Chapter One Basil morgan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Case Of The

Berkshire Hog

by

 

Robert F. Clifton

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Case Of The Berkshire Hog===

Copyright 2016 by Robert F. Clifton

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be

reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means

without written permission by the author.

 

 

The reader is advised that this is a work of fiction. Any

similarity to persons, places and/or events is purely

coincidental.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Introduction

 

On the late, afternoon of Sunday, May, 16, 1926, Roger Fleming a potato farmer in Essex, near Chelmsford, England

heard someone knocking on his front door. He went and opened it. . He was found dead the next day by one of his workers.

The police were notified and after a brief investigation arrested Silas Mercer, a neighboring pig farmer. Mercer was

tried and convicted and later hanged for the crime.

Over the years the children of Silas Mercer fought to prove the innocence of their father. In a last attempt to do so they hired

Basil Morgan, a Barrister. Morgan, aware of the reputation of

Alistair Basham, Criminologist, contacts him about who really killed Roger Fleming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Table Of Contents

 

Chapter One....Basil Morgan

Chapter Two....Sergeant Reginald Draper

Chapter Three..Harry Mercer

Chapter Four....Helen Bell

Chapter Five.....Chiny Chin Chin

Chapter Six.......Gunnister Man

Chapter Seven...Tinker Tailor

Chapter Eight....Henry Bascomb

Chapter Nine.....Barking To Dagenham

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One

Basil Morgan

 

At approximately three thirty on the afternoon of Monday, April 2, 1951, Doctor Alistair Basham, PhD, carefully placed the notes he had used in his lecture into his briefcase. He had just finished his talk on Criminology to the students of the Sociology class at Essex University, Colchester campus. In his opinion the lecture had gone well with the students displaying an interest in what he had to say and he had noticed that they had taken copious notes. Now, in spite of the April rain falling outside Basham looked forward to motoring home to Harrow and a late supper with his wife, Joyce. He looked up at the sound of a voice.

“Are you Doctor Basham?”, asked a man of medium height and approximately forty five years old, attired in a gray suit.

“What’s left of me”, Basham answered.

“Doctor, I am Basil Morgan, Barrister. I represent Mr. Harry Mercer and his sister, Helen Bell.”

“Before you go any further sir, if there is a litigation against me I’m not aware of it nor have I been notified,” Alistair replied.

“No sir. You misunderstand. I’m here to solicit your help in a matter of an innocent man who was hanged for a murder he did not commit,” said Morgan.

“Did you represent him in court?” asked Basham.

“No sir. The crime happened twenty five years ago. I was still at university.”

“I see. Now then, why have you come to me?”

“I am aware sir of your reputation as a criminologist and your ability to find and create a criminal and personality profile. I am here, hoping you will help me in this matter. If your fee is reasonable I’m sure Mr. Mercer and his sister will gladly pay.”

“What you fail to realize Mr. Morgan is that I do not under any circumstances require a fee for my service. Usually, I enter a case at the invitation of law enforcement. As a matter of fact I have a somewhat, disdain for defense attorney’s.”

“Since you work with the police I can understand how you feel”, said Morgan.

“Can you now? I doubt that very much. Nonetheless, at the moment I’m looking forward to a long drive home and supper with my wife. I assume you have a business card. Give me a day or two to think over this matter and to check with my lecture schedule. If I decide to take an interest in your case I’ll contact you. If not, may I also advise you that there are other criminologist in and around London. Now, I must be going. It has been nice meeting you Mr. Morgan”, said Basham as the two men shook hands.

As he drove the wet, narrow roads from Colchester that led to London the windscreen wipers working constantly removed the gentle rain that fell. Alistair tried listening to the motorcar radio, but found the music being played distasteful, so he turned it off. After doing so he began remembering the brief conversation he had had with Basil Morgan. “ He seemed to be a nice sort of chap, particularly for someone being a barrister. Still, I must admit, I was a bit rude to the man. After all, the bloke did come to me asking for help. I should have behaved better. It was a good thing Joyce wasn’t about. If she had been I’d be getting what for, about now,” he thought to himself.

He glanced at his wristwatch seeing that it was four o’clock. “Tea time and here I am on this blasted, wet road. No tea for you Alistair Basham. Not now. Not until you get home”, he said aloud.

Alistair parked the motorcar in front of his house located at 1600 Hitman Road in Harrow, a suburb of London. He got out of the car, removed his briefcase from the front seat then locked the automobile door. As the rain was now falling harder he pulled the collar of his coat up to protect his neck then moved quickly to the front entrance of his home. He found the door locked. “Bloody Hell!”, he yelled as the rain pelted him. As he fumbled in his pocket for his keys the door suddenly opened.

“Oh? It’s you”, said Joyce Basham.

“You sound disappointed. Were you expecting someone else?”, asked Alistair.

“Not really. I should have known it was you at the door when I heard the cursing”, she replied.

“Just for the record I was getting soaked with the rain.”

“Well, you could have used your umbrella. Be careful not to get the hallway floor wet. Give me your hat and coat. I’ll hang them in the kitchen to dry.”

“Thank you”, said Basham as he stood on one foot removing a wet shoe.

“So? How was your lecture at Essex?,” asked Joyce.

“I think it went very well. At the same time it was nice to have been asked by Geoffrey Mason to lecture to his sociology class”, Alistair replied.

“Take a seat in the kitchen dear. Would you like a whiskey or sherry?”, she asked.

“Neither. I prefer a cup of hot, tea with honey. I jolly well know that being soaked as I am I will bloody well come down with a cold. I’ll start fighting it now.”

“I never saw anyone who is more of a hypochondriac then you. You got caught in the rain, yet you act like you went overboard from the Titanic. At the same time love, we are out of honey.”

“Naturally. What are you making for supper?”, he asked.

“Mutton Stew.”

“Really? Oh well.”

“You sound disappointed. What would his majesty prefer?”

“I prefer a beef stew.”

“Good, next time you make it.”

“I say. I had an unusual thing happen this day”, said Alistair.

“How unusual?”

“After my lecture a man representing himself as a barrister approached me. He requested me helping the children of a convicted killer who was hanged back in 1927.”

“And, what did you decide?”, asked Joyce.

“I actually haven’t had time to think about it. I told him that I usually work with the police and not attorney’s or words to that effect.”

“How did he react?”

“I assume he was disappointed. Nonetheless I did tell him that I would think it over. I have his card.”

“Well, that is entirely up to you love. Now, I suggest that you go upstairs. Get out of those damp clothes. Supper is almost ready.”

**************

“Two days later Alistair Basham sat in the private office of

Basil Morgan, Barrister. “So Doctor Basham. I hope your visit here today is a sign that you are willing to help me in this legal matter,” said Morgan.

“Don’t get carried away with expectations young man. I will admit that I am curious. However, before making a decision, one way or the other I need to know more than what you have told me briefly when we first met.”

“I see. Where would you like me to begin?”

“At the beginning seems reasonable.”

“Of course. Well then we have to go back to the late afternoon of May 16, 1926. It was on a late Sunday afternoon that the police contend that Roger Fleming, who by the way lived alone, opened his door to someone and that someone killed him.”

“I see. How was the victim killed?”, asked Basham.

“He died as a result of several blows to the head, any which one could have crushed his skull.”

“Do the police have a motive?”

“They suggest that either it was a hate crime or possibly a robbery gone bad.”

“Tell me more about the victim.”

“Mr. Fleming was a farmer. His main crop was potato’s as it is today with most of the farms in that area. He was thirty seven years old, a bachelor, lived alone and was more or less a recluse living a solitary life. He had very few friends and as far as can be determined no enemies. He did however, have an on going feud with Silas Mercer.”

“Then I assume that Silas Mercer is the father of those you represent and at the same time the man that was hanged for Fleming’s murder.”

“That’s correct Doctor.”

“I see. Please continue.”

“What else would you like to know?”

“Tell me if you can what evidence the police ascertained.”

“First, after questioning neighbors the police then knowing that Fleming was more or less a recluse and one of his workers finding the front door ajar and his body, determined that Fleming had to have opened the front door which then allowed the killer to gain entrance.”

“Let me stop you there. Tell me if you can about the feud between Fleming and Mercer,” said Basham.

“The Mercer family own and operate a hog farm. They still raise the Berkshire Hog. Back then, the hogs belonging to Silas Mercer would occasionally get out of their pens and wander into Fleming’s fields. As you know the potato grows under the soil, but the green foliage grows above the soil. Evidently those green leafy stems were enticing to the swine and they quite naturally ate them. One must assume that once the green foliage is removed the potato stops growing. You can see why Fleming would be upset. Evidently this thing with the hogs was a continuum resulting in an on going feud.”

“Interesting, very interesting. Please continue.”

“As I understand the smell of pig manure drying in the sun is rather pungent. Evidently, when the wind was right the odor carried on the wind reached the home of Roger Fleming. This annoyed him as in all due respect it would annoy anyone subjected to the smell.”

“How many pigs did Mercer own at the time?,” asked Basham.

“I was told, approximately one thousand.”

“A thousand?”

“Yes and that’s another fact that adds to the equation. One thousand hogs can be managed by two workers. Fleming’s operation required five workers. At the same time Mercer was making more money than Fleming and Fleming resented the fact.”

“Of course, one chop would cost more than one potato.”

“Anyway, according to the police report, on Saturday, May 15, 1926 a prize breeding sow got out of its pen and walked into Fleming’s potato fields. Fleming seeing the hog eating his plants hopped on to his tractor with a loaded shotgun and drove to where the pig was eating and shot it dead. Mercer had gone into town to shop and when he returned was told about what had happened. Silas, then angered went to Fleming’s farm and home and banged on the door. If Fleming was at home he didn’t open the door or respond in anyway. Once again, according to the police the witnesses, who by the way were two of Flemings field hands stated that Mercer stood shaking his fist and shouted, “You’ll pay for this you no good, manky, bastard!”

“I see. Is there any evidence that he used the word, kill, or murder?”, asked Basham.

“No sir.”

“Very well. Pardon me for interrupting. Please continue.”

“Well, the next day, Sunday, Fleming is found dead in his home. The police learn about the confrontation between the two men that had occurred the day before. As a result they go to Mercer’s home and take him in for questioning. While they’re doing that other officers are collecting evidence in the Fleming household. One of the things they find is a partial footprint in the pool of blood that came from Roger Fleming’s crushed skull. At the same time they found three hairs. A sample of Flemings hair and the hairs found in the blood pool did not match.”

“Ah, very interesting. I’m under the impression that these three hairs are very instrumental in Mr. Mercer’s conviction.

“Right on sir. The analysis revealed that the three hairs came from a Berkshire Hog. The nearest hog farm raising Berkshire Hogs at that time other than the Mercer farm was eighty miles away.”

“So, then I assume that the prosecutor for the Crown presented that fact along with the hairs to the jury and although

it being circumstantial evidence it was enough for them to convict him.”

“Exactly, but the jury didn’t consider the hairs as circumstantial evidence, but evidence that proved the facts,” Morgan replied.

“Naturally. Now, as I see it, this being the year 1951 twenty five years have elapsed. Mr. Mercer is dead so he can not appeal his conviction. Mr. Fleming is dead. He can’t tell us what happened or who killed him. I doubt that after all these years that have passed that any of the witnesses, the field hands of Fleming or the care takers of Mercer’s hogs are alive or even near by. That results in the almost impossible ability to question those who knew something or anything about the two men or their quarrel. As a matter of fact, the information you have gathered comes practically from the police reports and testimony offered in His Majesty’s Court at the time of the trail.

I wonder Mr. Morgan, since you have the reports of the police and the transcript of the trail whether or not you might be able to collect and analyze the evidence in the case?”, asked Basham.

“I doubt it. As you have said. The case is twenty five years old. However, even if I could what would you be looking for?”, asked the Barrister.

“Clothing, blood splattered clothing. Was Fleming found on a rug or wood floor? Face up or face down? A list of those that the police questioned in the area would help.”

“Those people are are probably deceased by now”, Morgan replied.

“True, but their relatives may be alive. If so they could remember what was said or at least what they were told,” Basham said.

“It would be hearsay at best,”said Morgan.

“My good man. I don’t expect you to put them on the witness stand. I merely wish to listen to what they have to say if and it is a big if. If, they remember anything that may, just may help your cause.”

Morgan smiled. “ I take it then doctor that you are either coming in on this matter or are at least interested in it at the moment,” he said.

“Let’s say I’m interested. Nonetheless, there are certain things that I will require,” said Basham.

“Just name them sir.”

“For starters I’ll need mimeographed copies of any and all documents. With those I can do further study and see what else might be helpful, even by reading between the lines, so to speak.”

“I’ll have on of my clerks do that immediately.”

“ Next, I need you to petition His Majesty’s Court to order the police to either turn over their evidence or allow us to at least look at it for, let’s say, a reasonable time.”

“That can be done. It will take some time to prepare the brief but at the same time allow me to advise you that the court can say no,” Morgan suggested.

“But, you see old boy it proves that we went about it in the right and legal manner. Don’t you see?”

“Of course. I don’t practice law any other way sir.”

“If I thought for a moment that you didn’t I wouldn’t be here. Now then, correct me if I’m wrong but I believe that British law states, that when it comes to compensation in cases such as this that the victims, those being the Mercer children have a better control of the litigation in a civil claim than in a criminal case, said Basham.

“That’s correct Doctor. Let me emphasize that my duty to my clients at this time is to prove the innocence of their father and to have his criminal record erased once and for all. If the Mercer children in the future seek civil action once Mr. Mercer’s name is cleared, naturally I will again represent them should they ask me, Morgan replied.

“Here, here. Your last statement tells me what sort of chap you are. Here is my hand sir. I should be jolly well pleased to assist you in this matter. When the documents copies are ready send them to my home at 1600 Hitman Road, Harrow. Till then, unless you have any other need of me I shall be off’, said Basham as he shook hands with Morgan.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two

Sergeant Reginald Draper

 

It was on a Saturday morning at approximately eleven AM when Joyce Basham answered the telephone. Alistair Basham, as usual had ignored the ringing call as he sat reading the London Times. “It’s for you love!”, said Joyce loudly.

“It bloody well be important, bothering a man at his home on the weekend. Who is it?”, Basham asked.

“A Mister Morgan if he is still on the line after hearing you complain”, Joyce replied.

After taking the receiver from his wife and placing it next to his ear Alistair said, “ Ah, Counselor, how are you this morning?”

“Fine sir. I just wanted to let you know that since we last met and spoke I have retained the services of a private investigator,” said Morgan.

“Really? What on earth for?”

“If you recall our conversation one of the things mentioned was finding either witnesses or the relatives of witnesses related to the Fleming case.”

“Yes, go on.”

“Well I think you will agree that neither one of us has the time to do so. Therefore, after speaking to the Mercer children they agreed to pay the investigators fee.”

“I trust that you hired a reputable firm.”

“I did.”

“Good and just how many witnesses or relatives of witnesses has you private investigator found?”

“Right now? None. He did however locate the Detective Sergeant, now retired, that was the lead investigator for the police in the Fleming murder.”

“Oh? Jolly good. When can we talk with him?”

“Monday morning. He has agreed to come into my office to be interviewed.”

“Smashing. What time?”

“I suggested we meet at ten. Remember the man is elderly.”

“So am I. What is his name?”

“Reginald Draper. Sergeant Reginald Draper formerly with the Essex Police, Chelmsford.

“Ah, yes, that would be within their jurisdiction. Anything else?”

“No sir.”

“Very well. Thank you for calling. I shall see you on Monday. Ten AM, you say?”

“Yes sir.”

“Cheerio.”

**************

At nine forty five AM on Monday morning Alistair Basham entered the offices of Basil Morgan, Barrister. After being met by Morgan’s receptionist and legal aid he was shown into the lawyers private office. There he found Morgan and a portly man who was seated next to Morgan’s desk.

“Ah, good morning Doctor. How good to see you. I have been advised that due to traffic on the roads this morning Sergeant Draper will be a bit late,”said the barrister.

“Probably blokes on their way to work,” Basham replied.

“Of course. Oh, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Derrick Fillmore. Mr. Fillmore is the private investigator I told you about.”

“Of course. Nice to meet you Mr. Fillmore”, said Basham. Looking at the man he saw a short, rotund individual attired in a worn, tweed jacket, a white shirt with a frayed collar and a necktie with several food stains on it. The man also had a red face which indicated to Basham that the man was either a drinker or suffered from hypertension or both.

“Same here governor”, said Fillmore as the two men shook hands.

Basham took a seat and turning to Fillmore said, “So, my good man. You are originally from East London. Do you still reside in that area?”

“How do you know that I’m from East London?”, asked Fillmore.

“Your use of the word governor. Normally only males from that section of the city use that term when addressing the elderly.”

“I hope that I haven’t offended you sir”, said Fillmore.

“Not by the use of the word. Considering me as elderly? Well, perhaps I’m almost in that category.”

“While we’re waiting, is there anything I can offer you gentlemen? Coffee, tea?”, asked Morgan.

Neither man requested anything.

At ten forty five AM the young, female, legal aid opened Morgan’s office door and held it open. A young man pushing a wheelchair holding an elderly man entered the room. “So sorry to be late gentlemen”, said the man in the wheelchair.

“Not at all Sergeant. No need to be sorry,” said Morgan.

“This lad attired in white is my, let’s use the word attendant. The word nurse offends me. Makes me fell older and more ill then I am. He calls himself Archie Blake. He does everything for me except wipe my arse. I’m still able to do that myself. Say hello, Archie,” Sergeant Draper instructed.

Blake nodded his head and smiled to the men in the room.

“Now then, seeing Fillmore here and knowing that you want to ask me questions about a case I investigated some years ago suppose you tell me who you are sir”, said Draper speaking to Basham.

“Alistair Basham ,Sergeant. I am here at the request of Mr. Morgan.”

“Really? In what capacity?”

“Actually, that of a criminologist”, Basham explained.

“I see. From what I know about criminologist and criminology I see your job is to find any and all discrepancies in a criminal investigation”, said Draper.

“As a career police officer I’m sure that you must admit that at time discrepancies do occur,” Basham replied.

“Draper smiled. “True, true. Now, I suggest that you begin your questioning before I either have to piss or fall asleep. As you can see, I’m an old bloke.”

“Very well sir. Could you start from the beginning, that being when you became involved in the actual investigation of Mr. Fleming’s murder,” said Basil Morgan.

“I’ll do the best that I can. Keep in mind that you’re asking me to go back in time to 1926. Nonetheless, although my bladder is weak, the mind is still sharp. At least I think so. Alright, as I recall I was contacted at headquarters on a Sunday. Seems that a field hand on one of the farms found his employer dead and laying in a pool of blood. A uniformed officer was sent to the farm belonging to a Mr. Fleming. In those days uniformed patrolmen used bicycles for transportation. We did have one motorcar assigned to us, but it was out on another call at the time. This meant that I had to wait until it returned.

When it did, I and another detective, Henry Chambers gathered our kit and drove to the Fleming farm. When we got there the uniformed constable had more or less secured the crime scene.”

“Allow me to stop you there Sergeant. You said the constable had more or less secured the crime scene. What do you mean by more or less?’, asked Basham

“I mean under the circumstances of the door to the house being open for hours. The fact that a field hand had entered the house plus the fact that it was unknown then as it is now if anyone else beside the killer had entered and left,” Draper explained.

Basham wrote in his notebook. “Please go on.”said Alistair.

“Thank you. Anyway, as I was saying, the uniformed constable was safe guarding the crime scene. Me and Henry entered the house. When we did ,we found the victim, later identified as Roger Fleming dead on the floor.”

“How did you know that he was dead,” asked Filmore.

“Cause I’m not stupid. His head was bashed in and he was laying in a pool of what I considered to be blood. His blood, although it was black in color and almost dry.”

“Excuse me Sergeant, may I ask if you took any samples of what you considered to be the victims blood?,” asked Basham.

“Certainly. That was done by Detective Chambers. As I recall he took scrapings of what he considered to be dry and then three cotton swaps in the places where it was still wet or I should say, semi-wet.”

“What did you do with those samples, may I ask?,”said Basham.

“They were listed in my reports and eventually sent to the Criminal Analysis Laboratory,”Draper answered.

“Do you know which laboratory?”, asked Alistair.

“Seems to me I recall that it was sent to the yard”, Draper replied.

“You mean Scotland Yard,” Basham indicated.

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Please continue”.

“Then, as I recall I noticed something in part of the black, dry, pool of blood. First, I was able to identify what appeared to be and eventually turned out to be a partial rubber heel print. The heel print turned out to be a valuable piece of evidence if you was to ask me,” Draper boasted.”

“How so”, asked Basham.

“Cause we was able to trace the heel print to the cobbler in Chelmsford that had repaired the boots of one Silas Mercer,”Draper explained.

“And from that you developed the opinion that Silas Mercer was the killer?”, asked Basham.

“That and other things”, Draper replied.

“What other things?”, Alistair asked.

“I also found three hairs next to the heel print. Of course we took the hairs as evidence and had them analyzed. Turns out they was hog hairs. Not only was they hog hairs but hairs of the Berkshire breed. Now, I asked myself. Who had a problem with Fleming. The answer, Silas Mercer. Who had rubber heels that matched the print in the dry puddle of blood? Silas Mercer. Finally, who raises Berkshire hogs? Once again, Silas Mercer. Putting all of these facts along with evidence I figured I had probable cause to arrest Mercer. Which I did. What I testified to in court is just what I have told you here today. I was positive then and I’m positive now that Silas Mercer struck and killed

Roger Fleming,” said Sergeant draper.

For several minutes there was complete silence in the room. Then, Basham asked, “What with?”

“What? What do you mean what with?”, asked Draper.

“If you say that Mercer struck and killed Fleming what did he strike him with? So far you haven’t made reference to any weapon. So, I ask you again. What with? A spade? Rolling pin? Club? In fact Sergeant, did you ever find the murder weapon?,”asked Basham.

“Actually no. We did construct a search of the fields of both farms looking for what we thought was a club, but found nothing”, Draper explained.

“I see. Well Mr. Morgan at this time I believe there isn’t anymore that the Sergeant can contribute. Unless you have any questions sir”, said Basham.

Basil Morgan shook his head. “No. And allow me to thank you for coming in to meet with us Sergeant. I’m sorry I had to pull you out of your retirement in order to answer some of our questions, but I appreciate you coming in to see us,”he said.

“No problem counselor. It felt good getting out and about. I’m glad I could help. Now, I’ll have Archie here push my old arse back to the motorcar and if it doesn’t rain enjoy the ride home.”, Draper responded.

After Draper left Morgan turned to Basham and said, “Well? What do you think?”

“Off hand I can see how the jury was swayed with the evidence presented in court. Sergeant Draper although he collected, preserved, and protected evidence did what many police officers tend to do, jump to conclusions,” Basham replied.

“Do you mean that there is still doubt that Mercer killed Fleming? From what I just heard it appears that the Crown’s case was very solid,” said Morgan.”

“Sorry to interrupt you gents, but I have to go to the loo,” said Fillmore.

After the private investigator left the room Morgan asked Basham, “What do you think of Fillmore?”

“Not too much. Still, there will probably be a need for someone to do leg work. Better keep him for awhile at least,” Basham answered.

“Is there anything else you need Doctor?”

“Yes, I noticed that you have two legal aids. I assume one of their duties is to research cases of law. Am I correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“Good I’ll need one to do some research for me, starting with who in England was manufacturing rubber heels from say, 1900 to 1926. What do you say?”

“I say that you can put Deborah Mitchell on that assignment as soon as you want,” Morgan replied.

“Excellent.”

“May I ask why you are so confident that there is more to this case then has already been exposed” asked the barrister.

“Certainly. Have you been out to the farms?”

“Yes sir.”

“What would you say the distance is between the Mercer and Fleming farm?”, asked Basham.

“Somewhere between a quarter to a half of a mile.”

“Exactly. Now, how possible is it that Silas Mercer walked that distance from his farm to Fleming’s house and still have hog hairs on the bottom of his boot?”

“Not very likely.”

“There you go.”

Later, after arriving home Alistair walked through the front doorway of his home. When he did he noticed two suitcases that appeared to have been packed. “I say, Joyce are we off to someplace?’, he said in a loud voice.

“I’m upstairs love. We’re not. I am. The university called awhile ago and informed me that archeologist have uncovered a ancient, English, Iron Age village. It seems as though they have also found some bones. They want me to take a look at them to see if they are animal or human,”Joyce explained.

“How long will you be gone?”

“Oh, I don’t know. A fortnight perhaps.”

“A fortnight you say. Isn’t that a rather long time to look at bones?”

“Look at it this way Love. If you had found bones at a murder scene you would want me to take as much time as necessary in order to tell you what you wanted to know. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“So me taking my time in your profession is perfectly alright, but I should rush to judgment in my profession.”

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it.”

“Perhaps, but I do have a point don’t I?”

“Yes, damn it, yes.”

“Good, now I’m sure that you will survive while I’m away. Dine out once in awhile and since I’m taking the motorcar use public transportation. When I get to the location of the dig and get settled in I’ll call you on the telephone an give you the particulars of where I’m staying.’

“Where is this dig, anyway?”, asked Basham.

“Near Plymouth.”

“So, the sea shore. Did you pack your bathing suit?”

“No, I’m going there to work not on holiday.”

“Good answer.”

“Oh, how did your meeting go in London?”, she asked.

“Fine. I found a few discrepancies in what the police did in collecting evidence. I must say that the meeting has perked my interest in the matter. I don’t know if it’s curiosity or professionalism as a criminologist. At the same time I seem to be getting along with Basil Morgan, even though he is a barrister.”

“You and lawyers. You feel the same way about newspaper people.”

“That’s because both professions are made up of liars .”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you”, said Joyce.

“I don’t know either, but whatever it is you better do it before you leave for Plymouth, Alistair answered with a smile.

“Is there enough petrol in the tank?,” she asked.

“Are you inquiring about me or the motorcar?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Three

Harry Mercer

 

It appeared as though it would be a warm, sunny day as the morning fog was burned off by the rising sun. Basil Morgan drove the 1950, black and silver Bentley Continental towards Chelmsford in Essex. “I say Basil, this is a fine motorcar. A bit more expensive for my wallet, but still a fine machine”, said Basham.

“Why is it that I get the impression that although you act as a man of meager means that you have your money salted away. You probably have accounts in the Bahamas”, Morgan replied.

“Absolutely. As a university professor the Secretary of The Home Office borrows from me. Now, enough about that. Tell me about this Harry Mercer chap we are going to meet,” said Basham.

“There’s not too much to tell. Harry was born in 1920. At the age of thirty one he runs the hog farm near Chelmsford. The farm is owned by he and his sister Helen Bell. Helen is married to a physician and lives in town. As I told you in the beginning when both of Silas Mercer’s children were able, both in age and wealth they began to pursue the innocence of their father for the murder of Roger Fleming. You know the rest,” Morgan explained.

“I see. And, what will this meeting accomplish? Does he have some new information or evidence that will help us?,” Basham asked.

“I doubt it. I’ve arranged this meeting for the purpose of both parties getting to know one another. Hopefully it will open doors of familiarity. Harry can speak comfortably and you might pick up on something as well, once everyone is at ease”, said Morgan.

“A worthwhile enterprise I suppose”, Alistair responded.

Approximately forty five minutes later the wide, open fields belonging to the Mercer farm came into view. Basham estimated that several hundred swine occupied one field and they appeared to be feeding in an open earth trough. “This must be the place”, said Alistair.

“Yes it is. What you see is probably only half of the number of the hogs Mercer owns. The rest are probably younger and being kept in barns,”said Morgan.

“If you say so. I know absolutely nothing about pigs or hog farming”, said Basham.

“Neither did I until I met Harry Mercer. If you look at the fields beyond where the hogs are feeding you will see fields of corn growing. In the other fields Mercer grows soy beans. Mixed together they make up much of the herds diet,” Morgan explained.

“So, Mercer is shall we say, self sufficient”, Basham replied.

“Well, at least when it comes to raising hogs,” Morgan responded as he drove the Bentley up to the farm house.

As the two men got out of the automobile a man, who Basham thought to be Harry Mercer came out onto the porch.

“Hello, Mr. Morgan. I see that you made it alright. How was your drive? Much traffic?,” said the man.

“No Harry. Smooth as silk. Harry allow me to introduce you to Doctor Alistair Basham. He is the criminologist I brought on board to help us in our endeavor. Doctor? Harry Mercer”, said Morgan.

Mercer came down off of the porch and extended his right hand. “A pleasure to meet you sir. Mr. Morgan has told me all about you”, he said.

“I doubt that very much considering the fact that I haven’t told him all about myself. Anyway, the pleasure meeting you is all mine young man,’ Basham replied.

“Come, come into the house. Some refreshment perhaps, coffee, tea, a whiskey?”,asked Mercer.

“Not right now Harry. I think it best that we get right down to business. I’m sure that Doctor Basham has some questions to ask you,” Morgan responded.

“All of which I’ll gladly answer if I’m able,” said Mercer.

Once in the house Basham selected an overstuffed chair in the parlor and sat down. After Morgan and Mercer were seated Alistair said, “According to my calculations you were about six years old when your father was killed”.

“I was six my sister Helen was eight,” Mercer replied.

“My impression then Mr. Mercer is that at that very young age there isn’t too much that you or your sister can remember or for that matter render in our quest for the truth”, said Basham

“Only what we were told growing up by aunts and uncles”, said Mercer.

“Excuse me, but you see that at the time could be viewed as only their opinion,” offered Basham.

“True, but opinions that we valued then and now,” said Mercer.

“What can you tell me about the feud between your father and Roger Fleming?”, asked Alistair.

“I’m sure Mr. Morgan has given you the details. However, let me say this. Fleming was right to complain about the hogs getting into his potato fields. He was also right in complaining about the smell of hog manure and urine. Remember that was twenty five years ago. Today, the manure is spread in fields that are downwind and allowed to dry. Fences now confine the animals to this farm preventing them to roam. In our fathers time two things were different, the manner of hog farming and the amount of money available to make corrections. As I said, Fleming was right to complain. He was wrong in shooting the escaped sow. Still, my father did not kill Mr. Fleming.”

“I believe you. If I didn’t I wouldn’t be here. To your knowledge, what other contacts did your father and Fleming have, say on a business level?,”asked Basham.

“I was told that at one time my father offered to trade manure for the tops of the potato plants when harvested, but Fleming didn’t consider hog manure as good fertilizer. He was wrong. It is an excellent fertilizer. One must be careful using it near wells and water sources.”

“I see. Now as you can imagine I know nothing about pigs other than my wife buys it as pork. ham or bacon. So, tell me if you can about the breed of hog you raise here”, said Basham

“Since you mention pork meat we raise the Berkshire pig, which is sold on the market as pork roast, chops, bacon, ham,pigs feet, pigs ears, liver. Even the intestines are used in the manufacturing of sausage. Hog hair is desired by plasterer’s as they mix it with the wet plaster before they spread it on walls. So you see practically the entire hog is used and consumed in one manner or another.”

“Then I take it by the size of your operation that hog farming is a money making venture’, said Basham.

“It is now. It was better back when my father was running things. During World War One Britain imported most of it’s pork products from America. When that war ended England cut off imports from the United States and imported from such countries as Argentina, Russia and even Germany. My father saw an opportunity to raise British hogs in Britain and he did very well”.

“I can see that and I’m sure that you have improved on what he had built”.

“Well, he raised one thousand hogs at a time. We, that being my sister and I raise five times that today.”

“Without any problems?,” asked Basham.

“There’s always problems. Market offers with prices being lower. For me the greatest problem is slurry, or the manure produced by the animals. Each sow can produce twelve piglets twice a year. So you can see the problem.”

“Still, you appear to be self sufficient. We noticed your corn and soybean fields,” said Morgan.

“In that regard yes. One must be aware of changes in the laws governing agriculture which are changing every day. At the same time the British still prefer to consume beef, lamb and mutton,” Mercer replied.

“Allow me if you will to return the conversation back to your father and Roger Fleming. Did you ever meet the chap?”, asked Basham.

“No. Helen and I considered him to be the bogeyman. I would spot a man in his fields from time to time. I think it was him. Then, of course it could have been one of his field hands.”

“Now then, my next question is why do you think that your father is innocent of the murder of Roger Fleming?” After all, the Kings Court prosecuted him and the people found him guilty,” said Basham.

“You didn’t know my father. He was a strong man, strong of body and will. At the same time he was gentle and kind. We were told that when after the few times that the hogs wandered into Fleming’s fields, our father offered to pay for the damage. Each time Fleming refused. Then one day Fleming shot and killed the breeding sow. Still, knowing my father he might have been angry, but not enough to kill the man.”

“I see. Now about your sister. Helen is her name?,” asked Basham.

“Yes, Helen Bell. She lives in Chelmsford with her husband. Andrew, Doctor Andrew Bell. He’s a physician and Helen helps run his surgery,” Mercer answered.

“I see. Do you think that she can offer anything more than what you have told us?, asked Alistair.

“I don’t know, I doubt it. We more or less learned the facts at about the same time and from the same relatives.”

“Could you tell me who owns the Fleming farm now?”, asked Basham.

“Stanley Cook. As I recall he bought the property at auction right after Fleming’s death,” answered Mercer.

“Do you two get along?”

“I would say famously. Today we trade potato plant tops for swine manure when possible,” said Mercer.

“Do you think it possible that we could visit him?”, asked Basham.

“I don’t know. I could give him a ring. I imagine he will want to know why you want to meet him,” Harry replied.

“Why do you want to meet him?”, asked Morgan.

“Actually, I want to see the place where Fleming was killed,” said Basham.

“It shouldn’t be too much of problem. Stanley is well aware of the murder in the house he purchased. The question is his availability at the moment,” Harry explained.

“If you don’t mind,would you give him a ring,” said Basham.

Harry Mercer excused himself and left the room going to the office where he kept the telephone. “Just what do you expect to find at Fleming’s old house?”, asked Morgan.

“I don’t know. I do know what I hope to find, but if I don’t at least it will make me familiar with the layout of the room where Roger Fleming was killed. All those things add up in time old boy,’ Basham explained.

Five minutes later Harry Mercer walked into the parlor. “Stanley is free at the moment. I more or less explained what I was doing and that you gentlemen were assisting me. We can go right over”, he said.

Morgan drove the Bentley to the farm house now owned by Stanley Cook, When he pulled up in front of the building they saw a short, thin, balding man Basham judged to be about seventy years old. Mercer, Morgan and Basham got out of the car and were introduced to Cook.

“So, Harry here tells me you want to look around my place. Said it has something to do with his father. I have no problem with that. Come in, look around, ask questions. If I can answer them I will, gladly,’ said Cook.

“Thank you very much Mr. Cook. We shouldn’t be long”, said Basham as all of the men walked into the farm house.

Once inside Alistair looked at the room just inside the front doorway. “I understand that this is where the murder took place,’ he said to Morgan.

“Yes sir”, Morgan answered.

“I see,” Basham replied gazing at the floor. “Mr. Cook I notice that you have a rug covering the floor. May I ask if when you purchased the property and moved into this house was there a rug on the floor?,”he asked.

“No. It was a bare wood floor at one time. Pine board as I recall. The police had removed those boards that had been stained with Fleming’s blood. I assume they took it as evidence.

After I bought the place I replaced the entire floor with oak. My wife insisted that we placed a rug here,” said Cook.

Turning to Morgan Basham said, “ There’s something we missed. I didn’t notice any mention of floor boards in the police reports or the trial transcripts. At the same time Sergeant Draper made no mention of any floor boards being taken as evidence.”

“You’re correct sir”, Morgan replied.

Basham then looked up at the ceiling. The ceiling appears to be about ten feet high. wouldn’t you agree Mr. Cook?”

“You’re almost spot on. Actually it is nine feet, four inches from the floor to the ceiling. Sort of odd, but remember Fleming built the place himself. He was a farmer, not a house builder,” said Cook.

“Is this important?”, asked Morgan.

“Oh, rather old boy. I’ll explain later”, Basham answered.

“Is there anything else?”, Morgan asked Basham.

“Not that I can think of at the moment. Thank you Mr. Cook for taking time to see us. I’m sure you knowing Harry here, are aware of what we are doing”, said Alistair.

“Of course. Should you need to return for any reason just give me a ring,” said Cook.

“We certainly will”, Morgan replied.

Back in the Bentley Morgan turned to Basham and asked, “What was the height of the ceiling all about?”

“Harry, how tall was your father?,” asked Basham.

“Practically six feet even”, Mercer answered.

“As I expected. At six feet tall one can assume that his arms were between thirty to thirty four inches long. Imagine now the difficulty a six foot tall man raising a weapon high enough to strike with enough force to crush another mans skull where the ceiling in the room is only nine feet high. It is possible, but I believe he would be concerned of just how low the ceiling was at the time. Nonetheless, in my opinion the killer was between five foot four inches tall to five feet six inches tall with an arm length of approximately twenty five inches. With that height and arm length the killer could swing freely time and time again. Purely speculation on my part at this time, but with some merit if I do say so myself”, Basham explained.

As Morgan drove into London he said, “Doctor, before I take you home would you mind if I stopped at the office and checked with my girls? I have other irons in the fire so to speak”.

“No problem. As a matter of fact I should like to speak with Miss Mitchell. Perhaps she’s come up with some information on the rubber heel I have her researching.”

When the two men entered Morgan’s Law Office Basham saw Deborah Mitchell who at the moment had her back towards him as she stood at the filing cabinet. He walked up behind her and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Mitchell”.

Deborah turn with a start. “Oh Doctor Basham. It’s you. Hello, “ she replied.

“I was wondering if by chance you got around to researching the rubber heel thing I mentioned to you?”

“Oh yes. As a matter of fact I have a type written report for you.”

“Excellent, excellent. When you get time I should jolly well like to see it.”

Miss Mitchell walked to her desk, opened a drawer and took out a manila folder. She then handed it to Alistair who then stood reading her report. A smile appeared on his face. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I could be considered a dirty old man I could kiss you. Well done girl. Well done.” he said.

“Well, how about I agree to a hug”, she said with a smile.

“And you shall have it. Basil! Basil! I’ve got news sir. I’ve got news!,” Basham said loudly.

“Then come into my office, shut the door and tell me”, said Morgan now seated behind his desk.”

Basham entered the office and said, “I believe that the rubber heel that Sergeant Draper says made the print in the victims blood was manufactured in Birmingham,” he said.

“So? I’m sure there were other manufacturers doing the same thing”.

“Not quite. You see Donlop of Birmingham invented the stretchable rubber sole and then the rubber heel. They of course patented their invention. That was in 1920. Six years later Fleming is killed and the killer left the heel print as evidence. Don’t you see?”

“I’m sorry Doctor. At the moment I don’t see.”

“Think about it old chap. Donlop was the only manufacturer. No one else could use or buy their patten.”

“Now what?”

“Now, you send Fillmore to Birmingham. Have him search their records for shipments of rubber heels to any or all cobblers in Chelmsford and Essex from say, 1920 to 1926. If I’m right it may opened another door. Draper had traced the rubber heel that made the print on the farm house floor. Now, we need to tie the shipment of the Donlop heel to that cobbler. Keep in mind that we still have to meet with Helen Bell and since the missing floor boards have been mentioned we’ll need another meeting with Sergeant Draper.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Four

Helen Bell

 

Several weeks went by. During that time Basil Morgan appeared in court. Alistair Basham lectured at university and Joyce Basham returned from Plymouth. On her first day back home Alistair asked, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“No. The iron age village is there, but it seems that those that lived there at that time lived off of the Channel. Many oyster shells were found. The bones that were thought to be human were from English Channel dolphins,” Joyce explained.

“I see. Still, I’m sure you enjoyed yourself love,” said Basham.

“Naturally. It is what I do.”

“I’m sure that another opportunity and another dig will present itself. Just be patient.”

“Easy for you to say.”

“You still have a teaching position at university”.

“I know, but it’s not the same. Meanwhile, how are you making out with the investigation of the dead farmer?”

“We have some rather good leads. However, nothing concrete as yet that would prove the innocence of Mr. Mercer.”

“I’m sure you will dear. Practice what you preach. Be patient.”

“Touche.”

Two days later Basham received a telephone call from Morgan. “I called to let you know that Helen Bell is coming into London on Monday. Are you available?”, he asked.

“Yes. What time?”

“Again, ten in the morning should do it. Is there anything in particular you want to talk to her about?,” asked the barrister.

“Yes. I’m mainly interested at this point about hog hairs since they seem to be what convinced the jury in the case.”

“Fine. I’ll give her a return ring and let her know. That way she’ll be prepared.”

“Jolly good. See you on Monday.”

“Cheerio,” said Morgan before hanging up the telephone receiver.

Monday morning,caught in the London, morning traffic Basham arrived late at Morgan’s office. “My apologies. Traffic this morning is bloody awful”, he said as he entered. He saw a rather good looking blond woman seated next to Morgan’s desk. “No need for introductions. You must be Helen Bell and I’m the old bloke both of you have been waiting for”, said Alistair as he took a seat.

“Mrs. Bell, Doctor Basham”, said Morgan.

“Nice to meet you doctor. My brother has described you very well”, said Helen Bell.

“Other than old, wrinkled and walks with a limp there isn’t much more to identify. How was your drive from Chelmsford? I hope we are not imposing on you”, said Basham.

“No, as a matter of fact I come into London at least once a month to shop. So, after we’re done here I’m off to the boutiques.”

“Excellent. Now, I’m sure that Basil has told you of my need to talk to you about the subject of hog’s hair”, said Alistair.

“Yes, he did. It is a by-product that at one time was an additional source of income for the farm. Now days buyers purchase hogs hair from the slaughter houses. I brought a sample to show you what we sold at one time,” said Helen, as she handed Alistair a tanned pigskin containing long, black and brown, stiff hairs.

“And these are off of the Berkshire hogs that you and your brother raise?”, asked Basham.

“ No, at one time we also raised the Magalitsa hog. I’m sure that Harry told you that our father raised Berkshire hogs while other farms raised Yorkshire in the area. As you know the Berkshire is consider the best breed for producing meat for consumption. We did away with the Magalitsa breed years ago said Helen Bell.

“Yes he did. Nonetheless, at present Mr. Morgan and I feel that your father’s wrongful conviction was due to the introduction of hog’s hair at his trail. As you probably know three strands of Berkshire hog hair was found at the crime scene. The question then arises, if your father didn’t carry that particular breed of hogs hair into Fleming’s house, then who did?”

“I don’t know Doctor Basham, but that’s why my brother and I have retained Mr. Morgan. I will say this. We have been fighting the Crown for almost fifteen years in an attempt to clear our father’s name. It is our opinion that the Crown, if we are correct, will have to pay for hanging an innocent man. Financial retribution is not our goal. Justice is what we are after. However, if financial compensation is part of justice, then so be it. Now, if there are no other questions I shall be going,” said Helen.

“I certainly have none”, said Morgan

“I have just one more. May we keep the hog hair sample for a bit longer? I’d like to study them further”, said Basham.

“Please take your time with the sample. As I said, most hog hair buyers buy at the slaughter houses now days,” said Helen Bell upon leaving.

After Helen left the office Morgan asked, “Well, where do we go from here?”

“Have you heard anything from Fillmore ?”, asked Alistair.

“No. not yet.”

“What have you done about the missing floor boards?”

“I’ve filed a brief with the court requesting that the police produce either the evidence or reports and/or photographs of the evidence to me.”

“Including the missing floor boards?”

“Naturally.”

“Excellent. Let me know when Fillmore appears. When he does send him to Sergeant Draper. See if the man can remember anything about the boards, where they went and possibly where they are,” Basham instructed.

“What are you going to do?”, asked Morgan.

“Research and examine this sample of hog’s hair.”

***************

Two weeks later Derrick Fillmore walked into Basil Morgan’s office. “ I spoke to the old, Sergeant. He says after the trial the boards was never sent back to the Chelmsford Headquarters and placed in the evidence room. What happened to them after all these years he has no idea. I also questioned him about why he hadn’t mentioned the floor boards when he was here. His answer was that he thought he did when he elaborated about the heel print and hogs hair”, said the investigator.

“Alright. I doubt if they’re still in existence. But we’ll see when the court reviews my brief in the matter,”Morgan replied,

“Anything else you want me to do?,” asked Fillmore.

“Yes, go back to Essex. Ask around. See if you can find anyone who worked for Fleming or their relatives,” said Morgan.

“Right. And, just where would I start?”

“Try the pubs. Usually the bartender knows his frequent and steady customers. He’ll know just about everything about them, including where they work now and where they use to work. Ask about field hands”, said Morgan.

“No problem, except I can’t sit in a pub with an empty glass. At the same time I can’t ask the barkeep for a receipt,” said Fillmore.

“So, you need the necessary funds to visit the pubs and gather information I take it”, Morgan replied.

“Thank you for understanding,” said Fillmore with a smile.

“Very well, but I better not see any charges for drinks on your expense account when you submit it. By the way, on my time and with my money you drink beer, understood?”

“I hear you all the way Mr. Morgan. All the way.”

While Morgan was meeting with Fillmore, Alistair sat at home at his desk examining and re-examining the hog hair sample given to him by Helen Bell. Joyce Basham watching him asked, “What’s so fascinating about pig hair?”

Looking up from studying the sample Basham answered, “Several things. First, the color. The hairs in this sample are black and brown. Yet, the Berkshire Hog, traditionally is black with white hairs on it’s snout, feet and tail. As I recall Sergeant Draper stated that the laboratory test indicated that the hairs found at the Fleming murder scene were identified as coming from a Berkshire Hog.”

“Since we’re on the subject of pigs and pork what do you think of ham for supper one evening?”, asked Joyce.

“Not too much. I still have the taste of Spam in my mouth.

I’m sure you remember how much of that pork product we had to eat during the war.”

“We had to eat oleo, but you still eat that”.

“True, but that’s because it’s more healthy for the heart than butter.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your heart and you know it”.

“Ah, now you are a physician.”

“I know that for a man of your age you’re as healthy as a horse.”

“A horse that’s heading out to pasture.”

“Besides you receiving the hog hair samples, is there anything new in your investigation?”, asked Joyce.

“Not really. After twenty five years evidence gets lost, witnesses die or move away. It appears now that what I’m looking for is in all probability contained in several hundred pages of police reports and court transcripts. I go over them a bit when I have the time. So far, nothing has caught my eye.”

“Perhaps I could help you. Just tell me what to look for.”

“An excellent idea love. I’ll study the police and evidence reports. You can read the court transcripts. Right now I’m concentrating on the hog hairs that were taken as evidence and presented in court against Mercer. Anytime you see the hairs mentioned mark it so I can view what you found.”

“I must say, that seems easy enough.”

“Evidently, you’ve never read court transcripts before. Boring, very boring.”

“I think I’ll survive. I’ll start after we do the supper dishes.”

“And, may I inquire just what supper will be this evening?”, asked Alistair.

“Butter and garlic prawns with crusty bread and a green salad.”

“Sounds jolly good.”

***************

Three days later Derrick Fillmore sat in Basil Morgan’s office. “I thought I’d come in to tell you in person what I have learned over there in Essex,” said Fillmore.

“I hope that it’s something worthwhile”, Morgan replied.

“That’s for you to decide mate. Here it is. Seems that Roger Fleming was a mean bloke. He didn’t have any friends that anyone can remember. He did however have two enemies. One was Silas Mercer the other a chap named Henry.”

“Henry who?”

“Don’t know. People I talked with just remember him telling his workers to keep a bloke named Henry off of the property. You already know about the feud with Mercer.”

“Just who were you talking to in Essex?”

“The son of Albert Miller, John Miller. Albert Miller was the foreman on the Fleming farm. Albert himself is dead, but his son remembers his father talking about the murder.”

“Did he happen to give you any idea why Fleming was killed?”

“Same as everyone else familiar with the case. Mercer killed Fleming because of Fleming killing the breeding sow.”

“Is that it?”

“Not quite. It also came up that several hundred pounds was missing from Roger Fleming’ house.’

“Really? This is the first time money has been mentioned in this matter.”

“That’s why you’re paying me Mr. Morgan. I find the facts.”

“So, I imagine that everyone suspected Mercer of stealing the money,” said Morgan.

“Not really. Some chaps believe that the coppers took it. After all, when they arrived they chased everyone out and were then alone in the house. Investigating and safeguarding the evidence they say they was.”

“Let me ask you this. Who found Fleming’s body?”

“I’m still trying to get that information.”

“Alright. Anything else?”

“Not at the moment.”

“Keep asking questions in Chelmsford and Essex. I’m beginning to think that there are a lot of answers to our questions there.”

“Yes sir. I plan to be there Saturday evening. That seems to be the best time when the working men go to the pub’s.”

Back in Harrow Alistair and Joyce Basham sat studying documents. Joyce read the court transcript of Silas Mercer’s trial while her husband read the police and evidence reports. Both worked in deep, complete silence. Then suddenly Joyce said, “I think I’ve found something love.”

“And?”, asked Alistair.

“Here, the Crown’s prosecutor is questioning a laboratory technician about what he learned when examining the hairs found in the blood stains in Roger Fleming’s house. The technician says, and I’ll read it as it is, he says, “I found three white hairs three inches in length. An analysis was done of the hairs and it was learned that they were actually hairs from a Berkshire Hog. Since they were white and as I mentioned exactly three inches long in all probability they came from the snout area of the pig.”

“Really, anything else?,” asked Alistair.

“It seems the defense councilor on cross examination asked, “Could you determine anything else in your analysis?”

“Such as sir?,” asked the witness.

“Such as the age, the condition of the hairs?”

“The condition of the hairs was that they had been cut, or clipped if you will,” said the technician.

“Cut and clipped? And from the snout of a Berkshire Hog. Can you give me an example of any hog farmer in England that would cut, clip or for that matter groom a hog in that manner?”

“Yes sir. Farm shows where they show their prize animals.”

“No further questions,” said the defense.

“So there you have it love. Is what I found beneficial to your case?,” asked Joyce.

“I rather think that it does. Mercer and farmers like him, those that raise Berkshire Hogs usually sell them for slaughter on the market approximately one hundred and eighty to one hundred and ninety five days from birth. I have no information that Silas Mercer or his children have shown their hogs at fairs or in competition. Therefore, I can’t vision Silas Mercer taking the time to groom a hog by cutting the white hairs on it’s snout.”

“Excuse me, but what advantage does what the laboratory technician testified to in court render to your case?”, asked Joyce.

“Right now, the fact that the Mercer hogs were not shown in fairs or livestock shows. You see, there was no need to clip snout hair or for that matter groom the animals. Yet, the hairs taken into evidence by the Crown were clipped and beleived to be from the snout of a Berkshire Hog. In short this means the hairs in all probability came from some other Berkshire. Not necessarily from one of Mercer’s hogs. Since it appears that Silas Mercer was convicted on circumstantial evidence Morgan can use this new information in his appeal”, Alistair explained.

“But isn’t what you have now circumstantial evidence?, asked Joyce.

“Yes my love, but Morgan only has to go in front of the judge in his appeal, not a jury. He should be able to have the court open the case to review. Hopefully, if and when they do we’ll have all the pieces to the puzzle and he can clear Silas Mercer’s name.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

Chiny Chin Chin

 

As the beginning of June, 1951 came upon them Basil Morgan and Doctor Alistair Basham sat in Morgan’s legal office going over the facts in the murder of Roger Fleming. “Alright, so far I feel that we have enough contradictory evidence against the Crown’s circumstantial evidence to warrant opening the Silas Mercer case for at least a review. What do you think Doctor?”, asked Morgan.

“You’re the barrister going into court. Since you asked me I’ll say this. We should know before hand who found the body of Fleming, how much money was taken and was the missing money the motive for the murder? If so, then Fleming shooting the breeding sow was not the reason for his death,” Basham answered.

“So you’re saying that robbery was the motive?”, asked Morgan.

“I don’t think so. I think the money was taken as an after thought. Case in point. We know that a field hand found the door to the house open and that field hand also found the body of Fleming. Sergeant Draper said the door to the house had been open for several hours. Who was that field hand? Was it the field hand that took the money?”

“I’ll have Fillmore dig a bit deeper over in Chelmsford,’ said Morgan.

“I would. Another thing. Harry Mercer said his father was strong. Strong of body and mind he said. It seems to me that a man of that stature would be able to beat Fleming with his hands, not having to rely on an object to crush the man’s skull,” said Basham.

“I agree,” Morgan replied.

“Since it appears that the Crown’s case against Mercer was the white hairs analyzed by the laboratory technician, keep in mind that he stated that in his opinion the hairs came from the snout area of a Berkshire Hog. That being so, I did a bit of research into the breed. It appears that the Berkshire although referred to as the Black Pig actually has white hair on it’s feet, snout and at times on it’s chest and tail, even at times on it’s chiny chin chin”, said Basham with a laugh.”

“I see. So what you are saying damages the Crown’s witness as an expert in his analysis”, said Morgan.

“Exactly old boy. Not much, but I will agree, but enough to plant doubt in the mind of the judge.”

“I’ll keep that in mind when I go to court. In the meantime what will you be doing?”, asked Morgan.

“I’ll still be looking into the hog hair evidence. That’s where most of the answer stands. Once I satisfy myself with the right answers about the hairs, then perhaps we’ll have the answer as to who killed Fleming.”

************

A week later Alistair sat at the kitchen table staring off into space, a blank expression on his face. He was brought back to reality when Joyce said loudly, “Just what are you daydreaming about!”

“Huh? What? Oh. I’m sorry love. I was just thinking of what I learned today. You see, I contacted a plastering company. I talked to a bloke that’s been doing plastering for the past. Thirty years. He learned from his father. Seems it’s been a family profession for generations. Anyway, I asked him about the use of hogs hair mixed with plaster. Seems that hogs hair was used primarily with lime plaster. Lime plaster went out of fashion in 1900. Seems it took too long to dry. They then began using gypsum plaster and if fiber was needed in the mix they began using wood fiber. So, it appears that a local plasterer being a suspect more or less has disappeared.”

“Well, look at it this way. It is just another aspect in the case that you can now eliminate,” said Joyce.

“True. There was a time when I believed that the hog hairs were brought into the Fleming house by Fleming himself”, said Basham.

“How?,” asked Joyce.

“Fleming was reported to have been a man with a temper. From what we learned when he saw the sow in his fields he angered, took a shotgun and rode his tractor out into the field. There, supposedly he shot the hog. Suppose, just suppose he, once again in anger, kicked the dead pig in the head with his booted foot. In do so, white hairs from the sows snout adhered to his boot. He then brought the hairs into his house when he returned.”

“It sounds very feasible dear,” replied Joyce.

“Until one remembers that the hairs have been reported as cut, or clipped. The Mercers never groomed their hogs for any purpose except give them an occasional bath.”

“What next?”

“As the saying goes, back to the drawing board. Unfortunately I have an outline, but no picture,”said Basham.

The next day, Derrick Fillmore handed Basil Morgan typewritten reports on his activities in Essex. Morgan looked at the many pages and said, “In saving me rather valuable time, suppose you tell me what’s in this report.”

“Very well mate. Back I went to the pubs and once again talked to John Miller. After I bought him a couple of pints he loosens up and I ask him point blank mind you, who found Fleming’s body? Guess what he tells me?,” said Fillmore.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“Well he ups and tells me that it was his father that discovered the body. Seems that old Albert Miller, being the foreman and all had to report every morning to Roger Fleming to see what the farmer wanted done in the day, even on Sunday, his day off. Now, as John tells it, his father Albert goes to the farm house and discovers the front door ajar. He removes his hat and calls out, “Mr. Fleming? Mr. Fleming?” there being no answer he steps inside. The first thing he sees is the bottom of Fleming’s shoes. Then, Fleming himself. Old Rodger is laying face down. His face and head is surrounded by a dark, semi-wet pool of blood. Stepping closer Albert sees that the farmers skull has been crushed. Albert then and I’ll use the word supposedly, goes to the small office in the house and uses the telephone to call the local police. The rest I assume you know,” said Fillmore.

“My question to you Mr. Fillmore is, do you trust what he had to say?,’ asked Morgan.

“Oh yes sir. If you was to take the time sir, you will see in my report a statement taken in my office from John Miller and witnessed by two of my associates. If he was lying I doubt if he’s willingly submit to giving me a statement.” Fillmore answered.

“Morgan smiled. “Very nice work Mr. Fillmore. Very nice.”

“Now, what else do you have in mind for me sir?”, asked Fillmore.

“Nothing at the moment. I’ll be in touch and soon.”

“Very well then, I’ll bid you a good day. Cheerio”.

When Fillmore left his office Morgan called Basham on the telephone.

After listening intently to what Morgan had to say Alistair said, “Excellent. Roger Fleming’s body being discovered face down to me indicates that he was struck from behind. Have you received any information from the police in reference to Fleming’s injuries?”, asked Basham.

“Not as yet. They will not release anything until told to do so by the court,” Morgan answered.

“I see. What’s your schedule for tomorrow?, asked Alistair.

“I’m afraid I’ll be in court most of the day.”

“Hmm. No matter. I want to talk to Harry Mercer once more. I’ll bring you up to date later.”

“Very well.”

“Good by.”

“Cheerio.”

Late in the morning of the next day Alistair Basham drove out to the Mercer farm. Luckily, he found Harry at the house instead of the pig pens or fields. “Doctor Basham. This is an unexpected pleasure. What can I do for you sir?, asked Mercer.

“I need only a moment of your time. Do you happen to know what mortuary buried Roger Fleming?, Basham asked.

“Yes, that would have been Parson and Hahn. As a matter of fact they’re still in business. Simon Parson now is the proprietor but he kept his fathers partners name, “ said Mercer.

“Excellent. You say the owner is a man named Simon?”

“That’s correct.”

“Thank you. And, I assume he’s in Chelmsford?”

“Well, actually the business is in the village of Blackmore, but one has to go through Chelmsford in order to get to Blackmore.”

“I see. I’m sure there are plenty of roadside signs”, said Basham.

“As I recall, there are.”

“Very well then. I shall be off,” said Baham.

“Do you mind telling me why you want to talk to the undertaker?”, asked Mercer.

“No problem. Seems the police and his Majesty’s Court wish to drag their feet in the matter of your father’s appeal. As a result I must work around them. Now, have a smashing day Harry.”

As Alistair drove along the road leading to the village of Blackmore he was pleasantly surprised at the view of the rolling hills and the plots of land separated by hedge rows. Entering the village he noticed the tall, black steel sign that read, “Blackmore.’ The road was paved, but narrow and some of the dwellings still had thatched roofs. At times he felt that he had traveled back in time to a different age, a different century. He noticed the Baptist Church, built in 1843. Once he passed it he began looking for the mortuary. He slowed the motorcar as he saw a black, hearse parked in front of a one story building. He pulled up in the drive way, parked his automobile and after getting out walked to the front door of the undertakers parlor.

Entering, Basham heard the sound of a buzzer which was meant to alert those in the rear of the establishment that someone had entered. Moments later, a tall, thin man attired in a black business suit entered the room. “Good day sir. May I be of service?, asked the man.

“I hope so. I’m Doctor Alistair Basham, Professor of Sociology at Harrow. I’ll come right to the point. What I’m looking for is information about a funeral that this mortuary performed back in 1926.”

“Nineteen hundred and twenty six? My good man if our mortuary did in fact provide service then it had to be conducted by my grandfather. Back then the business was located in Chelmsford.”

“I realize that. I’m hoping that you have the name and records of one Roger Fleming,” said Basham.

“Our files don’t go that far back sir.”

“Of course not. I was just hoping that they did.”

“Just what were you looking for?”, asked the mortician.

“The man I mention was a victim of a homicide. The indication is that he died as a result of a crushed skull. I need to verify that fact”

“You say the man was a victim of a homicide?”

“Yes.”

“There is a possibility that some sort of record might exist. If we are engaged in making arrangements for those types of victims we keep records just in case we are summoned to court at a later time or in dealing with insurance companies. It was a system instituted by my grandfather. Please, make yourself comfortable while I look through what we call, “Pending Legal Issues.”

“Thank you very much,” said Basham.

Fifteen minutes later the mortician returned, walking into the room. “Sorry to have to make you wait sir”, he said.

“No problem Mister? Mister?”

“Parsons, Simon Parsons.”

“A pleasure meeting you sir.”

“What I found Doctor is a record of a bill for fifty pounds sent to the county of Essex, back in 1926,” said Parsons.

“Excellent. Could you tell me what services your business rendered?,” asked Basham.

“It seems that the company sold an inexpensive, white pine coffin. The body was found to have had a crushed occipital was not embalmed and was buried twenty four hours after receiving it.”

“I see. Since the man’s skull had been crushed could you tell me how that injury would be treated in the mortuary?”

“Off hand I’d say back then, since there was no viewing that the remainder of the brain would have been removed. Had there been a viewing the brain would probably been removed and the cavity in the skull hidden by cosmetics and the position of the body in the coffin.”

“Was that done with Roger Fleming?”

“Knowing my grandfather, I’d say yes except that cosmetics were in all probability not used.”

“I see. Well. Thank you very much, Mr. Parsons.”

“You’re quite welcome sir. Are there any other questions?”

“Yes, did the County of Essex pay the bill?”

“Oh yes. Yes indeed.”

The next day Alistair took the bus from Harrow into London. Joyce needed the motorcar to attend a faculty meeting being held in Nottingham. After entering Basil Morgan’s, private office he took a seat and said. “As you know I went to Blackmore yesterday.”

“Yes, for what purpose, I have no idea,” Morgan replied.

“Simply put, I cemented the fact that One, Roger Fleming was struck from behind. Two, his skull was indeed crushed. Three, it was the back of his head that was compacted. And, since there was no viewing and he was buried within twenty four hours of being at the mortuary, one gets the impression that dear old Roger was not very much liked”

“Forget his personality. What you have just told me so far is that your suspect is a short bloke with twenty to twenty five inch arms and attacked Fleming from behind several times resulting in Fleming having a crushed skull,” said Morgan.

“I say, now you’re getting it old boy, bravo.”

“So what have we now?”, asked Morgan.

“Just a bit more information casting doubt on Mercer as the killer.”

“Where do we go from here?,”asked Morgan.

“I under estimated Fillmore. Have him talk to the blokes in and around Chelmsford. See if he can connect who the chap is named Henry who Fleming refused to allow on his property.”

Anything else?,” asked Morgan.

“Yes. Also have him talk to this Miller person. See if he can find out where Fleming kept his money in the house.”

“Personally, I think the facts about the money are long gone and we will never make a connection, although it would support a motive.”

“You may be correct, still I say we try.”

“And, when it comes to the missing money you don’t have any suspects?”, asked Morgan.

“Oh, to be sure old boy. Keep in mind that Fleming was reported to be a loner, almost a recluse. Fillmore after talking to John Miller reported that the man stated that his father had said that several hundred pounds were missing from the house. Sergeant Draper never mentioned money missing. The other field hands in Flemings employ knew of money being in the house and more or less indicated that the investigating police detectives took the money. However, who else would have known about the money? Albert Miller would have certainly known. Albert Miller found the body. Albert Miller went into the office to use the telephone to call the police. Albert Miller was the one that said money was missing, but also said how much money was missing. How did he know? My suspects then come down to two individuals, Albert Miller and the killer.”

“I must say, you make a good point,” Morgan replied.

“Do not place too much emphasis on the money. I doubt that it is even mentioned in the court transcripts. Let us concentrate of this Henry chap. I feel that he is the man we are looking for.

“I’ll get Fillmore right on it,” said Morgan.

“Good, now I must be going. I have to take the bus back to Harrow,” said Basham.

“Please, let me drive you home,” said Morgan.

“No. Taking the bus keeps me humble. I used public transportation all of the time before I got married. My wife owned a motorcar so not to be outclassed by her I learned to drive. I’ll take a seat on the bus as I use to do and read the newspaper on the way home. Cheerio.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Six

Gunnister Man

 

 

On Sunday morning, June 24, 1951 Alistair and Joyce Basham sat quietly in their living room, both reading the morning newspaper. Their quiet was interrupted by the ringing telephone. “Blast it to hell! Who would be calling this time of the day and on a Sunday!”, said Alistair loudly.

“Just calm down. I’ll answer the telephone and see. Are you expecting a call?,” asked Joyce.

“Of course not,” Basham replied.

As Joyce answered and then spoke on the telephone Alistair attempted to regain the place in the newspaper where he had been reading. After a short while Joyce came back into the room.

“Well, who the bloody hell was it?,” asked Basham.

“The university. The call was for me,” she answered.

“What did they want?,” he asked.

“Do you recall last month when I told you they had found a body of a man buried in a bog in Scotland?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, it seems that what two men digging peat found the remains of a man estimated to be from the 1600’s or 1700’s. The remains consist of a piece of his skull with some dark hair, finger and toe nails and fragments of bone found in a sleeve and stocking. The university chair wants me to go to Scotland and take a look at what was found.”

“I thought that you are a paleoanthropologist.”

“I am.”

“Since when was the sixteen and seventeenth century in the paleo period?”

“They’re not of course.”

“Then why you?”

“Because I work for the university, just as you do. If you were told to lecture in Tibet and you wanted to chase some criminal you would travel to Tibet. I’m no different then you love.”

Basham sat quietly for a moment then said, “You’re right of course. Where in Scotland will you be going?.” he asked.

“First to Edinburgh, then to Shetland where the remains were found.”

“And, let me guess, you don’t know how long you will be away.”

“Not really.”

“Will you be taking the motorcar?”

“No, I’ll be taking the train.”

“I see. Well what must be, must be. When will you be leaving?”

“Tomorrow or the next day. It depends on the railroad schedule. As a matter of fact I should be on the telephone now making arrangements.”

“Make sure that the train stops at Belmont Station in Harrow. It should be the Metropolitan Railway, but it’s been sometime since I’ve used a train,” said Alistair.

“I’ll look into it love,” Joyce replied.

“If so I’ll drive you to Belmont Station.”

“I should hope so. What will you be doing while I’m away?,” asked Joyce.

“ I really can’t say. There’s no summer classes for my subject matter. I could perhaps bring my lecture material up to date, but actually what I have right now is rather good, you see.”

“You could try gardening.”

“That means getting one’s hands dirty. Seems rather egregious, all for a flower or vegetable if you were to ask me.”

“Suit yourself. I should know that you’ll never change after all your years.’

“Why is it that after a woman marries a man she sets out to mold him into what she considers, proper?,” he asked.

“Probably because it’s our way of improving civilization.”

Later, as Joyce packed for her trip Alistair sat at his desk. He opened the file containing the notes he had made in relation to the Mercer/Fleming Case. As usual he started at the beginning, not wanting to omit anything. As he read what by now could almost be considered a journal he re-examined everything he had written up to this point in the case. He stopped reading. Deep in thought. “It keeps coming back to the hog hair. That’s the key. Find the answer to the hog hair and it will lead you to the killer. Blast it! Why can’t I make a connection? And? Who is this Henry chap?” he thought to himself.

The next day, Monday, Alistair drove the automobile to Belmont Station and after opening the motorcar’s boot, removed the two suitcases Joyce had packed to take with her to Scotland.

“Are you sure you packed enough? I’ll bet when I get home the telly will be missing,” he said.

“You do exaggerate, don’t you?”

“At times perhaps, but you must admit that you in all likely hood have packed more then you need.”

“Really, I could pack as you often do. One shirt, one pair of underwear and a pair of socks.”

“You make me sound like some unwashed vagrant.”

“How’s that for exaggeration?”, she asked.

“I should know better then to go toe to toe with you. Now, here comes your train. Go to Scotland, get your hands dirty and enjoy what you like to do most. I’ll miss you love,” said Alistair.

“Good by darling. I’ll give you a ring once I get settled. I made a Cottage Pie for supper. I hope you enjoy it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Basham watched the train to Scotland until it disappeared from sight, then walked slowly to the automobile. On the ride home, he missed her already.

After speaking with Morgan on Tuesday, Alistair motored into London to meet with him and to have lunch. Arriving at Eight Hoxton Square Morgan requested a table in the rear of the room more or less guaranteeing the two men privacy during their conversation over a meal. While Morgan ordered a martini Basham ordered a Sherry and as they looked over the menu Morgan said, “It appears as if my brief is finally moving up on the court calender. Have you come up with anything new?”

“As a matter of fact I have. This Henry chap, the one we can’t come up with. We know from talking to Harry Mercer, Stanley Cook and the mortician in Blackmore that after the death of Roger Fleming his house and farm was put up for auction more or less to pay his debts and taxes. We know that Stanley Cook had the winning bid. I wonder Basil if there is a list naming the other bidders and how much they offered?”

“I take it that you believe that some chap named Henry would be listed,” Morgan replied.

“Just a thought. Just a thought.”

“I’ll look into it, but I say, I don’t expect to find any such person.”

“And what has you investigator turned up recently?,” asked Basham.

“ In speaking again to John Miller, nothing new.”

 

“Ah. Here comes the waiter. Separate checks old boy, said Basham.

“Why? Our lunch can go on my expense account which the Mercer’s will gladly pay,” said Morgan.

“Not the way I play mate. I never take pay for my services nor take lunch, dinners or breakfast after being serviced by a young bird,” Alistair explained.

“Very well. Separate checks please,” Morgan said to the waiter.

“No problem sir. Are the gentlemen ready to order?’, asked the waiter.

“Yes. I’ll have the veal chop and Cavolo Nero,” said Basham.

“And I’ll have the Welsh Black Beef with Horseradish, “ said Morgan.

“Excellent choices gentlemen,” said the waiter before he left for the kitchen.

“I’m surprised that you ordered the Cavolo Nero. Personally, I dislike it immensely,” said Morgan.

“When you get to my age you’ll need fiber just to get through the day. So today it’s kale, no matter what color.”

“So, you mentioned that your wife is in Scotland. Something about a dead body you say?,” asked Basil.

“Actually a bloke someone found buried in a bog in Shetland. Joyce being an anthropologist, and may I say a damn, good one was assigned by the university to go there and have a look,” Basham explained.

“Amazing the things they are finding. Hadrian’s Wall, ruins from the Romans, Pict, Scotti. They’re still looking for Richard The Third’s body,’ said Morgan.

“Perhaps they’ll find it one day,” Basham replied.

“Do they have any idea just how old the bloke is,?” asked Morgan.

“My wife said that he was from the sixteen or seventeen hundreds,” Basham answered.

“I wonder how they know? I mean actually know. Of course in today’s modern world science has made many advances but to be able to pinpoint an exact date in time is smashing,” Morgan replied.

“Actually, in this case I believe that it was the wool clothing that gave them the time period,”Basham explained.

“No. You mean to tell me that after all those years the chap was buried in the bog, his clothing was intact?”

“Exactly. I find it amazing myself. It probably has something to do with the chemical compounds in the bog soil. However, since I’m not an expert on anthropology, or the soil conditions of Scotland, that’s only my opinion.”

“And, I say, a rather good one sir. Now, while we have time let’s get back to business,” Morgan requested.

“Fine. Right now we have Albert Miller as a suspect of taking Roger Fleming’s money. Since Albert Miller is deceased we can’t charge him. I believe that the rubber heel mark in the dry blood pool places the man we’re looking for in the working class. Think about it Donlop’s rubber heels were meant to replace the traditional leather heel. In doing so it reduced the price asked by the cobbler. A man of means would in all probability maintain his customary way of having his cobbler replace a worn leather heel with a new leather heel, you see.”

“Yes I follow you. And, if I may I’ll point out the fact that the field hands working for Fleming all wore rubber boots. This allowed them to wash away mud and manure from the fields .

As we know Albert Miller entered the house, but it was not he that left the heel imprint because he was wearing boots,” said Morgan.

“Really? That’s the way you see it?,” asked Basham.

“Of course.”

“May I remind you that the murder occurred on a Sunday. Sunday was Miller’s day off. Do you think that a man would wear rubber boots on his day off?”

“Damn it Basham. You think of everything!”.

“Well, right now nothings coming to me as far as being able to identify the killer.”

“Ah, here comes our lunch. Let’s just sit back, put this case out of out minds for a bit and enjoy lunch,” said Morgan.

“Before we eat, make a note to have Fillmore attempt to find out from John Miller, just why his father was at the farm on a Sunday”, said Alistair.

“We both know that it was routine. Fleming insisted that his foreman meet with him on Sunday mornings to get Monday’s assignments.”

“Quite right. Let’s see if we can find out what those assignments were to be.”

******************

Another week went by. At the end of that week Joyce had returned home from Scotland. His Majesty’s Court agreed to hear Morgans appeal setting the court date for Monday, September 3, 1951 and Derrick Fillmore reported to Basil Morgan.

“So?”, asked Morgan, “ What do you have to report?”

“Well sir, you asked me to question John Miller as to why his father went to the farm on Sunday, May, sixteen, back in twenty six. Seems as on that previous Saturday Fleming wanted the tractor washed and cleaned, on Monday,it being muddy. Albert Miller went to the farm the next day, Sunday to get the wheel brush from Fleming. Seems as though the old wheel brush had worn out and Fleming said he would buy a new one, but Albert couldn’t find it in the barn. So he went up to the house and, well, you know the rest,” said Fillmore.

“That’s it? that’s all?”, asked Morgan.

“Yes sir.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Back at Harrow Alistair sat on the bed as Joyce unpacked her suitcase. “Well love, how did it go?,” he asked.

“Rather well, I’d say. Although paleoanthropology is my field just being at a dig site was invigorating. Unfortunately, there wasn’t too much of Gunnister Man to study. As you know there was a partial skull, fingernails and toenails. Most of the identification made was from the wool clothing he wore at the time of his death. Oddly, as he was found in Shetland his knit wool purse contained coins from the Netherlands and Sweden. The coins were all dated to the sixteen hundreds. He might have been from Shetland, but at the same time Northern Europeans were reported to have traded in that area during that time. So, it’s hard to say what his actual citizenship was at the time of his death. However, I enjoyed myself and I think my written report will please the department head at university.”

“I see, Any idea what he died from love?,” asked Basham.

“No. It could have been from exposure to the cold, or an illness. Whatever caused his death, whoever found him buried him with his belongings,” Joyce replied.

“How deep was his grave?”,asked Alistair.

“It was only approximately thirty inches deep. Whoever buried him was in a hurry, probably because of the cold At the same time the bog might have been nearly frozen,” Joyce answered.

“So you had to dig in a peat bog.”

“No. I went to the bog just to see it and examine it for my report. My work was done mostly in Edinburgh. I didn’t even get my hands dirty.”

“Well, I’m glad that you’re home at last.”

“And, just what have you been doing while I was away working?,” asked Joyce.

“Still chasing ghosts and empty leads in the Mercer case,” said Alistair.

“Please tell me that you are getting close to identifying the real killer.’

“Not as yet love. It’s as if something out of the blue has to hit me in my empty head in order for me to see the way.”

“You have been through these dry spells before. I am sure that this case is no different then the others you have solved.”

“Well either the cases are becoming more difficult or I’m getting too old to think. it’s definitely one or the other.”

“Just be patient dear. You don’t want to rush your investigation and create a clanger.”

“You’re bloody right in that regard. Now, that you’re home what say we dine out this evening?”

“Absolutely. I hope you didn’t expect me to travel home, get off of the train come into the house and then cook supper, did you?”

“Of course not. Besides had you done that, supper would have been beans on toast. We’ll dine out.”

“Let’s go to Jacoby’s,” said Joyce.

“Excellent, I’ll have a nice steak, with wild mushrooms,” Basham replied.

“I’m in the mood for duck confit and afterwards a summer pudding,” Joyce responded.

“Well, since we’re stepping out I must go shave and put on my blue suit. Don’t you think?”, asked Alistair.

“You definitely need to shave. I notice that every time I go away you let yourself go.”

“Actually, I’ve made several attempts to grow a beard. What do you think of the idea? Don’t you think I’d look smashing standing in front of my students as I lectured sporting a van dyke or full beard?”

“Then why haven’t you done it?”

“Because after two days it begins to itch.”

“I see. Suit yourself dear. Now, I must go into London tomorrow,” said Joyce.

“For what purpose?”

“I need to replace the dental picks and scrapers I used in Scotland. I broke one and the other is wearing out.”

“I see. Very well. While we’re there I’ll stop in and see Basil Morgan.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Eight

Henry Bascomb

 

 

After driving into London and leaving the automobile in the car park, Joyce and Alistair walked one city block to the dental supply company located on Whitfield Street. After entering, Basham stood patiently while Joyce examined several dental picks and scrapers. She had to explain to the salesman that she was not a dentist, but a paleoanthropologist that required the instruments in her work. She then asked about a coco bristle tar brush and where she could find one. Advised to go to a paint supply shop she smiled, paid for the dental picks and along with Alistair, left the dental supply company.

As they walked back to the car park Joyce said, “I can very well get what I need back in Harrow. I don’t feel like driving or for that matter walk all around London looking for paint brushes.”

“Suit yourself love. Nonetheless, while we’re here I must stop in and see Basil. I’ll introduce you to him. I think you’ll find him to be rather charming.’

Once again the Basham’s drove through London streets and London traffic finally arriving at Basil Morgan’s Law Office. When inside Alistair introduced his wife to the two women legal aides and then to Basil, himself.

“May I say that it is an extreme pleasure to meet you Mrs. Basham. Your husband has told me many things about you. For instance I understand that you recently worked on the Gunnister Man Project,” said Morgan.

“That’s correct, but I’m afraid that I didn’t have too much to offer in regards to any findings. Actually, what I did was to affirm what had already been discovered.”

“Still, one must consider it to be an honor just to be asked to join in the research,” Morgan responded.

“Yes. I didn’t think of it that way, but thank you,’ Joyce replied.

“So. Alistair, I’m glad you came in today. I have a report from Fillmore. He told me that after speaking to John Miller he was told that his father, Albert Miller went to the farm house on the Sunday that Fleming was killed to get a wheel brush. Miller was supposed to wash the tractor on Monday morning,” said Morgan.

Basham sat up in his chair. “Wheel brush? Wheel brushes come in different sizes. Was there any mention of the size of the wheel brush?,” asked Alistair.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“It could be the missing murder weapon, particularly if the handle was twenty inches or longer,”said Basham.

“Do you think so?”, asked Morgan.

“Absolutely, old boy. And, since it was nineteen twenty six I’ll wager that the brush was made from hogs hair. Keep in mind that back then there weren’t too many synthetic fibers available.”

“I agree, but was the brush made with Berkshire Hog hair?,” asked Morgan.

“If I may gentlemen, may I say that hog hair brushes are still being used somewhat today. Artists, those being painters require a soft, fine hair brush. I prefer a hog’s hair four inch paint brush in my line of work on a dig,” said Joyce.

“Then some manufacturers are still using hog’s hair today,” said Morgan.

“Of course. One main use of hog’s hair is in the manufacturing of filters,” said Basham interrupting. “However, when one looks back to that time many brooms and brushes were handmade by the merchant himself and he would go door to door peddling them,” Basham continued.

“By Jove Alistair, I think you have just found another piece to the puzzle,” said Morgan.

“Perhaps, perhaps. I suggest that you have one of your young ladies obtain a copy of the British Nineteen Twenty One Census for Essex and Chelmsford,” said Basham.

“And what should they be looking for?,” asked Morgan.

“A chap with the first name of Henry, occupation, Broom and Brush maker and salesman or peddler,” Alistair answered.

“ I have a question,”said Morgan.

“ What is it?”

“ Suppose we do find this man and identify him as the bloke that was at Fleming’s farm. How do we prove that he is the killer?”

“At this moment I’m leaning towards the fact that the blighter makes his own brushes and uses hog hair for bristles, but also prefers Berkshire Hog hair for some of his products,” Basham explained.

“That merely narrows the field, so to speak,” Morgan indicated.

“True, but let us hope other factors are present,”Basham replied.

“What other factors?”

“Right now, I haven’t the faintest idea. I’m hoping I’ll know them when I seem them,” Alistair answered.

“Well as usual old chap, I’ll wait for your lead. May I say Mrs. Basham just what a pleasure it is to have met you this day,” said Morgan.

“Thank you. Now I know where my husband spends most of his time when in London. I hope that his expertise has helped your endeavors,” said Joyce.

“Oh, he has, he has. Now, I most say cheerio as I have another client coming into the office shortly,” said Morgan.

*******************

Three weeks went by. Still, during that time the Office Of National Statistics had not sent the requested information to Basil Morgan. Then, near the end of August, 1951 a large envelope arrived at Morgan;s Legal Office. After opening and reading the information contained, Basil immediately called

Alistair Basham. “I have the information you wanted,” said Morgan.

“And?,” asked Basham.

“It seems that there were two broom and brush makers named Henry during the nineteen twenty one census. A Henry Bascomb living in Barking. And, a Henry Boucher, living in Maldon. Both listed their occupation as, Broom and Brush Makers,” said Morgan.

“Excellent. Give me some time to think it over. When are you due in court?, asked Alistair.

“In a few weeks, September.”

“Ah yes. Don’t fret old boy. We should have all of the answers you’ll need before then.”

“I hope so.”

“Cheerio.”

Joyce Basham took a long look at her husband. “By the expression on your face I would say that you must have received some very good news,”she said.

“Oh rather. Since both of us are free until the start up of the fall semester at university how would you like to make a few day trips with the motorcar?”, he asked.

“I’d say let’s be on our way, particularly while the weather holds. Where are we going on these so called, day trips?”

“The first will be to Maldon. I want to see the town, what it looks like now and hopefully find out what it looked like in 1926.”

“Really? I should like to see it as it was in 913 A.D.,” said Joyce.

“Once an anthropologist, always an anthropologist,” Alistair replied.

“ Knowing you, there is more than a sight seeing tour you’re going on, right?”

“Yes, actually, I’m looking for a someone who knows or knew Henry Boucher.”

“Who is he?”

“ If he is alive, an old broom and brush maker.”

“And if he’s dead?”

“Verification that he once was a broom and brush maker.”

The next day, shortly after noon Joyce drove along High Street in Maldon. The narrow roadway was lined with shops of all kinds and types, most of which had painted fronts consisting of a light yellow color. Here and there one could find a blue or green painted shop. Driving slowly through the town Joyce said, “I don’t know about you love, but I’m rather hungry. I see a restaurant up ahead. Let’s get a bite to eat and then you can conduct your search for the allusive broom maker.”

“Smashing idea. Smashing,” said Alistair.

After parking the automobile the couple entered the Jolly Sailor. After being seated and learning that the specialty of the house was its fish and chips they both ordered the menu item.

A young teenage girl was their waitress and Basham engaged her in conversation. “Could you tell me Miss, since this is a rather old city and probably still with quaint traditions, are there any old time broom and brush makers living here?”

“Not that I know of sir. I do believe that there is a gift shop in town that sells miniature brooms. As you can see Maldon is a small city that caters to tourist that enjoy boats and river cruises There was once an iron works here, but that was years ago,’ said the waitress.

“Could you tell me the name of the gift shop?,’ asked Basham.

“It’s called Billy’s,” she answered.

“Thank you”.

After lunch Joyce and Alistair walked on High Street. While Joyce looked into shop windows Alistair searched for the gift shop. Finally, he saw the sign advertising the business and after walking to it, they both entered.

The salesman, a man Basham judged to be in his late forties greeted the couple with, “ Good day madam, sir? May I help you?”

“I hope so. I notice that you sell miniature, handmade brooms. Are they made locally?,” asked Basham.

“No sir. I import them from India. The same goes for the miniature umbrellas,” said the salesman.

“Drat!”, said Basham.

“Something wrong sir?”

“Not with you. You see I’m trying to find a chap that once made brooms and brushes here in Maldon,”Basham explained.

“Do you have a name sir?,” asked the man behind the counter.

“Boucher, Henry Boucher,” said Alistair.

“My father might know of him. He’s in the rear of the shop. Excuse me and I’ll see if he can help you.”

“Oh, jolly good,” said Basham.

After a few minutes the salesman entered the front of the shop along with an elderly man. The man looked at Basham and said, “First of all are you from the police?”

“No sir, actually, I’m a university professor. As is my wife here. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Alistair Basham from Harrow.”

“I see. Roland here has told me that you are inquiring about one Henry Boucher.”

“Yes sir. I’m attempting to learn if he practiced the broom makers trade here in Maldon,” Basham explained.

“He did. Up until he died.”

“When was that?”

“During the war, forty one or forty two.”

“Do you know if he used hogs hair for his products?”, asked Basham.

“I doubt that very much. There not being too many hog farms or slaughter houses around Maldon, but plenty of old rope discarded about, I’m sure that old Henry used hemp for both his brooms and brushes.”

“I see. Well thank you for your help sir,” said Basham.

On the drive back to Harrow Joyce said, “Knowing nothing at all about criminology, still I think that you just fell down the rabbit hole, so to speak.”

Basham smiled. “You are correct my love. You know nothing about criminology. As a matter of fact what I have done is to eliminate a suspect.”

“Now what?,” asked Joyce.

“Now, we decide if we will dine in London, Harrow, or home.”
Three days later, Basham drove out to the Mercer Farm. Harry Mercer was expecting him and greeted him with a warm, handshake. “By the sound of your voice on the telephone I got the impression that what you wanted to see me about is of great importance,”he said.

“I believe it is Harry,” Basham replied.

“Let’s go into the parlor where we can converse in comfort,” said Harry.

“Tip top idea,” Basham replied.

“Coffee? Tea, whiskey? That’s right you prefer sherry,” said Mercer.

“Nothing. Thank you.”

“Once in the house and after Alistair was seated comfortably, Mercer said, “Now, what can I do for you?”

“ I recently did a bit of research at university library on the subject of wheel brushes. Does that mean anything to you?”, asked Basham.

“No. Should it?”

“Not really. It seems that some wheel brushes, those made in the nineteen twenties and those being made today used and still use hair from old boars. I imagine it is because of the fact that those hairs are very coarse, yet not brittle.”

“I see the reason behind it,” said Mercer.

“Your sister Helen, when I first met her in Morgan’s London office informed me that most broom and brush makers now purchase hog hair from the slaughter houses.”

“That’s correct. They also bought from the slaughter houses in the nineteen twenties.”

“ My question to you is although you place your pigs on the market approximately every one hundred and eighty days. What do you do with the old boars?”

“Fortunately, we can sell the old boars and sows to the Bonner Sausage company in Dagenham. that’s all they’re good for. The meat is too tough for roast, chops or hams. That way they are slaughtered and the meat ground into sausage meat.”

“The next question is very important Harry so think before you answer.”

“Please. Ask.”

“Do you know if your father had the same business practice?”

“Of course he did. That’s how we learned it. The Mercer Farm has been doing business with Bonner’s for well over thirty years. Keep in mind however, that we are not the only hog farms supplying Bonner with old hogs.”

“Excellent.”

Returning to Harrow Basham telephoned Morgan. “So now you are concentrating on this Bascomb chap,” said Morgan.

“Yes, either you or Fillmore check for him having a police record. At the same time look for any mention of relatives of Henry Bascomb living in or near Barking,” Basham instructed.

Three days later, Derrick Fillmore met with Morgan and Basham. “Well, what have you got for us, my good man?”, asked Basham.

Fillmore smiled. “Now don’t be rushing me doctor. I want to present what I’ve found slow and deliberate as they say.”

“Just get on with it man!”, said Morgan.

“Well now. It seems that this Henry Bascomb was an ornery bloke. He was living in Barking in the year 1919 when he was arrested for larceny. The word is that he took several hundred pounds from a house where he was painting the walls. The owner was an elderly woman, but had all of her faculties. She summoned the police, the blighter was arrested, tried and found guilty. He was sentenced to five years in London Prison, served three years, getting out on because of a medical condition.”

“Anything else?”, asked Morgan.

“Oh, yes. I’ve only scratched the surface, so to speak. Seems that while in prison old Henry learned a new trade,” said Fillmore.

“And? Get on with it man!”, said Basham.

“Seems Henry learned how to make brooms.”

“Excellent. Where is he now?”, asked Morgan.”

“According to his death certificate he’s in plot seventy, Rippleside Cemetery. He died in 1930.”

“Where is this cemetery located. Do you happen to know?”, asked Basham.

“I would venture to say near or in the town of Barking. You see the condition of Bascomb’s early release from prison was a type of parole if you will. A family member had to vouch for him so up comes his brother Virgil who happened to also live in Barking. As I get it, Henry left prison, moved in with his brother and opened a broom and brush making business.”

“Is Virgil Bascomb still alive?,’ asked Basham.

“I believe he is.”

“The question is, will he talk to us?,” asked Morgan

“Do you have an address in Barking?”,asked Basham.

“Not at the moment. You see old Henry was a bit cagy.

When he was in Barking he was living with a Dorothy Dodd.

After being sent to prison Dorothy kept living in the house they shared. Up comes the year 1921. Time for the census. Henry’s name is on the rental lease. What should she do?, she asked him.

He told her to give his name as living there and since he was learning the broom makers trade to give that as his occupation.”

“What happened to Dorothy Dodd?”, asked Morgan.

“Seems she turned to prostitution, caught the lung disease and died in the workhouse.”

“Well done Derrick. Well done,” said Basham.

“Now what?,” asked Morgan.

“Now, it’s on to Barking. Meanwhile let’s try to learn just what Henry Bascomb’s medical condition was enabling him to leave prison,” said Alistair.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Nine

Barking To Dagenham

 

Alistair Basham sat at his kitchen table deep in thought.

Spread out in front of him was a map of Essex. With a forefinger he moved it in a straight line from the word Barking to the word Dagenham.”By Jove. The blighter didn’t have to go too far from home to get to Dagenham and the Bonner Slaughter House and Meat Packing Company,” he thought to himself. He made notes in his journal.

The next day at mid-morning Alistair drove along River Road which would take him to the Bonner Packing House. Upon his arrival he asked to see either the owner, or the manager. He was told that the owner was not on the premises and when asked to state his business he informed the female receptionist that it was about an urgent, legal matter. He hadn’t lied. In a few minutes Basham met with a Mr. Harvey Anderson, Manager.

“So, Mr. Basham. What’s this all about?”

“Actually, I’m seeking information about your companies sales, during say, nineteen twenty five to twenty six,” said Basham.

“What product? Ham, sausage, salt pork, bacon?”

“Hogs hair.”

“Hogs hair?”

“Yes. My information is that this company back then just as as now sell hogs hair to different enterprises. What I’m mainly interested in is the sale of Berkshire Boar hair to one Henry Bascomb formerly of Barking,” said Alistair.

“I doubt if we still have that information on file. May I ask why this information is so important?”

“You may. I need the knowledge of any transaction done by Henry Bascomb and the Bonner Company in order to clear the name of a man wrongfully hanged for murder.”

“Blimey! You come right to the point, don’t you?”

“No sense us having a chin wag my good man. A court date is nearly upon us. I don’t have time to piss away.”

“Very well. I’ll see what we have on record, but don’t expect me to find much of anything.”

During the twenty minutes it took Anderson to check his records Basham in an attempt to amuse himself looked at the pictures on the wall, all of which were of pork products. Next, he thumbed through a magazine published for the meat packing industry. He found it boring and placed it back in the magazine rack. Finally, Harvey Anderson came back into the office. “Sorry it took me so long. I did not find any records of sales of hog hairs to one, Henry Bascomb. I did however, find a few sales of boar hair to a Virgil Bascomb,”said Anderson.

“Really now. Are you sure?”, asked Basham.

“I can only tell you what was entered in the books, sir.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong old boy. You see what you just told me has somewhat taken me by surprise.”

“Here, see for yourself. A sale was made to one Virgil Bascomb for a quarter pound of boars hair for the sum of two shillings. The sale was on February 10, 1926,” said Anderson.

“Oh, I believe you my good man. Thank you very much. I’d keep those records handy if I were you. I believe they will be necessary in his Majesty’s Court”, said Basham upon leaving.

As he drove into Barking motoring along Alfreds Way he turned right, found Sutton Road and stopped in front of the house numbered one sixteen. Alistair got out of the automobile and walked to the front door of the home. He stood and knocked. When the door opened he saw a man of approximately in his mid-seventies. “Virgil Bascomb?,”asked.

“Yes.”

“Good day sir. I’m Doctor Alistair Basham. I’d like to talk to you about your brother, Henry.”

“What about him?”

“A few things actually. First, I understand that he was wounded in the Great War.”

“True, although the War Office wouldn’t grant him a pension. Seems they doubted that he suffered from the loss of the lower part of his left leg.”

“Next, that he was a house painter until arrested and sent to prison.”

“Say, hold on. Are you a copper?”

“No indeed. However, my good man I am helping in an investigation where an innocent man was hanged for murder.”

“What’s that got to do with me or Henry?”

“At this time your brother is a suspect in the murder of Roger Fleming.”

“Well, the way I sees it, old Henry is dead so what can you do to him?”

“Clear his name if he’s innocent. Prove that he was a murderer if he’s guilty.”

“Well now, he weren’t no killer, I’d say.”

“Your his brother you would be expected to say that.”

“Old Henry was a hard worker he was. Started out as a house painter, was conscripted and served in His Majesty’s Army then was tossed aside like a piece of rubbish by the War Office.”

“Lot’s of blokes were wounded in the war. Most of them stayed out of prison after-wards.”

“Henry was accused by a balmy, old woman. He never took money from her house.”

“Be that as it may, I have several other questions.”

“Such as?”

“Your brother was relased from London Prison due to a medical problem. Could you tell me what it was?”

“Certainly. His amputated leg. He got an infection and the doctors couldn’t cure it. They sent him home to me. I had to take care of him, provide shelter, food and what have you. I even had to pay for his crutches with my own money.”

“Really?”

“Sure as I’m standing before you.”

“And I understand that he became a broom and brush maker,”said Alistair.

“And a damn good one, if I do say so myself.”.

“Did you also help him with his business?”

“I made deliveries some of the time.”

“I imagine that he was good at his trade,” said Bashm.

“Oh he was, he was. He could sit for hours in the shop making his wares.”

“I imagine that his shop has long been done away with.”

“For business purposes yes. It’s closed up now. Has been for almost twenty years. I left it just the way it was when he died.”

“And that was back in 1930?”

“Correct.”

“I wonder if I may have a look at his work place. I’m sort of a historian when it comes to English handicrafts. I find it amazing that an English craftsman could turn out far better goods then today’s manufacturers.”

“I don’t see why not. Come with me. Keep in mind that it could be a bit dusty after all of these years being shut up.”

“No matter, no matter.”

Basham followed the man to the backyard. There he saw a small, one story outbuilding with one door and a window.

Virgil Bascomb, using a key unlocked the door, then stepped aside allowing Basham to enter.

Alistair looked at the many, glass jars containing what he believed to be hogs and horse hair. Hanging from hooks in the wall were the finished wood handles of different shapes and sizes. On another wall hung what Basham thought were the finished products that were for sale. “I say, did your brother also make the handles as well?,” he asked.

“Oh, yes, and each one was made from White Oak,” Virgil replied.

“Amazing. Well, thank you Mr. Bascomb. You have been of tremendous help. Oh, one more thing if I may. Can you tell me if Henry sold any goods to Roger Fleming?”

“Just once. Fleming ordered brooms and brushes and then refused to pay the agreed upon price. Henry never did business with him again.”

“I see. Thank you.”

****************

 

At mid-morning, on a Thursday, Basham took a seat

in front of Basil Morgan who as usual sat at his desk. “Well, what’s on your mind today good doctor?”, asked Morgan.

“Just stopped in to say good-by,” Basham replied.

“Good by? Are you quitting?”

“By all means old boy. You see there’s nothing else I can do or for that matter, offer.”

“I was counting on you Alistair. The court date for the appeal is next week.”

“I suggest that you have it postponed.”

“Why?”

“Because of the new evidence that the police will find after you contact them.”

“What new evidence?”

“Well, let’s see. For one, the murder weapon. They will find it at one sixteen Sutton Road, Barking. It’s a boars hair wheel brush made with white oak. The brush is hanging on the wall of the shop. One can not miss it. The white oak handle has a dark stain. Make sure that it is tested for human blood. Second, the murderer, one Virgil Bascomb, elderly man that he is. You see Henry could not have killed Fleming. Henry was confined to crutches the rest of his life after getting out of prison. He spent most of his time at his work bench making the brooms and brushes he sold either at his shop or by delivering them to patrons in the Barking area.”

“If he was confined to crutches how did he make deliveries?”, asked Morgan.

“Again, we turn to Virgil. He gathered the hogs hair from the slaughter house, gathered white oak for brush handles, made the deliveries and collected the money for the sales.”

“Why would he kill Fleming?”

“Fleming was the type that would place an order and when it arrived refuse to pay the asking price. The vendor then caught with goods unwanted at the time by anyone else would after arguing accept Flemings low payment. Virgil was aware of this because Fleming had done it before and on that Sunday, May 16, 1926 after arguing over the price of a wheel brush, struck and killed Roger Fleming with the wheel brush.”

“What about the missing money from Fleming’s home?”

“Still, in all probability it points to Albert Miller. I assume that after killing Fleming Virgil wouldn’t want to stay too much longer.”

“Anything else?,asked Morgan.

“Other than the fact that Virgil wears rubber heels on his shoes, nothing.”

“Very well. I’ll let you know when the actual court date will be,” said Morgan.

“Why?”

“Don’t you want to be there when we clear Silas Mercer’s name?”

“Not really. You see, my job was to either provide you with a profile of the criminal or with an identity. I believe I’ve done one or the other, mostly the other. So, the way I say it old chap, my job is done. So I say, cheerio, have a nice time in court and I’ll read about it in the newspapers,” said Basham as he shook hands with the barrister.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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