An Amateur Corpse (24 page)

And on the morning Charles had visited him in his office, Geoffrey had been wearing new shoes.

Charles looked round. There was only one obvious place to dispose of a pair of shoes. You could throw them into the bushes, but there they'd be retrieved by the first nosey dog who came along. But in the bonfire.

After all, so long as suspicions were held off for four days, the evidence would be burnt publicly and no one any the wiser. And as soon as Geoffrey heard about Hugo's arrest, he could relax. He had only to wait till November 5th to be absolutely secure.

But sour Reggie had reckoned the fire was out of control and it had been doused by the fire brigade. There was still that soggy mess of ash. If Geoffrey had shoved the shoes into the middle at the bottom to be inconspicuous, there was a long chance that they might still be there.

Charles scrabbled through the damp debris of ash, half-burnt sticks and charred rubbish by the light of his torch. He spread it all flat on the ground. There was nothing big enough to be a shoe. One half of a heel might have come from a lady's sandal, but otherwise nothing.

He sat down deflated, mindless of the debris. Oh well, it had been a good idea. Too easy though, really. Geoffrey wasn't stupid. He'd have found a way round the shoes, scrapped them or changed them, destroyed them at home. Or just put them high enough in the bonfire to ensure that they would burn quickly.

No, the case was over. Charles put one hand down on the ground to lever himself up.

And felt close round a soft flesh-like lump.

He had the object up in his torch-beam. At first it seemed to be a plastic-covered ball, which had survived by rolling to the bottom of the fire before it was doused. It was shapeless and blackened with ash.

But then he saw that it had once been a pair of plastic gloves, rolled together. Now deformed and fused by the heat, but recognizably a pair of gloves.

But that wasn't what brought a catch of excitement to his throat. It was the fact that the gloves had been wrapped around something. Something soft.

The melted plastic had made a little envelope which gave easily to his fingernail. Inside, preserved like a packet on the supermarket shelf, was a handkerchief.

A blue and white handkerchief he had last seen when Geoffrey Winter had lent it to him in the Back Room. On the night of Charlotte's murder.

The brown smudge across it showed why it had been thrown away to be burned in the fire.

It was blood.

Blood that could be identified by a police laboratory.

Blood from' the scratch on Charlotte Mecken's neck.

And was it fanciful for Charles to catch a hint of a familiar expensive scent?

As expected, the police took a lot of convincing. When he first started to expound his reconstruction of events, Charles could feel how unlikely it sounded.

But when he showed them the handkerchief, they got more interested. After about an hour they agreed to go up to the common with him to look at the bonfire. A plain-clothes man and a uniformed constable.

They didn't talk much. They inspected the scene and started assessing times and distances. Charles didn't push his luck by saying anything.

Eventually the plain-clothes man spoke. ‘Well, it's just possible. Of course, we won't really know until we get this handkerchief looked at by forensic. But I think we'll go and talk to Mr Winter, get his version of events. Where did you say he lived?'

‘He won't be there at the moment. He's rehearsing a show for the Breckton Backstagers.'

The rehearsal was in full swing when they arrived. The cast were doing the awakening of the statue of Hermione.

The queen stood frozen centre stage, with Geoffrey as Leontes on one side of her and Mary Hobbs as Paulina on the other. Vee, as Perdita, knelt behind her husband. By her side stood Clive Steele as Florizel.

As Charles and the policemen entered at the back of the rehearsal room, Geoffrey was declaiming. They stood in silence while he continued.

‘O! thus she stood,

Even with such life of majesty, – warm life,

As now it coldly stands, – when first I woo'd her.

I am asham'd: does the stone rebuke me

For being more stone than it? Oh –'

As he acted, Geoffrey took them in. Charles could see the pale grey eyes flicker from him to the uniformed policeman, then to the plain-clothes man and finally come to rest on the soiled handkerchief which the detective was still holding gingerly in front of him.

When Geoffrey saw the handkerchief, his voice wavered. There was a little gasp like the beginning of a giggle.

The supposed statue of Hermione let out the snort of a suppressed laugh. Then Mary Hobbs went off into uncontrollable giggles. Vee and Clive started laughing too.

None of them knew what the joke was, but soon all the Backstagers in the room were roaring their heads off. It was one of those moments that often happen at rehearsal, when suddenly a tense scene breaks down into the ridiculous. A mass ‘corpse'.

Gradually, one by one, the actors stopped, slowing down to gasping breaths, and wiping tears from their eyes. Then they turned to look, with growing concern, at Geoffrey Winter.

But he just kept on laughing.