The Norfolk Mystery (The County Guides) (15 page)

‘I wondered, Professor, if you could smell anything … different?'

‘No, can't smell anything unusual,' he said.

‘Are you sure?' asked Morley.

‘Quite sure. Apart from the fouling, of course – perfectly normal in these cases.'

‘So you're familiar with such incidents?'

‘I am, indeed, sir. Thirty years as a Professor of Medicine – one becomes accustomed to all sorts of cadavers in all sorts of unpleasant states and forms. Nothing odd or unusual here that I can see. Seen it all before.'

‘Except of course in this instance you knew this particular cadaver before its death?' said Morley.

The professor stepped back from the body then and peered at Morley, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. ‘I'm sorry, sir. You seem not to have introduced yourself. You are?'

‘
Civis Romanus sum
. Swanton Morley, at your service.'

‘Morley, eh? And can I ask exactly what are you doing here, Mr Morley?'

‘I'm here writing a book, actually, Professor, and we happened to be passing—'

‘Happened to be passing?' The professor exchanged suspicious glances with Ridley. ‘I see. A book?'

‘That's right.'

‘Novelist, are we?'

‘No.'

‘No. You don't look like a novelist.'

‘I'll take that as a compliment, sir.'

‘Not intended as one,' said the professor. ‘And you're the chap who found the reverend's body?'

‘Not exactly, Professor, no. Mrs Snatchfold found the body, and we then found Mrs Snatchfold. So we are one – if you like – step removed from the discovery.'

‘One step removed?'

‘Quite so. But you knew the reverend well, yourself?'

The professor was busying himself, wandering around the body, fascinated.

‘I'm a congregant here, Mr Morley, if that's what you mean.'

‘Ah, I'm Methodist myself,' said Morley.

‘Hmm,' said the professor disapprovingly. ‘You may not know then, Mr Morley, that in the Church of England – unlike the Methodists – we tend not to befriend our reverends.'

‘Dead or alive,' said Morley.

‘Indeed.'

Ridley, meanwhile, seemed to have overcome his initial distaste for the body, and was also looking closely at the reverend.

‘So you think he definitely killed himself, Professor?' he said.

‘That would be my opinion, yes,' said Thistle-Smith. ‘Is that all?'

‘We've someone coming from Norwich who'll perhaps want to speak to you. I hope that's all right.'

‘Of course. Ugly business,' said the professor. ‘You know where to find me, Ridley?'

‘Yes,' said Ridley.

‘And I'm sure your colleagues will be keen to speak to Mr Morley as well,' said Thistle-Smith as he made for the door. ‘First at the scene of the crime and what have you.'

‘Second, actually,' said Morley.

‘So you said. I'm sure your colleagues will be very keen to talk to him, won't they, Ridley?'

‘Actually,' said Morley, ‘we were hoping to move on. We have a tight schedule to keep, with the writing of the book.'

‘I'm sure you have, Mr Morley. But I assume there are strict police procedures to be followed, are there not, Ridley?'

‘Oh yes, Professor,' said Ridley, who was clearly beginning to sense where Thistle-Smith's suggestions might be leading. ‘I'll have to ask you, Mr Morley, and your companion, to remain here until my colleagues arrive.'

‘You'll be needing a death certificate, isn't that right, Constable?' said Thistle-Smith.

‘I think so,' said Ridley.

‘Have you sent for Dr Sharp?'

‘No, I haven't. Would it help if I were to go for him?'

‘I think it would, young man. I think that would be most helpful. Perhaps I should stay with our … witnesses here, and make sure nothing happens to the body …'

There followed a stand-off between Morley and Professor Thistle-Smith, as we waited for Dr Sharp. The few words they exchanged were challenges and retorts rather than conversation proper, the reverend's body hanging between them as referee and witness.

‘Who
are
you, exactly, Morley?' drawled the professor, who had drawn up a chair by the table, while Morley and I remained standing; it felt as though we had been summoned before a court.

‘Who am I?' asked Morley.

‘Yes.'

‘I'm terribly sorry, I'm not sure I understand your question, Professor.'

‘Don't understand my question?' Professor Thistle-Smith's large face drooped in an expression of deep contempt, his features changing from the merely unpleasant to the unmistakably menacing. ‘Really?' He straightened up in the chair and took a deep, gargling breath. ‘Don't know who you are? Hmm. Interesting. I,
for example
, am a farmer, landowner, retired professor, of solid yeoman stock, a magistrate, a Liveryman of the Worshipful Company of Scriveners, a Knight Grand Cross of the Supreme Military Order of the Temple of Jerusalem, and a Knight Grand Cross of the Military Order of the Collar of St Agatha of Paterno. And I am simply asking … in similar kind, sir, Who. Are. You?'

‘I see. My apologies.
Davus sum, non Oedipus
. My name is Swanton Morley, sir. I am a journalist and author.'

‘Journalist as well, are we, eh, as well as an “author”? Which newspaper?'

‘The
Daily Herald
, sir.'

The professor snorted. ‘Muck-raking rag,' he said.

‘I think of it rather as a working man's paper,' said Morley. ‘And—'

‘I'll make up my own mind about the quality of the
Daily Herald
, if you don't mind, Morley. Self-made man, are we?'

‘We?' said Morley.

‘You,' said Thistle-Smith. ‘Obviously. Not me.'

‘What little I have achieved I have achieved by my own efforts, yes.'

‘Well,
well done you
, but some of us do not want to live in a self-made man's communist republic, thank you very much, where everyone has to read the
Daily Herald
.'

‘That seems unlikely,' said Morley.

‘Not if you and your lot get your way.' The professor spoke with singular force. ‘And what about this book you claim you're writing?'

‘It is a major literary project—' began Morley.

‘Ha!'

‘Called
The County Guides
, in which my assistant and I travel the country and produce a guidebook to each of England's counties.'

‘Ha!' The professor snorted again and stared at the two of us as if we were obvious impostors. ‘Ridiculous. You're going to live till one hundred and twenty, are you?'

‘
Dum spiro spero
,' said Morley.

‘What?'

‘It's Latin.'

‘Some of us left Latin behind with other childish things when we left medical school, Morley. So in English, man, in England. What did you say?'

‘While I breathe I hope,' said Morley. ‘Though at the moment, obviously, we are being prevented from working on the project while we wait here with you for the police.'

‘Oh, what a pity,' said Professor Thistle-Smith, who had clearly perfected his vile sneer over many years.

‘Might I perhaps ask about your relationship with the reverend, Professor? Seeing as we're here?'

‘You might, sir. But you might not get an answer.'

‘I see.'

‘Do you now? All I will say is, if he'd taken the church any lower, it would have been crawling.'

‘Too low for your tastes then?' said Morley.

‘Too. Low. Indeed. Sir.'

‘And personally?'

‘Personally? Though I can't see that it's any of your business, I'll admit I didn't much like him,' said the professor.

‘I see,' said Morley. ‘And was it mutual?'

‘Mutual?'

‘Did he not like you?'

‘I know what mutual means, sir. I'm not a bloody idiot. And nor am I a mind-reader. Are you?'

‘No, I'm not.'

‘Clearly. So I have no idea about the reverend's feelings towards me, Mr Morley. And, frankly, could not care less. A gentleman does not speak of such things.'

‘Quite so. But …'

After about fifteen minutes of this rough jousting, Dr Sharp arrived. ‘The superlative little doctor,' Morley later called him: he was brisk; efficient; sober in manner and in suit. He greeted Professor Thistle-Smith warmly and Morley and I watched as they examined the body.

‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear,' said the doctor, echoing the professor's words.

‘The professor here thinks he died by hanging,' said Morley.

‘Yes, I think we can safely assume so, gentlemen,' said the doctor, ‘although of course we'd have to perform an autopsy to be absolutely sure. There's not a lot we can do here.'

‘Will you perform the autopsy?' asked the professor.

‘If Ridley here approves.'

‘I see no reason why not,' said Ridley

‘Can I ask when?' said the professor.

‘It would probably be this evening,' said Dr Sharp. ‘By the time I've seen my other patients. Perhaps eight o'clock. Would that suit, Constable?'

‘Of course, if it suits you, sir.'

‘And would you mind if I attended?' said Morley. ‘Purely for the purposes of research, you understand. I write a number of books and columns.'

The doctor looked dubious. The professor was scowling. Ridley picked up the hint.

‘I don't think that would be appropriate, Mr Morley,' he said. ‘Under the circumstances.'

‘Which circumstances?'

‘My colleagues will be wanting to speak with you this evening, sir, so you'll have to make yourself available for them, if you wouldn't mind. And then if everything is in order you'll be able to be on your way.'

‘And we wouldn't want this getting out to the papers, would we, eh?' said the professor.

‘I wouldn't dream of writing about it,' said Morley.

‘Anyway,' said the doctor. ‘I'm sure we could let you know about the results of the autopsy, if you're interested, Mr Morley. Couldn't we, Constable?'

‘Yes,' said Ridley.

‘Thank you,' said Morley.

‘Now, shall we find you somewhere to stay?' said the doctor. ‘In case you're going to be with us for a while?'

Morley took one last forlorn look at a wristwatch. We were outnumbered.

‘
In manus commendo me
,' he said.

‘It's probably Latin,' said Ridley.

‘Thank you, Constable,' said the professor.

As we made our way out of the church, a woman came marching towards us. She was in her fifties, fashionably dressed, red lipstick, a vast silk scarf flung about her shoulders, like a pelt. We had just reached the doors of the church – Morley and me, the professor, the doctor and Ridley – and I could see Hannah still hovering outside by the graves. This other woman now confronting us seemed as vivid and as bold as Hannah seemed modest and reduced.

‘Is it true?' she said, addressing us all.

‘I'm sorry, madam,' began Ridley, but she cut him short with a wave of her hand.

‘Is he dead?' she said, speaking directly to the professor.

‘I'm afraid—' began the doctor.

‘I want to see him,' she said.

‘I really think it would be better if you didn't,' said the doctor. ‘Don't you … Mr Morley?'

‘I think if Mrs …'

‘Thistle-Smith,' the woman said, not looking at Morley, her eyes directed, it seemed, only at the professor.

‘Well, I think if Mrs Thistle-Smith – your wife, Professor?' – the professor gave a curt nod of assent – ‘if she wishes to see the reverend I think we should accede to her wishes, don't you?'

‘Out of the question,' said the professor.

‘What happened?' she said, addressing herself now to Morley. ‘Was it poison?'