Episode 7 - AN-THRO-PO-PHA-GY

Tuesday cont.

Dorothy’s mission to find out who had informed the Gazette about the ‘headless corpse’ had been fulfilled thanks to Al’s explanation of why he thought his action was in the public interest. She did not want to dwell on the idea that Albert was just a teenager looking for sensationalism.

Whatever else had motivated him, Dorothy was sure that Al had been in shock and done what he thought would be a good way to cast the gruesome find out of his mind. She decided that Bertie Browne had probably not seen the item at the time. He would not have been in the office on a Sunday afternoon and whoever was in charge was there to collect adverts for the Thursday edition and may have slipped the item in the last-minute column just to get it off the desk.

Dorothy thought that Al was simply glad to pass on the responsibility of his gruesome find by revealing it anonymously. But she was puzzled that Mr Browne hadn’t made a fuss. Surely someone had told him what was in the Monday edition of his paper even if it was tucked away among the last-minute adverts.

***

Dorothy went straight to Cleo’s cottage after leaving Monkton Priory. She was anxious to talk about her adventure and did not even take the time to collect some new homemade baking that she normally presented to the Hurleys.

“I thought you’d phone” said Cleo.

“I decided to call, but if you’re busy I’ll phone later.”

“I’m not busy. The little ones are being cared for so that I could catch up on some agency business. I’ve just made fresh coffee.”

“I’d love a coffee. I didn’t even go home for the bara brith. I didn’t know there was so much agency business to see to.”

“Tidying up files, Dorothy. Nothing new,” said Cleo, conscious that Dorothy was still hurt at not being informed about the skeleton find.

“I have plenty of cookies, Dorothy, and I brought rock cakes from the baker’s, though why they are called rock cakes beats me. They are beautifully fresh and soft. I wonder where they got their name.”

“The top looks a bit like a rock, rather than smooth. It’s a simple as that,” said Dorothy. “You just dollop spoonsful raw onto a baking tray in little heaps and bake it the way it lands. But I’m not here to talk about baking.”

“Of course not. How did you get on?”

Dorothy explained that Mr Sloane’s teenage assistant had told whoever was working at the Gazette about what he euphemized as the ‘headless corpse’ and that person must have just added it to the last-minute sales list she was compiling.

“I don’t suppose she gave a thought to the contents,”  Dorothy concluded.

“Bertie Browne would have kicked up a fuss, since he would have been able to smell a story, had the receptionist phoned him,” said Cleo. “But she probably wanted to go home and couldn’t be bothered.”

“That doesn’t explain why he didn’t kicked up a fuss after the Gazette came out,” said Dorothy.

“Maybe he just doesn’t read the adverts and no one told him.”

“That would surprise me. People enjoy horror stories.”

“But maybe not the people who read the last-minute offers.”

“Whatever! The mystery is solved,” said Dorothy.

“Not quite, but it’s a step in the right direction.”

“Mr Browne might have contacted Gary, of course, and Gary might have told him it was fake news,” said Dorothy.

“That sounds more like it. Fake news is all the rage these days. He may have promised to notify Mr Browne if anything came of the news.”

***

Gary arrived home just at that moment. Cleo was getting used to his instinctive if sometimes unwelcome timing.

“What fake news, Ladies?” he called as he greeted his offspring with big hugs. They had heard his car (the family van made a lot of diesel noise) and were clamouring for attention.

“Al told the Gazette about the headless corpse,” Dorothy explained. “So why hasn’t Bertie been in touch? Has he got something to hide?”

“Please don’t go down that road,” said Gary. “Bertie is a bit of a twit and vulnerable, but he would not get mixed up in the anthropophagous trade, would he?”

“Don’t ask me!” said Dorothy. “I still don’t know what that is.”

“Cannibalism,” said Gary. “And no, he hasn’t asked about the corpse.”

“What if Bertie Browne gnaws at human bones for kicks?” said Dorothy.

“That would be a good reason for not phoning HQ,” said Cleo.

“Remember Cleo’s words, Dorothy: You don’t know what someone is capable of under stress by looking at them. Innocence is relative and not connected to a person’s physiognomy!”

“You aren’t serious, are you?” said Cleo. “There are exceptions to the identification rule and Bertie is one of them, I hope.”

“And I’m serious enough to send Colin Peck and his mate from London to that weirdo bar in Abbott Street to find out if they serve beer and wine to a group of like-minded perverts who eat one another.”

“That’s horrible,” said Dorothy.

“I agree,” said Gary.

“So Chris has confirmed his suspicion, I assume,” said Cleo.

“Yep. But that is not the most pressing problem.”

“Is there a more urgent one than stopping people eating one another?”

“The van transporting dig finds has disappeared.”

“How could that happen?” said Cleo.

“What if I were to tell you that Gisela, when asked to send the HQ security transporter to the priory, said she would, but didn’t.”

“Oh boy!” said Cleo.

“The HQ van had been sent off to collect a gate-leg table that Giselle, that’s Gisela’s mother, no longer wanted and had sold on Ebay.”

“Wow!”

“Is that allowed?” Dorothy asked.

“Selling things on Ebay?”

“Commandeering HQ’s security van, I mean.”

“Gisela doesn’t ask. She takes!” said Gary.

“So the van that collected the treasures was hired, was it?”

“We don’t know what was in the van, Ladies. It may only have been rubble. Chris did not believe in the treasure story. But whatever was in the van was to be delivered to HQ, and wasn’t.”

Cleo had heard enough stories about Gisela, who was the superintendent in charge of the transport facilities at HQ, to know that she was capable of anything.

“So Gisela picked up a copy of the Gazette and phoned the first available transport service,” said Cleo. “Resourceful under the circumstances.”

“She should know better than to send our security van on a private errand,” said Gary.

“Did Gisela say who from?” Dorothy asked.

“That’s in the Gazette, too,” said Gary. “Or rather, the advert: “The Gates Brothers. Cheap and reliable transport. We’ll move you and all your belongings.”

“So Miss Thring hired a firm from an advert in the Gazette,” said Dorothy. “Was it vetted?”

“Nigel got onto it today and discovered that The Gates Brothers is a mysterious firm with nothing except a mobile phone number. We used to call them mailbox companies, but they don’t even bother with a mailbox these days.”

“That’s a carte blanche for trouble,” said Dorothy.

“You can say that again,” said Gary.

“For the record, who was driving the official van?” Cleo asked.

“The HQ caretaker. Mr Heart. Car mechanic and general factotum. Persuasive with women.”

“Sounds sleazy,” said Dorothy..

“At heart he’s a car mechanic, but turns his hand to anything.”

“Including Gisela, I take it.”

“Rumours have it that Gisela has a persuasive relationship with him.”

“So what about that gate-leg table?” said Dorothy, disapproving of the goings-on that having a car mechanic and caretaker as a confidante might entail.

Giselle is moving in with Gisela. So her superfluous furnishings are up for grabs on Ebay,” said Gary.

“And the caretaker also does removals at weekends with the HQ security van. Better not let Bertie Browne hear about that,” said Cleo.

“Exactly. That security van is used mostly by banks and jewellers, and to convey suspects to institutions such as prisons during the week, but not with Mr Heart driving. We use police officers for those jobs.”

“You’d better not let Bertie hear about any of this,” said Cleo.

“There’s nothing Bertie does not know about HQ. Cleo.”

“He’s probably been in the security van, too,” said Dorothy.  “Not just that. Your Mr Heart might have taken Gisela for a drive and a cuddle on the back seat.”

“I hope not,” said Gary, highly amused at Dorothy’s imagined tryst. “I don’t think he’s her toy-boy, but I’m not sure. He’s still in his thirties and he doesn’t earn much.”

“Would you like to investigate, Dorothy,” Cleo could not resist asking.

“I’ll do no such thing,” said Dorothy.

***

“To continue, Ladies: Because it was a private jaunt, the caretaker did not switch on the radio system. Once he had taken over the van, he was on unofficial business on a Sunday afternoon. He would deliver the table to wherever it was going and return the van to the HQ parking lot. Gisela got it all organized over the phone.”

“Not a pretty story from her point of view,” said Dorothy.

“Nor from ours, Dorothy,” said Gary.

“So was it the Gates brothers who picked up the ecclesiastical stuff?” said Cleo.

“We don’t know if any was found,” said Gary. “Everyone had left before they had finished and it looked as if they would only have piles of stones to clear away.”

“I’m surprise Mr Sloane did not stay to the bitterer end,” said Cleo.

“I expect he had to rush back to his new girlfriend,” said Gary.

“There must be hidden passion in that guy,” said Cleo.

“We only know about Gisela’s action because that hired van has disappeared into thin air instead of arriving at the path lab to be unloaded, but what if someone else intercepted the mission? Gisela used the house phone at HQ and I’m sure our plans are intercepted by interested outsiders with their own axes to grind. We keep on finding new bugs.”

”Do you mean that someone goes into Headquarters and plants bugs in the phone system?” said Dorothy. “I can’t believe it.”

“That’s why I use a cell phone registered in my daughter’s name, Dorothy.”

“So Gisela will be on the line, won’t she?” said Cleo.

“It looks like it, and it could get her fired if that County Police Chief hears about it. He’s wanted her out for different reasons.”

“What reasons?” Dorothy wanted to know.

“Personal, as far as I know.”

“Awesome,” interpolated Cleo. “I never knew she had it in her. You always made her seem like a bit of a frump.”

“They are the worst sort, Cleo,” said Gary.

“Henry will be up in arms that she has been wearing out the security van, won’t he?”

“He’ll forgive her, Cleo.”

“Not because of the security lapse and her abuse of the rules?” said Dorothy, wondering what sort of a nest HQ was.

“No, Dorothy. Henry and Gisela are as thick as thieves.”

“An entirely suitable comment,” said Cleo.

“Surely he can’t afford to ignore Gisela’s stunts. It’s more than his job is worth,” said Dorothy.

“Not Henry. He’s almost reached retirement age.”

“That would leave you in charge of it all, wouldn’t it” said Cleo.

“I don’t want that to happen, so I’m anxious to keep those two scarecrows in their jobs for the time being.”

“Do you have a say in who stays and who goes?” Dorothy asked.

“If we can find the van and all its contents, we can probably cover up its brief disappearance. If not, it won’t take long for the national press to find out. Then we’ll probably have the Pope on our heels. Those ecclesiastical mementos belong to the R.C. church, Ladies.”

“So what’s happening right now?” Cleo asked.

“We’re looking for them. Any more coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Have you eaten all the baking?”

“It’s at home,” said Dorothy

“I bought rock cakes,” said Cleo.

“Stone age or fresher?” said Gary.

“Well, my dears! I can’t hang around just now. I only popped in to say that it was Al who told the Gazette about the headless corpse,” said Dorothy.

“Al being that little twerp of a teenager helping Mr Sloane,” said Gary. “Chris told me about him.”

“Yes. Him. Do you need me now?”

“We’ll always need you,” said Gary.

“I’ll remember that,” said Dorothy ambiguously as she left.

***

Colin Peck and Dr James Wilson were subjected to a dressing down by Colin’s partner, Julie, who was shocked that Colin had actually volunteered to investigate that gay bar and had summoned Jim all the way from London to accompany him.

“Are you going there as a couple?” she wanted to know. “You don’t look right together.”

“Nice of you to say so,” said Colin. “We are not going under cover; we just won’t say why we are there. I’ll be showing Jim the sights if anyone asks. It’s a public bar, isn’t it? We’ll have been walking all day. That sort of thing.”

“Just look after one another,” were Julie’s parting words.

“We will,” said Colin. “Don’t you want to come with us?”

“Are you inviting me?”

“Not really. You wouldn’t like it.”

***

The gay bar in Abbott Street was notorious. What had started out quite harmlessly as a friendly establishment with good beer and wine, tasteful music and friendly staff for all comers had become a frequent target for razzias as the ‘entertainment’ was not always licenced let alone legal, and the old staff had been replaced by less friendly individuals. Fights were frequent and inevitable as rivals got on one another’s nerves. The police came in fours on those occasions.

The guests who occupied the snug (an old-fashioned side-room with a log fire) were harmless by normal standards. The rest of the goings-on at the establishment were usually not. Illegal gambling in the cellar, in-house prostitution and drugs had given the establishment a deservedly bad name.

The newest owners – none other than the Norton Brothers – took over after the previous proprietor had been shot dead by someone who was never traced. The bar was now controlled by uniformed lackeys with security badges. They did not usually work with the police. The razzias had become less frequent and it could be claimed that the Norton brothers were protecting their interests by employing thugs to decide who was welcome. Strangers now had to provide proof of identity and were searched unless they already had the approval of the Nortons. No rival gang was going to get past the entrance. It was home ground for the local amigos of the Norton brothers, and it was to stay that way.

“Membership cards?” a hefty doorman asked the two investigators.

“Guests,” said Colin.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Colin and this is Jim.”

“We’re full.”

“Isn’t this a pub? We just want a drink.”

The Nortons had instructed doormen not to keep everyone out as it would cost them their pub licence if the establishment was run only for insiders, so the doorman let Jim and Colin in. They ordered lager and asked if there was anywhere quiet to sit and drink it. Colin was amazed at the rough and tumble that was going on in the main bar and wondered if HQ had seriously considered the implications. He certainly did not want to get involved with the individuals he identified as being up to no good.

The barman would have preferred to sell his famous cocktail of martinis laced with bourbon and a shot of vodka, but looking at Jim and Colin and remembering that they had the approval of the doorman, he pointed to the snug and drafted the ale. No profit to be made there, he told himself.

Colin and Jim would have raised suspicion had they not accepted the invitation, but they were also relieved that they would not have to prop up the bar, so they followed the barman’s instruction obediently and faced a dozen or so pairs of surprised eyes. It wasn’t often that strangers got as far as the snug. They were usually collared by the crooks if they had got past the doorman.

Colin wondered if they should introduce themselves, but Jim jumped the guns by saying who they were.

“Join us, then,” said one of the guests. “We don’t often get visitors.”

“Are you a club?” Jim asked.

“No. Just quiet regulars.”

“What else goes on in this place?”

Jim’s question served almost as a visiting card.

“We keep out of it,” said the guy who had previously spoken. “I’m Dan, by the way.”

“I’m surprised those crooks out there haven’t taken over here.”

“They can’t,” said Dan. “There has to be a room where non-drinkers can go, and this is it.”

“But you are drinking,” said Colin.

“Shandy,” said Dan, laughing.

“I get the message,” said Jim.

“We don’t get hard drinkers in here, anyway.”

“They think it’s a gay den and those machos outside don’t want to be mixed up with us.”

“Is it a gay den?” said Colin.

“Of course not. All sorts, but we seldom see a female here, unfortunately.”

“I’ll talk to my girlfriend, Dan. She’s quite a tough cookie.”

“It’s a deal, Colin, as long as you don’t belong to that other club and are spying on us.”

“Why would we want to do that?”

“Rumours,” said Dan.

“He means cannibals,” said someone else.

“They’re always looking for fresh meat,” said Dan as they all laughed at Jim and Colin’s genuinely shocked facial expressions.

Of course, this group did not know that they had just said something that fell in with what the two investigators were looking for. You might have thought it was a coincidence if the second guy had not gone on to explain.

“Haven’t you seen that item in the Gazette?”

Now was not the time to say why they were there, so Colin and Jim just shook their heads and listened while the second guy, who introduced himself as Ian, told them all about the headless corpse.

“That’s what they do, you see,” he explained. “Chop up the corpse, share out the bones and if their brain surgeon is present, set about the cranium. It’s said to be a delicacy.”

“And where do they do all this?” said Jim, who was a medical doctor, and yet horrified by Ian’s description. Colin was just plain horrified and wishing he had not volunteered to investigate.

“You’re from London, aren’t you, Jim?” said Dan. “You wouldn’t know Paddy’s farm, would you?”

“I know it,” said Colin.

“They bought it when it was auctioned off, let the land to the farmer next door and moved in.”

“Don’t the police know who lives there?” Jim asked.

“I shouldn’t think so. It’s a fitness club and they let nice young men build up their muscles. That is preferable to what Paddy used his farm for. I believe they converted all the ground floor into a gym at the farmhouse and renovated the barn to make imitation walls for rock-climbing, but I’ve never been there to find out,” said Dan.

“They find out all about those young men and if they prove to be alone in the world, their disappearance does not cause any hassle,” said Ian.

“I can’t believe the police aren’t onto them,” said Jim. “Surely someone misses a guy who’s been doing circuit training and rock-climbing next to him.”

“They’ve got it all sown up,” said Ian. “Nothing is left to chance and it’s possible that anyone who does cotton on to what is going on is also disposed of.”

“But you know about them. You could do something about it.”

“I don’t fancy being eaten,” said Ian. “We just keep out of it and I advise you to do the same.”

***

“How much of all that did you believe?” Colin asked as soon as they had turned out of Abbott Street into the main thoroughfare in Middlethumpton.

“All of it,” said Jim.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“So what happens next? I don’t want to horrify Cleo.”

“From what I’ve experienced of Cleo – and that was when we trailed that guy suspected of something – I can’t remember what, I’ve been in no doubt that she can cope. Anyway, you are answerable to whoever gave you the job, and it wasn’t Cleo, was it?”

***

“He was murdered,” said Colin.

“Who are we talking about?”

“Paddy Kelly. The Irishman who gave his name to that farm. A pimp married to a hooker. A joke of a farmer, and it was never proved that he had a right to be there. They suspected him of killing the couple he said was his parents. They had never talked about him.”

“How do you know all that?”

I keep the archive functioning, Jim.”

“But there was no proof that he wasn’t the son, I take it,” said Jim.

“That’s how it was, and in time the neighbours got used to the goings on. He also had a lodger living in the barn. A gem cutter in hiding apparently. The lodger was murdered, too. They didn’t find out who or what he was hiding from.”

“Plenty of thrills round here,” said Jim.

“Dr Mitchell is retiring soon .Wouldn’t you like his job?”

“I wouldn’t mind, actually. It’s time I moved on. I qualified as a general practitioner, but I’m still at St George’s. Who do I contact?”

“Phone him directly tomorrow morning. He can only say no – but he won’t.”

***

Back at Colin’s flat, they tried to explain what they had heard without being too graphic.

“I can see that you guys were shocked to the core,” said Julie.

“Aren’t you?” said Colin.

“When you’ve taken photos after a train crash you are pretty immune to horror.”

“Still photographing, are you?” Jim said.

“Mostly free-lance and I’m setting up an exhibition in the town hall next month.”

“Great. I’ll be there.”

“It’s all about crooks not looking like crooks. The topic is one of Cleo’s hobbyhorses. When I started I thought it would be easy,” said Julie. “Murderers are the vainest of sitters. I had to get a permit to photograph them in prison anyway, and was guarded by two officers when I got behind the grille. I asked for a list of volunteers to be handed round as I didn’t want to coerce anyone, but they all wanted to be photographed. Of course, they did not know what it was in aid of.”

“How did you manage not to give the game away?”

“Easy. I went on a lot about bone structure. That seemed to legitimize the procedure. I would say “You have an interesting profile” or ask if the nose had been operated on to make it so perfect. They fell for anything positive and I kept off anything negative.”

“I expect the guards wanted photos, too.”

“That was convenient, assuming the guards were not criminally minded.”

“Someone smuggles stuff in,” said Colin.

“And out,” said Jim.

“So how are you organizing all those photos? There must be hundreds,” said Jim.

“I’ll select the best and I mix them in with images of guys who don’t have a criminal record.”

“But some of them could have got away with a crime,” said Colin.

“Exactly. That has made it all much more difficult, but it proves the point, doesn’t it?”

“So how did you get out innocent recruits?” Jim asked.

“I got onto the Oxford Playhouse and they let me talk to actors about how they play villains.”

“Did you get photos of them?”

“Of course, and do you know what? There are only subtle differences to watch out for.”

“Doesn’t Cleo preach that?” said Colin.

“The show was also her idea, Colin. You know that.”

“Of course it was. I remember now.”

***

“To cut the story short, Julie, those cannibals probably don’t look like cannibals,” said Jim.

“So what do cannibals look like?” said Colin.

“It doesn’t work that way. You have to tell me what a cannibal looks like  here - not in the jungle of Africa, but in the jungle of Oxfordshire.”

“But I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

“One thing is clear and that is that terrible things happen around her,” said Colin. “It’s as if Grumpsfield has a jinx on it.”

“And now we’ve got a bunch of cannibals there, too,” said Jim.

“There will be a lot of questions to answer, if I know Gary.”

“Is that the cop who got you onto this private eye stuff?”

“Cleo’s husband now, and I volunteered, Jim.”

“Wasn’t Cleo married to your father, Julie?”

“Yes. I’ll tell you all about it some time, but let’s stick to cannibals for the moment.”

“You volunteered for the cannibal hunt, I take it,” said Jim.

“I would not have gone ahead with it if you had not had time to come.”

“Very wise! So now we have some information, don’t you think we should pass it on to the police?”

“You’re right. I’ll phone Gary now, but it’s too late go visiting.”

Colin arranged to deliver their report on the evening at the pub at breakfast with the Hurleys next morning.