Bobby McGee

Chapter Six. A Major Crime?

Chapter Six 

A Major Crime? 

The newsagents shop stood no more than three hundred yards from the front gate of the Police Station. When McGee arrived he found a prominently displayed "CLOSED" sign among the various tobacco ads festooning the lower storey windows. The front door was locked and a scribbled note was pinned just above the brass knocker.  

                                        No Mail pickup tonight. Will deliver tomorra. 

                                                                               JEP. 

McGee rang the antique front door bell. No answer. He rapped the knocker. Again no response. All was quiet. Straining on tiptoe he peered through the front window. The ground floor housed a counter, behind which stood numerous shelves loaded with sweet jars, cigarette packets and magazines. A door, which presumably led upstairs, stood ajar, but revealed nothing. Taking a couple of paces backwards, he could see the grimy upstairs windows that were half covered with shabby lace. Someone could be up there giving him the once over, but it was impossible to tell. 

"Damn and blast," thought McGee realizing that he had no warrant and really no compelling reason to force an entry. His meeting with Paul Karwolska would have to wait until a later date.  

That evening, McGee spent a lazy couple of hours listening to classical music on the Third Programme and catching up on some paper work. The office clock chimed eleven. Meg should have been home by now. "Gone with the Wind" was a lengthy film, but it had started at eight, and it was now well past eleven. Where could she be?  

Suddenly the emergency bell rang shrilly through the house shattering his reverie. He rushed to the door and found a visibly shaken Jeff Constable standing in the vestibule. 

"Come quick, sir. There's something ya gotta see." 

"Slow down, Jeff. Come in and sit down and fill me in." 

McGee knew Jeff quite well, having spent many hours chatting with him as he patrolled the village beat. Jeff was one of the many unemployed villagers, and according to Fletch a prolific poacher. 

"Well, Sir, I was just out ..." 

"No need for the 'Sir', Jeff. Just call me Bob." 

"Alright, McGee. I was just out for my usual late evening stroll and was skirting Sea Wood, when I heard something queer, a sort of squealing, out on the rocks. The tide was high and the water was almost up to the edge of the Wood but I was able to wade out towards the rocks. Luckily I had a torch, and in the light I spotted eyes, flaming little red eyes. They were bloody sea rats McGee, loads of sea rats, and they were feasting on a body, a fucking human body." 

"You're sure of this, Jeff?" 

"Sure as I'm standing here." 

McGee's pulse began to race. Could it be? A possible murder in this back of beyond; another shot at a major crime, and maybe this time he wouldn't be stymied by compromised superiors. With his luck he just knew it would turn out to be an accidental drowning. 

"Why didn't you notify the head office down in Ulverston?" 

"No way, McGee. I'm having no truck with that lot. They've given me too much trouble in the past." 

"Well I'll have to call them. Sea Wood is outside of my territory and something like this requires the professionals. Just hang on a minute while I call in with the details then we'll be off."  

A quick phone call, a hurried change into uniform, and they were on their way, pedalling furiously, bike lamps bobbing in the blackness. The dynamos didn't provide excessive light, but it was sufficient to help them avoid romantically inclined teenagers, the odd adults who had decide to walk home from the pictures on this balmy night, and Mr. Platt who seemed to take his bike everywhere, even to the cinema. Meg was nowhere to be seen. She must have taken the bus home. 

It only took fifteen minutes of flat out biking to reach the foreshore and another five minutes to stumble across the pebbled shore to the rock. In the beam of his torch McGee could see a dark figure, draped on the rock.  

"Told ya, didn't I." 

"Yes, Jeff, you surely did. Care to join me?" McGee said, leading the way through the puddles left by the ebbing tide. As they splashed towards the rock, torchlight bobbing, the squealing reached a climax as the rats scampered from their banquet. He wanted to give Jeff a good impression but McGee felt his confidence oozing away as they approached the body. The sight of the faceless corpse proved too much, causing McGee to lose control of his gag reflex and spray vomit all over his uniform. 

As he attempted to control his retching, McGee, from the corner of his eye, spotted Jeff examining the mutilated torso. He seemed unperturbed and had the sense not to touch the body. 

"I know who it is," he said. 

"Impossible," thought McGee, spitting out the last vestiges of bile. "How can you possible know?" 

"Look at his right hand. See the lopped off right index finger and the ring with the Polish Eagle. That's Karwolska. He showed me the ring one night at the Lion." 

Karwolska! The fight at the Red Lion. Could Andy Wacowic have done this? A tug on his right sleeve broke McGee's train of thought.  

"Looks like the cavalry has arrived," said Jeff pointing to the headlights of two vehicles that had stopped on the foreshore at the far end of the wood."I'm outa here. I want no truck with that lot. Don't let on that I found the body. Remember you owe me one." 

As the line of torch bearing experts snaked towards him across the pebbled beach McGee mulled over Jeff's parting remarks. By the time he recognised Sergeant Jeffreys striding towards him, his uniform covered by waders and oilskins, McGee had decided.  

"Did you touch anything McGee?" 

"Of course not Sarge." Did he think he was that stupid?  

"Good. Now whilst the forensic crew take care of it you can fill me in. Anything you can tell us?" 

"I think the victim is Paul Karwolska. He lives... or used to live on Swarthmoor." 

"How do you know that?" 

"Jeff Constable..." 

Sergeant Jeffrey's guffawed. "Don't tell me you have been taken in by one of Jeff Constable's cock and bull stories." 

"Sounded pretty plausible to me," said McGee, detailing Constable's evidence. 

"Let me check," said the Sergeant, before sloshing over to the three figures hovering over the body.  

After conferring with the forensic team for several minutes he returned to McGee's side. "Looks like you might be right McGee. He was carrying a ration card in his jacket pocket. The sea water has erased most of the signature but the first name definitely starts with the letter P and you can just make out the ka at the end of the surname. Any ideas as to who might have done this?" 

"I think you should call in Andy Wacowic. If you remember he was held over last night for disturbing the peace. He was in one hell of a fight with Karwolska. I'm sure he could tell us something." 

"Sounds suspicious. Bring him in for questioning first thing tomorrow morning. We'll clear everything up here." 

"Are you sure I can't help?" 

"No. Everything is under control, and anyway the crime has been committed outside your jurisdiction. Be off with you. Just bring us Wacowhatever." 

The ride back to the village was mainly uphill and McGee soon realized that tennis with his daughter may be a little too ambitious for his forty year old frame. He was nearing exhaustion as he reached the top of Fox Street. Sally Evan's house lay in darkness. Andy could wait till morning. He wasn't going anywhere.