A BURIED BODY 3.

The scene of the illegal burial...

Arnold and Lucy accompanied the two police officers to his home later that first day. It was still only early afternoon and it wasn’t so far from the police station to where he lived, even though they were taken in a police car.

“I spend most of my time at Lucy’s,” he explained, “we’re as good as a couple and the truth is we like to be together.”

“We are a couple,” she corrected him, “and I don’t understand how come you keep this house of yours going. I mean, what with your dad being in the retirement place.”

“He might want to come back to his own home,” reminded Arnold, “he lived all is life in here, as a child, and then a married man with my mum. It’s his one connection to the real world.

“I suppose I understand that,” she nodded.

When they arrived at the Bingley home it was to find that it had plastic crime-scene tape barring entry and a confused neighbour looking over the fence staring at them as they climbed out of the police vehicle. When he noticed Arnold he called a cheerful greeting before adding “it is you then, Arnold, though you sometimes shave them whiskers off and regrow them in a trice and I’ve yet to work out how you do that!”

“I’ll tell you all when the cops have finished digging my potato patch for me,” he replied, smiling to show that all was well with him.

Inspector Corden led the small party round the side of the house and onto the back garden, which showed signs of having been trampled on.And there was a hole with soul pied around it where in the past Arnold’s father had grown vegetables, though Arnold had no plans to grow anything this particular year.

In particular the old brick-built garden shed at the bottom of what was quite a large garden had its door open and swinging loosely with more plastic tape preventing entry to it.

“Well I’ll be jiggered I’ve not had that shed door open since dad still lived at home,” exclaimed Arnold, “I’d best go and check that nothing’s gone astray…”

“Not today, lad,” the DI told him, “the forensic people are coming back to do a more thorough search tomorrow. They hope there might be something there, with a bit of luck more than there was in the grave, anyway. There was absolutely nothing there that hasn’t been corrupted by being in an ultra shallow grave in the very wet weather, and we’ve had quite a lot of that recently!”

Arnold nodded in agreement. “There wasn’t much in there anyway,” he said “The tools we use in the garden are in the other shed, the small one over there.”

He pointed towards a small wooden shed nearer the house. “We had that built there because dad was getting too weak to do much, and the big shed and its heavy door were beyond him. The tools we use were stored in the new one and all the other heavy stuff was left in here.”

“Someone slept in here,” grunted the sergeant, “looks like there’s an old sleeping bag in the corner, and a couple of empty beer cans next to it. Can’t have been comfortable, though. In fact, I’d hate to have to get my head down in here”

“But the man who did sleep here is dead and buried, and we’ve got to work out how come he was lying in peaceful death buried in your garden. He can’t have dug his own grave and then covered himself up because dead men don’t do things like that,” growled the DI, “And until those questions are answered we’ve got to keep our noses to the grindstone, so to speak. Is there anything you’d like to say to that?” and he looked sharply at Arnold who looked to be on the brink of exploding when he heard a question he interpreted as an accusation.

“Well, there’s no use you looking at me,” he almost shouted defensively, “I’ve hardly been here for more than the odd change of clothes since Christmas! I’d have sold the place before now but dad might want to come back but he’s in no state to know what I’m asking when I start suggesting it to him

“Thats your father? You say he’s in a retirement home?” asked the Inspector

“He is, and I don’t think it would help anyone if you lot bothered him! He’ll think you’re the milkman or even the paper boy even if you wore a copper’s uniform and a helmet with POLICE written all over it! He doesn’t often know who I am!”

“What about your mother? Your adoptive mother, that is? The woman who brought you up?” insisted the DI.

“Passed away on her birthday a decade ago, and that’s a wound that doesn’t need to be re-opened for him,” said Arnold, frowning.

“I need to see inside the house,” decided the Detective Inspector.

“Why?” asked Arnold, “there’s nothing to do with that dead fellow that you reckon is my own twin brother in there. You can see for yourself: he lived in the shed and the house has always been locked up when I’m at work or at Lucy’s. And it’s got pretty good locks. Dad had them put in when mum got nervous about strangers.”

“I can vouch for that,” nodded Lucy.

“Nevertheless I want to look around,” insisted the DI, “if only to convince myself that you’re telling the truth!”

“Damn it! Come on then, I’ve got a key to the door,” said Arnold in a resigned voice, “don’t say that I’m not willing to assist the forces of law and order when called to do so.”

“But you can stay outside until I’ve done,” added the DI, and then with a grin “I don’t want anything corrupted, and I promise not to nick anything!”

“You can come to my house, darling,” suggested Lucy to Arnold, “you don’t want him for anything else do you, Inspector?”

“Ah, but I might, so don’t go far,” came the reply, a little surly, thought Lucy. “There’s a dead body in the path lab back at the station, one that has identical DNA to your boyfriend here, and we need to find out who planted him in the aforementioned boyfriend’s back garden before we can rule anything out or in!”

TO BE CONTINUED

© Peter Rogerson, 29.09.24