5. The pathologist’s input

Medical infomation from Doctor Weasel

Back in the police station and after a few brief words with Desk Sergeant Stowelli in which the DI learned that the pathologist Doctor Weasel, had something he wanted to share with her, the two officers went to the very small canteen that served the entire town’s police force as a refuge when the hours between meal breaks were long. It consisted of a couple of vending machines and two or three tables with chairs, so there was no room for an army of weary and thirsty officers at the same time, and it was tucked into a corner of the large office where it had thoughtfully been curtained off.

“I’ll tell Weasel that he might catch us in here if he’s sharp about it,” she said, and the DS nodded his agreement.

It was still morning of the day that the body was discovered and the canteen corner was empty.

“Cuppa, sergeant?” asked his DI

“Coffee, if that’s all right,” he replied.

“And I’ll have an Earl Grey,” she told him, “do you want to pay, or shall I?”

“That’s me over a barrel,” he grinned, “so I’ll pay.”

She smiled and remembered a promise she’d once made to herself that the last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of a junior officer, so she laughed and said “don’t be daft, Dave, it’s my call!”

“What do you make of our victim?” she asked.

He thought for a moment, then “his missus doesn’t seem to have much of a kind word for him,” he replied.

“You can say that again! So what about her? Do you reckon she’s the sort to plunge a dagger into her spouse’s beating heart?”

“A word about that,” came a voice from the other side of the dividing curtain, and Dr Weasel pushed his adequate stomach in. “Stowelli happened to mention this is where I’d find you,” he added.

“Greetings, Doc,” smiled Sheila, waving him towards a chair, “what’s your poison?”

“Nothing from that machine,” he replied, “As you suggest it’s pure poison, and you can take it from one who knows.”

“Pity,” she said, “come and join us anyway. Stowelli mentioned that you had something interesting to share with us.”

The pathologist sat down and stretched while Sheila brought drinks for herself and the sergeant. Then, when all three were comfortable she looked expectantly at Doctor Weasel.

“So you have something that may help?” she asked.

He nodded. “It’s a bit of a mystery, or it might be,” he said, “because when I notify the coroner I’ll have to put that the man, Daniels, died of natural causes.”

“But he was stabbed!” protested Dave.

“He was. There’s no doubt that someone went at him with a sharpish blade, and the toy modelling scalpel had nothing to do with it. Can I ask the two of you: have either of you ever stabbed a man like Daniels? Because if you have you’ll know that it’s not easy, especially if there are ribs in the way. And the stabbing of Mr Daniels went nowhere near his heart or any artery that might have threatened his life. In fact, I’d say it was a very feeble attempt at killing him, if that’s what the killer was trying to do. No, our Mr Daniels died of a heart attack! His passage through life was far from being healthy and His system was all gunged up, but it wouldn’t have brought about a fatal heart attack had the knife not scared the living daylights out of him.”

“That puts a different complexion of things,” breathed Sheila, “might the knife-wielder have been a woman?”

“Oh, quite easily, I would have thought. It might even have been a child,” he said, nodding his head. “In fact, you might say it could have been anyone over the age of ten!”

“That’s very interesting, doctor. The man himself had a son who, I think, is in that age range, just.”

“And I’ve got a daughter who goes to the same school, not that she would have had anything to do with something like stabbing,” murmured Dave. “There must be dozens of innocents like Joanne!”

Sheila looked at him quite firmly, and then smiled and said “that’s parents all over, can’t see beyond the sweet and innocent smiles on their children when it comes to bad behaviour.”

“Nonsense,” Dave dared to say to his boss, “Joanne’s an intelligent and very sweet little girl.”

Sheila smiled at him. “I’m sure you’re right, Dave so don’t get your knickers in a twist! I’ll have to get to meet her some day. Maybe pop into a cafe for a coke or something.”

“it’s just that…” he began, and then let the sentence peter out when he caught sight of the twinkle in his boss’s eyes.

“Was there anything else, doctor?” she asked.

“Just that if he hadn’t had that heart attack me might not have lasted much longer. He was living on borrowed time as it was. His liver was in a bad way.”

“Oh. But I don’t think that’s relevant to him being stabbed, do you?”

“Of course not, unless he stabbed himself in order to avoid the problems ahead.”

“Not likely, knowing the kind of man he was said to be,” put in Dave.

“Precisely,” agreed Sheila, “so before anything else I’ll get a constable to look into the background of Mr Daniels and, maybe, his wife. And then they can take a look at the Headmaster, the Deputy head, the secretary, the caretaker and that cleaning woman, the one who found him. Who knows what fascinating things they might turn up.”

“The Headmaster’s got a good reputation,” murmured Dave, “Joanne likes him.”

“And I always like to trust a child,” smiled Sheila. “Come on, let’s go and tell PC Plod what we expect of him, and wish him luck.”

“Best call him PC Gower then,” said Dave, “if you want him to get anywhere, that is.”

“I’m not stupid, sergeant! Meanwhile for you and me it’s back to the crime scene. I want to check that door on Bloxham Street, the one that opens into the school, and maybe get some idea if the Daniels woman was right when she thought she could detect the cellar lights from the street.”

“Of course,” agreed Dave. “It’s due diligence, of course.

“Yes, sergeant, it is. No conclusions should be drawn before proper checks are made. That’s good policing.”

© Peter Rogerson, 06.01.25

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