Maisie picked up a pencil and tapped it on the desk, mindful of Clarissa Clark’s position. “I applaud you for keeping an open mind, Dr. Clark—but I have a feeling you believe he was killed elsewhere. Since we spoke, have you encountered any evidence to suggest his death might have happened at another location?”
“That railway siding is a dirty, filthy place. People have thrown fish and chip wrappings over the wall as they passed on the road above, cigarette stubs, and even urinated onto the railway. There’s over a century of accumulated debris down there, and it was last cleaned decades ago because it’s not even used much for shunting engines back and forth these days. The station master likes everything to look shipshape where people can see the platform, but this part of the station is out of the way.”
“So, the rubbish on the line made it difficult to reach a final conclusion.”
“Not quite,” said Clark. “In fact, I was a little surprised because, having been to the location where the body was found, I would have expected to see more evidence of debris from the site in the actual bone matter and hair, and on the clothing. But I didn’t. He either had a clean fall, or he was laid there after the point of death. The police are quite within their rights to have asked for a declaration of death by misadventure. What I am telling you is just speculation.”
“Your word counts for something, Dr. Clark.”
“Which is why I have to leave the door open for the possibility that Joe jumped from the wall above, perhaps while in an unstable frame of mind.”
“I think you want to add more,” said Maisie.
Clarissa Clark cleared her throat. “Miss Dobbs, you are engaged in a search for the truth, are you not?” Clark did not wait for a response from Maisie. “Then you should follow the injury sustained by Joe before the wounds that took his life. Look at what happened to his brain before his skull was cracked open. That’s what killed Joe—whether he jumped, or not. In my humble opinion, of course.”
“It’s a web, though.”
“I deal with them every day. Dr. Blanche gave us sage advice in order to untangle them. Patience, and one thread at a time.”
Maisie smiled. “I’ve been thinking the same thing lately. Your conclusion confirms I’m going in the right direction. Thank you.”
“Of course. Now then, I have to get to work. Joe’s remains will be released to his family for burial soon, but I assure you I have kept copious notes, and also brought in a medical artist. It’s something I do at times, if I feel it necessary.”
“As evidence.”
“Yes. Indeed. Now, I must go. Good day, Miss Dobbs.”
“Thank you for telephoning, Dr. Clark.”
Maisie replaced the receiver. Much of the pathologist’s report was already known to Maisie. But she appreciated having her suspicions substantiated by Clark. She also rather liked speaking to a woman known for never having had a humble opinion in her life.
Maisie crossed the room to the window and looked down at the explosion of color now gracing Walter Miles’ postage-stamp yard below. Her own walled garden in Holland Park was much larger, and laid to lawn with shrubs around the perimeter, and various vines clinging onto the bricks—wisteria, clematis, climbing roses. A gardener came in once a fortnight, and though she kept it tidy enough in the interim, she would never have considered herself proficient in the realm of horticulture—indeed, the flowering vines in Miles’ yard were much further along than her own, and her garden received more direct sunlight, so it should have been equally abundant. Miles clearly had more than a green thumb—he was a gifted gardener. A book had been left on the small table, half read and upside down to keep the place. There was a cardigan over the back of one chair, and a notebook, as if he had only just left his seat. She wondered whether he worked, and if so what his profession might be. She was curious about Walter Miles.
“Morning, miss,” said Billy, entering the office.
“Oh, hello Billy. Everything all right?”
“Our Billy is still spending most of the day in bed, but that’s to be expected. He’s received orders to be back at barracks on Monday for a medical exam, so the doctor can look at that wound and tell him whether he’s well enough for service, or if he gets signed off for a bit longer. And Monday isn’t many days to go, so I said to Doreen that he should try to be up and about today. Get Margaret Rose to nag him a bit to take her to the park when she comes home from school. He thinks the world of his little sister, and I know it’s probably a bit odd, a man of his age having a young sister, but it would do him the power of good, I think, to go out to the park for a bit of a play.”
Maisie looked over toward Billy.
“What? What did I just say?” asked Billy.
“You just referred to Billy as a man. Not a boy, and not a lad—you called him a man. And I think you’re quite right—playing with a child will do him the power of good. You don’t have much time to lighten the load on his shoulders.”
“I’d like to see mine lightened, miss.” Billy shook his head. “I signed the papers for Bobby last night. That’s one thing his brother said to me, he said, ‘Dad, if our Bobby is in the RAF as a mechanic, the chances are they can’t send him anywhere they can send me.’ And he reckoned his brother would be a lot safer on the ground, working on aircraft engines, so I signed it, and even his mother said I should. Bobby is now as happy as a sand boy, which is a mercy, as that face was getting as long as a week, and there’s only so many miserable faces you can bear at the dinner table. Thank our lucky stars for Margaret Rose—she’s our gem, truly she is.” He exhaled, and continued relating family business. “So, you could say I’ve got two men now.” He nodded toward the window. “And what’s Farmer Miles up to out there? Put in a row of potatoes yet?”
Maisie laughed. “No, but he’s certainly trying to better Kew Gardens. I’m amazed he has managed to do so much—remember how that used to look? Then the last tenant tried to make an improvement, but it took Mr. Miles to really change that yard into a very small smallholding!”
“He had some operations on his legs, but he’s got his strength back, I would imagine.”
“How come you and Sandra know so much about Walter Miles, and I didn’t even know he lived there until a week ago? Who is he?”
“I was told by the woman at the dairy shop across the square, that she’d seen him quite a few times before he moved into the flat. He’d come in for some odds and ends—and then one day he told her he wanted to live in the square. She said he had been looking for a certain sort of rooms, with both a front and back entrance and a small yard, like the one he’s got, so it all came right for him. He’d just come back from living in the south of France, apparently—he returned to see his doctor. The stairs at the front aren’t too bad for him, and of course he can just let himself out the back, if he wants to. I’ve heard he’s a lecturer at the university, over on Malet Street.”
“Really? Then he’s probably Dr. Miles. What does he teach?”
“Oh, I think you’d have to ask Sandra that one.”
“I just don’t know how I missed all this.”
“You weren’t paying attention—you rush in and rush off, and he’s not exactly out there all the time waiting, is he? He keeps to himself, though he’s been out the front a few times when I’ve come in, and he’s always friendly. Interested in people who live around the square, passes the time of day and then goes on his way, or back downstairs.”
Maisie shook her head. “Well I never. Anyway, I want to talk to you about the Coombes case.”
“We’re close, aren’t we?”
Maisie nodded. “Yes, in a way, we are. I know the people, and I think I know the why—but bringing them to justice will be difficult, not least because the solid evidence is proving hard to nail down. I have lots of pieces, but making them fit is quite another thing.”