‘If the coroner decides so. If he has any suspicion about the death, he’ll call up someone from the Home Office list, not a jobbing pathologist like Shinwari.’
Diamond said in disbelief, ‘The Twinings were thought to be routine suicides?’
‘Hanging is, as a general rule. Firearm deaths and overdoses are more open to doubt. So is jumping off a building. If you want to do away with someone and pass it off as suicide, you’re unlikely to choose hanging.’
This was crucial to the suspicions Diamond had been forming. He needed expert help here. ‘Haven’t you ever come across a case of murder by hanging? Or murder dressed up as a hanging?’
‘Personally, no,’ Jim said. ‘It’s extremely rare. Off-hand, I can think of only two cases in recent times. There’s Roberto Calvi, that Italian banker found on the end of a rope under Blackfriars Bridge. There were suspicions that he was murdered first. You had the double ligature mark around the neck. Keith Simpson, the pathologist, decided the two marks were caused by the movement of the rope when the body was shifting in the water and subject to the tide. He went for suicide. But there have been at least three inquiries since, and it’s still an open question. Incidentally, one of the suspicious points was that the rope was fastened with a slip knot.’
‘Really? Like Danny Geaves.’
‘Yes. And the other suicidal hanging that some people say was suspicious was that of Rudolf Hess, the old Nazi in Spandau Prison. Once again, it was the mark that created doubt. It ran horizontally, rather than in the inverted ‘V’ that is typical. Several experts have concluded that Hess was strangled. But these are very unusual cases.’
‘Coming back to the Twinings, these reports are useless, then?’
Jim smiled. ‘He’s got the dates right. And the places.’
‘Big deal.’
‘It’s a pity there aren’t any photos. If these had been forensic autopsies, you’d have more to work with. This far on in time, an exhumation wouldn’t tell you much.’
‘Wouldn’t tell us anything. The Twinings were cremated. Thanks, anyway, Jim. You’re a star.’
The prospect of stardom didn’t appeal to Jim. ‘I don’t want publicity. It’s off the record, everything I’ve said. If this man comes before the Medical Council, I don’t wish to testify.’
‘He won’t. He’s scarpered.’
‘As long as that’s clear. And you will see about that licence?’
‘Licence?’
‘For the tea dances.’
Just in time, Diamond remembered. He winked and tapped the side of his nose with his finger. ‘Consider it done, old friend.’
For some minutes after Jim Middleton had left, Diamond pondered what he had learned. Dr Shinwari’s borrowings from Glaister meant that the autopsy reports were worthless, but it didn’t alter the fact that a couple had been found hanging two years ago in circumstances remarkably similar to Delia and Danny, in public places, the woman first, and then the man a day or so after. There had to be a link. His priority was to find what those four people had in common.
Keith Halliwell put his head around the door, usually the cue for a coffee. Not this morning.
‘Guv. We’ve been looking all over for you. That pathologist was here.’
‘Seen him. He’s left now.’
‘You were in here all the time?’
He exaggerated slightly. They didn’t need to know he’d turned up late for work, or where he’d spent the night. ‘When I walked through the office you weren’t about.’
‘I know. I was chasing all over the building.’
‘What’s the panic, Keith?’
‘There’s been another hanging.’
29
‘W here?’
‘You know the big stone gates at Victoria Park? She’s suspended from one of the arches.’
‘She?’
On the short drive to the scene he was silent. Try as he did to suppress the memory of three years ago, driving to Royal Victoria Park to view his beloved Steph, he could not stop the thoughts crowding in. He told himself repeatedly that he was over the shock, but an event such as this still had the power to ambush his confidence. He folded his arms so that Halliwell wouldn’t see his hands trembling.
Put your mind on the bloody job, he told himself. You’re a professional.
The professional analysis was this. He was faced with one more dead body in the series, no question. The location, a public place, fitted the pattern. Some macabre point was being made each time. The victims had to be exposed to public view, however briefly, before they were discovered and taken down.
The gateway to the Royal Victoria Park consists of two arches on either side of the road that are not arch- shaped at all, but perpendicular. Said to be ‘triumphal’ and in the Greek Revival style, they were built in 1830 to a design by Edward Davis. To Peter Diamond’s eye they had the look of something made from a child’s building blocks. He’d never liked them.
A patrol car with roof light flashing was parked across the road to prevent traffic from entering the park, and diversion signs were in place. Tapes had been drawn across to keep the inevitable gawpers well back. A crime scene photographer was getting pictures.
The dead woman was hanging on white plastic cord from the centre crosspiece of the right-hand arch. Framed by the massive pillars she appeared child-like in size. She was clothed in a pink sweater and white jeans and was without shoes. Because of the twist of the head, forced outwards by the cord, her dark, almost black, hair, covered most of her face.
‘And you are…?’
Diamond found himself addressed by a man in a white paper suit.
‘Diamond, CID. Who are you?’
‘Diamond.’ He was writing the name on a clipboard. ‘Rank?’
‘Didn’t you hear? I asked you a question.’
‘Gledhill, scene manager.’
‘Pleased to meet you. I’m a detective superintendent.’
Gledhill wrote it. ‘The SIO, I take it?’
‘You can take it, yes. And you’re a civilian?’
‘A professional crime scene investigator.’
‘Not one of us, then.’
‘Does that make any difference to you, superintendent?’
‘Just getting it clear in my mind.’ These jobs were often contracted out. Privatisation had become a feature of crime investigation. There were companies equipped to do all the forensic jobs, and presumably Georgina or someone from the nick had called in Gledhill’s lot at an early stage. ‘So what can you tell me?’
‘About the body?’
‘I wasn’t asking how you spent your holidays.’
Gledhill didn’t know it, but this irritability had a lot to do with Diamond’s guilt about getting here late.
‘The call came in at six twenty this morning. She was spotted by the driver of a milk-float. A response car got here at six forty or thereabouts and I may as well tell you they contaminated the scene trying to see if she was still alive, which she plainly was not. We were contacted at seven twenty-five and our arrival was logged at eight ten, more than an hour ago. I assumed CID would be here before this.’
It was like a reprimand and it struck home. Diamond counterpunched. ‘You can assume what you like, Sunny Jim. What have you done in all this time? Why isn’t the corpse screened off? She’s entitled to some respect.’
‘Our equipment isn’t geared to this sort of situation. You’d need screens three metres tall.’
‘Rig up some plastic sheeting. Tie a rope between that lamppost and the tree. You do have plastic
