Peter Turnbull: Deep Cover

‘Yes, I know, so are we. All London is finding bodies.’

The constable grasped the radio which was attached to his lapel and contacted his control, requesting a police surgeon and CID in attendance. His calm, unhurried manner impressed the off-duty officer. The constable then took note of the officer’s name and contact details, and also the details of the dog walker who’d found the body. ‘People say they like a good hard and long frost, it kills off sickly vegetation — ’ he closed his notebook — ‘but they don’t think about sickly human beings.’

‘Indeed.’ The off-duty officer turned and looked over the Heath, down towards Parliament Hill. ‘Red Kite!’

‘Sorry, sir?’

‘Red Kite. . that bird. . see it? That’s a Red Kite, they’re scavengers. I had a pheasant in my garden a week or two ago, strutting up and down like he was the cock of the walk. I came for a breath of fresh air and a chance to observe some of inner London’s wildlife, of which there is much, not quite as exotic as the vultures in New York City, but interesting just the same.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, you don’t need me any more. I’ll go and rescue what I can from my day off.’

Harry Vicary halted his car behind the vehicles already parked in a restricted area on Spaniards Hill, close to the entrance of the Heath. He saw police vehicles, a black, windowless mortuary van, two unmarked cars, all supervised by a solitary woman police officer, there to move curious pedestrians on and to legitimize the parking of the vehicles in the ‘No Parking’ area. Vicary left his car and walked up to the WPC. ‘Detective Inspector Vicary’ — he showed her his ID — ‘I was asked to attend here.’

‘Yes, sir.’ The WPC spoke with a distinct Scottish accent. ‘Up there, sir.’ She pointed to the wooded area and then Vicary saw the police activity: uniformed officers, a white and blue tape strung from shrub to shrub and a white inflatable tent. He identified John Shaftoe and Detective Constable Ainsclough, and walked laboriously up the slope, stopping to tuck the bottom of his trousers into his socks, caring not about the image he presented by doing so. As he approached the focus of activity DC Ainsclough separated himself from the group and walked towards Vicary.

‘More than a frozen corpse, sir,’ Ainsclough advised.

‘Oh?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ainsclough seemed to Vicary to be nervous of authority, which Vicary always interpreted as being a healthy sign; far, far preferable in his view to arrogant individuals who seem to feel they are everyone’s equal, if not their superior.

‘Seems so, sir,’ Ainsclough stammered, ‘. . frankly I would not have noticed it, but Mr Shaftoe was keen-eyed.’

‘So what have we got?’

‘I’ll show you, sir.’ Ainsclough led Vicary to the place where the frozen corpse was found and where John Shaftoe was already standing. Upon reaching the spot, Vicary nodded to Shaftoe and the two men whispered a brief ‘Hello’ to each other.

‘Here, sir.’ Ainsclough pointed to the ground. Vicary saw only ground, loose soil and a few clumps of sodden grass, recently exposed by the thaw. ‘I’m sorry — ’ he turned to Shaftoe — ‘what am I looking at?’

‘Look carefully, the man’s head was close to the laurel bush. . his feet are where we are standing. . say six feet between the bush and ourselves.’

‘I still. .’

‘Now look at the ground upon which we stand and behind us. .’

Vicary did so. ‘Mud and grass,’ he said. ‘What you’d expect on the Heath.’

‘And consolidated.’ Shaftoe grinned. ‘Yet here, with shrubs on three sides to conceal it, and a fourth side, narrow so as to serve as an entrance. All the ground herein is disturbed.’ Shaftoe was barrel-chested, with a ruddy complexion and wispy white hair. ‘Still don’t see it?’ His short stature obliged him to look up at Vicary.

‘No. .’ Vicary shook his head. He was growing deeply more curious because he knew Shaftoe to be a man, a gentleman, a professional, who took his work seriously. He was not, in Vicary’s experience, the sort of man to play games. He was not at all the sort of man to summon him from his desk to look at muddy soil on Hampstead Heath. ‘Go on, tell me.’

‘It’s a shallow grave.’ Shaftoe spoke calmly. ‘I’ll lay a pound to your penny that there is a corpse down there. The down-and-out went to sleep over a corpse, possibly a skeleton.’

‘Recently dug?’

‘Not necessarily, which is why I said possibly a skeleton. It isn’t so much the amount of soil that is exposed, that could have been caused by animals. . badgers or foxes scratching at the surface. . it is more the slight raising of the ground, as if the soil has been dug up and replaced over something, and the rectangular nature of the area in question. . roughly rectangular but definitely longer than it is wide and about the dimensions of a human being, an adult human.’ Shaftoe paused. ‘If I am wrong, I can only apologize for dragging you up here on such an unpleasant day, but I think you ought to undertake an exploratory dig.’ Shaftoe paused again and smiled. ‘Congratulations on your promotion by the way. I haven’t seen you since the Epping Forest murder.’

‘Thank you. Haven’t stitched the stripes on yet, but thank you.’

‘I was sorry to hear about Archie Dew.’

‘Yes, he is missed. I call on his widow occasionally. She is soldiering on. Manfully is probably the wrong word but I can’t think of the right one.’

‘No matter, I know what you mean.’

‘So,’ Vicary brought the conversation back to the matter in hand, ‘we have one death, most likely by misadventure. .’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ainsclough spoke. ‘Death was confirmed by the police surgeon and so I requested the pathologist. . and it was when we removed the corpse. .’

‘Presently in the tent?’ Shaftoe nodded to the white inflatable tent that had been erected close to the shrubs. ‘Couldn’t erect it over the body,’ he added. ‘No room.’

‘I see.’

‘It was then that Mr Shaftoe looked at the ground over which the body had lain and said there’s something else down there.’

Shaftoe grinned. ‘I actually said “Summat’s down there”, but your man can translate Yorkshire into English.’

‘Yorkshire grandfather,’ Ainsclough explained.

‘I did wonder,’ Shaftoe smiled. ‘With a name like yours you had to have roots in God’s own county.’

‘Yes, sir. . but that’s when I requested your attendance. . it’s more than just a frozen corpse sir, at least it might be.’

‘Appears so.’ Shaftoe’s eye was caught by a 747 flying low over London on its final approach to Heathrow, and watched as the undercarriage was lowered, later than most pilots would have done so by his observations, but the wheels had been lowered and that was the main thing. It was the one thing he always looked for when watching planes land, never having been a passenger on a plane without saying, as the plane approached the ground, ‘I hope he’s put the wheels down.’ He found time to reflect that no one would be talking on the plane at that moment.

‘Well. . we’ll dig. Can you organize that, DC Ainsclough? We’ll be on this all day.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Suggest you clear the shrubs either side of the grave, if it is a grave; moving a down-and-out a few feet from where he slept his final sleep is one thing, but we’ll want the tent over a shallow grave.’

‘Yes, sir, I’m on it.’

‘And get the scene of crime officers here, we’ll need photographs.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can I see the corpse, please?’ Vicary turned to Shaftoe.

‘Of course,’ Shaftoe turned and led the way.