Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005
- Автор: Dean David, Dempsey Timothy F.
- Год: 2005
- Язык: английский
- Год: Dell Magazines
- ISBN: ISSN 1054-8122
- Жанр: Другие детективы
Электронная книга - «Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 125, No. 3 & 4. Whole No. 763 & 764, March/April 2005». Краткое содержание книги:
The dog walker first saw the man when he was still some distance away. His heart thumped in his chest at the sight, a pit seemed to open in his stomach with such suddenness that it felt like he had been punched. Hard. For the second man was certainly dead, even from that distance, it was clear he was dead, ill clad for the weather and lying facedown. It was, then, not yet eight A.M. and the dog-walker thought he knew what had happened: A youth, out partying, for this was the season to be merry, had taken too much alcohol, decided to walk home, become hypothermic and dazed, finally collapsing to sleep his last sleep in the midst of lonely Askham Bogs. The dog-walker turned to the other man, for life might not yet be extinct; his dog, too, seemed to sense the urgency and trotted beside his owner. But the urgency was wasted. Upon closer inspection, the man lying on the cold, cold ground beneath a cold blue sky was dead. Clad only in a shirt and denims and the sort of shoes joggers wear, he was clearly deceased, his arm already rising in rigor. He was youthful; the man saw a pleasant-looking blond-haired youth of about twenty summers. A life cut short, tragically short. The man plunged his hand into his pocket and took out his mobile phone and noticed his dog’s reaction with interest: The dog, knowing death, curled up on the ground some distance from the body but looked at it intently. The man phoned the three nines. “...very dead, I’d say,” he said. “Life is not threatened... not anymore.”
The man pocketed his mobile and, calling his dog, he walked away from the body towards Tadcaster Road to await the police vehicle and the ambulance. He was standing on the pavement of Tadcaster Road when the police vehicle arrived, followed by the ambulance. They would have been dispatched separately, but had clearly met each other on the traffic-free, pre-rush-hour roads.
“Oh, he’s dead, all right,” the man said to the youthful-looking constable and the equally youthful-looking ambulance crew, both female. “I’m a doctor in general practice... life is extinct... you can’t see him from here, but that direction,” he indicated a route about ninety degrees from the road, “follow your nose, you’ll see him... fine-looking young man. At least he was.”
“Happens every winter,” the constable said with a cynicism that the man thought was beyond his years. “A youth, male or female, gets a skinful of alcohol, a walk home turns out to be not the walk they planned. I knew there’d be a death in this cold snap... just knew it.”
“Strange place to walk...”
“Sorry, sir? What do you mean?” The constable took out his notebook. “Can I have your name, by the way?”
“Clark, Jeremy, Dr...” He gave an address in the nearby Bishop-thorpe estate.
“What do I mean? Well, like you, I assumed this to be a tragedy, a young man with too much alcohol gets disorientated, but look where he is... He is wearing only denims and a shirt — you’ll see that when you view the body. Where did he come from and where was he going that he might end up in Askham Bogs?”
“That’s a point, sir.”
“It was freezing last night. If he left the nearest houses, which are where I live, he would have succumbed to the cold long before he reached the centre of the bogs; he probably wouldn’t even have left the house in such an ill-clad manner.”
“Ah...” The constable gazed towards the bogs, trees clad in a white frost, hoarfrost on the grass, a blue sky above.
“Just a thought,” Dr. Clark said, “but it may be prudent to treat this death as suspicious until you know otherwise.”
The constable reached for his collar-mounted radio and pressed the Send button. “PC three-four-seven to Control.”
“Control receiving,” the radio crackled.
“Location... opposite Askham Bogs on Tadcaster Road, ambulance crew already in attendance... Death confirmed by member of the public who is medically qualified... death may be suspicious. C.I.D. attendance requested.”
“Control... Understood... out.”
“Well, I will leave it with you.” Dr. Clark shook his dog’s lead. “We must be off. My surgery starts at eight A.M.”
George Hennessey looked down at the youth as the SOCO camera flashed. Like the dog-walker who had found the body, Hennessey was struck by the boy’s youthfulness and his good looks. Not a person who would have had any difficulty in attracting the girls, he thought, but he was now stiff with death. Soon his parents would be weeping. Dr. Mann, turban-headed, smartly dressed, approached Hennessey.
“Life is pronounced extinct at oh-eight-three-four, Chief Inspector,” Mann said.
“Oh-eight-three-four.” Hennessey noted the time in his notebook. “I’m sorry to have to drag you out here so early when a medical man has already pronounced death, but procedures have to be followed.”
“That’s perfectly all right, Chief Inspector.” The police surgeon smiled. “It is my job, I am honoured to do it.”
“Thank you.” Hennessey smiled.
“I can find no evidence to suggest the death is suspicious from a medical point of view,” Dr. Mann said. “No injuries, for example, but I do take the point that it’s a long way and a strange way to have walked by himself, especially so ill clad.”
“Noted,” Hennessey replied.
“But whatever, he can be removed to York City Hospital for the post mortem if you feel one ought to be performed.”
“I’d be happier,” Hennessey said softly. “Both yourself and the gentleman who found him are medical men, both of you are of the opinion that this is a long way for him to come by himself from the nearest house. I’d be happier to have a thorough examination of this young corpse.”
The scene-of-crime officer’s camera flashed again.
“The body is that of a well-nourished male of approximately twenty years of age.” Dr. Louise D’Acre spoke for the benefit of a microphone which was attached to an aluminium angle-poise arm, which in turn was attached to the ceiling of the pathology laboratory directly above the dissecting table. The body of the youth lay faceup on the table with a standard white towel placed over his coyly termed “private parts.” “There is no sign of outward injury... but I think you are right to be suspicious of this death, Chief Inspector.”
“Oh?” Hennessey, observing for the police, stood at the edge of the laboratory.
“Yes... you see this area of darkened skin, here down his left side?”
“Yes...”
“That is hypostasis. It’s caused by blood settling according to gravity. It means he was placed on his left side at death or shortly after and remained in the position for at least twelve hours. It takes that length of time for blood to solidify after the heart has stopped beating. Now, if the young man was found lying facedown, as I believe he was...”
“He was.”
“Well, in that case, it means he died elsewhere and was moved after his death.”
“That is suspicious.” Hennessey raised an eyebrow and glanced at Paul Fry, the mortuary attendant, who returned the glance with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders. Hennessey had time for Paul Fry; he had always found the short, rotund mortuary attendant to be a man of warmth and good humour, unlike many, nay, most other mortuary attendants that Hennessey had met. He had often wondered whether such dour men are drawn to the job because it has some macabre appeal for them or whether the job makes them sour, cynical, and humourless. But here was Paul Fry, who radiated like sunlight in this room of death and tragedy. “That and the fact he was so ill clad for the weather.”
“Any identification?”
“No... Nothing in his pockets — a till receipt and a credit-card receipt slip which we can trace him from, if it is his, but no wallet or similar. The till receipt is from a supermarket... seems to have bought food and cleaning materials — the sort of purchases a young man who lived alone would make, so we don’t think he lives at home.”