which just makes it all the more baffling.”
“And the head? How do you explain that? It looks to me as though that’s been sliced off, by a sword or an axe.”
“I agree.” Stevens rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That’s even more difficult to explain. Certainly in the cases of spontaneous human combustion I’ve read about, the extremities were quite often found relatively intact. What I mean is: legs and arms were often found whole, untouched almost, amidst the ashes. It’s almost as though an intense heat consumed the torso and engulfed that alone, extinguishing itself once the core of the body was destroyed, causing the limbs to just ‘cave-in’, as it were. Obviously, in this instance it would appear that—”
“Hang on, wait a minute,” interrupted Dryer. “The witness states that the head was removed prior to the body setting alight.”
“Witness confusion. It has to be. The man was clearly shocked at what he saw. I mean, let’s face it, spontaneous human combustion is hard enough to believe, but people’s heads just falling off?”
“Can we be sure that they’re linked? Can we take it as a given that the head and the burnt remains belong to the same individual?”
Stevens’ look of puzzlement grew. “Lab tests should be able to confirm that. But have you got any reason to suspect otherwise?”
“No, but we have to be certain. At the moment I don’t know what we have here. Is it a dreadful accident, even though I don’t see how it could possibly have happened? Murder? Again, equally mysterious unless the witness is in fact the perpetrator. Or is it...I don’t know, a natural occurrence? Could this be something attributable to heavy smoking or excessive alcohol intake?”
“Smoking, maybe. Although I don’t know how. I suppose a lit cigarette, falling inside an inner article of clothing....” Stevens knew that his explanation was far-fetched, almost to the point of ridicule, but he was truly confused. There weren’t that many more straws for him to grasp at.
Dryer’s own cigarette had burnt low now. He removed it from his mouth, looked at it strangely, threw it to one side, walked over, and crushed it underfoot.
* * * * * * *
It was mid-afternoon, and Dryer was now sat at the desk in his office going through some of his paperwork. There was still no definite identification of the victim, despite the fact that he had a team working on the case. That the head had been preserved offered a good chance that sooner, rather than later, he would be able to put a name to the unfortunate, so that, at the very least, next of kin could be informed of the tragedy. He himself now believed it to have been a natural occurrence, no matter how unlikely that hypothesis seemed. The more he had listened to Stevens’ notion of spontaneous human combustion, the more he had gradually come round to that theory. After all, if it was murder, then how in hell’s name had it been executed without a single trace of flammable material present?
The remains were now in the morgue, no doubt being sifted through by the forensic expert. If he turned up anything, then it might alter the nature of the case, but so far he had heard nothing.
He had been in two minds about going out to St. Catherine’s in order to see if it was possible to question the witness, Mr. Laynham, but had decided against it. Again, if new evidence arose to suggest foul play, then that was an avenue of enquiry he could pursue at a later date.
There came a firm knock on his door.
“Come in.”
The door was opened by one of his officers. “Sir, there’s a man here to see you. He says it’s vitally important and that it’s to do with the discovery this morning.”
“That’s good. Send him in.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll get him.” The officer turned and went back to the main desk. He returned moments later with a tall, straight-backed, well-dressed man who looked to be in his early sixties. There was an air of distinguished erudition in the stranger’s bright blue eyes. His hair was a startling white and he had a well-groomed goatee.
Dryer waited in silence as his visitor entered and took a seat opposite.
The door closed as the officer left.
“I understand you have some information for us.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact.
“Yes, I believe I do. Allow me introduce myself. My name is Augustus Smith. I’m a collector of Middle Eastern antiquities. I have a boutique here in the city.”
“I see. Well, Mr. Smith, anything you can give me to help clear up this unfortunate incident will be extremely welcome. Can I ask, did you know the deceased? And secondly, just how do you know about this, as there has been no news released about it as far as I’m aware?”
“I’ll answer your second question first if I may. I arrived at the park shortly after you left and spoke with the policeman on duty just as to what had happened. He told me readily enough once I explained that I was concerned over the welfare of a friend of mine. Although he didn’t provide me with the details, I...I’ve seen enough to know what to expect.”
“I’m confused. ‘To know what to expect’? Just what do you mean by that?” Dryer sat up in his chair, his eyes boring into the other. Was this man somehow linked to the terrible happening this morning? Criminologists had a theory that the perpetrator of a crime was often compelled to return to the scene. Like a dog to its vomit, he thought.
“I think you’ll just have to believe me when I tell you that I’ve seen this thing before.”
Dryer tilted his head slightly. “Seen what exactly?”
Smith paused for a moment, clearly unsure as to how to continue. “The body, I take it, was terribly burnt? Beyond all recognition, save for the head?”
“That information hasn’t been disclosed as yet. Just how do you know this?” Dryer’s suspicion rocketed. Unless this enigmatic stranger had been the actual murderer or another witness who had not come forward at the time, surely there was no way he could—or rather should—be privy to this information. Surely his officers at the scene wouldn’t have been forthcoming with such sensitive details. That went beyond all protocols of police investigation.
“As I told you, Inspector, I’ve seen this thing before.”
“Where?” Dryer lent his elbows on the desk and interlinked his fingers, not taking his stern gaze from the informant.
“Baghdad. Mosul. Tikrit. And in half a dozen other towns and cities throughout Iraq. And now, it would appear, it’s here, in England.”
“I’m lost. Just what do you mean?”
“Can I ask, Inspector, are you a religious man?”
“Can’t say as I am. What’s that got to do with anything?” Dryer responded sharply. He was fast beginning to lose his patience. He had hoped for something a bit more relevant than this seemingly useless load of nonsense.
“Well then, you’re going to find it hard to accept what I’m about to tell you. You see—”
There came another knock at the door, but this time the person on the other side didn’t wait for a reply, merely barging straight in.
It
