3. DI Dorothy Gamble

at the crime scene

WORDS MEAN DEATH
3. DI Dorothy Gamble
DI Dorothy Gamble tut-tutted when she noticed the white-coated SOCO officers staring at what looked little more than a pile of garden waste which was nothing of the sort when you noticed the legs sticking incongruously out of it, with grass cuttings randomly stuck to them.
“I’d like to have been here first,” she grumbled to her Detective Sergeant, Ian Rogers.
“But they’re the experts, ma’am,” pointed out the sergeant, though he knew what she meant. Every crime scene, she’d told him times many, contains a myriad traces of evidence that might easily get overlooked even by scene of crime officers because they hardly ever take much notice of truly tiny things. Even a broken twig can tell a story, she said, and she wanted to be first to spot it and learn who had trodden on it.
“What are they doing here?” she asked, pointing at two smart looking schoolgirls who were standing whit-faced at some distance from the grim scene in the corner of a garden garden
“They found the body, ma’am,” replied Sergeant Rogers.
“And him?” The DI indicated a figure seeming to be lurking some distance from the two girls.
“The clergyman? From what I can gather he lives next door,” replied Ian.
“Then it might be an idea to have a word with him,” frowned Dorothy, “It’s not the sort of area where I’d expect a clergyman to be living. There doesn’t seem to be a church anywhere near. Just rows of houses.”
“It was a council estate when it was built, but when the government decided that people could buy their council homes quite a lot were sold off,” advised the sergeant.
“Ah, I see. Well, let’s go and have a word with the old fellow. He might have seen something: you never know. He might even hold the answer to whatever it was that happened here.”
“It was murder, ma’am. I don’t reckon the fellow buried himself in a pile of cut grass like that after he stabbed himself half a dozen times.”
“If that’s the case them it sure looks that way. Come on: let’s see what the Reverend saw.”
The first thing Dorothy decided after she addressed the elderly clergyman was that she didn’t like him, and she considered herself to be a first class judge of characters. But tbis man, possibly in his seventies though his age didn't bother her, gave her a feeling that every word he said was being weighed up and edited in order to deceive. Maybe it was his instinct as a preacher, or maybe he was hiding something that just might be a clue. Could it be that he, a man of God, was a killer? He needed to be investigated just in case. But first, what did he know?
“So you were here?” she asked, smiling as warmly as her dislike of this clergyman allowed, “And you saw nothing?”
“I saw those girls, cheeky young creatures, laughing and giggling, and one of them leapt over the fence when the old fool wasn't looking, and that was that.”
“One of the schoolgirls?” she frowned.
“As God is my witness,” he nodded.
“Which one? There are two girls there, how old are they, would you think, and which one might have been a killer?”
“All girls look the same these days, and to my eyes they could be anything from twelve to twenty. I mean, especially those two, with their school uniforms, identical jackets and grey skirts… I can’t tell one from the other so I don’t like to say which one I noticed.”
“But you’re quite sure one of them managed to leap over a six foot fence unseen by her victim, stabbed him half a dozen times and got away without a spot of blood spoiling her lovely uniform?” Dorothy couldn‘t keep the scepticism from her voice as she gazed at the two schoolgirls who were standing with a female police officer, a young and, she knew, extremely competent constable, Hazel Overton.
“Look at my collar, officer, and accuse me of lying!” The clergyman’s attitude changed in an instant, his eyes showing signs of a spark of something she didn’t like the look of. But she was sure that she knew the kind of man he was, clinging to a token, in this case his collar, and thus claiming instant immunity from guilt, either real or assumed.
“I was merely trying to establish who to question about a serious offence,” she told him, “and as a witness I’m afraid I’m forced to depend on your eyesight in order to get things straight! I’ll go and have a word with the girls, maybe arrest one of them if it seems to be the appropriate thing to do, and ask Constable Rogers here, to keep you company.”
“Are you implicating me? And are you going to get a ditzy schoolgirl to point an evil little finger at the nearest man of God, and blame me?” demanded the retired clergyman.
“Everything will be taken into account, and if it’s relevant used as evidence. And, sir, evidence can prove innocent as well as guilt,”she told him, and she made her way along the fence separating a row of gardens from the public footpath.
“Thanks, Hazel,” she said to the officer, “and hang around here, will you? I’d like a couple of words with your young friends here, that’s all.”
“Yes, ma’am,” replied the constable.
“Now let me see,” smiled Dorothy to the girls, “who have we here>”
“I’m Jane, and this is Susan,” replied a self-appointed spokesperson, and her friend Susan smiled nervously, and nodded.
“Tell me what you saw,” urged the DI gently.
“We were walking along, minding our own business and going home from school when I saw a leg, and then another, sticking out of a pile of grass cuttings,” explained Jane.
“Did you have any idea who the legs belonged to?”
It was Susan who replied. “I live closer, just across the road, so I know,” she said, “It’s the writer bloke. You know, writes books and stuff. I forget his name.”
“Mr Hemsworth, or something like that,” contributed Jane, “I don’t know about the writing, though.”
“My dad’ll tell you,” added Susan, “he came round for tea once and told us about a book he’s writing. About a church and a vicar. I didn’t pay much attention though: it was my dad as was interested.”
“Now that is something,” DI Dorothy Gable glanced at the constable. “Remember that, will you, Hazel,” she murmured quietly. “Well, I don’t see why we should keep you a moment longer, girls, so if I were you I’d go home as quickly as you can.” You’ve taken a note of their names, constable.”
“There was the other bloke, coming round from the front and looking out way,” put in Jane.
“Really? Another witness? Where did he go?” asked Dorothy quickly.
“Back round the front, I think. Not that I took much notice, not with the dead bloke and all.” sighed Jane.
“Well, you can go, and thanks for your help,” and DI Dorothy turned to the constable. “You’ve taken a note of their names, constable.”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“Then off you go, girls, and try not to look at the poor man that some evil soul has put out of his misery, Can you go another way, maybe, not close to the unpleasant scene over there?”
“Sure can,” replied Jane, “come on, Susan. We’ve got lots to tell our folks at home!”
And the two girls made their way back the way they’d come until they disappeared out of sight, down a side road.
© Peter Rogerson, 05.01.24