By Lundy Langer
June 17 2012

Authors note  - The plot thins as they say – and a new character  emerges from the  foetid imagination of yours truly.  

Chapter four   -   Monday Morning   Sergeant Malcolm   faces a complaint  ; A Doctor is worried  ;   Why the head was removed   - and  the camera never lies.

Shortly after reporting into the  squad room on Monday morning    Sergeant Malcolm  was sat at his desk reviewing the events of the week end.   Blunt had gone home  having postponed the daily briefing until midday when they hoped to have further reports from the  Pathology people on the head and the likely cause of death.

He was interrupted in his musings by  the desk sergeant who wanted him to help attend to a very irate person  at the main reception   who wanted to speak to whoever was in charge.  “I suppose that’s me then“ he grumbled and followed the desk sergeant out to reception  where on the other side of the counter stood a thin  ratty looking man wearing of all things a very old and dirty Leicester Tigers shirt  and a woolly hat. 

“I want to register an official complaint“  he said in a thin reedy voice .

“Yes Sir and what would that be about?” asked Malcolm.

“Yesterday on the canal  this cruiser thing    suddenly turned about with no warning and  came straight at my  vessel  with its owner or whatever shouting and gesticulating at me      and then shot off back down the water  at what is known to be an illegal speed for  the waterways.“

Malcolm stared hard at the man   who suddenly   looked rather worried and  confused. 

“ t was you“  said the man   “It was you that cut me up on the water. And you swore  quite atrociously  at me  - do you know- do you know   that my children who with me had to listen to that foul language.“ 

Malcolm continued to look steadily at  man  in the Tigers shirt.  

“Yes Sir  that was me   and it was a police emergency”     Replied Malcolm evenly. 

“What utter nonsense  “ declared the man  -  “ I intend to make an official complaint  about your behaviour  - I shall take this higher“.

Malcolm remained calm “ Very well Sir let’s start again shall we and do this properly. -  what is your name ?“

“My name?“  exclaimed the man  “My name?   – it’s your name , rank and number that I want   so that I can  - er  -write to the chief constable.“ 

“Right Sir  - I am Detective Sergeant Frank Malcolm  and I am sure that the Chief Constable will be thrilled to hear from you.  Oh and one other thing   - why were you on the river on Saturday morning – I mean  - he said looking pointedly at the man’s shirt  - you aren’t from round here are you?”

The man   moved away towards the double doors that led out of the police station    “ Why I am here is my business  but I can assure you have not heard the last of  Gordon March”  And with a haughty  toss of his head  a gesture that didn’t quite work under a woolly hat he pushed his way out into the street.

Frank Malcolm returned to his desk in the squad room  muttering about pillocks with nothing better to do. True he was technically out of order  in both his sudden manoeuvring  of the boat  and he had  shouted   at the  other vessel to get out his way . Had he sworn at it – probably  - after all he was rather  exercised by the need to get the  grisly evidence on his rear deck back to the pathologists and report his find to Blunt.

Funny though – he thought  -   don’t remember seeing any children on that other boat. He also remembered that  during the  whole incident that other boat, apart from his own, had been only one moving that Saturday morning on the water.  Malcolm made a mental note to  check out Mr March and his boat.

Lionel Rathbone aged 47  was a very successful and respected orthopaedic surgeon  based at Midhampton General Hospital who  also consulted widely  on Sports injuries  for  several soccer clubs and of course rugby clubs in the East Midlands.   He lived in a large house  overlooking  Abingdon Park   with his seventeen year old son Joshua.  His wife had divorced him some two years ago on grounds of incompatibility   and was now living  in  St Malo   with a young painter of dubious seascapes  but proven  vigour.

This hardly bothered Rathbone who was a man very much in control. His precise approach to his work and  calm urbane manner  when dealing with both patients and colleagues   had he believed earned him  the respect of his peers and everyone who came into contact with him.  To all concerned he represented the epitome of professional competence  and   probity.  It was an image he relished , cultivated and protected.

He employed a house keeper  and  was generally satisfied   with  living essentially alone with his son Joshua who was  a year 12 pupil at the  well -known and respected Midhampton Collegiate Boys School.

So far Rathbone’s domestic arrangements had worked well but in the last few weeks  there had been a problem with Joshua. The boy was staying out very late at weekends   and had become withdrawn and quite taciturn.  He had come in  late again on  Sunday night  and Rathbone was  waiting  at the breakfast table for the boy to appear.

When he did appear at about 9.15   he entered the breakfast room dressed only in a dressing gown and sat down with saying word.  He reached for the coffee jug and poured himself a mug  of coffee. 

Rathbone waited  but no word came from Joshua.  .  As Rathbone  waited Joshua   took out a packet of cigarettes, a lighter and lit up a cigarette. 

Rathbone  spoke  - his voice was tight  as he fought to control his concern and his anger at the sight of his son  blatantly smoking in this  - his house.  “So how long have you been doing that“ – he said waiving a hand in disgust at the smoke.

“ What’s it to you “   grunted Joshua.

Rathbone who was usually so articulate  and so controlled -  slammed his hand down on the table top.   

“Don’t be impertinent“ he shouted  “I will not have smoking in this house – in fact I will not have you smoking at all” 

Joshua scowled and   got up and made to leave the room  but turned back as his father  seemed to compose himself visibly and said “ Look I’m sorry if I lost my temper it’s just that   -  Look where were you last night?.

“Out with friends as if its any of your business“ replied Joshua. 

“Where did you go?  what friends?  - are they from School“ asked Rathbone. 

“Went to a club if you must know  with some guys I know“  - and with that he walked out.

Rathbone remained seated at the breakfast table  and poured himself another coffee.  Out with some guys he knows and  going to a club.- he mused  -  Well I suppose it’s what young men do nowadays but he also thought  we had better  keep an eye on things   - after all which club he was visiting  and who with ?  was for Rathbone a matter of  some concern – even more so than the apparent   fury over the  rebellious cigarette.  After all it wasn’t just  17 year old boys who had their secrets.

 Later that day  - The Pathology suite at Midhampton General.

Sergeant Malcolm had been sent by Inspector Blunt to attend the examination of the  victims head and to learn whatever the pathologist could tell him.  Blunt did not like post mortems  and despite his bluster was well known for being ever so slightly squeamish.  So it was that Malcolm  attended  as he was  wont to do. 

He stood behind the glass observation screen as the head pathologist  Russell Miller  worked on the victims remains. At last Miller  stopped whatever he was doing  and   came away from the table on which the body and its separate head lay.    He removed his gloves   and came  around the screen to face Sergeant Malcolm.

“Well Sergeant I think we can work out why the head was separated from the body and an attempt was made to dispose of it in the canal.“  Malcolm  looked at him and waited for more.

“The victim was shot once at close range between the eyes  with a small calibre  weapon probably a .22  pistol.  Thing is that  a small calibre weapon will kill  with a head shot but unlike larger calibre  weapons there is rarely an exit wound.  The bullet just  whizzes about a bit in then skull  and stays there.“

“So where does that leave us“  asked Malcolm?

“OK said Miller  - we don’t like to speculate as you know   but  at a guess and it’s only a guess  I would suggest that the  killer knew this about the weapon he used  and knew that  if we could recover the bullet we might be able to trace the gun hence the severed head and the attempt to dispose of it in the canal.. And before you ask  -we have got the bullet and that will be going off to ballistics  immediately . We should know something by tomorrow afternoon. 

At the same time  as Frank Malcolm   was listening  to the suppositions of the pathologist -   Ivan Spinks was sat in the empty bar area of Club 69 with his manager  Ronnie . They were both studying a lap top screen that was showing  the CCTV tapes from the last weekend. 

“There they are “  said Ronnie “ just look at them with their placards “ He pointed to the screen at the image of a group of people who were indeed waving placards.  The image was not clear but you could make out words  “ Hell awaits you “ and  Sodomy is sin“  on several of the placards being held by the otherwise anonymous group of about five people.”

“Can’t tell who any of them are can we“  said Spinks  

“Well “ replied Ronnie“  Move it on a bit  there’s some better shots   from the door cam.  There - look!“  

They both looked hard at the new image  “ well I never “  exclaimed Spinks  That’s  that rugby player who got himself murdered. What the heck is doing there.?    It was as they correctly assumed the late Joe Falattu   and he appeared to be walking away from the club doors .  He was dressed casually in what looked like jeans and a light blue  sweater of some sort.”  What’s he carrying – there in his hand “ said Ronnie  .  “Looks like papers – leaflets?    offered Spinks . 

They continued to watch   “Hang on stop it there “   - ordered Spinks . Ronnie did so and they both looked at the frozen image.   Falattu  appeared to be  in conversation with a tall man wearing a dark suit . 

“Ok roll it but slowly“  said Spinks.   “Now that is interesting  look at that“ .   On  the screen  Falattu  appeared to follow the man in a suit and get into a car. It drove away out of shot.

Spinks  was thinking   - Nothing to identify the god squad nutters who were ruining his business but  if he played it right  what a responsible citizen he would be .  “Ok Ronnie stop the tape  and give to me – I know of someone who would be very interested in this.