Charlotte stared at the computer screen, her novel was not going well. Having ventured back to the Hambourne Happy Creatives writing group she had succeeded in confusing them with Lottie Lincoln’s latest mishaps in Puddleminster-on-Sea. There had been comments such as ‘So what happened to the head?’
She had made life too complicated for Lottie and hadn’t really settled on which event should set her hapless heroine on the path of reluctant crime investigator. Perhaps she could round off the body parts story on a lighter note, introduce a dog…
A week later Lottie decided she must get back to her morning beach walks. Puddleminster was returning to normal, the police had finished searching everywhere and locals were unlikely to learn what really happened until the trial started, which could be many months away.
As she took in the fresh sea air and observed the near empty beach, she was caught off guard by a large dog bounding up with a huge stick in its mouth. For a moment she did not recognise the owner as he stumbled over the sand to apologise.
‘So sorry, oh it’s you Lottie, er Mrs Lincoln.’
‘Sorry I didn’t recognise you with a dog.’
Once again she was face to face with Doctor Geoff Good, the pathologist now famous for losing a body from the hospital mortuary. What should she say?
‘Is he your dog?’
‘No, friends gone on holiday to Australia. I volunteered to look after him while I’m suspended, at least I’ll look less suspicious out with a dog next time I’m caught on CCTV.’
‘Oh dear, will you get your job back?’
‘Yes, otherwise the bodies will be mounting up! Just required procedure, our department under special measures… Hey, clever you, right about there being no murder and my technician taking a body to create a forensic drama. Obviously completely insane, he had the head at his flat, kept as a souvenir!’
‘Goodness, they kept that out of the news.’
‘I only knew because I overheard them talking when I was on one of my many visits to the police station. Hmm, forget I told you that.’
Lottie felt a thrill at being entrusted with secret information and besides she didn’t know anyone to gossip with yet.
‘But the point is he passed all the usual checks, no criminal record, no record of anything untoward. He knew the entry codes because he worked there and had security clearance. No CCTV in the mortuary as we don’t expect bodies to try and escape. He must have slipped in during the night. Oh by the way, it turns out my wife loves your novels, read all of them, in fact she’s rereading them for gentle escapism after all this business. She wants to know if you are writing a new one.’
‘I have writers’ block, I thought a quiet life at the seaside would inspire a new story after my husband died suddenly.’
‘Oh sorry, I didn’t realise.’
‘No of course you couldn’t know. I was just reading in the newspaper an article on being widowed and it said don’t make hasty decisions such as moving house or getting a dog; I had just been wondering if I should get a puppy or a rescue dog…’
Charlotte wondered what could have caused Lottie’s husband’s sudden demise, something dramatic for a darkly humorous novel, a piece of space station crashing on him, had she read in the paper about a chunk of space debris plunging through someone’s roof? Or something closer to home, Lottie and Callum probably lived in London, he was trampled by bolting cavalry horses, that would be tragically unexpected.…
Children or other family? No, that’s why Lottie and Callum were so close and now poor Lottie was truly on her own, except of course for all her writer and arty friends in London; she was after all a very successful author, well popular and best selling, not in the upper echelons of the literati, but certainly far more successful than Charlotte.
Now she just had to think what Lottie was going to do next…
Today’s story is the final part of strange events in Puddleminster-on-Sea and follows on from Mortuary Mystery. Lottie Lincoln has returned to the police station.
‘It was the day before yesterday, or was it the day before that? I know it wasn’t raining. Anyway, the point is, I did not know the man in the CCTV photos at all, only to say hello to, nodding acquaintances, no idea what his name was. I always walk down to the sea past the Queen Victoria Memorial Park, early and he always walks past me on his way home with his newspaper, at least I assume that is what he is doing. Well we did before all those body parts were found.’
Lottie looked across the table at the young CID chap sent to interview her. She obviously wasn’t interesting enough to warrant two officers, good cop, bad cop and far from interrogating her, he had not asked her a single question yet.
DC Dan Berk looked across at the woman who had turned up at the police station and wondered how to get a word in edgeways.
‘Sorry, what did you say your name was?’
‘I didn’t, Lottie Lincoln, the author? You probably don’t read my novels, I expect you prefer dark crime.’
‘Okay Lottie, can we start again at the beginning. What is your real name?’
‘That is my real name.’
‘’Okay, so Lottie, Mrs Lincoln, you go for a walk every morning and say hello to complete strangers.’
‘Yes, I thought that’s what people did at the seaside, relaxed way of life, everything jolly, well perhaps not if you’re always finding body parts. Anyway the point is, I am innocent and so is the man.’
‘If he is a complete stranger, how would you know if he was a murderer or not?’
‘I am a writer, I observe people, I have an instinct.’
‘Well thank you for coming forward to help us with our enquiries. I just need to ask you a few questions about yourself. How long have you lived in Puddleminster?’
‘A few weeks.’
‘Do you live alone?’
‘I was widowed.’
‘I see.’
‘Very recently.’
‘Oh sorry.’
‘Very suddenly.’
‘I am sorry for your loss, did you and your late husband have a connection with this area?’
‘None at all, I wanted to go somewhere quiet where I wasn’t known, a little place rather like the villages in my cosy novels.’
‘So if you could give me your current and previous address and a few other details. We will do a few checks, but it is unlikely we will need to see you again. Thank you for coming and I hope we haven’t put you to too much trouble, goodbye.’
‘Wait, wait, there’s something I have to confess, just in case I have been caught on CCTV again. I bumped into him just now, the man, when he was leaving the police station. So you think the body was kept in a fridge and he works at the mortuary, but that doesn’t make him guilty. Others work there, in fact it might not even be a murder, a theft of a corpse, he’s got that assistant that’s obsessed with forensics…’
Lottie did not like the frown on his face, perhaps she was talking too much. How long since she had had a good natter in her new life? She was beginning to realise what it must have been like during Covid for people living by themselves. Lottie and Callum had been self contained, they missed going out, but they were not lonely. Now she not only missed him, but her busy life and her friends; perhaps peaceful and quiet was not such a good idea… she realised the chap was talking to her.
‘Mrs Lincoln, this is out of order. We have not released any more information yet or talked to anybody else. I trust you won’t go on social media or start speculating in the local community.’
Late that night Doctor Geoff Good was back inside the police station for questioning and a detective inspector from head office had arrived, he frowned at the small team gathered in the tiny office.
‘To summarise so far, the body of John James Smith is missing from his drawer at the hospital mortuary. Doctor Geoff Good the pathologist claims to be astonished and cannot offer any explanation as to how a body could escape his well run mortuary. His new assistant has just gone on annual leave and we have no idea where, but he doesn’t appear to be at his flat in Puddleminster. John Smith died of natural causes, a post mortem was not planned and no DNA samples had been taken, as his large loving family knew who he was. He was awaiting collection by the undertaker tomorrow who would be preparing for a family viewing. A situation that could not be worse. We have no proof that the remains in the park are his, if they are what do we tell the family. If they are not his, where the hell is his body? Oh yes it could be worse, your team has failed to find a head.’
The mortuary is locked and off limits to all hospital staff. We have no option, but to have the whole hospital searched in case the body has been hidden there. I will be going to speak to management. Sergeant, you will visit the undertaker first thing in the morning and explain why they will not be collecting the body yet. Constable Berk, it is your unenviable task to visit the family of Mr Smith and inform them with the briefest details what has happened. I suggest you imply he is still within the hospital, but you have to also persuade them to provide DNA samples. At first light a team of officers and the forensic team will carry out a methodical search of the whole of Puddleminster. I’m sure you appreciate the need to keep all details out of the press and off social media, but that won’t be easy.
A week later Lottie sat glued to the local news as she did several times a day. She had not been near the sea, Puddleminster was overrun with police search teams. At the shops she tried to glean local gossip and there was plenty of that; satanic rites, multiple bodies unearthed everywhere and a serial killer on the loose. She wondered about poor Doctor Good. Every news bulletin a police officer of increasingly high rank would be urging the public not to speculate and assuring them there was no danger to the public. Then at last that evening there was news. A serious looking policewoman with lots of badges on her epaulettes, was standing outside the hospital.
‘We have today arrested a mortuary technician from this hospital and charged him with preventing the lawful and decent burial of a body. I can confirm no other individuals were involved and our enquiries are now complete. The family of the deceased have asked for privacy at this time.’
Of course that was not the end. On breakfast television the next day Lottie watched as the son and daughters of John Smith were interviewed.
‘We want to know how this happened to our Dad.’
They had obviously waived the right to privacy and Lottie guessed poor Doctor Good would be in for more vigorous investigation by the media. Would Puddleminster-on-Sea ever be the quiet place she had hoped for? But she couldn’t help smugly thinking she had been the first to guess what had happened.
It is also Saint George’s Day, but a saint that doesn’t mean much to us. Whereas William, even with his imagination, could not have predicted how many millions of people would be seeing his plays, saying his sayings and coming to visit his home town. He would probably not have liked what we did to his wonderful language, but living languages change all the time. He was also not responsible for the ways in which English has been spread around the world, but with the negatives come the positives. Around the world bilingual and multilingual folk can communicate with a common language and if we only speak English we must applaud them for learning and talking to us. No doubt Shakespeare would have his own blog and smart phone if they had been around then.
This evening’s tiny tale follows on from last week when Geoff was arrested as a murder suspect.
Geoff Good was alone in the interview room at Puddleminster Police Station. It had been on the local news about body parts being found in Queen Victoria Memorial Park, that’s why he had joked that as a pathologist at the hospital he did post mortems on deceased patients and did not chop up bodies. He did not expect them to use that as evidence of guilt.
The two CID officers came back in with a cup of tea, he assumed they were going to apologise for wrongful arrest and give him a lift home.
‘Doctor Good, we have some important questions to ask you with regard to your work, now new evidence has come to light.’
What on earth could they mean, had they found mortuary instruments lying in the park, no they were all present and correct when he left work yesterday. Was the victim someone he knew? Unlikely they would have identified the body so soon, you couldn’t even tell by tattoos these days, everyone had them.
‘You must have spoken to the woman in the CCTV picture, I saw her coming into the police station.’
‘No one has come forward to help with our enquiries.’
‘We know the victim was already dead when he was dismembered,’ chipped in the smug DC chap ‘very dead.’
‘That’s a relief, I mean for the victim.’
‘Dead for a while, but not decomposed, our forensic team have established the corpse had been kept somewhere cold.’
Geoff remained silent, he did not like where this was leading, but surely they did not think he regularly murdered people and kept them at the mortuary? Every body arrived or left the mortuary properly identified and recorded.
They stared at him, he tried to look them in the eye and not appear nervous or guilty. A thought came to him which he tried to dismiss. His new assistant did not disguise his ambition to get involved in proper forensics, not the boring bodies they dealt with at the hospital. He watched all the CSI programmes Geoff’s wife loved, but being fascinated with murder did not make him a murderer. Besides, he could not have hidden a spare body, all the drawers were occupied at present.
‘Did you wish to call your solicitor Doctor Good?’
How did things get to this stage already. He did not have a solicitor, only the school boy who had dealt with his great uncle’s will, or the local chap who had done the conveyancing for their house twenty years ago, probably retired by now.
‘No, I do not need a solicitor.’
Suddenly the DS brightened up. ‘We will be getting a warrant to search the mortuary, accompanied by your good self. In the meantime you are free to leave now as a person of interest. You may go home, but do not go to work and make sure we can contact you at any time.’
Geoff walked down the road in a daze, years of clinical and logical thinking did not help him process what was happening. He almost bumped into her, the woman from the picture. She recoiled and he automatically put his hands in the air. They both started to speak at once.
‘Sorry, sorry, I’m not a murderer.’
‘Sorry, nor am I didn’t mean to react like that.’
‘I don’t even know your name.’
‘I’m on my way to the police station to explain, I chickened out the first time. This is a nightmare.’
‘I’m so sorry you got involved.’
‘No I’m sorry, Lottie, Lottie Lincoln the novelist.’
‘Erm, I don’t read novels, Geoff Good, pathologist.’
‘Goodness, how interesting, life is stranger than fiction for sure.’
They both automatically looked around for hidden CCTV cameras.
‘Are we allowed to talk to each other?’
‘We both have a reason for walking down this road, I’ll be quick and tell you my situation. They seem to think I could have murdered and hidden the body in the mortuary, because it had been kept somewhere very cold, ridiculous of course, but at least they can’t possibly think you were involved.’
‘Do you have assistants?’
‘They are not murderers either, though the new one’s totally obsessed with forensics and CSI dramas. Oh, do you write dark crime novels, they’re all women writers.’
‘Indeed not, life affirming stories, family dramas, but I can see a story in this situation.’ Her eyes lit up. ‘Perhaps no murder was committed, your assistant wanted to see a bit of drama so borrowed a body, chopped it up and created a fake crime scene. He would not be suspected, no blood soaked clothing and all that. Anyway, I had better get to the police station, good luck.’
The mortuary was empty of live persons when Geoff was escorted in by a team of plain clothed and uniformed officers. The person they had to show the warrant to was Geoff himself. It seemed the rest of the hospital was unaware of the mortuary drama. Had anyone even noticed Geoff’s absence? There obviously had been no deaths at the hospital in the past twenty four hours and he recalled the new assistant was starting some annual leave.
No bodies on the slabs, pity, Geoff would have enjoyed making them feel queasy. He showed them all the computer and written records, then opened each labelled drawer one by one, assuring them it was a full house this week.
‘Everyone sleeping peacefully’ he joked nervously as they reached the last drawer.
The last drawer was empty, the name still on the front of the drawer, John James Smith.
He didn’t even know her name, but there they were on the local news as the couple sought after by police to help with their enquiries. Geoff wondered if his wife had seen an earlier bulletin before she went to work. Who said the camera never lies. As the presenter moved on to the topic of pot holes the picture faded from the screen, but not from his mind’s eye. The body language suggested they knew each other well. When was the picture taken? He always wore the same coat, but it must have been one of the few mornings when it wasn’t raining.
With his job, Geoff was not a familiar figure locally, but friends and a few dog walkers would recognise him. Perhaps their brains would not register it was him linked to a totally different woman.
The woman was new in Puddleminster, he was sure of that. Only newcomers strode enthusiastically down to the beach every morning whatever the weather. Geoff would be on his way back from what his daughter would call a power walk, stopping at the little beach shop to get his newspaper. They would merely smile or say good morning.
He needed that fresh air and exercise before setting off to commute to work in the county hospital. Now nobody would be walking that way for a while with Queen Victoria Memorial Park cordoned off. It had been a shock to hear body parts were found in the park, quiet little Puddleminster-on-Sea. He had certainly not seen any body parts when he went for his lap round the park yesterday morning. Maybe if he had a dog it would have come bounding out of the undergrowth with a hand in its mouth, probably how the grim discovery was made. He chuckled to himself, his career had given him a dark sense of humour, but the police weren’t giving any details.
Then reality resurfaced in his mind. Was there CCTV in the park as well as on the road next to it? Did they also have pictures of him walking early in the park, looking suspicious without a dog? Here was a right dilemma. Should he call the police to explain, no he had missed the special phone number. He could drop in at the little Puddleminster police station, if it was actually open. What would one say. He had no idea who the woman was or where she lived. If she was new in the area it was unlikely anyone else would have recognised her.
There was no time to do anything, he had to leave for work. He could phone his wife from the car, better than keeping quiet and her maybe thinking he was hiding an affair with another woman.
But as he opened the front door he was confronted by two police officers on the front path.
He couldn’t believe this had happened, handcuffed and sitting in the back of a police car. What did they actually say to him? Geoff was so bewildered he sat quietly, to struggle would have suggested guilt. This could be sorted out at the police station, hopefully no one he knew would be strolling by.
It was amazing how much harder it was to get out of a vehicle when you were handcuffed. He just wanted to get inside the building, by the back door if there was one, but they led him straight up the front steps, just in time to see the woman from the photo dash inside. All would be well, she would explain.
Geoff did not get a chance to even exchange a glance with her, he was ushered through a side door and into the interview room, soon joined by a man and woman in plain clothes who introduced themselves as a constable and sergeant. They did not look as if they had ever dealt with a murder, their tactics owed more to television drama than proper procedure. Photos were laid on the table, Geoff striding through the park.
‘This is ridiculous and how did you know where I lived?’
The cocky young DC answered with a smirk.
‘Your wife called the hot line, anxious to explain she was not the woman in the photo, but keen to assure us you always walked that way and were totally innocent.’
The tight lipped woman sergeant leaned in closer.
‘The wives are always the last to have any inkling.’
‘Can you confirm your job and where you work?’
This was not going to look good. When people found out what his work was they would get excited and remark ’Like on that television series.’
‘I’m a pathologist at the hospital and no I don’t chop bodies up, I just find out what disease your great uncle died of.’
The two officers looked at each other and Geoff realised they didn’t appreciate his sense of humour.
‘We have not released any details of the crime scene.’
Times and Tides of a Beachwriter 