Hardcastle's Obsession Read Free Page A

and ask Doctor Spilsbury if he’d be so good as to examine a body for us.’ Although conversant with its use, Hardcastle disliked the telephone and in common with many of his contemporaries, regarded it as a newfangled invention that would not last.
    Marriott returned ten minutes later. ‘Doctor Spilsbury asked that the body be removed to St Mary’s at Paddington, sir, and he’ll examine it at two o’clock this afternoon.’
    ‘Yes, well, I thought he’d want it there. See to it, Marriott.’
    ‘Manual strangulation, Hardcastle, without a doubt,’ said Spilsbury. ‘There were bruise marks on the young woman’s neck, and when I opened her up I found that the thyroid cartilage had been broken. I would say that considerable force was applied by the thumb of the right hand, or even by both thumbs. It might even have been a chopping action with the heel of the hand, but it was no accidental killing.’
    ‘Is it possible that the injury was caused by the falling masonry on the night of the bomb?’ asked Hardcastle, wondering if, even yet, he might avoid a murder enquiry.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Spilsbury, ‘although I very much doubt it. There was nothing to indicate that to be the case. I would definitely say that deliberate pressure was applied with the intention of killing the victim, or, as I said just now, a lethal blow.’
    ‘Well, that’s murder, then,’ said Hardcastle phlegmatically. ‘Anything else I should know, Doctor?’
    ‘It’s not possible in the circumstances to say how recently she had indulged in sexual intercourse, my dear Hardcastle, but I can tell you that she was about two months pregnant.’ Spilsbury paused to turn the body on its side. ‘There is a birthmark here behind the left knee,’ he said, pointing with a pair of forceps. ‘That might help. I understand that the cadaver has yet to be identified.’
    ‘That’s correct, Doctor. We don’t know who she is at the moment, but I’ll find out, you may rest assured of that.’
    Spilsbury smiled, and took off his rubber apron. ‘I’m sure you will, Hardcastle.’
    ‘Let’s have a look at the clobber she was wearing, Marriott,’ said Hardcastle when, once again, the two detectives were back at Cannon Row police station.
    Marriott opened the large paper bag in which he had carried the unknown woman’s clothing from the hospital, and emptied it on to a table in the detectives’ office.
    Using a pencil, Hardcastle poked at the various items, paying particular attention to the woman’s underwear. ‘That’s the sort of stuff a tart would wear, Marriott,’ he said eventually. ‘My girls wouldn’t be seen dead in that sort of clobber.’
    ‘No, sir,’ said Marriott, forbearing from saying that the unknown woman had been found dead in that sort of clobber. The DDI did not appreciate such humour, unless he was the one practising it.
    ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to find that she’s a prostitute. Where’s the nearest whores’ beat to Washbourne Street, Marriott?’
    ‘These days it’s mainly Victoria station, sir, and the girls usually congregate when a troop train’s due in. They seem to know that the two things a swaddy wants when he gets home on leave is a pint and a tumble. They tend to gather near the buffets, but the railway coppers move them on. So they just shift to the street outside, usually near the pub on the corner of Wilton Road. Then they get moved on again by our men.’
    Hardcastle glanced, in turn, at each of the four detective constables who were standing around the table in the centre of the room. ‘Catto.’
    ‘Sir?’ said Detective Constable Henry Catto, stepping across to the DDI.
    ‘Take your three colleagues down to Victoria station and start asking questions among the prostitutes who hang about there. I want to know if any one of them is missing.’ That done, Hardcastle addressed himself to DS Herbert Wood. ‘Get a message off to surrounding stations, Wood, asking them to check reports of any