‘ King’s Cross Station left parcels office,’ Percy said. ‘A brown leatherette suitcase – the smell had alerted them again. Her legs and feet were inside. ’
‘ King’s Cross – he was a busy boy. No head or hands? ’
‘ Not yet. Hutch is calling in Scotland Yard. ’
Chief Detective Inspector Donaldson and Detective Sergeant Sorrell of Scotland Yard were already on their way down to Brighton. When they arrived they went into close conference with Hutch and Detective Inspector Pelling, our head of CID. The Scotland Yard blokes took over the case.
Tuesday 19th June
About fifty press men representing London and provincial newspapers were rushed to Brighton yesterday. They hang around in groups outside the police station day and night. For these first few days, they constantly invaded the station, pestering officers for information about the enquiry.
Sir Bernard Spilsbury came down today. The best-known forensic pathologist in the country. The top man. He spent three hours examining the woman’s remains. He confirmed immediately that the legs belonged to the torso – it was easy to see because the bones had been sawn through about two inches from the joints rather than at the joint. The flesh had first been cut with something sharp.
She’d been dismembered several hours after death and almost certainly after rigor mortis was well established. No anatomical knowledge or skill had been shown in the dismembering. Somebody who knew how to cut up carcasses would have known how to cut through the knee joints without needing a saw.
Spilsbury took the body’s internal organs back to London to try to establish cause of death. He announced the results of his examination before he went. I’m quoting here:
Putrefaction was advancing. The skin was moist and was peeling off, the surface discoloured. The abdomen was distended with putrefactive gas, also present under skin in other parts of the body.
There was no blood in the veins. The stomach had a small amount of partly digested food but no fluid. A little food was found in the lower part of the oesophagus. The intestines and its contents were healthy.
The uterus was enlarged and the cavity blown up. It contained a foetus that weighed six ounces. The vagina was rather large – the kind of thing you’d expect after full-term labour – but there were no other signs she’d already had a child (no pigmentation of the nipples, for instance). The size of the vagina could probably be accounted for by post-mortem softening of the tissues.
Nine long hairs were found. Some had been subjected to permanent wave, but not recently. Five hairs had light brown colour. The other four were shorter and devoid of any colour, being flaxen or grey. Probably bleached by exposure to sun in sunbathing. Her pubic hair was brown. The armpits were shaved a few days before death.
The fact there was no blood in the torso or legs and scarcely any in the trunk and case suggests the woman had been dismembered and then either subjected to pressure or movement – being carried for some distance? – before her remains were put in the boxes in which they were found.
Spilsbury made the deduction that she came from a reasonable income group partly because her size four- and-a-half feet lacked calluses – she was used to wearing good-quality, well-fitting shoes.
He put her age at between 21 and 28, not the 40 the police surgeon had suggested.
Spilsbury noted that the limbs in the suitcase were wrapped in paper that had been soaked in olive oil. There was also a face flannel and two copies of the Daily Mail, dated 31st May and 2nd June 1934. The case was new.
‘ Doctors and surgeons use olive oil to stop bleeding,’ Percy said, showing off his knowledge.
‘ Italian restaurants cook with it,’ I said, showing off mine.
‘ We’re lost without the head,’ Percy said. He scratched the dry skin that runs all round his hairline. ‘We’ve been assigned to help the Scotland Yard chappies. Council’s given up some space in the Royal Pavilion for the incident room so we’ll be shifting over there later today. ’
Kate’s phone rang, jerking her back to the present day. She realized night had fallen and that she had unconsciously brought the pages of the diary nearer and nearer to her face so that she could read it by the light spilling out of her sitting room.
Her answerphone clicked in. After the beep her father’s voice came on. ‘Babe,’ he said. Kate winced. ‘I need to talk to you. Call me on my mobile.’
In your dreams, Kate mouthed. She wondered whether to phone Bob Watts tomorrow, to let him know about this diary she’d discovered and the things in it. When she’d photocopied the documents she hadn’t thought to turn them over so they weren’t among his material.
She looked back at the pages she had just read. The poor woman. What Kate found most upsetting was the thought of Spilsbury examining the feet, which had been detached from the legs. She couldn’t help but think of him handling them as if they were a pair of shoes, turning them in his hands, this way and that.
The woman was pregnant. She wondered if that was the motive for her murder.
She went inside, replenished her glass and switched on her balcony light. She grabbed a throw from her sofa and wrapped it round her before returning to the balcony. She took a swig of her wine and picked up the pages again. The diary jumped a day.
Wednesday 20th June
We had the inquest today. It didn’t last long. Percy Scales gave evidence that we were called to the railway station to witness the opening of the trunk. The coroner announced that the dead woman had been expecting her first baby. He also stated that cause of death had not been ascertained. So much for Spilsbury’s talents. The inquest was adjourned until 18th July.
Brighton was full of reporters from all over the country. Those from the big papers in London stayed at the Grand. They seemed to have money to burn. They hung around in the pubs when they were open. When the pubs were closed thelittle cafe across the square from the Town Hall became the unofficial press headquarters.
They were very free with their hospitality with any policeman they saw in the pubs or the cafe. Hutch, the Chief Constable, was being a bit tight-mouthed – hardly ever had a press conference – so the reporters were trying to find out whatever they could on the QT.
‘ It’s like making bricks without straw,’ one of the London blokes complained to me in the pub this lunchtime, eyeing me furtively over his double whiskey. His name was Lindon Laing and I’d given him a few titbits before now, ever since he’d told me that his expenses were more than?3 a day.
‘ Don’t suppose the cloakroom attendant has remembered what the man who left the trunk looks like? ’
I shook my head. Poor Henry George Rout. The evening the trunk was deposited had been a busy one and he’s obviously not the most observant of men at the best of times. But he’d been cudgelling his brains ever since we opened the trunk trying to remember what the bloke who deposited it looked like. With no success.
I wanted to give the reporter something but I didn’t have anything of use. I told him about the bungalows.
‘ Big conference of Sussex Chief Constables yesterday. Decided to make a rigorous inspection of empty bungalows. ’
‘ Looking for the scene of the crime?’ When he grinned the reporter showed big teeth stained yellow from tobacco. He had long hairs curling from his nostrils.
‘ We need to know where the body was dismembered. ’
Ordinarily that would have done him for the day but my news was eclipsed by the fact that Hutch made a frank statement in the council chambers to around thirty newspapermen about Spilsbury’s findings. Particularly the bit about her being pregnant. He also appealed for help in identifying the young woman. This was the start of twice-daily press briefings.
Even so, press men continued to hang about outside the station. People coming to the station to make statements were intercepted and questioned. We had complaints, so usually we had to escort witnesses from the building by the back exits.
Taxicabs and press cars were kept in constant readiness outside the police station and when officers were despatched in motor cars to make enquiries, the press followed. We ended up going round the houses to reach our destinations.
Once the late evening’s papers were printed there was a sensation throughout the country. Within minutes of the publication of the appeal we were besieged with callers offering information. We all worked overtime that night but Hutch also got in a relay of clerks to take statements over the telephone.
Within about an hour of the appeal we had our first possible sighting of the torso murderer. I took the call
