. The meadows that remain are leased to a farmer; the rest is the house and grounds - about twenty acres roughly.’ Parsons had become animated, clearly relieved to change the subject.

  ‘We have sixty-two guest rooms in the upper floor of the house and west wing, plus treatment and common rooms and kitchen and offices and so on in the ground floor and basement. There’s six staff rooms in the attic of the house, and there’s the four staff cottages - one for the Director, one for the family of one of the married staff, and one each shared by four male and four female staff.’ It came out in a rush and he stopped suddenly, breathing heavily.

  ‘So there are sixty-two patients here?’

  ‘Well, that’s the number of rooms. Some are double. The most we can accommodate is seventy-four, but at this time of year, I don’t know, there might be fifty or sixty.’

  ‘And how many staff?’

  ‘In the brochure we say it’s one to one.’ Parsons phrased it carefully.

  ‘What, seventy-four staff?’

  ‘Well … maybe if you count all the part-time cleaners and cooks and gardeners and the like…’

  ‘Come on. Realistically, how many staff have been in and out of this place in the last twenty-four hours?’

  He shrugged, ‘I don’t know … Thirty? Forty? The Director or the Business Manager would be able to tell you.’

  ‘Yes, I’ll get to them. I just wanted an idea. And of those staff, what, about a dozen live in the grounds?’

  Parsons counted in his head. ‘Yes, six in the attic and nine or ten in the houses, plus the Director and his wife.’

  ‘And what about you, where do you live?’

  ‘In the attic’

  ‘And Petrou?’

  ‘Yes, in the attic too.’

  ‘So when did you last see him alive?’

  Parsons’ face clouded anxiously again. ‘I don’t know … I’ve been trying to remember. Last night - Sunday night -staff often go out. There’s always a recital or something for guests in the house after dinner. I had to spend all my free time over the weekend studying for this course I’m doing. I don’t remember seeing Alex last evening at all, not at dinner or anything. Before that … I don’t know … my mind’s a blur.’

  ‘Don’t worry, relax, it’ll come back to you. We’ll be asking everybody that question, so give it some thought. What was he like?’

  ‘Alex? Well … we weren’t close friends or anything. He hadn’t been here that long.’

  ‘About six months, the Director said. You’d been living next door to him for six months. Two single men. You were both single, weren’t you?’

  Parsons flushed. ‘Yes, though I’m engaged. I tend to spend most of my spare time with Rose, except just lately when I’ve had all this studying. Of course, when he first arrived we chatted. But once he’d got settled … We didn’t have much in common, I suppose.’

  ‘Did he have friends on the staff? Was he sociable?’

  ‘Yes … he was quite … outgoing. Went out a lot. Several of the girls were interested in him. He was sort of … glamorous, you know, him being a Mediterranean type, and with his accent and that.’

  ‘He was foreign?’

  ‘Yes. He came from Greece.’

  Through the glass doors Kathy noticed a movement of lime-green Day-Glo jackets down the path. She turned back to Parsons. ‘All right. We’ll leave it there for the moment. What you might do for me now is go to the house, tell Dr Beamish-Newell that I may not get to see him for another hour or so, and ask him if he could start organizing a list of everyone who was in the grounds over the past twenty-four hours, in categories - staff, guests, others. OK?’

  ‘Yes …’ Parsons hesitated. ‘Is this normal?’ he asked timidly. ‘I mean, all these procedures … for a suicide.’

  ‘Any sudden death has to be thoroughly investigated. Don’t worry, we’ll be out of your hair soon enough.’

  They stepped out under the portico. Head down, shoulders stooped, Parsons set off across the grass towards the house. A light drizzle had set in, making the rhododendron leaves glisten behind the two men pulling the generator up the path. Beyond them a second pair burst through the trees. Kathy recognized the doctor, pointing the way to a lean, hawk-faced man and having difficulty keeping up with his lon
g stride.

  Kathy looked back to Stanhope House.

  A hundred people, she thought, ninety-nine of them about to begin twittering about what happened to glamour boy.

  3

  Professor Pugh looked closely at her as he shook her hand. There were little laughter creases at the corners of his eyes, and in his voice she heard the lilt of his Welsh boyhood.

  ‘So you have something interesting for me, do you, Sergeant?’

  ‘I hope so,’ she replied, and led the way down to the lower chamber, where Dowling and the uniformed man were in a huddle around the body. Dowling looked shocked. She sent them upstairs to help get the lights fixed up and assist the SOCO team.

  Until the floodlights finally burst into life, she held the torch for the pathologist, who peered at Petrou’s head and neck through a pair of horn-rimmed glasses without touching any part of him. In the full light, the right side of his face, partly obscured by his glistening black hair, seemed distorted or squashed. It was impossible now to recognize any of the ‘glamour’ the girls had once seen in him.

  Pugh stepped aside, folded the glasses and tapped them against his teeth, thinking. ‘It’s warmer in here than I would have expected,’ he said, ‘for such a damp place.’

  ‘Apparently there’s some kind of background heater installed in the organ chamber behind the console there, to keep the organ working.’

  ‘Ah, the organ,’ he nodded. ‘Splendid. Well, now, has he been photographed?’

  ‘No, sir. The photographer’s due any minute.’

  ‘Better get that done first.’ He turned away and took his bag to a far corner of the room, where he pulled out some blue nylon overalls and a packet of surgical gloves.

  The photographer arrived a moment later, manoeuvring his bag of equipment with difficulty down the spiral stairs. He nodded to the pathologist, who, after a politely deferential glance at Kathy, instructed him on the shots he wanted of the body. Kathy added her own requests, including the objects on the floor and general views of the room.