The Death Collector by Justin Richards

he said: ‘I should go. I need to get to work. But I shall try to find an opportunity to ask Sir William if I can look at the surviving volumes of Glick’s diary. He has them at the moment. Maybe he has found something.’
    â€˜An excellent idea,’ Liz agreed.
    â€˜I’ll meet you this evening and let you know what I discover, if anything. Shall I …’ He hesitated. ‘Shall I come round to your house again?’
    â€˜No. I have some business I need to attend to this evening. I shall come and find you when I am done, if that is convenient. I have your address from your card.’
    George smiled. ‘Of course.’
    â€˜I got business to do today and all,’ Eddie said, partly to remind them he was there. ‘I’ll tell you all about it this evening.’ They might have dismissed his idea of a séance, but Eddie wasn’t to be put off that easily.
    Liz was on her own again at the side of the grave when her father returned a short while later with a police sergeant. The two men had been talking, and once Oldfield had convinced him there would be no objection from the Church, the sergeant had agreed that he would arrange for the grave to be opened up.
    â€˜Just to check the coffin is intact,’ he warned. ‘Just so the poor soul is properly covered and can rest in peace.’
    It was over an hour before two police constables started work with shovels. Liz was soaked through by then, and feeling cold and bedraggled. She must look a sight, she thought as she watched the men dig.
    They scraped the wet earth from the wooden lid of the coffin.
    â€˜Well, it’s still here at any rate,’ the sergeant announced. ‘All right, you can fill it in again.’
    The constables both sighed audibly, and climbed out of the grave. One of them caught his boot on the coffin lid as he hauled himself out of the pit. The heavy wooden lid moved. Not much, but enough for the sergeant as well as Liz to notice.
    â€˜Hang on a minute,’ he proclaimed. ‘That should be screwed down, shouldn’t it?’
    â€˜Indeed it should,’ Oldfield agreed. ‘I fear it may have been tampered with after all.’
    The sergeant took a deep breath of misty air. ‘You reckon we should open it up, sir? Just to check?’
    â€˜I think it would be advisable.’
    Liz turned away as one of the policemen jumped back down into the grave. She could hear the scrape of the wood as the coffin lid was lifted clear. She did not want to look, but she strained to hear the reaction from the men watching.
    â€˜Well, he’s in there all right,’ the sergeant said.
    â€˜Bit odd though,’ one of the constables said. ‘I thought Albert Wilkes died in his sleep.’
    â€˜Indeed he did,’ Oldfield’s cracked voice replied.
    â€˜Looks like his legs are broken, or something,’ the other constable said. Liz almost turned to see for herself.
    But the sergeant said: ‘All right, put the lid back on.’
    â€˜You’re going to leave it at that?’ Liz asked. Now she did turn round. From the expressions on the faces of the men, the body must have been a singular sight. Perhaps there was more wrong than broken bones.
    â€˜I really do think some further investigation …’ Oldfield began.
    The sergeant nodded, holding up a hand to stem the protest. ‘I quite agree, sir. The way the man was lying, the way the legs were bent and all. That didn’t look like any body I’ve seen, and I can tell you I’ve seen a few.’
    â€˜What do you propose?’ Liz asked.
    â€˜Either this body has been tampered with, or this man did not die peacefully in his sleep.’ The sergeant turned to Oldfield. ‘I propose, with your agreement sir,’ he said, ‘to suggest to my superiors that we seek permission from the deceased’s next of kin for an urgent post-mortem.’

Chapter 8
    Her father was tired after