‘Where exactly was the bullet found, d’you recall?’ asked the surgeon.
‘It was up against the inner wall of the skull, on the left side, just above the inner ear.’
The two doctors spent a few more minutes exploring the inside of the cranium and studying the defect in the back of the skull, from which fracture lines ran in several directions, including across the base of the skull. Angela watched silently, leaving medical matters to the other two, as there was nothing that her specialism could offer, apart from the working knowledge of firearms examination that she had picked up from her years in the Met Lab.
Eventually, Richard and the defence expert had seen all they wanted of the body, and Richard indicated to the technician that he could restore the head, ready for return to the grave in Lewisham. They removed their gloves and aprons and washed up in a sink in the corner, where with true army efficiency there was a new tablet of soap and clean towels.
‘Different from the usual public mortuaries I have to work in,’ observed Richard. ‘In some of them you’re lucky to have running water!’
The surgeon, used to spotless operating theatres and nurses anxious to offer sterile gowns and instruments, failed to follow Richard’s appreciation of military organization, but he courteously motioned Angela out of the mortuary as they left to speak to Bannerman, who had gone out into the outer room.
‘All finished?’ asked the War Office man. ‘Any conclusions yet?’
Lorimer seemed to stiffen at this. ‘I don’t think it proper if we discuss the outcome at this stage,’ he said rather pompously. ‘It might prejudice any later disputes between us.’
Richard raised his eyebrows at Bannerman. It was usual for medical witnesses to exchange an informal impression of their examination and to indicate where they agreed and disagreed. It was for the lawyers and the courts to sort out the eventual decisions.
However, he had met a few expert witnesses who played their cards close to their chest and it was within their right to do so, if they were that way inclined.
‘Fine, I’ll just go off with the colonel here and have a talk,’ replied Pryor. ‘We can leave you in peace, if you want to make some notes or anything.’
The surgeon had left his dark overcoat and homburg in the outer room, together with a slim briefcase. He drew a writing pad from that and laid it on the small desk. ‘Thank you very much for your courtesy, Dr Pryor.’
He shook hands with Angela, Richard and Bannerman, who left him to write whatever conclusions he had come to about the examination.
‘Stuffy sort of chap, that!’ observed the colonel as they walked back into the hospital. ‘Seemed a bit out of his depth to me.’
Richard grinned. ‘I don’t think he cottoned on to what I was suggesting, but if he doesn’t want to talk about it, that’s up to him.’
They went back to the small interview room, where the helpful reception sergeant had organized a pot of coffee and some biscuits. Angela handed round the cups as they sat at the table and Richard explained his thinking about the injury. He spoke for a couple of minutes, Bannerman nodding sagaciously at intervals.
When the pathologist had finished, the War Office man tapped the side of his briefcase. ‘So I gather from your expression in there that getting this bullet examined at Woolwich might be an important part of the exercise?’
Woolwich Arsenal, a name perhaps better known for its football team, was the long-established military centre for anything to do with arms and ammunition, being founded back in the seventeenth century.
Richard nodded. ‘Get them to have a good look at it, especially on the outside. I’ll wait for their report before firming up on my opinion.’
Bannerman nodded. ‘I’ll twist a few arms to get it done as quickly as possible and let you know on the telephone.’
A few minutes later the bowler-hatted bureaucrat said farewell and strode off towards Whitehall, leaving Richard and Angela to find a cab to take them back to Paddington.
‘Do you really think that’s the answer, Richard?’ she asked, referring to the provisional explanation he had just given to Bannerman.
‘I can’t fault it and, if their laboratory in Woolwich confirms what I think, then it has to be accepted. A pity they’ve since destroyed the fuselage of that old Dakota out in the Gulf; that would have really clinched it.’
They had lunch in the Great Western Hotel, then caught a mid-afternoon express back to Newport, arriving home in the valley tired but pleased with their trip to the big city.
After one of Moira’s casseroles left for them in the Aga, and a couple of relaxing gin and tonics, they talked over the events of their spree in London, feeling more than usually comfortable with each other’s company. Eventually, they went to their separate rooms and, when in bed, both spent some time staring at the ceiling and thinking about the previous evening, which had been so different from their usual routine.
NINETEEN
Colonel Bannerman telephoned the following Monday, when Richard Pryor was away at Hereford County Hospital, the local coroner having asked him to perform a post-mortem on a patient who had died during an abdominal operation. Moira took the call and when Richard returned at lunchtime she passed on the message from the War Office, checking the actual words from a note she had made.
‘The colonel said he had had a report from the Woolwich place and would like to talk it over with you. He has to come to Bristol tomorrow on another matter and wonders if you could meet him at lunchtime at his hotel, as he would prefer to speak to you personally, rather than over the telephone.’
Richard had no commitments on that Tuesday and readily agreed. Moira had the name of the hotel in Clifton and he asked her to phone Bannerman’s secretary to confirm that he would be there.
‘You must come too, Angela,’ he said over lunch. ‘You were at the examination last week, so you need to see the thing right through with me.’
Next morning they drove down to the Beachley-Aust ferry, which intrigued Angela, as she had never seen it before. When they trundled the Humber off the ungainly vessel on the Somerset side, she declared that the sooner they built a bridge, the better she would be pleased.
They found Bannerman’s hotel, a large, Edwardian building in Whiteladies Road, and discovered the War Office man waiting for them in the bar. His tall figure hovered over them as he invited them to sit at a small table in the corner and signalled to a waiter to take an order for drinks. When Angela had been served with a gin and tonic and Richard with a half of bitter, Bannerman raised his own glass of whisky in a toast.
‘To your good health and my thanks for your able assistance,’ he said genially. ‘I think the report from Woolwich will confirm what you outlined to me when we last met in London.’
He pulled out a thin folder from his black briefcase, which seemed as much a part of him as his pinstriped suit and old school tie.
‘Perhaps we can look at this now, then we can have lunch in peace. I have to be at a conference with counsel at two, over a legal problem with a procurement contract, but I’ve booked a table in the dining room, if you would care to be my guests.’
Angela obviously appreciated his old-world courtesy and Richard covertly felt that his partner came from the same social stratum as the rather upstage colonel.
Bannerman opened the file and put it on the table so that they could all see it. ‘They sent this photograph as well,’ he began, tapping a long finger on a large black and white print.
It showed a much-magnified image of the distorted bullet, the sharp focus emphasizing a pale streak on the least-damaged side.
‘That was the thing you were interested in, doctor. They concentrated on that and sent this short report that confirms what you suggested to me.’