2. A PROFESSOR’S WIFE

Who is the drowned woman?

Sergeant Stone stood by the water’s edge as it lapped gently against the pale body of a naked woman, and shook his head.

“Do we know who she is?” he asked the pathologist who also shook his head.

“I almost know the face,” muttered Stone, “I‘ve seen it somewhere or bumped into her, probably recently.”

The Pathologist, a smartly dressed and rather natty Dr Niven, looked up at him.

“I know what you mean,” he said quietly, “I’ve been scratching my head, but it won’t come to me. Now let’s get her out of the water and onto dry land so that we can see better.”

“I reckon I know who it is,” put in a uniformed constable as the body was carefully being lifted out of the water, “I was reading this magazine with an article about immortality in it. I’ve always had a yen for living forever, you know, seeing what the end of time might look like, and all that...” He paused, and scratched his head as he stared at the dead woman.

“And?” asked the sergeant.

“It looks like her...” whispered the young officer, “I wouldn’t exactly swear it’s her, but it does look like her.”

“Like who?” prompted his superior.

“There was a picture of this quack,” began the constable thoughtfully, “reckons he’s got the secret to living for ever, you know, never actually dying. Reckons he’s ninety and looks to be in his twenties. And next to him, in the picture, is his wife. And to my mind that wet stiff looks very much like the lady in the photograph.”

The pathologist slapped his own forehead as a sign of recollection. “That’s it!” he said, “I read the article. Professor Styx, that’s his name, it made me think of old Norse myths and the like, and his wife, let me see, I think it was Dolly...”

“It’s not likely to be the wife of a bigwig academic because her body’s right here in the dead end of nowhere and bigwig academics don't usually live anywhere near here,” suggested Dr Niven.

“Ah, but that’s it!” exclaimed the constable, suddenly animated, “he does live near here! That’s why it stuck in my mind, that and being able to see what the end of time looks like! There’s an old mansion, a really big house, not two miles away from where we’re standing, built by the gent who had this canal dug out a couple of hundred years ago, to take his wares to market rather than go down rutty old roads where they might get broken by all the jolting, and it’s been taken over by that professor you mentioned...”

“I know the place!” agreed his sergeant. “I’ll see what the Boss says and maybe we’ll check it out, see if your professor’s good lady’s gone missing. You say he looks as if he’s in his twenties? And she looks the same? Because I’d put this stiff at sixty if she’s a day...”

“At least that,” agreed Dr Niven, nodding. “But there’s a distinct likeness to the article in the magazine. I read it too. Maybe she’s a maiden aunt of the Professor, one who’s got a penchant for red underwear?”

“Any sign of a cause of death?” asked the Sergeant.

“Drowned, I’d say,” the pathologist told him, “there’s no sign of anything that might involve you, Sergeant. To my eyes it looks like a woman who found herself falling into the canal, probably at night, because the tow-path is crumbled and dangerous in places and might easily have caused her to fall in if there was no light. But I’ll let you know more when I’ve got her on the slab and opened her up a bit. As for now, I don’t see any sign of injury. A bit of a disappointment for you, sergeant? Need a juicy murder to get your teeth into?”

“You should know me better than that, doctor,” replied Sergeant Stone, frowning. “I’ll be getting back to the station and see what Wasp’s got to say.”

“You can take her away now,” Dr Niven said to two white-coated officials, and the bedraggled corpse of a lady with her red underwear now decently covered by the dripping outer clothes she’d been wearing.

“I must admit to being a bit confused,” he said quietly when the deceased was gone, “I’m as struck by the likeness to the Professor’s wife as I could be, except for the question of age. I’ll check up when I get back to the lab. I’ve got the magazine handy there. I wonder if he’s got a relative staying with him in that big house of his? One who shares the family features?”

“I’ll see what the Inspector thinks,” replied Sergeant Stone, “Wasp’s not one for letting his imagination get the better of him.”

“Meaning I am?” barked the doctor.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that,” smiled Stone, “but Wasp’s got a bit of a reputation when it comes to flights of fancy and disregarding them.”

“I’ll let the lady dry out before I slice her,” the Pathologist told him. “Shall we say nine in the morning?”

Stone nodded. “I’ll keep Wasp up to speed,” he said, “I only hope it is just a simple drowning. But time will see.”

“Time will see indeed,” agreed Dr Niven, and the two men walked to the fence and climbed over, back onto Lonely Lane.

Back at the station Sergeant Stone found Inspector Wasp scowling at a stack of reports that needed his signature.

“Straight forward, I hope?” he asked.

But Stone wasn’t so sure. He had an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

“It seems so, but with unanswered questions,” he said slowly, “apparently the lady might be an eminent Professor’s good lady but it’s not clear what she was doing on the canal bank or whether she just fell in or was pushed. And if she was pushed, who by? Was it accidental or deliberate or simply just one of those things. I’d like to make sure we’ve got the right name for the lady and then see what her husband says, if we have.”

“Whatever, it will get me away from this pile of garbage,” grunted Inspector Wasp, “come on, lad, let’s ask the question. You can fill me in on the way.”

© Peter Rogerson, 04. 09.19