“But what about the body, Pat? Just imagine if you were to kill me right now – no pre-planning, heat of the moment argument. What would you do with the body to ensure no-one found it?”
The sergeant put on his thinking face. “Concrete overcoat,” he suggested after a moment’s pause.
Bliss lit up. “Office block – new bridge, that sort of thing.”
Patterson nodded, though with little enthusiasm. “There’s plenty of buildings going up around here. But aren’t we forgetting something, Guv?”
“What?”
“Yesterday was Sunday, and it was pissing with rain. Who’s gonna be pouring wet concrete?”
Bliss got the message but was stuck on concrete. “What about cement boots – then dump him in the river.”
Patterson was already shaking his head. “The river ain’t deep enough, plus the fact that’d have to be preplanned. Where would he get a load of quick drying cement at half past nine on a Sunday night?”
“Wait a minute, Pat. You were the one who said it wasn’t premeditated. I’m still not convinced. I think he carefully plotted the whole thing. Like I said, he’s cunning.”
“What about all the witnesses in the pub then; who’s gonna be daft enough ...?” He left the hypothesis unfinished, unwilling to waste his breath.
“Could be part of the plan,” mused Bliss, grateful that the arrival of the jailor saved him from having to explain his reasoning.
“Don’t worry, Guv. We’ll soon find the body, once the dog teams get going.”
“I’d like to agree with you, but I’m beginning to think that my money might be safer on Dauntsey.”
They wandered abstractly back to the CID office, both hoping to arrive at some earth-shattering explanation that would spectacularly solve the case of the Major’s missing body. Neither succeeded.
“I still don’t understand what they were doing at the pub,” Bliss said, throwing himself into a comfortable-looking moquette chair. “Did Dauntsey give a reason in his confession?”
Patterson raised his eyebrows at the chair. “That’s an exhibit, Guv,” he said apologetically.
“It should be in the property store then,” Bliss said, rising, giving the chair an accusatory stare.
“Sorry, Guv – I’ll get Dowding to deal with it. Anyway, Jonathon Dauntsey said he was visiting his father who had taken a room at the Black Horse.”
“Why? He had a perfectly good house up the road.”
“I assumed it had something to do with his mother being in the nursing home.”
“You can’t afford to assume anything in this game. You know that, Pat. Anyway, all is not lost; I’ll ask his mother. Easier still – Get someone at the pub to ask the landlady if she knows.”
Patterson picked up the phone and was listening to the br-r-ring as Bliss paced meditatively, throwing out his thoughts at random. “Doesn’t make sense ... What’s the motive? ... Why were they there?”
Someone at the pub answered the phone. “Let’s find out, shall we?” said Patterson asking to speak to one of the detectives.
The officer was back on the phone in less than a minute. “According to the landlady, the Major didn’t live down here – he ran the estate up in Scotland, and Jonathon Dauntsey told them his father preferred to stay at the pub because there was no-one at the big house to cook and clean – what with his wife being in the nursing home ’n all.”
“One mystery cleared up, Inspector,” said the sergeant replacing the receiver, relieved that the mystery had not been of his making.
“I wonder what did happen then.”
“We’ll know as soon as the body turns up.”
“If it turns up,” said Bliss, reflecting uneasily on the prisoner’s supreme confidence. “What about a motive, Pat? Have you any ideas?”
“He says he had his reasons ... and don’t forget, Guv, we’ve got the confession.”
“I’ve had at least three murder cases where innocent people have confessed.”
“Why?”
“Just to get their fifteen minutes I suppose. But this one’s different – I’ve always started with the body before – two bodies in one case. Anyway, enough speculating. I guess we’d better go and see his wife; it’s nearly ten.”
The enquiry counter was under siege as they headed out the door. “Bloody vandals ... trampled flower beds ... tyre tracks in the grass ... half-filled a grave ...” A balloon-nosed madman in a dog collar was blasting away at the clerk with a pew-side manner he’d honed as a prison chaplain.
“What do you mean, young man – ‘it’s not a crime’?” griped the vicar, “I’d like to speak to someone in authority ...”
“Serg,” the clerk caught them with a look of relief, “is it a crime to fill in a hole?”
“Not as far as I know, lad – never has been. Now digging one ...”
“What about the Ecclesiastical Courts Jurisdiction Act?” demanded the vicar.
Patterson flipped through his memory of legislation but couldn’t place anything relevant. “Sorry, Sir, I’m in a bit of a rush.”
“Wait,” said Bliss, half out the door. “What did he say, Pat?”
“Something about a ... shit!” he turned. “When was this, Sir?”
“Last night ... sometime after evensong. I was ...”
“Where?” Bliss demanded hastily.
“St Paul’s. In the churchyard, of course. It took three days to dig, what with all the rain. The funeral’s in less than two hours. The family will be furious. They had to get special dispensation from the diocese. Officially the churchyard’s been closed to new internments for the past ten years ... no ... I tell a lie, longer, probably twelve or more ...”
“Sir,” Bliss tried butting in again, but the vicar, having got an ear, was unwilling to relent.
“All recently departed are supposed to go to the town cemetery,” he continued. Then added, “Or the crematorium,” with a little shudder and a face that said he felt that if God approved of cremation he would have equipped humans with an ignition cord.
“Sir,” Bliss tried again, more forcefully. “Please tell me exactly what has happened.”
“Like I said, Constable, someone’s driven over the grass and ...”
“No. What did you say about a grave?”
“Filled it in – that’s what I said. During the night. What I want to know is what you intend doing about it. The funeral starts at eleven.”
“I’ll send a team of men to dig it right away, Sir.”
“Please be serious, Constable ...”
“Actually, Sir, I’m an Inspector and I am quite serious. If you’d care to return to the churchyard we’ll be along in a few minutes. You can show the men where to dig; we’ll have it out for you in no time.”
“Well, I never,” said the vicar, shuffling toward the door, his faith restored, muttering his intention of writing to both the Chief Constable and The Times.
Sergeant Patterson pulled Bliss to one side as soon as the old man was out of earshot. “Guv, we can’t let that funeral go ahead. It’s a crime scene – Forensics will be there for hours scavenging for