‘I’ve had time to do no more than glance through it,’ said Joe, selecting the document from the pile. ‘So, if you wouldn’t mind going through it with me while I check the facts it would be a great help. Especially now I’ve familiarised myself with the scene of the death.’
‘Of course. Fire away. Though I should say at the outset that you must understand that I’m not a pathologist – I’m an army doctor, no more than that. Autopsies are not something I’m ever called on to perform. Stitching people up is more my line, not taking them apart!’
‘Yes, I understand that,’ said Joe. ‘Now you say in your statement that you were fetched to the Somersham bungalow by your bearer?’
‘Yes. I have a telephone here and the Collector rang with the news. My bearer took the message. I was out in the lines at number 12 Victoria Road – suspected measles – and he came running over to find me. It was about a quarter to eight by the time I got there.’
‘Can you tell me what state the corpse was in when you arrived?’
‘As I said, any initial cadaveric rigidity had passed so death had not occurred immediately preceding my arrival. But there was no sign of rigor mortis either so I would place the death at less than two hours before.’
‘The time given by the ayah of her last sighting of Mrs Somersham alive was six o’clock.’
‘Yes. I believe she died very soon after that. Impossible to calculate from the evidence of the blood clotting because the temperature of the water would distort it. It was still very liquid when I saw her.’
‘Did you see anything odd about the wounds which caused her death?’
‘Yes, of course I did!’ said Halloran. ‘But, as Bulstrode pointed out to me on more than one occasion, it’s no part of my job to do more than indicate the cause of death and the cause of death was obvious enough – loss of blood. Poor girl bled to death.’
‘But did you notice anything unusual in the direction of the cuts?’ Joe persisted. ‘There is no mention of the actual wounds here in the report.’
‘I most certainly did notice something unusual. And so did Mrs Drummond. It’s not in the report because Bulstrode told me not to waste time theorising but if you’re ready to listen, then I’ll tell you. There were three anomalies. Firstly, there were no trial wounds.’
Joe looked questioningly at him and he elaborated, ‘If someone’s going to cut his wrists he usually makes a few trial slashes on one wrist – just to get the feel of it, to estimate how much force he’s going to need to do the job. And I say “he” because it’s a male sort of method. Can’t think of another woman who’s done it… Secondly, the direction and strength of the cuts was odd. You find that one cut is weaker than the other. Peggy was right-handed. I would have expected her to cut the left wrist first then transfer the blade to her weaker hand and have a go at her right wrist. This second cut would normally be much more hesitant with the shock of the blood flowing. Also the direction was not right. Show me how you’d do it – go on, cut your wrists with this,’ he said, offering Joe a paper knife.
Joe made two slashes across his wrists.
‘That’s right. Outside edge to inside on each. With Peggy’s wounds it was outside to inside on the left and inside to outside on the right. Try that. Impossible, isn’t it? Well, not impossible perhaps but bloody unlikely if you’re killing yourself. A bit of fancy knife-work is going to be the last thing on your mind if you’re doing away with yourself, I would have thought.’
‘And the third thing?’ asked Joe.
‘The force used. Now Peggy was a strapping lass but I have strong doubts that she could have exerted the degree of strength that was shown. Her wrists weren’t just slashed – her hands were damn nearly severed.’
‘Thank you, Halloran,’ said Joe, scribbling in his notebook. ‘And lastly, can you tell me anything about the marks on her neck? They were even visible on the photographs Mrs Drummond took.’
‘Finger and thumb marks. I did manage to get a reference to that into the report, you’ll see. When I insisted that it couldn’t be suicide, Bulstrode interpreted the marks as evidence that Somersham had tried to strangle her before cutting her wrists.’
‘Are they consistent with a strangulation attempt in your estimation?’
Halloran shrugged. ‘Not unless Somersham is deformed and has his hands on back to front. Look here,’ he said, getting to his feet and walking behind Joe. ‘There were thumb marks (pre-mortem) here on the back of the shoulders and finger marks here at the front at the base of her throat.’ He demonstrated the hold used. ‘That’s not how you’d go about strangling your wife.’
‘But it is exactly how you’d hold a wriggling woman down in a bath of water until she bled to death.’
‘Quite. Tell you something else, Sandilands. If you’ve seen the room you’ll have noticed the stains?’
Joe nodded.
‘You should have seen them before they were cleaned! Sprayed all over the walls. She’d obviously thrashed around and waved her arms about in agony. You don’t do that if you’re killing yourself according to the Roman tradition. You sit quietly and wait for the end, thinking noble thoughts.’
‘But if you’re being killed surely you scream? If the murderer has both his hands on your shoulders, you are free to scream? And your servants and husband come running.’
‘Not if the person unknown has already gagged you,’ said Halloran. ‘Not something you could have made out on the photographs, however sharp Mrs Drummond’s Kodak lens! There were abrasions at the corners of her mouth, abrasions consistent with the application of a gag. Removed after the act because it was never found.’
‘One last question,’ said Joe. ‘You didn’t do a full postmortem investigation, I see – I wonder whether you were aware that Peggy Somersham was pregnant?’
Halloran sat back in his chair, his surprise evident. ‘Good Lord, no!’ he said. ‘Oh, no! How bloody! No, she hadn’t been to consult me. Not unusual… they normally wait until they’re absolutely certain. This is terrible news, Sandilands! Bulstrode was pushing for burial – we don’t get the thirty hours before decomposition you get in London and the cause was very obvious…’ His voice trailed away and he looked uncomfortably through the window, lost in thought.
‘I think she had told no one but her husband, so no surprise,’ said Joe equably. ‘And I think it might be a good idea to keep it between ourselves at this stage.’
‘Certainly. Quite see why,’ agreed Halloran quickly. ‘And look here, Sandilands, off the record and stepping outside my job – the poor girl was murdered, we both know that – and I’m overjoyed that, belatedly, someone has picked this up. Rumour has it that we owe this to Nancy Drummond. Am I right? Determined girl! She’s got the ear of the Governor and now she’s got your ear too. And come to that, she’s got mine, begod!’
Thanking him for his time and mutually expressing the hope that ‘we should meet at the Club one of these evenings… always glad to pick up the gossip from London…’ Joe resumed his ride.
Naurung took him first along the dangerous mountain pass on which Sheila Forbes’ horse had shied. He dismounted at the place where the accident had happened and, lying down, peered over the edge into the void below. A dizzying drop, he noted, with no cushioning scree slope down which a well-clad memsahib might bounce between the precipice rim and the river bank many yards below. The river curled on its way between its dusty banks like a fat brown adder and Joe shivered as he conjured up the scene ten years ago when Mrs Forbes had fallen screaming into this abyss. He pictured her wearing a cumbersome pre-war riding habit, being suddenly ejected from her side-saddle and falling head first to her death.
The place itself was full of ancient terror. Hard-nosed policeman he might be but Joe admitted to himself that he was sweating with fear. He wriggled carefully backwards on to the path and rose to his feet.