Chapter 1. Habeas Corpus

‘That’s odd! Someone’s left the door to the Fellows’ Garden open!’

Dr Martin Riess, Fellow in Geology at Lichfield College, pointed towards a wide wooden door set into the high stone wall that ran alongside the road. His friend and colleague, Professor Paula Wellesley, Fellow in Physical Science and holder of the Robert Boyle Chair of Physics, turned her head to look.

‘One of the gardeners, up early?’ she suggested.

‘It’s a bit too “crack of dawn” even for them,’ Martin murmured, looking at his watch. ‘Still – we might as well get the benefit, even if we had better report it as a security breach afterwards.’

He gently pushed the door, expecting it to swing wide, but his fingers met with resistance. He grasped the wood more firmly and applied more pressure. Still the door refused to move. There was something behind it, something soft but resilient. Martin squeezed his slender frame through the gap between the edge of the door and the honey-coloured Cotswold stone and peered down to see what the obstacle could be.

‘What is it?’ Paula called through the crack, hearing Martin’s sharp intake of breath as he recognised the object that lay at his feet. ‘What’ve you found?’

‘It’s … You’re not going to believe this,’ Martin replied in a strange, shocked voice. ‘It’s a body – one of the gardeners, I think, judging by what he’s wearing.’

‘Dead?’ queried Paula. ‘Or has he just fainted, d’you think? Or a fit or a stroke, maybe?’

‘No; he’s dead alright,’ Martin answered decisively. ‘There’s too much blood about … and …,’ he bent down and gingerly touched the man’s face, ‘he’s quite cold. I think he’s probably been here all night.’

‘Let me see,’ Paula said, pushing her way through the narrow aperture. Martin moved a little further into the garden to make room for her to stand next to him, staring down at the mysterious corpse.

It was a man. Martin guessed that he must be over sixty – maybe more like seventy or eighty, but perhaps he looked older because he was dead. Martin’s experience of dead bodies was limited – non-existent, in fact. He was wearing grey overalls with the distinctive red and black Lichfield College crest on the front pocket – just like all the college outdoor staff. He lay on one side with his head in the herbaceous border that ran along the right-hand side of the path leading from the external door across the garden to the glass doors of the Senior Common Room. His legs and most of his body were on the path obstructing the door. A pool of blood had oozed out from under his chest and congealed on the gravel path.

‘Has he been stabbed?’ asked Paula. ‘Or could it have been an accident of some sort?’

‘I don’t know.’ Martin took out his phone. ‘I’m going to call the police. Don’t touch anything. At least …,’ he hesitated. ‘Better close the door. We don’t want anyone else wandering in.’

Paula pulled her sleeve down over her hand to avoid leaving any fingerprints and pushed the door closed. The catch snapped shut making it impossible for anyone to enter from the road without a key. Then she prowled silently round the body, taking care not to disturb it, peering as close as she dared, trying to work out what could have happened.

‘I think I’ve seen him around,’ she told Martin when he finished his call. ‘I’m almost certain I’ve seen him working in the garden. He must be one of the gardeners.’

‘Not one I recognise.’ Martin bent down to look more closely at the man’s face. ‘But then, you’re around college more than I am. I’d better ring the Master and let him know about this,’ he added, turning to his phone again, ‘and the porters, or they’ll have a fit when the police turn up.’

‘We might as well go through to the Porters’ Lodge and tell them in person,’ Paula pointed out as Martin concluded his call to the college principal. ‘We can wait there for the police and then show them through to the garden.’

‘OK. Good idea,’ Martin agreed. ‘There’s just one more phone call I want to make first.’

* * *

‘Martin! What’s up at this time in the morning?’ Bernie switched her phone to loudspeaker and put it down on the bedside cabinet so that she could listen to her friend while continuing to work on pulling up and fastening Jonah’s trousers. Although she was very fond of the little don, Martin’s call was an unwelcome interruption to their daily routine. Washing, toileting and dressing a severely disabled man took plenty of time every morning, without any disruptive telephone calls.

‘I’ve found a body in the Fellows’ Garden,’ Martin told her bluntly.

‘A body?’ Bernie left the zip undone and snatched up the phone. ‘Are you having me on?’

‘No. We were just coming back from the canal along Goose Lane and we saw the door into the Fellows’ Garden was open. And then, when I looked behind it, there was this dead man lying there!’

‘A dead man!’ echoed Jonah excitedly, twisting his head towards Bernie, his eyes shining with anticipation. ‘Who is it? How did he die? Have you called the police?’

‘Paula reckons he’s one of the gardeners,’ Martin told them, ‘although I don’t recognise him myself. He’s wearing a boiler suit with a Lichfield College logo on it, so I suppose she must be right. I don’t know what killed him, but there’s a lot of blood about on the path where he’s lying. And yes – the first thing I did was call the police. I don’t know quite why I’m ringing you, except that I’d quite like someone who’s used to this sort of thing on my side.’

‘We’ll be over right away,’ Jonah said at once.

‘Just as soon as we’ve had breakfast,’ Bernie added, giving Jonah a look that told him that she understood the importance to his digestive system and general well-being of sticking to regular mealtimes, even if he did not.

‘Don’t let anyone near the body until the police say so,’ Jonah added urgently. ‘And whatever you do, don’t touch anything!’

‘It’s OK.’ There was a tinge of amusement in Martin’s voice. ‘We’ve locked the door into Goose Lane and we’re on our way over to the Porters’ Lodge to get reinforcements to stop anyone going into the garden from the SCR or the main quad. That only leaves the private door from the Master’s lodgings, so – Oh! Here he comes now! I’d better go. See you later.’

‘Right! Now hurry up and get me ready,’ Jonah ordered impatiently. ‘I want to get down there before Uniform go trampling all over the evidence!’

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Bernie smiled, hurrying to finish dressing him. ‘You’re retired. It isn’t your call. There’ll be a perfectly competent officer from CID in charge and they most likely won’t take kindly to having you putting your oar in.’

‘Breakfast’s ready!’ Bernie’s husband, Peter, put his head round the door. ‘And what’s all that about Jonah putting his oar in?’

‘Martin Riess has found a body and he’s invited us over to have a look at it,’ Bernie told him with a smile. ‘Naturally, Our Jonah is relishing the chance of interfering in a police investigation and no doubt thinks that he will solve the case when everyone else fails!’

‘Well, you’ll have to count me out,’ Peter told them. ‘I’ve got the grandkids today. They’ll be here any minute, which is why I was hoping you’d be ready for breakfast by now.’

‘We’re nearly done. Help me get his nibs into the chair and then I’ll put his shirt on while you deal with his shoes.’

In less than a minute, they had their friend transferred from the bed into his hi-tech electric wheel chair. A few minutes later, he was fully dressed and on his way to the kitchen for breakfast. Bernie smiled as she watched him manoeuvring the chair expertly round a tight corner in the hall. The prospect of a murder enquiry certainly put a spring in his step, so to speak!

Arriving in the kitchen they found Bernie’s daughter, Lucy, already sitting at the long wooden table shovelling down breakfast cereal at a great pace. She looked up and smiled towards Jonah.

‘I’m sorry I can’t stop to feed you today,’ she apologised, through a mouthful of bran flakes. ‘I promised I’d be in early today. Don’t worry; I’ll be back in time to help you with your tea.’

Lucy, home from university where she had just finished the first year of a medical degree, was volunteering in a local hospice two days a week. It was good work experience as well as breaking the monotony of the vacation reading list that she had been given in preparation for the resumption of her course next term. She got up and carried her empty bowl over to the sink.

‘I’ll get off now,’ she said over her shoulder as she headed for the kitchen door. ‘I should think I’ll be back about-’

She broke off as the door burst open and a small, dark-skinned boy with curly black hair hurtled across the room. It was Peter’s three-year-old grandson, Ricky. Like most children of his age, he had unbounded energy and only one speed setting: full throttle. Peter, fearing that he was about to collide with the table, stepped forward and swept him up in his arms.

‘You’re early today,’ he declared. ‘We haven’t finished breakfast yet. Would you like to help me make the toast?’

‘Yes!’ Ricky nodded vigorously as his grandfather carried him over to the side of the room and stood him on a chair so that he could reach the work surface. Peter handed him two slices of bread and watched carefully as he put them into the toaster and pushed the knob down to set it going.

Lucy made her escape, first standing back to allow Peter’s son, Eddie, to come in with Ricky’s younger sister, Abigail in his arms. To anyone who did not know the family, Abigail was always a surprise. Unlike her parents and brother, she had white skin, green eyes and a shock of ginger hair. Through the wonders of genetics, she had somehow inherited her colouration from her paternal grandfather – and presumably also from some long-forgotten ancestor on her mother’s side – and turned out unique and different from all her closest relatives.

‘Here you are, Dad,’ Eddie said fastening his daughter into the high chair that stood at the end of the table. ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to fly now; the traffic’s been worse than ever on the A34 this week. Crystal will be over to pick them up about four.’

Bernie helped Jonah to cereal and fruit juice while Peter poured boiling water into a large brown teapot and set it down in the middle of the table. Ricky called out to tell him that the toast had popped up, and was rewarded for his watchfulness with half a slice for himself.

‘Now take the other half and give it to Abbie,’ Peter instructed, lifting him off the chair and setting him down on the floor. Ricky obediently toddled over and put the toast on the tray in front of his sister’s high chair, before clambering up next to her and sitting with his elbows on the table staring round expectantly.

Meanwhile, Peter put on more toast and poured the tea: bone china mugs for him and Bernie, and plastic beakers with a lid for Jonah, Ricky and Abigail.

‘Don’t worry about the washing up,’ he said to Bernie as they munched their toast a few minutes later. ‘I know you both want to get off down to Lichfield to view that body of Martin’s. Ricky and I can do it together, can’t we, Rick?’ He turned to look at his grandson, who grinned and waved a buttery hand in acknowledgement. ‘Ricky’s a dab-hand at drying up. I don’t know what I’d do without him!’

* * *

‘That’s the door Martin was telling us about,’ Bernie said, pointing along Goose Lane towards the entrance to the Fellows’ Garden, now criss-crossed with blue-and-white police tape and with a uniformed officer standing in front of it. ‘And that’s Stella Gilbert guarding it!’

They hurried along the narrow street, Jonah’s wheelchair rumbling noisily over the cobbles.

‘Hi Stella!’ Bernie greeted the young trainee police constable. ‘I see you’ve secured the crime scene.’

‘Hello Bernie – DCI Porter,’ Stella responded, smiling round at them nervously. ‘You’ve heard about it then?’

‘Martin Riess – he’s the one who found the body – rang us,’ Bernie explained. ‘He’s a friend of ours.’

‘Have CID arrived yet?’ Jonah demanded. ‘Who are they putting in charge?’

‘No – at least I don’t think so, sir.’ Stella still sounded nervous. She had only recently joined Thames Valley Police and was very much in awe of Jonah, whom she regarded as a legendary police hero. ‘PC Hughes is round the other side. He’d be able to tell you more. I expect when they come it’ll be that way.’

‘Then we’d better go round the other side,’ Jonah declared, immediately turning his wheelchair and setting off towards the junction of Goose Lane with Lichfield Street.

‘See you later! I’d better go after him before he gets himself into trouble.’ Bernie gave Stella a shrug and a grin before running to catch up with her friend. Stella smiled back nervously and then stood up straight with her hands behind her back and eyes forward, on guard. She took her duties very seriously.

A police car and a Crime Scene Investigation van were blocking the street outside the main entrance on Lichfield Street. Jonah had to wait while staff in protective clothing unloaded equipment from the van and disappeared through the archway that led to the college’s main quadrangle. When he attempted to follow them through, he was immediately stopped by one of the porters.

‘I’m sorry sir,’ the man said firmly. ‘The college is closed to visitors.’

‘We have an appointment with Dr Martin Riess,’ Bernie explained. Shall I ring him to ask him to come and escort us?’

‘It’s alright!’ At the sound of a familiar brogue, Bernie turned to see another old friend. Forensic pathologist Mike Carson had arrived. He held up his identification card. ‘I can vouch for these two. They’re here with the Scenes of Crime team: DCI Jonah Porter and his PA Dr Bernie Fazakerley.’

They followed Mike through the dark tunnel, past the Porters’ Lodge and out into the bright sunshine of the quadrangle. Ahead of them lay a square of neatly cut grass with a stone sculpture in the centre of it.

‘That’s the sundial that they put up in memory of the bursar who was killed[1],’ Bernie whispered, pointing. ‘You remember! He left money to the college in his will, provided that they used part of it to put one up.’

‘It’s a bit over-elaborate for a sundial,’ Jonah muttered, briefly glancing across at the gothic-style masterpiece. ‘Hadn’t he heard of digital watches? Now, where’s this other door?’

‘Over there.’ Bernie pointed to the right.

Looking across the grass, Jonah saw another high Cotswold stone wall, with another door set into it, and another uniformed police officer standing in front of a cordon of police tape. This door, however, was open and Scenes of Crime Officers were lifting the tape to pass under it and into the garden beyond. He hurried along the paved path to join them.

‘Hello sir!’ PC Gavin Hughes greeted him. ‘What brings you here? Have you got bored with retirement already?’

‘Hi Gavin,’ Jonah responded warmly. Gavin was an old friend and a trusted colleague. He would never win any prizes for his intellect, but he was a good solid officer and someone who could be relied upon in a tight spot. ‘We’re looking for Dr Riess. Is he through there?’

‘No, sir. Only the SOCOs are allowed in. Dr Riess and the other witnesses are all in the Senior Common Room. It’s just over there.’ He pointed along the path to where a flight of worn stone steps led up into the building on the far side of the quad from the street entrance. Jonah noted with relief that there was also a concrete ramp for wheelchair users.

‘Thanks. We’ll go and find him.’ He turned to go, then hesitated briefly and turned back to Gavin. ‘And say a few kind words to Stella Gilbert when you see her. She’s doing a fine job and I think she’s rather nervous of the responsibility. I imagine this will be her first murder scene.’

‘I’ll do that, sir. Can I tell her you said so? She thinks the world of you. She’s very keen. She’ll make a good officer, given time.’

However, Jonah was already speeding away towards the ramp, intent on hearing all about the mysterious corpse from the man who had found it. Bernie hurried after him, mounting the steps in order to reach the door in time to open it for him. Being paralysed apart from three fingers meant that Jonah could control his wheelchair, but he could not reach out to press the large button provided for wheelchair users to gain access to the building.

The SCR was a large airy room furnished with easy chairs and small tables. Two of the walls were panelled in oak from floor to ceiling. The other two had large windows looking out on to the Fellows’ Garden on one side and the main quadrangle on the other. The glass double doors, which led to the garden, were closed and a garland of police tape hung across them.

Bernie looked around, trying to spot her friend among the clusters of people chatting together in low voices in different parts of the room. She recognised the chaplain, Simon Sutcliffe, who was over by the glass doors, deep in conversation with a middle-aged man dressed in grey overalls and work boots – giving pastoral care to one of the victim’s colleagues, she supposed.

Ah! There he was – over by the large fireplace on the far side of the room. Martin and Paula were standing together trying to look attentive while the Master, Dr Featherstone Grainger, seemed to be speaking to them at great length. Bernie caught Martin’s eye and, with a look of gratitude on his face, he excused himself and came over to meet her.

‘Thank you for coming,’ he said in tones of relief, ‘although I’m not sure what I’m expecting you to do.’

‘Thank you for calling us,’ Jonah responded, looking up at him with a lop-sided smile. ‘I’m looking forward to this. Tell us all about it.’

‘Good morning Inspector!’ The Master came up behind Martin and greeted them in an authoritative voice. He remembered Jonah from the investigation into the late bursar’s untimely death and assumed that he was in charge of the current police operation. ‘As you probably remember, I’m Dr Featherstone Grainger, the Master of Lichfield, and this is Dr Martin Riess, who found the body. I see that you have a team of people here already. Is there anything else you need us to do for you?’

‘We’re not the police investigators,’ Bernie put in hastily. ‘We’re just here to see Martin.’

A puzzled frown crossed the Master’s brow and he looked enquiringly towards Jonah.

‘Alas, I’m only acting in a personal capacity,’ Jonah told him ruefully. ‘I retired from the police service last year. Dr Riess is an old friend of ours and-’

‘I rang Bernie because she knows more about this sort of thing than we do,’ Martin added quickly. ‘I thought it would be useful to have someone around who had experience of – of murders and stuff – to advise us, just in case …’

‘The press will be on to this just as soon as they manage to roll out of bed,’ Jonah picked up, as Martin’s voice trailed away. ‘Before you know it, they’ll be all sorts of speculation about what happened. And, despite what they say, not all publicity is good publicity.’

‘And are you offering-?’ the Master broke off as a tall man in grey overalls emblazoned with the Lichfield College crest approached him. Bernie had seen him come in through a door on the opposite side of the room from where she and Jonah had entered. She recognised his uniform and guessed that he must be another of the gardeners who tended the outdoor areas of the college.

‘Milton!’ the Master called to him. ‘Thank you for coming right away. I assume you’ve been told about what’s happened?’

‘Well, yes Master,’ Head Gardener Russell Milton answered, looking round the room self-consciously and stuffing his grimy hands into the pockets of his overalls. ‘But I can’t quite make it out. They said one of the gardeners has been found dead, but that can’t be right. There’s only me and Brian and Kev and young Connor, who’s on work experience, and I’ve seen them all this morning. They’re all fine.’

‘But I’m sure I’ve seen him working in the Fellows’ Garden,’ Paula broke in. ‘I’ve been thinking about it, since we found him, and I’m quite sure he was pruning the roses in the bed by the gate into the main quad when I went out that way on Friday night last week. I remember thinking it was strange that he was working so late.’

‘And he’s wearing Lichfield overalls,’ Martin added, ‘like the ones you’ve got on now.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ Milton argued, sounding more confident now, ‘but he can’t be one of us, because we’re all accounted for. Can I have a look at him?’

‘That will be for the police to decide,’ the Master answered, looking towards Jonah.

‘We’d better wait until CID get here,’ Jonah told them. He would have liked to go straight out to view the body himself, but he knew that he would have been overstepping the mark, now that he was a mere civilian and no longer a senior officer with an unrivalled service record and a legendary reputation. ‘They’ll want someone to identify the body, but we mustn’t risk contaminating the crime scene by barging in uninvited.’