Vorpal Blade (2 page)

'Come to any conclusions?' Tweed asked Saafeld.

'Yes. I'm sure a knife wasn't the killing instrument.

Sawing through the neck would have left the stump very
ragged - to say nothing of what a job it would have been.
I suspect an axe was used, an axe with a very sharp blade.
The severing just below the chin is so clean. The killer must
have been very strong to decapitate with one blow, which
I think is what was done. I turned over the body before
replacing it on its back. There was a stream of coagulated blood, which suggested to me the killer's first act was to
strike the victim hard on the back of the head with the blunt
end of the axe. I also believe the killer is right-handed, but
that's an assumption.'

'Professor.' Paula turned to face him. 'Would you mind if I examined this print under a strong magnifying glass?'

Saafeld didn't ask her why. He led her to another table
where a large instrument with a small gun-like projection holding a lens was perched. Close to it was an
adjustable secretary's chair. As Paula sat down, peered
through the eyepiece and adjusted the chair's height,
Saafeld placed a metal plate on a rack behind and below
the eyepiece. Then he positioned the print on top of
the plate.

'That will hold the print stable,' he explained. 'That
small wheel to the right adjusts the magnification. It is
very sensitive.'

Having said that he walked back to where the others waited, a gesture which Paula appreciated. It was more difficult to concentrate with someone hovering over you.
The wheel controlling the magnification
was
sensitive - so
much so she removed the latex glove from one hand to
operate it.

She turned the wheel very slowly forwards, then back
a bit. The section of truncated
neck the lens was aimed
at suddenly jumped out at her with startling clarity. She
studied what she saw, to be sure. Then she swivelled the
chair round to face the others.

'Professor, I'm sure the axe has a notch in the blade.
Triangular with the apex deepest in the neck, widest at
the edge. I expect you've already observed it.'

'I haven't.'

Saafeld walked rapidly towards her. She slipped off the
stool, being careful not to move the wheel. Saafeld took
her place, put on a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, peered in
the eyepiece. Taking off the glasses, he stood up, stared
at Paula and then Tweed.

'I've told you before, Tweed, Paula is very smart. I'd
take her on my staff any time she got tired of working for
a slave driver. There is a notch . . .'

Newman looked through the magnifier next, then Tweed and finally Buchanan, who had to adjust the seat to allow for his extra height. He spent at least one minute gazing at what he saw, then stood up slowly from the stool, ran a finger across his trim moustache. It was a mannerism Paula had observed before when a fresh development occurred in a case.

'This is very important,' he began. 'If we ever find the
murder weapon, that notch will identify it. I'm surprised
the killer hasn't noticed it.'

'Probably has,' Paula said. 'Doesn't care.'

'We ought to get moving,' Buchanan said, checking
his watch.

Saafeld, wearing latex gloves, had unlocked the drawer
again. He fished out two cardboard-backed envelopes. In
one he placed the colour print they had been examining. In another he inserted the duplicate. He handed one envelope
to Tweed.

'Expect you'd like this,' he said gruffly. He gave the
other envelope to Buchanan. 'This might help as you
pursue your investigation.'

'Thank you. It may turn out to be invaluable . . .'

'Want to take you somewhere,' Buchanan said as he drove
the car away from Holland Park. 'Take a couple of hours.'

'Where to?' Tweed asked.

'Bray. Where the body was discovered. May be our last
chance now this Chief Constable has grabbed the case. We
won't be expected this evening.'

'Then now is the time to go,' Tweed agreed.

No one spoke until they had left the suburbs behind,
were passing through Windsor. It was no longer raining,
the sky had cleared and by the faint light of a new moon
Paula saw the massive silhouette of Windsor Castle. Soon
they were in open country, the road bordered by flat fields and black leafless trees like skeletons.

'Will we see anything in the dark?' Paula wondered
aloud.

'I have four powerful torches. Tweed, open the glove
compartment. One for each of us.'

Paula tested hers by shining it on the floor. She glanced
out of the window, saw more sullen fields, more naked
trees.

'One thing I can't understand,' she called out. 'Saafeld
said the killer's first move is to hit his victim on the back
of the head with the blunt end of the axe. I think his
theory holds water. But then how on earth is he able to
cut off the head so neatly with one blow? The body would
have to be on its back, the neck resting on some kind of
execution block.'

'I'd thought of that myself,' Tweed agreed. 'It's a
puzzle.'

Buchanan had just swung off to the right away from the
main road and down a narrow lane. 'We're approaching
Bray,' he informed them.

'How close is it to the river?' Tweed enquired.

'About a mile. Bray is the last genuine village before
you approach London. The rest of the old villages higher
up the river have been wiped out by so-called developers.
And this is Bray.'

In his headlights Paula saw fine old large houses built
long ago. The road curved back and forth. All the houses
were close to the road. Lights shone behind curtained windows but no sign of any people.

'When we're almost through Bray we turn off. to the
river, to the scene of the crime,' Buchanan continued his
commentary.

'I haven't seen any shops,' Paula remarked.

'Because there aren't any. The last one closed down
ages ago. The locals drive to Maidenhead to shop at
supermarkets. Sign of the times.'

He turned right again down an even narrower lane lined
with hedges. The surface became rough and Bray was
a distant memory. More fields on both sides, the grass
long. When he stopped the car, parking it on the verge,
Paula was struck by the sudden silence. She stepped out.
The silence was eerie, punctuated only by the occasional drip of water off trees and a vague sound of the gushing
river.

'I'll lead the way,' Buchanan told them as he locked the car and switched on his torch.

He had advanced some way into the field when a uni
formed policeman appeared. Behind him crime scene tape
had been strung round a large area, supported by small
branches dug into the soggy ground. Paula was glad she'd
put on knee-length boots before leaving Park Crescent.

'Can't come here,' snapped the policeman rudely. 'Police.'

'Yes, we can,' Buchanan barked back. 'I'm from the Yard and I've arranged for the body to be transported to a pathologist. Look at this folder.'

He was holding the folder close to the policeman, shining
his torch on it. The policeman reached out to take it but
Buchanan kept a firm grip.

'Nobody said you was comin' out,' the policeman
objected.

'Get out of my way - and lift that tape so my assistants
can get through. I'm short of time. Move it, man.'

The dull-faced policeman lifted the tape and they fol
lowed Buchanan who was striding out as the sound of the
river became louder. The river was in full flood. Hands
inside the pockets of his old Gannex raincoat, Tweed
joined Paula and Buchanan at the river's edge.

'Who discovered the body?' he asked again.

'Chap called Weatherspoon taking his dog for a walk. He lives in Bray and is retired. I've checked him out and
am sure he's had nothing to do with the crime.'

'Exactly where was the body discovered?' asked Paula as she crouched near the edge.

'In that shallow side stream to your right. Trouble is it
could have been thrown in somewhere upstream, Heaven knows how far.'

'Mind if I try an experiment?' Paula suggested, stand
ing up.

'Go ahead,' Buchanan said with a cynical smile.

Paula looked round. The ground was littered with por
tions of tree trunks, possibly cut for firewood. She walked a short distance upriver, selected a sizeable trunk, lifted it
to test its weight, decided she could just cope with it. Not
as heavy as Holgate's body but close enough. Heaving it up with both hands protected with motoring gloves, she
carried it chest high and made it to the river's edge. Now
for the tough part. She took a deep breath, hoisted it
higher, hurled it as far out into the river as she could.

It landed in the river about six feet from the bank. The powerful current took hold of it, swept it further
out, rushed it downstream out of sight. It had passed
the shallow creek without going anywhere near it.

Sweat dripped down her back and her arms ached as
she walked back to where Buchanan and Tweed stood
staring.

'Someone shouted at me,' she said.

'I called out, "For God's sake don't fall in,"' Buchanan
said, glaring at her.

'Excuse me -' she rubbed her gloves together, ridding
them of bark from the tree trunk - 'but I think you're
wrong in assuming the body was dropped in upstream. It must have been deposited from the bank straight into the
side stream, where it would be found sooner or later. That
tree trunk I threw in was pretty damned heavy - almost
as heavy as the headless body, yet it never went anywhere
near the stream.'

'She's right, you know,' commented Tweed.

'So the murder could have been committed somewhere
near here,' Buchanan said thoughtfully. 'But where?'

'I'll be back in a minute,' Paula told them.

She trudged off, lifted the police tape which defined
the area of the police search. She continued beyond it,
sweeping her torch slowly over the field. More sawn hunks of trees were scattered over the grass, some peeking up like
alien spacecraft just landed from Mars. Several minutes
later her torch illuminated something different: a circle of
flattened grass which looked as though it had been stamped
down. In the middle of the circle was a weird branch with
two arms projecting outwards. The arms were joined at the
base by a smooth section of wood about half a foot wide
which had been stripped of bark.