Dr Scott Examines the Body
DR MALCOLM SCOTT was short, tubby, and sixty, white of hair, and had a fresh complexion which defied the sun. Why he came to practise in Merino no one knew and he never bothered to explain. He arrived, had a comfortable house built between the bank and one of the stores, and quietly settled down to enjoy life in his own manner and alleviate the superficial sufferings of a people notoriously healthy.
It could be assumed that Merino would have assimilated Dr Scott. To use the vernacular: “What a hope!” Dr Scott assimilated Merino, for he became its first citizen in all activities excepting those connected with the law. He got to know everyone and everything about everyone, or nearly so. And he had the knack of keeping everyone in his place so that he could be familiar to all while none dared be familiar to him.
He was out of town when Marshall reached Merino, necessitating a wait for an hour, by the end of which Mounted Constable Gleeson’s iron control was beginning to crack. On arrival at Sandy Flat, they discovered Bony sitting on the doorstep of the hut.
“I hope you brought back the hamper and tea billy,” he said pleasantly, when they had left the car and stood before him. “I am beginning to be hungry.”
“Stomach! Stomach! Stomach! It’s always stomach,” snorted the doctor. “Can’t you forget your stomach and enjoy good health? And what a place to have a stomach, too! NowWhere’s this body?”
Bony rose to his feet, and said gravely:
“It awaits you.”
The three men grouped themselves behind Dr Scott.
“Coo!” he exclaimed softly. “What’s your opinion, Marshall?”
“Haven’t decided.” replied the cautious sergeant. “We’d better go in. Have a look, Gleeson, at the way the straps were joined and then tied to the crossbeam. Note the general layout. I’ll open that trap window.”
Bony did not again enter the hut. He heard Marshall tell his constable to photograph the corpse and the use made of the dead man’s swag straps, and then he walked to the car and took out the hamper and billy can.
“Ever seen him before, Gleeson?” Marshall asked.
“No, Sergeant.”
“How old would he be, Doctor?”
“About fifty.”
“Colour of eyes?”
“Hazel. Grey hair… was dark brown.”
“Any distinguishing marks-without stripping him?”
“Yes. First joint of little finger of right hand missing.”
“Thanks. We’ll leave the contents of the swag till later, Gleeson. There seems to be nothing else. No fire lit for weeks. He didn’t even have a meal here. Couldn’t have been here long before he died. Shall we take him down, Doctor?”
“Yes. Get my bag from the car, please, Gleeson. Afterwards we’ll want some hot water-and soap-plenty of it. I see half a bar over on that shelf.”
Ten minutes later they heard a distant voice shout:
“Lunchoh!”
Marshall, who was standing just inside the door, turned about to see Detective Inspector Napoleon Bonaparte, the noted crime investigator, standing beside a fire he had made over by the tank stand. In the shadowwas the unpacked hamper and a steaming billy. Beside the fire were two petrol buckets of heated water.
“Ready for a drink of tea, Doctor?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Drink anything… now,” snapped Scott. “Ugh! Filthy business! Let’s get outside.”
They were thankful for the hot but fresh air without, and the sergeant wedged shut the door. It seemed to them that they had left a noisome dungeon.
“Gentlemen! Lunch is served,” Bony said in welcome, and, strangely enough, they were glad to hear the tone of gaiety in his voice. “There is the dish I brought from the hut. Hot water aplenty. I forgot that soap, Marshall. Sorry. Towels are minus.”
Dr Scott glared.
“Seen you somewhere,” he said impolitely. “Why, hang it, I remember. You’re the fellow who was painting the police station fence. The colour makes me sick.”
“It causes Rose Marie to feel sick too,” supplemented Bony. In fifteen minutes he was saying to his guests:
“Tea in this china cup for you, Doctor. And this other china cup for you, Sergeant. Gleeson and I will drink from these tin pannikins I brought from the hut. It’s all right, Gleeson. They are station property, and I have scoured them well with hot water and sand. What a beautiful day!”
In after years, whenever the doctor recalled this scene, invariably he remembered the manner in which Bony appeared to evolve from a nebulous figure painting a fence, through the clearer stage of seeing him seated on the doorstep of a hut in which was suspended the body of a man, to this moment when smilingly he proffered to him a cup of tea. Subsequently he always felt like a man who mistook his host for the butler.
He said to Sergeant Marshall: “You could arrange for the inquest to be held tomorrow. Seems all straightforward.”
“It will depend upon my superior,” Marshall countered.
“Yoursuperior?”
“Permit me to intrude-again,” murmured Bony. “I am going to take you into my confidence, Doctor, because I need your co-operation. I am a detective inspector of the QueenslandC.I. B. on loan to this state to look into the circumstances of the death of George Kendall. My name is Napoleon Bonaparte.”
“What’s that?” exclaimed Scott.
“That is actually my name. Sandwich?
“I have made myselfau fait with your history, Doctor, and I am entitled by it to be confident that you will maintain what is at present a police secret,” Bony said. “For twenty-eight years you practised in Sydney, where you were widely and favourably known. You came to Merino ten years ago for domestic reasons. Your chief interest in life is the study of biochemistry. Finally: you are known most favourably to the police force at Merino.”
Dr Scott gazed at Bony with wide eyes. Then he barked:
“It’s like your impertinence, inquiring into my career as though I were a criminal.” His face was flushed. “My reasons for coming to Merino are my own. My hobbies are my own. My financial affairs are my own. I’ll have you know-”
“I had to be assured that I could ask you for assistance on the side of justice,” Bony cut in. “You will shortly appreciate the reason for caution, and the irritation caused in you by my cautiousness will probably be balanced by matters of great interest to you as a scientific man.”
“That’s all right, then. I’m all for law and order, myself.”
“Good! Another sandwich. What about you, Sergeant? Gleeson?”
For a little while they ate in silence. Then Bony spoke.
“It would seem that in this district there is a quite ruthless killer, a man far removed from the exasperated husband who slays his nagging wife, and far removed, too, from the unthinking thug who waylays and bashes on dark nights. I would not have consented to undertake this investigation were I not assured that the killer of Kendall was a man having intelligence, and, further, that in spite of appearance Kendall was not killed over in that hut.”
“But I came here that day and saw the body lying on the floor in its own blood,” expostulated Dr Scott, and Gleeson appeared to freeze.
“Yes, yes! I know you did, as well as others. I know for a fact that Kendall was not killed inside that hut. His body was taken to it and put on the floor and blood, probably sheep’s blood, was poured on the floor to indicate that the man had been killed there. Where he was killed I don’t yet know, and I have yet to establish why. The point of greatest interest is why the killing was staged in the hut, why such efforts were made to divert police attention from the place where the murder was done. Would it be possible, Doctor, for you to identify the blood on the floor from the dried residue?”
“I am uncertain,” replied Dr Scott. “I will certainly try.”
“Thank you. If you succeed it would set all your doubts at rest. Now let us pass to the case of Edward Bennett. Tell us what you know about him, professionally.”
Dr Scott handed round his case, filled with expensive cigarettes. Then:
“Old Bennett was my very first patient after my arrival in Merino. The condition of his heart was not robust and I warned him to go easy. But his type never goes easy, and I knew that my job was to keep him going as long as possible. Only a week before he did die I told him to cut his hotel bill by half.”
“He was found in his pyjamas on the floor just inside his front door,” Bony continued. “He died sometime during the night, according to your estimate, as I know quite well that only an estimate can be given of the length of time a human body has been dead. Would it be possible, do you think, that old Bennett could have died through shock, let us say, when he opened his front door?”
“Quite possible. Bennett had been staggering on the edge of his grave for several years.”
“There are, of course, many others in Merino who knew the state of the old man’s heart?”
“Yes. He himself made sure that everyone knew it.”
“Thank you. Now, gentlemen, go back to that afternoon when you three entered Bennett’s hut and found him dead, and consider my suspicion that someone knocked on his door in the dead of night, and that, on opening it, he received such a fright that his poor weak heart failed.”
“Are you inferring that someone frightened him to death?” asked Gleeson, his eyes narrowed.
“Let us leave that for the time, Gleeson, and concentrate on the possibility that Bennett died from shock and not from the normal failure of his heart action,” Bony countered.
“Knowing nothing to change it, my opinion remains that Bennett died from angina pectoris, which was not a secondary cause,” the doctor argued. “I think I can put myself in his place that night. Sometime during the night he became ill, and he lit his bedside lamp and swallowed two of my tablets. A little later he became worse and decided to leave the place and seek assistance, of me or of his daughter. He got as far as the door.”
“If that were so,” Bony begandemurringly, “would he not have slipped an overcoat over his pyjamas? The night was not warm. He did not even put his feet into the slippers which were placed neatly beside his bed when he retired.”
“His dead face looked as though he had received a bad fright,” said Gleeson.
“I accepted the look on his face as having been due to the last sharp agony,” argued the doctor. “People suffering from his complaint sometimes die very hard. Still, I am not now hostile to the idea that old Bennett received a fright which caused his diseased heart to stop. That he died from heart failure is certain.”
Gleeson flashed a look at his sergeant, his eyes still narrow and, as usual, his face maintaining its mask.
“Assuming that the main cause of Bennett’s death was fright,” he said, “was the fright given him accidentally or deliberately? I remember that the old man was at the dance social. He left early, and he was seen, later, holding Kendall’s coat during the fight with young Jason.”
“It would appear, Gleeson, that the thought is in your mind that the man who killed Kendall subsequently frightened old Bennett to his death,” remarked Bony. “You may be right. It would not surprise me if you were. If we assume that you are right, then we should not accept too readily that the swagman hanged himself.”
“It was suicide,” snapped the doctor. “Men are not murdered by being hanged.”
“Why not?” asked Gleesonpointedly.
“Why not?” echoed Scott. “How the devil do I know? Why should anyone hang the man? Why not hit him with an iron bar, or knife or shoot him?”
Gleeson was stubborn.
“Supposing he was stunned by a head blow, and then hanged to present his death as suicide,” he pressed. “If you will excuse me, you jumped to the conclusion that he hanged himself. You did not examine his head.”
“Neither has an examination been made of the stomach,” Bony added. “He may have been poisoned first.”
“Imagination,” snorted the doctor.
“Perhaps,” conceded the constable. “You would be justified in calling it imagination if it hadn’t been for the killing of Kendall. If Inspector Bonaparte is correct when he says that Kendall’s body was brought here from some place the murdered didn’t want to have investigated, and how the inspector makes that out beats me, then this hanging business may not be what it appears to be. By the way,” to Bony, “have you looked around for tracks?”
“Yes, Gleeson. Thereare none other than those made by the dead man.” Marshall blinked his eyes. “Those tracks indicate that the dead man came from Wattle Creek homestead direct along the foot of these Walls of China. Those you see laid over the Walls were left by me. I went up there to find out what the crows were so excited about. They had found young Jason’s dog. It picked upa poison bait.”
For the first time expression was registered on Gleeson’s face. He looked like a man whose thoughts were being proved.
“Young Jason’s brown and white dog?” echoed Marshall.
“What on earth would that dog be doing up there?” demanded the doctor.
“Possibly following his owner,” replied Gleeson.
“Or Jason’s father, or the butcher, or the parson, or Rose Marie,” said the smiling Bonaparte. “I have seen that dog following many people.”
“So have I,” said Marshall in support.
“It must have been following someone,” said Gleeson.
“In which case I would have seen the tracks made by the person followed,” Bony pointed out frankly. “However, I am going to suggest that you remain here while Marshall and I run up to the homestead to inquire about the deadman, and during our absence you could hunt for tracks. I may possibly have missed them. I think, Doctor, that you might examine the body in the light of what we have discussed. Do you think you could have your report ready for the inquest tomorrow morning? There would be nothing else to delay it beyond tomorrow, eh, Marshall?”
Both the doctor and the policeman agreeing that the inquest could be held in the morning, Bony beamed upon them in turn. He was almost gay when he said:
“If old Bennett did die of fright produced by the threat of murder, and if that man in the hut was first killed and then hanged, and if Kendall’s body was taken to that hut from some other place where he was murdered, we are entitled to assume that in this district there is a tiptop, first-class, dyed-in-the-wool murderer. You know, gentlemen, I am beginning to enjoy myself. The answer to the question: ‘Whodunn -it?’ is going to be most interesting. Now, Doctor, who do you think it will turn out to be?”
“Rev. Llewellyn James,” was the doctor’s prompt reply.
“Dear me!” exclaimed Bony mildly.
“Yes. The fellow would murder anything. He’s a hypocrite, a malingerer, and a fraud. Says he suffers from a weak heart, but he’s too cunning to let me examine him. Sits most of the day on his veranda reading books, and lets his wife chop the wood in the back yard. He’s as strong as a young bull, and he could hang that man with ease.”
Bony chuckled. He turned to Sergeant Marshall.
“What about you?” he pressed.
“Good job these guesses are off the record,” growled Marshall. “I think I’ll vote for Massey Leylan. He’s young and strong, and he has a violent temper.”
“My guess,” said Gleeson, accepting Bony’s invitation, “is young Jason. There is a certain amount of evidence pointing to him. Sergeant Redman picked on him too. Bad-tempered, sullen fellow. Strong despite his deformities.”
“Now we have three likely-looking coves all ready for the neck-tie ceremony, as the late William Sykes would have said,” pointed out the delighted Bony. “Henceforth I will take an especial interest in them.”
Gleeson asked Bony who was his guess, and Bony was evasive.
“I am a personage of such terrific importance that I dare not hazard even a guess off the record,” he said smilingly. “Were I to name the elder Jason, the hotel licensee, or the butcher, or even you, Gleeson, you would condemn the named person out of hand. I can accept your choice with an open mind; you would accept mine as a certainty.”