Murder on the Home Front

LONDON

LONDON

The term autopsy actually derives from the ancient Greek autopsia ,

meaning to see for oneself.

Julius Caesar's proved it was the second stab wound,

the one to the heart, that killed him.

Making it highly unlikely he had time to say: 'Et tu Brute?'

Not that anybody really cares.

But there you are.

If it's useful, it's yours. Free gratis , as they say.

Do you want some pie? I'll never finish it.

Bloody Germans. Who invited them?

And these Anderson shelters are so damp and smelly.

I live just round the corner.

Ships that pass in the night?

Let's be having you!

Chop chop!

Women and children first.

Get into the shelter as soon as you can.

We'll leave them to it, shall we?

Get into the shelter as soon as you can.

I don't even know your name.

- Lennox. - Jane.

What's that?

Oh, him.

That's just, um... Alfred.

Where are you going? There's a raid on.

I'll take my chances.

I've got a bottle of beer in the... cupboard.

Oi! Get to the shelter unless you wanna get blown to pieces.

Dr. Collins?

DI Freddy Wilkins. I've been calling.

We've got a murder. Boarding house in Kennington.

Come on.

I hope I didn't interrupt your evening.

Professor Stephens wasn't available.

Not in the least. I've been hoping for a decent murder.

I haven't got close to a crime scene yet.

Well, there's nothing natural about this girl's death, I can assure you.

Landlady's called Clayton.

The usual lot, shop girls, servicemen, some theatricals.

Lodger by the name of Ziegler found the body.

Evening.

She's all yours.

Time of death would be a good start.

The onset of rigor mortis is variable.

So I can only give you a window in which death occurred.

Professor Stephens always gives a definite time.

Well, I'm not as experienced as he is.

So my opinion will have to be based on fact, not intuition.

Do we have a name?

Mary Williams.

Umm, Let's establish a common approach.

Nobody should walk across this floor.

No, it's all right.

We don't mind a little bit of blood on our shoes.

I'm protecting the crime scene, not your brogues.

And uh, could I have that sandwich bagged. I'll need to examine it.

No need, Sir. That's mine, that is.

This is a crime scene, not a Lyon's tea shop.

Brady, go and clear the stairs or something, will you?

I'll go.

Right you lot, down the stairs,

come on, Sir! That's the way. There you go.

Keep going. Keep moving.

This is a crime scene.

Excuse me, Miss.

D'you mind? I just need to get to my room.

I need to change my stockings.

I'm sorry but...

Look! They've laddered right to the top.

On you go. Yeah, fine.

Right, everybody else down the stairs,

thank you very much.

Rigor mortis in the small muscles of the right lower jaw.

Elbow stiffening.

I'd say she's been dead between four and six hours.

Don't touch that, please.

It may have been used to strangle her.

Don't upset yourself, Mr. Ziegler.

It must have been awful finding her like that.

I'll get you a cuppa.

It's always good to calm your nerves.

Sshhh...

There appears to be some damage to the tongue.

Bloody Nora.

And you are?

I live upstairs.

- Mrs. Clayton? - Yes?

Who is this young lady?

Isn't she with you?

Right. Out! Go on. Get out of it!

Go on! Get out!

Collect all trace evidence.

Makeup, hair brush, clothes, pillow cases, everything.

Hang on, Hang on.

Professor Stephens doesn't ask for all these things?

Well, he should.

- Are you the Pathologist? - Yes.

Mind if I ask you a few questions?

Yes.

My editor'll give me a right bollocking

if I don't get a half decent story.

One quote from you and I'm saved.

Sorry, I'm not the only one trying to make a good impression.

Now, go on, please.

Most girls I know would've passed out at the sight of that corpse.

You didn't bat an eyelid.

Always had a strong constitution, me.

True Crime. Get it every week.

That's what I really want to do.

Write crime stories.

Guy's Hospital! Quick as you like.

Get in then.

We're a bit shorthanded,

apparently there's a war on.

Can't say I noticed.

Well, It's the mortuary assistant's wedding anniversary.

- So you'll have to do. - Do what?

Your name again?

Molly, Molly Cooper. From the South London Gazette.

Trouble is Miss Cooper,

nobody really wants to work in a morgue.

But the war's given us a unique opportunity

to expand our medical knowledge.

Horrible as it is.

You do have typing and shorthand, don't you?

- Why? - You'll need them.

Just a few questions!

The victim? What was the nature of her injuries?

You can see for yourself.

Type up my notes as we go along.

Erm, use that.

- Your notes? I'm here to... - Hurry up, I haven't got all night.

Right, ready?

Caucasian,

female,

late twenties,

brunette.

Blue eyes,

no birthmarks on the anterior aspect.

Small mole on the left shoulder.

There's a subcutaneous bruise to the neck possibly caused by a thumb.

And a strange odour which I can't place.

Tongue.

Tongue.

Cross resembling a Swastika incised on the dorsal aspect.

There is a stamp. Ink.

The letter 'M'. Right hand.

Been dancing then, has she?

Excuse me?

The stamp. They do that to prove you've paid.

She must have been up the West End.

The Masquerade, The Morocco, one of them.

Bleeding minimal,

gravity is the only thing moving the blood at this point.

Victim was well accustomed to sexual intercourse.

You can't talk about the poor girl like that.

She has external signs of venereal disease and chronic liver damage.

Even so, she was out most nights with freshly painted nails and

traces of previous dance hall stamps on her hand.

Mary Williams was a good time girl.

Corpse can tell you a lot if you know how to listen.

Night then.

Thanks for the interview.

I'll see you tomorrow morning. Nine sharp.

You will? why?

I'm going to need an assistant

with good typing and shorthand and

no objection to blood and guts. You fit the bill.

I've already got a job.

Thanks.

I'll match your current wages out of my own pocket.

Come on, Miss Cooper.

I'm going to be at the heart of every important

investigation in London and you'll be there with me.

Can't think of a better education for a crime writer.

Can you?

I won't be coming into work today,

or tomorrow for that matter.

I know it's short notice,

but I've decided to become a land girl.

I'm off to the country. Bye.

Ahh.

You must be the new girl?

Charlie Maxton, the mortuary assistant.

Take this across to the photography department, would you?

Of course.

- What's in it? - Mary Williams's tongue.

Best not to get too attached to the stiffs, miss.

Just put it anywhere you like.

- And you are? - I'm Dr. Collins's new assistant.

Bit of advice, don't wear anything you cherish to work.

Blood, innards, the dread brains. That's all I'm saying.

Use this, then throw it in the bin.

Thanks.

What happened to her?

Husband bludgeoned her to death with an axe handle

and then claimed it was bomb damage.

How horrible.