David Dickinson - Death of a Chancellor

‘I have put out word for all my officers to report here as soon as possible,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘At the moment there’s only me and the young man on duty. The Sergeant is on watch at the front desk in case the rest of the corpse should be found.’

‘I think, Chief Inspector, that it’s possible the rest of the body may not be in Compton. It may be in one of the neighbouring villages,’ said Powerscourt, not quite certain why he had made this particular statement.

‘I think I’ll go and have a look around,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald, feeling that Powerscourt was perfectly safe in police custody. ‘Do you have another of these blankets?’

‘Blankets, Lord Fitzgerald? It’s not that cold, surely. I’m sure we could find a police cape for you if you need one.’ The Chief Inspector sounded rather disapproving.

‘Sorry,’ said Johnny, smiling at the policeman, ‘it’s not for me. It’s just that if I found anything I’d like to be able to wrap it up. We don’t want any old ladies terrified out of their minds if they see most of a dead body being carried along in full view of the citizens back to the police station.’

Dr Williams passed Johnny Fitzgerald on his way in. He lifted the blanket and inspected the top of the leg very carefully. ‘Do you know, Chief Inspector, that I came to Compton from the East End of London because I wanted a quiet life. You have more dreadful murders in these parts than they do in Whitechapel. I will arrange to have this leg moved to the morgue later this morning. In the meantime I suggest you keep the room as cold as possible.’

‘I don’t suppose there’s any chance, Dr Williams,’ said Powerscourt doubtfully ‘that this isn’t the work of human hand? There aren’t any wild animals in the neighbourhood that could have caused this kind of damage?’

‘The wolves left long ago,’ said the doctor, ‘and Compton is not in Africa. We don’t have any lions or tigers reported missing, Chief Inspector, do we?’

‘I wish we had,’ said the Chief Inspector. ‘Could I ask you, Lord Powerscourt, why you think the body may be lying elsewhere, in one of the neighbouring villages I think you said.’

‘Well,’ said Powerscourt slowly, ‘think of the effort involved in hacking this leg off. Think of the amount of blood all over the place. For all we know other parts of the body may have been cut off as well. You’d need somewhere very secure to carry out all this butchery. It might be easier to take the dead man out of Compton altogether and perform your terrible work in a field miles from anywhere.’

Dr Williams was replacing a couple of medical items in his bag and preparing to depart. ‘I can see the sense in that. But how did this leg get back here then?’

‘I can only guess that the murderer brought it back with him. Maybe it’s meant to be a sort of message,’ said Powerscourt.

There was a loud rap at the door. ‘Six men now reported for duty, Chief Inspector sir,’ said the Sergeant who had been guarding the front desk.

‘Right, Sergeant. I shall take those men on a search of the town. Man the fort here, Sergeant.’

‘Chief Inspector,’ said Powerscourt, ‘Johnny Fitzgerald and I could search the cathedral and the Close if that would make your life easier.’

‘Thank you very much, Lord Powerscourt,’ said Chief Inspector Yates as he set off on his mission. Powerscourt lifted up the blanket and took another glance at the severed leg. He wondered if he could learn anything from the trousers. All he discovered was a set of keys in the pocket. If only he knew which door the keys opened, they might be able to identify the corpse. He covered the sad remains once more and set off to find Johnny Fitzgerald, the keys now jangling in the side pocket of his jacket.

Powerscourt found his friend on patrol just outside the Deanery, the blanket flung over his shoulder. They walked in silence right round the Close, peering into the front gardens, inspecting the railings. They criss-crossed the Cathedral Green, the west front with its host of statues looming in front of them. Nobody seemed to be awake in Compton yet, though lights were beginning to appear in one or two of the windows. The wind was stronger now, angry gusts shaking the branches of the trees.

‘Do you think the rest of the body is here, Francis?’ asked Johnny.

‘I do not,’ said Powerscourt, refusing to give any reasons for his answer.

They watched the two old ladies walking slowly along the path to the west door, the only worshippers for Holy Communion at seven thirty. Johnny Fitzgerald continued his circuit of the Close. Powerscourt sat at the back of the choir for the service, his mind racing. He felt sure that the dead man must have had connections with the cathedral, like John Eustace and Arthur Rudd. Maybe he was another member of the vicars choral. He remembered the two members of the vicars choral who had vanished over the previous eighteen months and who had never been found. It seemed as if the dark secret of Compton Minster might be contained inside the body of those with the most beautiful voices, in choirs and places where they sing. But that theory didn’t work either. John Eustace had been concerned with the archives and the library not the singing.

As the service finished he wandered round the cathedral, making sure the rest of the body was not there. The stone knights slept on. The dignitaries in their chantry chapels still waited for the second coming. The armies and the military men in their stained glass windows were still frozen in time as they had been for centuries. The little orchestra of wooden angels in the choir played on with their ancient instruments. But the dead of Compton had not been increased in number overnight. The rest of the body was not there.

As he left, he met Patrick Butler in a state of high excitement. But it was Powerscourt, searching for some piece of cheerful news on this terrible day, who asked his question first.

‘Good morning, Patrick. Have you done it yet?’

‘Done what, my lord?’ said a bemused Patrick Butler.

‘You know perfectly well what I mean, young man. Have you done it yet?’

‘I’m not very good at riddles, Lord Powerscourt, and certainly not at this time of the morning.’

‘My apologies, Patrick,’ said Powerscourt with a smile, ‘you would be surprised how often Lucy asks me for news on this important subject. It seems to be a matter of endless fascination for the females of the species. Have you proposed to Anne Herbert yet?’

Now it was the newspaper editor’s turn to smile. ‘I’m afraid I have not, my lord. I don’t seem to have got around to it, if you see what I mean.’

‘But have you made any plans? Sometimes you need to make a plan of campaign in these matters.’

‘I did say I would take her to Glastonbury for the day when I can get away. That’s a very romantic sort of place. I thought I might be able to manage it there, if you see what I mean.’

Powerscourt had been to Glastonbury years before when Lady Lucy was pregnant with Thomas. It was only an hour and a half from Compton by train. It wasn’t a place he would have chosen himself with its melancholy ruins and legends of the body of Christ and Joseph of Arimathea, but he felt it might do the trick for some.

‘But tell me, Lord Powerscourt,’ the interests of journalism seemed to be stronger than those of romance this morning for the man from the Grafton Mercury, ‘do you know what is going on here? There are policemen searching all over the city and they won’t tell me what they’re looking for. They’re all as solemn as owls. You’re wandering round the cathedral looking pretty sombre too. Has there been another murder?’

Sooner or later, Powerscourt felt sure, word would reach the newspaper that a fragment of a body had been found. ‘I’m afraid there has, Patrick. But we don’t know who it was. We don’t know if it is connected with the other death in the Cathedral or not. All the police have so far is a human leg.’