When he’d finished Colin nodded solemnly. ‘It would
certainly explain a lot of things. The marks on the bones were in the sort of places you’d expect if somebody rather inexpert
was attempting a clumsy dissection. And these latest two have had the tops of their skulls removed – a post mortem craniotomy.
Whoever cut them up wanted to examine the brains.’ He went over to one of the trolleys and examined the bones lying on the
crisp white sheet. They were small and delicate. Wesley could tell by the appearance of the pelvis that it was a woman. ‘This
is one of the new ones brought in today. Again there’s no obvious cause of death but I can’t help thinking of Burke and Hare
up in Edinburgh in the 1820s. They got their victims drunk and asphyxiated them. Then they sold the bodies to the local medical
school for dissection.’
‘So you think we could be looking at Devon’s answer to Burke and Hare?’
‘Mind you, according to Neil, they date from the Elizabethan period.’ Colin took a deep breath. ‘A lot was going on in the
medical world during the late sixteenth century, you know. The ideas of the second-century writer Galen – the theory of the
four humours and all that – were still very much to the fore, as was astrology, but …’
‘Go on,’ said Wesley. He had a feeling that he was about to learn something interesting.
‘Well, dissection wasn’t unknown in the middle ages. It began to be used in fourteenth-century Bologna for the purpose of
teaching and research. Leonardo da Vinci performed dissections of course and produced some beautiful drawings. And then in
the 1540s Vesalius published
The Fabric of the Human Body
which included accurate illustrations of the body’s workings and transformed the study of anatomy – he dissected executed
criminals in
Padua, you know. Then, of course, at the start of the seventeenth century Harvey performed public dissections and discovered
the circulation of blood.’ He caught Wesley’s eye. ‘Sorry, Wesley, the history of medicine’s fascinated me ever since my student
days. Hope I’m not boring you.’
‘Far from it. If the bodies Neil found had been dissected, it fits in with what I’ve heard about Simon Garchard. He had no
medical school and no supply of executed felons so he had to get the corpses where he could.’
There was a long period of amicable silence before Wesley asked his next question. ‘I notice the child’s not here with the
others.’
Colin said nothing. He led Wesley through to another bare white room and slid out one of the mortuary drawers. When he gently
pulled the sheet aside, Wesley saw the skeleton lying there and his heart lurched. The bones seemed so small, so vulnerable.
This child had only been a couple of years older than his own son and the thought disturbed him.
‘I’ve been having a closer look at this one, Wesley. There’s no obvious cause of death but look, there are cut marks on the
ribs there and there. The cuts on these bones seem deeper and less controlled than the others. Consistent with a very clumsy
dissection.’
Wesley bent and stared obediently at the place where Colin’s gloved finger was pointing.
‘Any clue to his identity?’
‘From the coin and the other items found with the body we’re looking at the late nineteen thirties at the earliest, probably
a little later,’ Wesley said ‘We’re making enquiries, of course, but James Dalcott’s murder takes priority.’
Colin bowed his head. ‘Any progress?’
‘We’re following a few leads.’ Wesley realised he sounded evasive but he really couldn’t think of anything else to say. There
were so many tantalising possibilities but they had nothing solid as yet. Perhaps he would make a breakthrough when he visited
Roz Dalcott and Harry Parker – but he wasn’t counting on it.
When he reached the hospital entrance, he found Trish waiting, stamping her feet to keep warm, her hands thrust firmly into
her pockets against the damp wind blowing in from the river. When she spotted him she looked relieved.
‘Hope you weren’t waiting too long,’ he said.
She smiled enigmatically but didn’t reply.
They walked in silence and when they reached Trad Itions the gallery was still open. They could see Roz Dalcott inside, sitting
at an antique desk reading what looked like a magazine or catalogue of some kind. Wesley pushed open the shop door and a bell
jangled loudly.
Roz looked up eagerly, expecting a customer to relieve the boredom. But when she saw Wesley standing there with Trish hovering
behind, the welcoming smile that was starting to form on her lips turned into a scowl.
‘I’ve already told you everything I know. This is harassment.’
Wesley gave her a charming smile. ‘Sorry to bother you, Mrs Dalcott, but I’d just like a quick chat.’
Roz rolled her eyes to heaven and looked away. Hers was an expression he’d seen before on many a criminal’s wife or girlfriend.
It was the look of a woman who’s convinced that the police are persecuting her wronged partner.
‘Is Harry in?’
‘He’s gone out. It’s a free country.’
Wesley glanced at Trish. Their presence was really getting to Roz. Which was probably a good thing.
‘We’ve been going through his phone records. He’s been calling a couple of old friends – Syd Jenkins and Brian Carrack. Perhaps
you know them as your late husband’s next-door neighbours – Syd and Brian Trenchard. Funny how they vanished after James was
shot. You see, I can’t help making a connection between James’s death, their disappearance, and the fact that Harry knows
them from prison and he’s been ringing them. What do you think?’
She blustered for a few seconds, her manicured fingers flicking nervously through the pages of the catalogue on the desk,
playing for time.
‘You’re making this up,’ she said once she’d gathered her thoughts. ‘Harry’s always saying the police try to trick you. I
don’t know anything about this Syd and Brian. James mentioned a couple of men were renting the house next door – father and
son he said they were – but I don’t think he ever talked to them apart from to say hello. And Harry hasn’t said anything about
knowing them.’ She folded her arms over her growing bump and pressed her lips together in a stubborn line.
‘What time will Harry be back?’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ she said with brittle confidence. ‘He’s got nothing to hide.’
Wesley looked round the gallery. He hadn’t been in here before. Once he and Pam had got as far as looking in the window but,
after one glance at the prices, they’d walked on.
Suddenly a set of pictures in the far corner caught his eye. Blood-red oil on three large canvases. They were striking but
it was probably a good thing that they didn’t occupy a more prominent position – they were the sort of thing that would have
put him off his dinner. He walked over to them slowly, unable to take his eyes off the images of flayed flesh, parted to reveal
the inner workings of the body. He’d seen pictures very similar to these recently. Remarkably similar.
‘They’re Harry’s,’ Roz said with a hint of pride. ‘Brilliant, aren’t they?’
He saw that Trish was watching him and when their eyes met, she pulled a face. As an art critic, he thought, her tastes probably
matched his own. Although he couldn’t fault Parker’s technical skill, the subject matter certainly wouldn’t be to everyone’s
liking.
He cleared his throat. ‘They’re, er, very …’ He searched for the right word. ‘Very visceral.’ He hesitated. ‘Actually I’ve
seen something similar recently and I was wondering where Harry got his inspiration.’ Something told him that Harry Parker
must have seen those pictures behind the panelling at Tailors Court. He couldn’t believe the similarity was just a coincidence.
‘Has he ever visited a place called Tailors Court, owned by a couple called Tony and Jill Persimmon?’
‘I’ve never heard of them. He got the idea from the pictures upstairs – the ones we found behind the panels in the living
room. I thought they were disgusting but Harry … He said they were powerful and that they got to the root of the human condition.’
She sounded as if she was quoting him word for word. ‘Harry’s work’s too good for a little provincial gallery where most of
the punters just want pretty views of the River Trad. They should be exhibited in London if Harry’s to get the appreciation
he deserves.’
After that bravura display of loyalty, Wesley was lost for
words. He saw that Trish had turned away from Parker’s paintings and had begun to study a set of pretty river-scapes. Roz
gave her a brief look of contempt and stood up.
‘Can I have a look at the pictures upstairs?’ said Wesley innocently. ‘I’m really interested.’
Roz hesitated. Then she stood up, walked over to the shop door and turned the sign hanging there round to ‘Closed’ before
leading them upstairs. Wesley could sense suspicion in every guarded movement and he knew that she thought it was some sort
of ploy to gain access to the flat. But she probably couldn’t think of a valid reason to refuse without making it look as
if she had something to hide.
She opened the door to the living room and made for the fireplace. She pushed a section of panelling and, like the one at
Tailors Court, it slid back stiffly to reveal the roughly plastered wall beneath. Wesley could see that someone had drawn
on the wall – rough sketches of dissected human corpses; ribs drawn back to reveal the inner workings of the body; heart and
lungs with their attendant arteries.
‘I must admit I’m glad I don’t have to look at those things all day,’ Roz said.
‘I’m sure you are,’ Wesley replied. He studied the sketches more closely. These were slightly different from the ones at Tailors
Court. They were rougher and the proportions seemed slightly wrong, as though they had been drawn by a less talented hand.
‘What do you know about the history of this place?’
‘They’ve got a local history section in the library if you’re interested,’ she said with studied boredom. ‘Why?
Do you think they were done by some serial killer when he chopped up his victims?’ Wesley could hear the heavy sarcasm in
her voice. ‘I can tell you one thing for certain – they weren’t done by Harry. He’s got real talent.’
‘I’m sure he has,’ Wesley replied, resisting the mischievous urge to ask whether his talents also lay in the direction of
armed robbery and murder.
There was no sign of Harry Parker in the flat so it seemed that Roz was telling the truth when she said he was out. Wesley’s
suspicious mind had considered the possibility that she’d been lying to him. There was nothing more to be done until Parker
came back. Then he’d have some questions to answer about his old friends Syd and Brian.
As they returned to the shop, Wesley looked directly at Roz. She looked away, uncomfortable.
‘We need to talk to Harry. Tell him to call us when he gets back.’
Roz turned the shop sign back to ‘Open’. ‘And if he doesn’t want to?’
‘We come and get him. It’s his choice.’
She nodded. Message understood.
‘What was all that business with those awful pictures about?’ Trish asked as soon as they were outside.
‘There are some very similar pictures behind some panelling in a room at Tailors Court where those skeletons were found. But
I don’t think they were done by the same person,’ he said before going on to explain about the attic room and Colin’s findings
on the Tailors Court bones.
‘Lee Parsons is checking on missing children,’ she said quietly after a few moments. ‘But if the child’s skeleton really dates
back to the nineteen thirties or forties …’
‘We might never know who he was. Unless we find Mabel Cleary and she can throw some light on the matter.’
Trish said nothing as they walked back to the police station car park.
It was eight o’clock when Wesley arrived back home and Pam was waiting for him in the hall. She looked as though she had news
to impart. He gave her a swift kiss of greeting and waited.
‘Neil’s here,’ she said, nodding towards the living room door. ‘They’ve found more skeletons today.’
‘I know. I’ll just see the kids before …’ He could smell food and he realised that he hadn’t had anything to eat since his
visit to the Traceys’ farm. He was hungry and the last thing he felt like at that moment was more talk about skeletons – he’d
had his fill of the subject at the mortuary.
He hurried upstairs, taking two steps at a time, aware that Pam was watching him. When he looked in on the children he found
Amelia fast asleep, curled up with a small frown on her delicate face. Michael, however, was awake and reading. He was a serious,
scholarly child, just as Wesley’s parents claimed he had been. Wesley sat on the bed and, after a brief conversation about
school and a quick story, he said goodnight to his son and crept back downstairs.
When he entered the living room Neil was lounging in an armchair, quite at home. When he saw Wesley he grinned sheepishly.
‘I think I’ve just eaten your dinner. Sorry.’
Pam stood up and touched his arm. ‘I’ll see what’s in the freezer.’ From the way she hurried off leaving the two
men together, Wesley suspected that she’d had enough of Neil for the time being.
Wesley sighed and flopped down heavily on the sofa. ‘If you’ve found any more skeletons, I don’t want to know. I’m off duty.’
‘I didn’t think policemen were ever off duty,’ Neil said before taking a final sip from the half-empty mug of tea in his hand.
‘And these are particularly interesting ones because the tops of the skulls were removed post mortem.’
‘I know. I’ve seen them.’
Neil looked a little disappointed.
‘How many more skeletons are down there, do you think?’
‘Hopefully none. We’ve investigated all the geophysics anomalies now so …’
‘Thank God for that,’ said Wesley. ‘Not that the old ones are my problem. I was just afraid there might be more like the child’s
– it’s a boy, by the way.’
‘Poor little bugger. You’ll keep me informed, won’t you?’
Suddenly Wesley remembered something. Something important that tiredness and the pressure of the case had temporarily driven
from his mind. ‘I don’t know if you’ve managed to find out much about the history of Tailors Court.’ He paused for effect.
‘Or rather Flesh Tailor’s Court.’