Skull: Part 2/2

A Crime Story

Photo by Chelms Varthoumlien on Unsplash

Detective Bancroft entered the Inn and rang the bell that sat atop the bar.

While he waited he set down his luggage and rubbed his hands together to take the chill off. He saw candles burning in wall sconces. They did little to illumine the interior which was laden with dark wood - the bar, the walls, the floor, the tables.

A log fireplace was the centrepiece, though the fire had burned out, probably from the previous night's service. The detective noted there were not many people in the dining area for lunchtime. He expected a busy lunch service to be in full swing - the clank of cutlery and conversation - but there was a sombre atmosphere.

‘Can I help you?’

A voice came from behind Bancroft.

He swivelled. A large man stood in the doorway, almost a silhouette against the background fog.

‘William Cooper?’ enquired Bancroft.

‘Who’s asking?’

‘Detective Edward Bancroft. I’ve just arrived from Violshire. I’m here with regards to the skull that was discovered yesterday. And, to check into my room. That is, of course, if you are William Cooper?’

‘Get on with your questions then, I’ve work to do.’

Bancroft got a distinct feeling that he was not welcome. As far as Bancroft could see, he was a customer. He expected a business with so few customers to be as welcoming as possible.

‘How did you come to be in possession of a human skull, Mr Cooper?’

‘We used to get a lot of people in here. It’s a good spot for hiking and hunting, you know? Since that chap disappeared last year, we’ve had a lot of people come through with an interest in him, amateur detectives wanting the reward for finding him. I didn’t question why people were coming, business be business.’

Cooper pulled out a chair from a nearby table and sat. He gestured for Bancroft to do the same. He continued.

‘Then yesterday I was on one of me regular walks and a rain shower broke out. I ducked into a cave to keep dry. That’s when I saw the skull. Covered in leaves it was. It was a shock at first, then I brought it to your lot to deal with. The local bobbies that is. I figured it would be the poor chap that went missing last year.

‘Finding that fucking thing scared everyone off. Now it isn’t just a missing person, there’s a body. Well, part of one. There’s a killer about. Most of the guests checked out of their rooms and fled. Now we’re on the second day of earing next to nothing.’

Despite his unwelcoming introduction, William Cooper seemed genuine to detective Bancroft. But that can easily be faked.

Before either of the men could speak again, the sound of approaching footsteps interrupted them.

‘I’m telling you, they're in here,’ came a voice.

‘I’ll go first,’ chimed another.

The reporters had arrived. They flung the door open and marched in.

‘Oh for Christ’s sake,’ muttered Cooper.

‘Mr Cooper? Detective Bancroft? Is there anything new to report?’ one of them asked from within the mass of bodies.

‘Anne!’ shouted Cooper. ‘Come and serve our guests.’

Anne Cooper appeared from the kitchen and smiled at the reporters. ‘Oh my! So many of you. This is such a nice surprise after being so quiet the last few days. Have a seat and I’ll take your orders.’

November 16th 1899

Detective Bancroft used the commotion caused by all the reporters to slip away from the inn and take a look around. It would be impossible to conduct his inquiries with them buzzing around. He’d come back to speak to the Coopers later.

Outside, the fog was impenetrable. A couple in their middle years were bickering about which direction they should take for their next hike.

‘That’s the way to the cave where Mr Cooper found the skull,’ said the man.

‘Yes, John, but if you haven’t noticed,’ she waved her arms around, ‘we can’t see where we’re bloody well going in this fog.’

‘We’ll be fine if we’re careful.’

‘Don’t be stupid, we’ll break our bloody necks.’

‘Hello,’ Detective Bancroft cut in. ‘I’m Detective Edward Bancroft, here to investigate the murder.’

‘Oh we read about you in the paper this morning,’ said John. ‘Terrible business.’

‘I was wondering,’ continued Bancroft, ‘if you could help me with my inquiries?’

‘I’m afraid we’re not from around here. There isn’t much we could help with,’ said the woman. ‘I’m Eve. This morning, John and I arrived and read what had happened in the paper.’

‘Is there anything you’ve seen that made you suspicious in any way?’ Bancroft persisted.

‘Well,’ said Eve, ‘That Mr Cooper fellow, the one that found the skull, he’s a bit rude. Maybe he’s not himself, finding a skull could be hard to deal with.’

William Cooper was certainly a suspect, but Eve could be right. Bancroft held his tongue, hoping the silence would encourage the couple to fill it. He looked at John, and back to Eve.

‘There was a hunter in here this morning, drinking coffee. Right creepy, he was.’

‘Mmm,’ said John, nodding.

‘We’ll go inside for a hot drink and wait for this fog to clear. There’s not much daylight left anyway. We’re here until tomorrow if you need us.’ Eve took John by the hand and they went inside.

Bancroft made a mental note to speak to the hunter later. He looked into the fog in the direction John was pointing. That’s the way to the cave where Mr Cooper found the skull, John had said. 

He was weighing up whether he should risk getting lost on the moors in the fog to find the trail and take a look around the cave, when, from within the gloom appeared the faint outline of a building.

He squinted and made his way towards it.

The building and the fog lacked contrast, like a grey painting on grey canvas. More and more details came into focus as he neared the building. The soft edges hardened. An A-frame roof sat atop a heavy stone structure. Wide double doors were held in place by great rusted hinges.

Bancroft held the padlock that secured the barn doors and the corner of his mouth lifted. It was an old bar padlock and he knew he could pick the lock. He rummaged around in his pockets until he found what he needed. A key. It was smaller than the keyhole on the padlock. He inserted it and worked it around a little until it caught. Some more fiddling and a few seconds later the bolt was thrown open. He pulled the doors open. A glance into the fog gave no signs that anyone was around and he slipped inside.

It was even gloomier in the barn but at least his visibility wasn’t impaired by the fog. Bales of hay piled high took up most of the room. There was no hayloft but the bales were stacked on top of crates and makeshift worktops. Under them was simple storage space for William Cooper’s rusting tools.

As he turned to leave he noticed something, an inconsistency in the floorboards. A line where the wood had been cut that didn’t match the length of the other floorboards. He moved closer and peered through a gap in the toolboxes beneath the worktop and saw a hinge.

‘Interesting,’ he said to himself.

He dragged out the crates and boxes filled with miscellaneous tools covered in dust.

Moving the things had revealed another hinge three feet away from the one he’d already identified. Three feet away from those was a small groove carved into the floorboards.

A trap door.

He poked his finger into the groove and lifted it.

He pulled it all the way up, noting the ease with which the hinges worked. A recent addition to the barn's original construction. It revealed a set of wooden steps leading into darkness.

It must be in use. ‘Interesting indeed.’

He descended one slow step at a time, catlike.

A step creaked.

He froze.

All remained still.

He proceeded.

The barn floor became the ceiling in one step as his head dipped below the trapdoor.

The room was smaller than the footprint of the building. It was cold and the smell of must clogged his nostrils when he inhaled.

A hooded cloak hung off a nail in the wall at the foot of the stairs like a shadow. Next to that was an oil lamp on top of a work surface. He set down his luggage, dug some matches from his inside pocket, crackled one into life and lit the wick.

The floor was thick with hay that crunched underfoot as he approached the work surface that ran against the wall on the right-hand side. Bancroft inspected the worktop. A green hunting jacket hung off the corner. He saw a series of knives, tools and bottles of dark liquid. His eyes then settled on a small open container that reminded him of a cigar box.

‘Jesus.’

It contained a set of pliers with dried blood on the ends. Next to the blood-rusted apparatus, four teeth.

An image of the skull flashed across Bancroft’s mind. He read in the report that it had a tooth missing. He was willing to bet that one of these teeth would fit perfectly in that gap.

It all made sense to him. William Cooper must have been kidnapping and killing his guests. Sooner or later the disappearances would attract attention from the press. A bed and breakfast like Cooper’s has a lot to gain from the increased footfall in the area. All the amateur detectives and reporters coming and going would turn over a tidy profit.

Bancroft had been so distracted by the teeth on the worktop that he had neglected to search the rest of the room. All he saw when he scanned the room was a table in the centre. On the table was the outline of what he could tell was a body, hidden beneath a sheet.

He started towards the table and paused. No matter how careful he was, hay crunched under his soft steps.

His heart thumped, almost in his throat, as he reached forwards.

He pulled the sheet away.

‘Oh, God.’ He saw the motionless body of a man. Restraints rubbed a layer of skin off his wrists, ankles and knees. He had a stream of dried blood down the side of his face and neck. His lips parted enough for Bancroft to see that he had a tooth missing.

A sudden rasping inhalation from Jack sent Bancroft reeling backwards into the worktop.

‘You’re alive.’

He moaned.

‘I’m going to get the two of us out of here, okay?’

He moaned again.

‘Can you move?’

The man glanced past Bancroft’s hand towards one of the bottles on the worktop.

‘You’ve been drugged?’

This time the man managed a facial expression that was enough to confirm Bancroft’s question.

‘I’m going to have to lift you.’

The man’s moans were more intense than before.

‘What other choice do I have? I’m not going to leave you down here.’ Before he could act he heard a creak behind him and froze. Again, Bancroft had been preoccupied with something that he hadn’t thought about what was behind him. Bancroft raised his hands and backed away from the man on the table. ‘I’m unarmed.’ He knew better than to take an unnecessary risk.

‘Turn around. Slowly now,’ William Cooper said. ‘Just what the hell is this, detective?’ 

‘You’ll swing for this, Cooper.’

Cooper scanned the room as if this was his first time in it. ‘I doubt that. I’ve just caught you down here with Old Jack tied up. You’ve been drafted in to help the local bobbies find a killer. You are the bloody killer. What are you thinking?’

‘Oh, that’s clever. Good luck trying to convince anyone of that.’

Anne Cooper descended the stairs armed with a rifle aimed at Bancroft.

‘Be careful with that, Anne. Hand it to me and go and fetch the police. I just caught our murderer. Was about to have his way with Jack on the table.’ William Cooper held his arm out to receive the gun, but Anne didn’t move. ‘Come now Anne, Jack needs a doctor. And he needs a prison cell.’

‘Do shut up, William,’ Anne hissed.

‘Anne?’ asked her husband.

‘It’s her,’ said Bancroft.

Anne stepped to her left with the rifle trained on Bancroft. ‘William?’

‘What are you doing, Anne?’

‘William, be a darling and get a knife off of the worktop.’

‘Anne, this is madness.’ Cooper was pleading with his wife.

‘William, the detective is right. Nobody will believe that he was the killer. Everyone will think it was you. We can’t let him leave, he knows it was me now.’ Anne was calm and in control.

‘Arghh fuck,’ hissed Cooper through gritted teeth.

‘Guns are very loud, we don’t want to worry the guests by shooting him. So, get a knife and run it through him.’

Bancroft was now backed into the far corner of the room. Cooper stood near the bottom of the stairs. Both about five strides from the knives on the worktop.

They locked eyes.

Cooper’s eyes flicked across to the worktop, to the knives, and back again.

It was the hesitation that Bancroft was waiting for. He lunged towards the worktop, towards the knives.

Cooper was quick to react.

It would be a fight to the death.