02 – Cole: The Case
THE carriage had been rumbling over the wet cobblestones for only a few minutes, yet it already felt like an eternity. Restlessly, Cole drummed his fingers on his suit case. He was burning to dive into this case at last, for he needed it more than ever. It was his last chance, and every silent minute felt like time lost from the investigation.
His desperation had grown so great that he had even brought along the woman he intended to impress with his success. If he failed here, it would be over for good, and there was no way back to his former profession. He had closed that door on himself years ago.
“Mr Dellaware, I don’t mean to press, but what can you tell me about the case so far?“ Cole asked, unwilling to wait until they reached the police station.
The inspector stroked his moustache and dismissed the question with a polite wave. “Everything is in the file in my office. Every detail is recorded in strict chronological order and is available to you.“
“I’ll read it, of course, but I’m interested in your personal assessment. You worked on these cases. You must have formed an opinion.“ Cole knew well enough that reports contained only what superiors wished to read. The true details came either from witnesses’ lips or were whispered by police officers behind closed doors.
Dellaware understood at once. He twisted his moustache, as if trying to wring out his inner tension. “You want to know what I think?“ he asked, visibly hesitant, like someone who was rarely believed.
Cole nodded. “Feel free to speak openly.“
“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of all this.“
“Why not?“
“Because these mummies defy explanation. They simply shouldn’t exist!”
Cole glanced briefly at Diana, hoping she might have something to add. But he would never press her. The beautiful young woman was sensitive and shy, qualities hardly expected when visiting her at work. Yet she was his Angel, his Muse and the lighthouse in his turbulent life. Winning her heart was his only motivation for taking on even the most hopeless cases, in the hope of sparking her interest. Even if it was only her interest in the corpses he carried to her dissecting table from particularly tricky cases.
Diana was the daughter of a famous physician, and her expectations for a future husband were high. Or, to put it more accurately, her father’s expectations were enormous. The only acceptable candidates were men of considerable wealth or a distinguished career.
Fortunately, the father was not here, and Cole glimpsed a chance for a dinner with Diana. Unlike in Windchurch, she could not hide behind excuses here. Perhaps this was his last chance; if he failed to solve this case, it would truly be over.
“Diana, my dear,“ he said gently, inviting her into the conversation, “you are rather more knowledgeable than I. How can a body become mummified?“
The young woman puffed out her cheeks and made two attempts to answer. Cole smiled faintly, finding the way she searched for the right words utterly charming. Like Cole, she disliked saying anything that might be wrong.
But Dellaware spared her from having to speak. He leaned forward and cast both of them a meaningful look. “These are not normal mummies. Otherwise Mr Craven would have called in an Egyptologist or another expert in the field.“ He beckoned Cole closer with a finger, as though afraid of his next words: “The deceased had been seen the day before, and none of them seemed to have the devil at their heels. By the next morning, they were dead; completely dried out, as if they had lain in salt for years.“
Mummified within twelve to twenty-four hours? Impossible!
The simplest solution would be that the bodies had been swapped to create a false trail. But Cole could not imagine that had not already been considered.
“Was there any trace of salt?“ Diana asked.
Dellaware shook his head. “Nothing at all. Only dust.“
“What kind of dust?“
“From the mummies, of course,“ the inspector explained. “They were so dry that their skin crumbled at the slightest touch… it basically turned to dust.“
Cole looked at Diana, questioning whether she could make sense of this description, but she too probably struggled with the alleged timeframe. No adult mummified in a single day.
It could only be a forgery, then. Cole kept this idea to himself for the time being. It would be difficult enough to fish blindly in troubled waters while trying to impress Diana. After all, she would tell her father everything, and in the end he would have the final say over whom his daughter was permitted to associate with. If he voiced theories aloud, they had to be sound.
Diana leaned slightly toward the inspector. “Have you considered that it might be a disease?“
“A disease?“ Glenn looked at her with concern. A faint pallor spread across his face as he sank back into his seat.
Impossible.
Cole was no doctor, but he had never heard of a disease that drained all water from a body overnight. Even if it were so, there would have been traces left on the ground. In his view, everything had a logical explanation, though he had despaired over many cases. Criminals could be astonishingly inventive in hiding their tracks.
The inspector pursed his lips and stroked his moustache again. “Best not to speak the word ‘disease’ too loudly.
The people are frightened enough as it is. Lately there’s even been talk of curses.“
That is pure superstitious nonsense. Cole shook his head. “Whoever started that rumour should be fired.“
Dellaware grinned. “That will be difficult with Judge McBridge.“
“The judge is fuelling fear of curses?“ Diana asked in disbelief.
“How did the Judge arrive at that conclusion?” Cole asked, equally perplexed. “Is he that superstitious?”
Glenn snorted. “It’s a strange story. Egon McBridge has been our judge for ten years. He was always a down-to-earth man, strict but fair. He never believed in anything like witchcraft, magic, or such nonsense. But suddenly, he began to take quite a liking to it.“
“When did this change become noticeable?“ Cole pressed further.
“Well,“ Glenn stroked his moustache again, “it’s hard to say exactly. It happened gradually over the course of the year.“
“Did the judge suffer an accident, or something of the sort?“ Diana asked.
“Head injuries or other trauma can sometimes cause a change in behaviour.“
Glenn grinned again. “That would explain a lot in this town, but not Mr McBridge’s behaviour.“
If no illness was involved, then something else had triggered the shift. Money, perhaps.
“You won’t find anything in the file about our judge’s change in character,“ Dellaware said, beckoning Cole over once more and continuing in a conspiratorial tone. “In my opinion, it started around the beginning of the year, when our librarian, Mr Alliston, retired early for health reasons.“
“Were they close?“ Cole asked.
“No, quite the opposite. They were like cat and dog.
It even went so far that the judge was banned from the library. Then Alliston left, and with the new librarian, Mr Woods, Judge McBridge got on famously from the start. One might think they had known each other for years,“ the inspector said. “They began meeting regularly in the library, and whatever they did there, it got its hooks into our honourable judge. Since then, he’s spoken more and more of ghosts and witches.“
Very peculiar. Who stood to gain by turning a rational judge into a superstitious fool?
“Perhaps he became obsessed with something. There are plenty of tales based on real events,“ Cole mused aloud.
“Like those horror novels with cursed dolls and such?“ Diana interjected.
“For example.“ Yet Cole was not so foolish as to dismiss the judge’s behavior as mere coincidence or gullibility.
If a down-to-earth man suddenly became engrossed in ghost stories and thereby fueled the town’s fears, it warranted investigation. Whether this Mr Woods was exerting any influence over him, however, was something Cole would only discover by visiting him in person.
In Cole’s experience, though, it would not be the first judge to veer into conspiracy theories and corrupt schemes. Usually, they followed hidden powers behind the scenes and were handsomely paid for it. But for what purpose would the judge spread this unrest? Who profited from it?
“Did this change of interest affect his work as a judge?“ Sometimes the verdicts themselves betrayed who was pulling the strings.
Dellaware shook his head, then nodded as if unable to decide. “He always judged by the law, until it came to the witch.“
Witch? Had Cole just misheard him? Diana seemed equally confused, and they exchanged questioning glances. Even the inspector seemed to doubt his own words, rubbing his face as if all this speculation had exhausted him. “I never understood it either. Nancy had been our quirky old ‘village witch’ for over sixty years. People went to have their fortunes told, or to buy some potion when the hens were not laying enough eggs. She was completely harmless, and I think most people simply visited her to unburden themselves of their daily worries. Rumour has it even Sir Jones went to her from time to time.“
The name rang a bell in Cole’s mind. It had appeared in the newspaper. “Sir Jones?“
“That’s the man killed by the dogs. That’s where it all began to escalate in the town. Shortly after, the first mummies appeared, and the townspeople demanded someone to blame.“
Everything fell into place. McBridge stoked fears of curses and sorcery, and then presented the well-known village witch as the source of all evil.
Cole looked out the window and immediately spotted a few armed men on the sidewalks.
Seems the so-called culprit didn’t satisfy them for long,
he thought bitterly.
“Can I speak with the witch?“
“Unfortunately, no.“
“Why not?“
“She was killed.“
“Who murdered her?“ Diana asked. “Surely not the judge?“
Dellaware shook his head immediately. “Never. Witch Nancy vanished without a trace from her cell just two days after her conviction. McBridge gave Craven hell, demanding she be found. And she was, but not in the way the judge wanted. They found her body in the moor.“ He drew a finger across his throat, describing without words the old woman’s fate. “Just three days ago.“
“No sign of the murderer?“ Cole asked.
“None. Absolutely nothing.“
“May I see the body?“ Diana wanted to know.
“I’m afraid not. She was cremated the same day.“
So quickly? That is highly unusual.
“I’d like to read the indictment,“ Cole requested. Somehow, it had a bad taste. No one simply vanished from a cell. Someone had helped her escape, and Cole would wager his eye that there were accomplices within the police force.
The inspector nodded. “It’s at the court. We can go there tomorrow.“
“Have there been any more mummifications since Nancy’s death?“ Diana asked, which Dellaware denied.
“The mummies appeared between Sir Jones’ death and Nancy’s conviction. But as the dogs are still being sighted, it may only be a matter of time before more incidents occur. Sometimes there are several days between them.“
“What can you tell me about the mummified victims?“ Cole pressed on. “Who were they?“
Dellaware shrugged. “Ordinary people. The bookbinder Mr Henson, his wife, and a few days later, Notary Flynn.“
“Are there witnesses?“
“Yes and no,“ Dellaware replied. “The Hensons had a sixteen-year-old daughter who disappeared the night of the mummification. We have been searching for Emily ever since, but so far only vague traces of her remain. Mr Craven hopes you will assist in finding her. She’s a crucial witness.“
“What makes you so sure she is still in Fenhole?“ By now she could be miles away, and a search of the surrounding countryside would be pointless.
“There have been thefts at several farms along the forest edge.“ Dellaware ticked them off on his fingers. “The Morris Farm, the Stubbs family, the Elliott family, and the Blue Marsh Farm.“
“What was stolen?“
“Bread, fruit, cod liver oil, blankets, coal, matches, cider, and smoked sausage.“
All the food and supplies she’d need to survive a cold autumn in the forest.
Emily had no intention of fleeing altogether, so the chances were good that she would be found, or come to her own conclusion to seek out the police.
“I believe the murderer is watching her, and that’s why she doesn’t dare return to town,“ Dellaware said. “But the fog keeps the search parties from finding her.“
That ruled out any suspicion of Nancy. After her death, Emily would have been safe, but since she continued to hide, the murderer must still be at large.
“This bookbinder, Mr Henson, did he have any business in the library?“ Cole asked, still focused on the new librarian.
“Certainly. He worked there.“
What a coincidence, Cole thought.
“In the months before Harry Henson’s death, there had been trouble at the library on several occasions,” the Inspector continued. “I don’t know exactly what happened, but afterwards Harry frequently called in sick and stopped coming to work altogether. According to rumours, he and Mr Woods didn’t get on well. Matters apparently came to a head when Mr Woods decided to dispose of Alliston’s private collection rather than have it delivered to his retirement home,” Dellaware explained, adding further details about the events surrounding the bookbinder.
So the retired librarian was still alive. That presented an excellent chance to question him about Mr Woods and his relations with the judge. “Where does Mr Alliston live now?“ Cole asked.
“You’ll have to ask Mr Woods about that. He keeps in touch with Alliston.”
For the time being, Cole would not let Woods know that he intended to investigate matters at the library. If Mr Woods and the Judge were in league with one another, Cole would need to keep a low profile. Perhaps there were other library employees who could provide information about Alliston.
Then there was the other death. “And the other mummy? You said a notary?“
“Indeed, Notary Flynn. He died two days after the Hensons, but the two had never met and he had nothing to do with the library either,“ Dellaware added, as if reading Cole’s thoughts.
This shattered his theory. “Were Flynn’s clients checked?“
“No. Mr Craven ordered that nothing be touched for now. A new notary will arrive in a few days to review the files.“
That would take far too long. “Who were Flynn’s last clients?“
Dellaware beckoned Cole closer again and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Sir William Jones and the lawyer Mr John Jones.“
Cole raised his eyebrows. “John Jones? Was he related to William Jones?“
“No. They just happen to share the same surname. But another coincidence: both had appointments with our notary weeks earlier. Sir Jones wanted to buy a large piece of moorland to expand his horse breeding. Mr John Jones had a similar idea, which led to a dispute. In the end, Sir Jones acquired the land and was killed right there by the dogs.“
“Interesting,“ Cole murmured, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. That tied the incidents together. What was still missing was a concrete clue linking the dogs and the mummies. Curses and witches would not help here.
“Just a day after Sir Jones’ death, Mr Jones apparently visited Mr Flynn again, claiming the land for himself. But Sir Jones had already bequeathed it,“ Dellaware continued.
“To whom?“
“That should also be in Sir Jones’ file. But that–“
“Hasn’t yet been reviewed. I know.” Cole could not entirely conceal his displeasure at such incompetent police work. How could Craven leave all the clues and evidence untouched and wait for a new notary to arrive? That would merely give the murderer more time to cover his tracks! Cole would have to examine the documents himself. “And shortly after Mr Jones’ visit, the notary died as well?“
“Yes, but…“ Dellaware rubbed the back of his neck, searching for the right words. Cole suspected something very important was coming – something he would likely find missing in the case files.
“On the very same night Flynn was murdered, Mr Jones committed suicide. I don’t believe it’s a coincidence that Mr Jones hanged himself on that very piece of disputed land.”
What was buried there? Gold? Oil?
It was now more important than ever for Cole to discover the heirs to Sir Jones’s estate. He would wager his eye that this would lead him to McBridge or Mr Woods.
“Has Mrs Jones been questioned?“
“Mr Jones took his own life, and Chief Constable Craven sees no need to investigate further or disturb the widow in her grief.“
Cole raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “The Chief Constable sees no connection? Then where are Mr Jones’ papers? Why is this land so important that two men died over it?“
Dellaware shrugged helplessly. “Those things are probably still in Mr Flynn’s office.“
Cole remembered the Fenhole police as being quite different. Back then, he had been impressed by their high level of competence, but that seemed to have vanished entirely. Even during his own time as a Constable, such ineptitude would have been unthinkable! Why was no one pursuing these glaringly obvious leads? Why was no one taking the initiative?
“Has the police at least determined why Mr Jones took his own life?“
“Mrs Jones said her husband had seemed very depressed and melancholy lately.“ Glenn shrugged. “But Craven ordered us not to bother her. We only heard that there is a farewell letter.“
“Where is it?“
“With Mrs Jones, of course. I haven’t read it, but Chief Constable Craven has. It supposedly mentioned financial troubles and despair.“
Craven is forbidding a suspicious number of things, thereby obstructing the investigation. Everything about the Chief Constable positively screamed cover-up. If he too was involved in the murders, Cole immediately wondered why Craven had personally summoned him to Fenhole. What did Craven really expect of him?
Somehow, Cole had the feeling he was being sent in as a pawn. His instinct urged him to abandon the case, for everything about it screamed trap. Yet to do so would cost him everything – not only his career, but also any hope of winning Diana’s heart.
A dangerous position indeed.
Cole glanced at Diana. The young woman listened with interest but largely refrained
from speculating.
No. I must see this through to the end.
Nevertheless, he would have to treat the police with extreme caution for the time being.
“Was the body examined?“ Diana asked after Cole had fallen silent.
“No,“ Dellaware replied. “Mrs Jones refused. She didn’t want her husband cut open – which is her right. The only person who can tell you anything about the bodies is our undertaker, Mr Fridman. He cremated Sir Jones, Mr Jones, the witch, and the three mummies.“
And thus destroyed all the evidence.
“I want to speak with him,“ Diana demanded.
“Certainly, my dear,“ Cole said with a smile.
Anything you wish.
The carriage stopped in front of a large brick building, which sat like a solid block among the smaller timbered houses. Narrow, tall windows lined the street side, and above the heavy double doors, the letters Fenhole Police Department were carved in stone.
“Follow me.“ Glenn stepped out of the carriage and offered Diana his hand. A courtesy Cole would gladly have shown her himself, had he not been seated on the wrong side of the cab.
A damp, chilly wind struck him, and he had to hold onto his top hat until they reached the dry interior. Inside, they were met by the clamor of countless angry, anxious, or concerned citizens, each seeking help and justice from the municipal police. Complaints were made, curses were shouted, demands for punishment cried out. A grimy thug cursed and spat in every direction as officers pushed him forward. Uniformed men bustled through the crowd, taking reports, listening to grievances, or attempting to intervene. A dead black yard dog lay on a table, surrounded by several men gesticulating wildly and blaming each other.
It was clear that Dellaware had not exaggerated. The police station had indeed become a madhouse. Cole had almost looked forward to setting foot once more, after all these years, in that tidy open-plan office. But now, one could barely see the other side of the room. A particularly large, rotund man with a double chin and balding head went into a rage and knocked over a constable. Whistles shrieked immediately, and two more officers rushed forward to beat him with their truncheons.
Cole watched Diana with concern. She tried to avoid the furious crowd, clutching her suitcase as if it were a shield between herself and the dark figures surrounding her. This was no place for a young, beautiful woman like her, and he already felt a twinge of regret for bringing her along. He stepped protectively beside her, keeping an eye on the agitated crowd, as they followed Dellaware up a staircase into a long, panelled corridor.
Plain doors alternated on both sides until the inspector finally stopped before one and unlocked it.
“The case file contains everything the police have officially recorded.” He turned to Cole and Diana once more. “I’ll come to the matter of the hunt as well. But I can tell you already that Craven is on the verge of making the biggest mistake of his life.”
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