‘No, it wasn’t like that. It was on sideways and flattened. Like she’d been hit.’
‘She probably had been hit. If what you, say about the wooden cover being in place is true, she didn’t go down there of her own volition. But you still can’t give any precise indication of her age?’
‘Well,’ said Barney, ‘bits of her looked young and bits didn’t. That’s all I know.’
‘Which bits?’ asked the Inspector, hoping to hell Barney wasn’t going to start on that hand again.
‘Well, her legs didn’t look right for her teats if you see what I mean.’ Inspector Flint didn’t. ‘They were all thin and crumpled-up like.’
‘Which were? Her legs or her teats?’
‘Her legs, of course,’ said Barney. ‘I’ve told you she had these lovely great…’
‘We’re treating this as a case of murder,’ Inspector Flint told the Principal ten minutes later. The Principal sat behind his desk and thought despairingly about adverse publicity.
‘You’re quite convinced it couldn’t have been an accident?’
‘The evidence to date certainly doesn’t suggest accidental death,’ said the Inspector. ‘However, we’ll only be absolutely certain on that point when we manage to reach the body and I’m afraid that is going to take some time.’
‘Time?’ said the Principal. ‘Do you mean to say you can’t get her out this morning?’
Inspector Flint shook his head. ‘Out of the question, sir,’ he said. ‘We are considering two methods of reaching the body and they’ll both take several days. One is to drill down through the concrete and the other is to sink another shaft next to the original hole and try and get at her from the side.’
‘Good Lord,’ said the Principal, looking at his calendar, ‘but that means you’re going to be digging away out there for several days.’
‘I’m afraid it can’t be helped. Whoever put her down there make a good job of it. Still, we’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible.’
Out of the window the Principal could see four police cars, a fire engine and a big blue van. ‘This is really most unfortunate,’ he murmured.
‘Murder always is,’ said the Inspector, and got to his feet. ‘It’s in the nature of the thing. In the meantime we are sealing off the site and we’d be grateful for your co-operation.’
‘Anything you require,’ said the Principal, with a sigh.
In the Staff Room the presence of so many uniformed men peering down a pile hole provoked mixed reactions. So did the dozen policemen scouring the building, site, stopping now, and then to put things carefully into envelopes, but it was the arrival of the dark blue caravan that finally clinched matters.
‘That’s a Mobile Murder Headquarters.’ Peter Fenwick explained. ‘Apparently some maniac has buried a woman at the bottom of one of the piles.’
The New Left, who had been clustered in a corner discussing the likely implications of so many paramilitary Fascist pigs, heaved a sigh of unmartyred regret but continued to express doubts.
‘No, seriously.’ said Fenwick. ‘I asked one of them what they were doing. I thought it was some sort of bomb scare.’
Dr Cox, Head of Science, confirmed it. His office looked directly on to the hole. ‘It’s too dreadful to contemplate,’ he murmured. ‘Every time I look up I think what she must have suffered.’
‘What do you suppose they are putting into those envelopes?’ asked Dr Mayfield.
‘Clues.’ said Dr Board, with evident satisfaction. ‘Hairs. Bits of skin and bloodstains. The usual trivial detritus of violent crime.’
