Post-Mortem Examination Report

Deceased: Bernard Arthur Ilkley, aged 55 years Date of Examination: 4th October 1976 Place of Examination: Northallerton General Hospital, Mortuary Pathologist: Dr R. K. Waterhouse, MB ChB, FRCPath

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External Appearance

The body is that of a heavily built man of middle years, approximately five feet eleven inches in height, weighing an estimated fourteen stone. The deceased has thinning grey-brown hair, a ruddy complexion, and the calloused hands of a man accustomed to manual work. He is dressed in brown corduroy trousers, a cream shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and brown leather shoes. No coat or jumper.

Rigor mortis is well established and consistent with death having occurred approximately eight to twelve hours prior to examination.

Head and Facial Injuries

A single area of blunt force trauma is present on the right temple, approximately two inches above and forward of the right ear. The wound is roughly circular, approximately one and a half inches in diameter, with a depressed fracture of the temporal bone palpable beneath the skin. The skin is split and there is extensive bruising to the surrounding tissue. Dried blood is present on the right side of the face, the right ear, and the right shoulder of the shirt.

A superficial graze is present on the left cheek, approximately one inch long, consistent with contact with a rough surface. Minor bruising is present on the left forearm, consistent with impact against a hard edge.

No other injuries to the head or face. No bruising to the hands. No defensive wounds.

Internal Examination of the Head

The skull shows a depressed fracture of the right temporal bone with fragmentation. There is extensive subdural haemorrhage over the right cerebral hemisphere. The brain shows contusion beneath the fracture site and a contrecoup contusion on the left side.

The fracture pattern and depth of depression are consistent with a single heavy blow from a hard, curved object. Glass fragments were recovered from the wound margins during examination: three small pieces, clear glass, consistent with heavy soda syphon glass.

Trunk and Limbs

No injuries to the chest, abdomen, or lower limbs beyond the forearm bruise noted above. The organs are unremarkable for a man of the deceased's age and build. The liver shows early fatty changes consistent with regular alcohol consumption but no cirrhosis. The stomach contains a quantity of food consistent with a meal taken approximately six hours before death, and alcohol.

Items Recovered from the Person

1. A leather wallet containing fourteen pounds in notes and three pounds forty in coin
2. A ring of keys (seven keys, identified as pub and cellar keys)
3. A packet of Embassy Regal cigarettes, half empty
4. A Ronson lighter

Opinion

Death resulted from a depressed fracture of the right temporal bone with associated subdural haemorrhage, caused by a single heavy blow to the right side of the head. The glass fragments in the wound are consistent with the broken soda syphon recovered from the scene.

The superficial graze on the left cheek and the bruise on the left forearm are consistent with secondary impact injuries sustained during a fall or during the body being moved. They are not independently fatal.

The location of the primary wound requires comment. The blow struck the right temple from a lateral or slightly posterior direction. I am asked whether this injury is consistent with a fall down steep stone steps descending to the left. In my opinion, a fall down steps with a left-hand descent would be more likely to produce injuries to the left side of the head, the forehead, or the occiput. An injury to the right temple is not impossible in a complex fall but is unusual for the geometry described. The wound is equally consistent with a blow struck by a right-handed person standing to the right or slightly behind the deceased.

I am unable to determine from medical evidence alone whether this injury resulted from an accidental fall or an assault. The geometry of the wound is, however, atypical for the fall described.

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R. K. Waterhouse, MB ChB, FRCPath 4th October 1976

Case Notes: Death of Bernard Ilkley

Detective Sergeant Brian Crabtree, North Yorkshire CID, Northallerton Notes compiled 4th-6th October 1976

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Called to the Crown Inn, Netherdale, at 09:45 on Monday morning. PC Lumb had secured the scene from 07:45, which for Lumb represents a personal best in both initiative and punctuality. The deceased, Bernard Ilkley, 55, landlord, was found at the bottom of the cellar steps by his barmaid at a quarter past seven. On first appearance this looks like a fall: a man going down steep steps in the dark, slipping, cracking his head. The cellar light was off. Broken glass from a soda syphon was scattered on the steps and around the body.

Netherdale is the sort of village where a death brings every curtain on the green twitching before the constable has his notebook out. Fifty houses, one pub, one church, one shop. Everyone knows everyone's business, and half of them are happy to tell you about it whether you ask or not.

But the pathologist is not satisfied. The wound is on the right temple. Those steps go down to the left, with a stone wall on the right. A fall should put injuries on the left side, not the right. Waterhouse says "atypical for the geometry described." That is Waterhouse language for wrong.

If this is murder, someone hit Ilkley with the soda syphon, arranged him on the steps, smashed the glass to make it look like he fell carrying the bottle, and switched off the light. A staged scene. Whoever did it had a sense of theatre but not a great understanding of physics.

The pub was locked from the outside. Lumb found the front door bolted, but the back door was on the latch. The yard gate was closed but not padlocked. Anyone who knew the layout could have walked in from the lane. In a village this size, that means everyone.

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Persons of Interest

Maureen Douthwaite, 34. Barmaid.

She found the body. She has a key to the front door, which she used on Monday morning.

She was Ilkley's lover until he ended the affair in July. Half the village knows about it. The other half pretends not to. Mrs Gledhill at the shop says Maureen told her she could "kill Bernard for what he's done." Strong words. The sort of thing you say when you have been thrown over, or the sort of thing you mean. Mrs Gledhill relayed this to me with the solemn gravity of a woman passing on state secrets, and then offered me a toffee.

Dinsdale saw her arguing with Ilkley in the car park at closing time, around ten to eleven on Sunday night. She says it was about shifts. Maybe it was.

Her fingerprints are on the soda syphon fragments. She handles those bottles every day, so that means nothing on its own. But it does not look good alongside everything else.

She says she left at 10:45 and drove straight home. No witness. She lives alone.

I want to know more about the argument in the car park. I want to know how she felt about being replaced by a woman from Harton. A spurned barmaid with a key to the building and fingerprints on the murder weapon. If this were a novel, she would be arrested by chapter four.

Frank Dinsdale, 62. Retired farmer.

Dinsdale and Ilkley have been at each other's throats over a boundary dispute. Six feet of car park on Dinsdale's land. Dinsdale has been telling the whole village Ilkley is a thief. He was the last customer to leave the Crown on Sunday night. He says he left at half past ten and walked home. His wife was asleep. Nobody saw him.

Dinsdale has a temper. Everyone in the village will tell you that, most of them with visible enjoyment. He once put a fence post through the windscreen of a feed merchant's van over an unpaid account. That was fifteen years ago but people remember. In Netherdale, they remember what you did in 1961 the way Londoners remember what they had for breakfast.

He knew the layout of the Crown better than anyone. Forty years of drinking there. He knew about the steep steps, the cellar, the soda syphons behind the bar.

But a boundary dispute over six feet of gravel? That is a solicitor's matter, not a killing matter. Unless Dinsdale has a shorter fuse than I think.

Keith Palliser, 38. Brewery representative.

Palliser was at the Crown on Sunday afternoon for his monthly visit. Went through the books with Ilkley. Left around five. Forgot his briefcase behind the bar. Drove to his lodgings at the Fleece in Harton, three miles away. Mrs Barker at the Fleece confirms he was in the residents' lounge watching television at nine o'clock on Sunday evening.

He has no apparent connection to Ilkley beyond business. A professional man, well-spoken, cooperative. He gave a clear and detailed statement without hesitation. Says Ilkley was in good spirits when he left.

He planned to collect the briefcase on Monday morning. Nothing unusual in that.

Palliser is a minor figure here. I am noting him for completeness.

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The Scene

The stock book was open on the bar. Ilkley had been working through his accounts on Sunday night. Pencil notes in the margins. He was a careful man with money by all accounts. The sort of landlord who counted his barrels and checked his change twice.

Tyre tracks on the grass verge of the lane, about fifty yards south of the pub. The ground is soft from the first proper rain after the drought. The whole dale smells of wet earth and relief. Could be anyone, but the lane is not a place people stop. No houses, no gate, no reason to pull over unless you did not want to be seen at the Crown. I have asked Lumb to measure the track width.

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Key Questions

1. Maureen Douthwaite. A woman scorned with public threats and a late-night argument. How angry was she?
2. Frank Dinsdale. Last man out, no alibi, a history of temper. But is the boundary dispute enough?
3. The back door. Left on the latch. Ilkley was expecting someone, or at least not worried about the door. Why?
4. The cellar light. Who switches it off? You switch it off as you come back up, not before you go down. Someone staged this.
5. Waterhouse's report. If the wound is on the wrong side, this is murder. But Waterhouse hedged. "Atypical" is not "impossible." He has never committed to a firm word when a vague one would do.

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Next Steps

• Press Douthwaite on the car park argument. What exactly was said.
• Background on the boundary dispute. Has Dinsdale made direct threats?
• Trace the tyre tracks if possible. Width and tread pattern.
• Interview Palliser again about the afternoon visit. Check what Ilkley's mood was really like.

Douthwaite is my primary line of enquiry. Motive, opportunity, and proximity. The prints on the glass are circumstantial but everything else fits around her. Dinsdale is the understudy. Palliser is barely in the picture, but the briefcase nags at me. Probably nothing. People forget briefcases all the time.

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B. Crabtree, DS North Yorkshire CID 6th October 1976

Scene of Crime Examination

Case: Death of Bernard Arthur Ilkley, the Crown Inn, Netherdale Date of Examination: 4th October 1976 Examining Officer: Detective Sergeant B. Crabtree, North Yorkshire CID Assisting: Police Constable G. Lumb, Harton

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The Bar

The main bar of the Crown Inn is a low-ceilinged room, approximately twenty feet by fifteen, with a stone-flagged floor, a long oak bar counter, and a fireplace at the far end. The bar counter runs along the left wall. Behind the counter: optics, a till, shelving, and a row of glass soda syphon bottles in a wire rack. Six bottles in the rack. One position empty.

A stock book was found open on the bar counter, with a pencil beside it. The book contains Bernard Ilkley's handwritten notes in the margins of the most recent pages (see Documentary Evidence).

No blood in the bar area. No sign of disturbance to furniture, glasses, or fittings. If an assault took place here, the assailant struck once and cleanly.

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The Cellar

The cellar is reached through a door behind the bar counter. The door opens onto a flight of fourteen stone steps descending to the left, turning ninety degrees at a small landing after the seventh step. The steps are worn smooth in the centre from long use. The stone wall is on the right-hand side going down, with a wooden handrail on the left.

Light switch: Located at the top of the steps, on the left-hand wall, immediately inside the cellar door. The switch was in the off position when the barmaid, Miss Douthwaite, arrived on Monday morning. She states she switched it on when she looked down the steps.

The cellar floor is flagstone. The deceased was found face down at the bottom of the steps, with his legs trailing on the last three steps. His head was on the cellar floor, turned to the right. Blood had pooled beneath the right side of the head, consistent with the wound location.

Broken glass: Fragments of heavy glass, identified as a soda syphon bottle, were scattered on the steps (concentrated on steps eleven through fourteen) and on the cellar floor around the body. The glass is consistent with the bottle missing from the bar rack. Several larger fragments retain the curved profile of the bottle.

Fingerprint examination: Fragments of the soda syphon were examined for fingerprints. Partial prints from at least two individuals were recovered. One set matches Miss Douthwaite's prints (taken for comparison). The other set is smudged and insufficient for identification. No clear prints from the deceased were found on the glass fragments.

This is noted. If Ilkley had been carrying the soda syphon when he fell, his prints should be on it. Their absence suggests either that the bottle was wiped or that Ilkley was not holding it.

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The Back Door and Yard

The back door of the Crown opens from the bar passage into a cobbled yard. The door was found on the latch: unlocked, closed but not bolted. The yard is enclosed by a stone wall, approximately five feet high, with a wooden gate opening onto the lane at the rear. The gate was closed but not padlocked. A padlock and hasp are fitted to the gate but the padlock was hanging open on the hasp.

The back door and yard gate provide access from the lane to the interior of the pub without passing through the front door.

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Tyre Tracks

Fresh tyre tracks were found on the grass verge of the lane, approximately fifty yards south of the Crown's yard gate. The verge is soft from recent rain following the prolonged drought. Two tyre impressions are visible, consistent with a car having parked facing south.

Track width: Approximately four feet eight inches, axle to axle. This is consistent with a medium saloon car such as a Ford Cortina, Vauxhall Victor, or similar.

The tracks are recent. The grass is freshly crushed and has not recovered. PC Lumb notes that the verge is not a customary parking place. There are no houses within fifty yards and no reason to stop there.

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The Briefcase

Miss Douthwaite states that Mr Palliser's brown leather briefcase was behind the bar, under the till, when she left the Crown at 10:45 p.m. on Sunday.

The briefcase was not behind the bar when police arrived on Monday morning. PC Lumb conducted a thorough search of the bar area, the back room, and the passage. No briefcase was found.

Mr Palliser collected his briefcase from PC Lumb later on Monday. He states he had it with him at the Fleece. This is inconsistent with Miss Douthwaite's account. Either the briefcase was removed from the Crown overnight, or Miss Douthwaite is mistaken about seeing it on Sunday evening.

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Summary

1. The wound location (right temple) is atypical for a left-descending fall.
2. The cellar light was off. The switch is at the top of the steps. A person descending would switch it on first.
3. No fingerprints from the deceased on the broken soda syphon.
4. The back door was unlocked and the yard gate unpadlocked. Access from the lane was possible.
5. Tyre tracks on the lane verge, fifty yards south, from a medium saloon car.
6. A briefcase confirmed present at 10:45 p.m. was absent on Monday morning.

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B. Crabtree, DS North Yorkshire CID 6th October 1976

Statement of Frank Dinsdale

Taken at Lowfield Farm, Netherdale, on the 4th day of October 1976, by Detective Sergeant B. Crabtree, North Yorkshire CID.

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I have been drinking at the Crown since I was eighteen years old. That is forty-four years. I knew Bernard Ilkley before he ever pulled a pint in that pub. I knew his father. I knew the landlord before his father. I have buried two dogs, three tractors, and a marriage in the time I have been going to that pub, and the beer has not changed once.

Yes, we had a falling out. He put his car park over my boundary by about six feet. I told him, Bernard, that is my land. He said prove it. I have the deeds at my solicitor's in Harton and I will prove it when I am good and ready. But that is between him and me and it is not the sort of thing you kill a man over. Six feet of gravel. I have lost more land than that to the beck in a wet winter.

On Sunday I was at the Crown from seven in the evening. I sat in my corner by the fire, same as always. I had four pints of bitter. Bernard was behind the bar for most of the night. He was in a bad temper. Bit everyone's head off. Tommy Askrigg asked him to turn the television up and Bernard nearly threw him out. I have seen Bernard in all moods over twenty years and that was the worst of them. Something had rattled him properly.

The brewery lad, Palliser, had been in during the afternoon. I saw him arrive about two when I was walking past. He comes once a month in his blue Cortina, goes through the books, very businesslike. He was gone by the time I came in at seven.

I was the last customer out. Finished my pint about half ten, maybe a bit after. Maureen was wiping down. I said goodnight and went through the front door. As I was walking past the car park I saw Bernard and Maureen outside by the bins. They were having words. I could not hear what about but Maureen's voice was sharp and Bernard had his arms folded, the way he does when he will not budge. I did not stop. It was not my business.

I walked home up the lane to the farm. It is about a quarter of a mile. I stopped on the bridge over the beck for a pipe, as I do most nights. The water was running again after the summer, the first proper sound of it since June. The air was fresh. First proper cool evening after that long summer. I was home by ten to eleven. Margaret was in bed. She does not wait up. She says the farm is enough worry for the daylight hours.

The cellar steps at the Crown are steep. Stone. Worn in the middle from two hundred years of barrel men going up and down. The light switch is at the top, on the left as you go through the door. Everyone who has been down there knows you switch the light on before you start down. You would have to be daft or blind to go down those steps in the dark. Bernard knew those steps better than anyone alive.

I heard about it from the postman on Monday morning. I was feeding the hens, which is how I start every day, and Jim Metcalfe came up the lane and said Bernard was dead. I put the bucket down and sat on the wall. I could not believe it. Bernard Ilkley, dead at the bottom of his own cellar. I still cannot believe it.

Whatever you have heard about the boundary, Sergeant, it was a dispute between neighbours, not a reason to hurt anyone. I am sixty-two years old and I have bad knees. I cannot get down my own stairs some mornings, let alone drag a man about.

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Statement signed: F. Dinsdale 4th October 1976

Statement of Maureen Douthwaite

Taken at the Crown Inn, Netherdale, on the 4th day of October 1976, by Detective Sergeant B. Crabtree, North Yorkshire CID.

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I have been the barmaid at the Crown for six years. I do the lunchtimes and evenings, five days a week, and Monday mornings I come in early to clean before we open. I know that pub better than my own house. I could pull a pint of bitter in my sleep. Some Mondays, I nearly do.

On Sunday I was behind the bar from twelve till closing. Mr Palliser from the brewery came in about two for his monthly visit. He and Bernard went through the books in the back room. I did not hear what they talked about. Mr Palliser left around five. He forgot his briefcase. It was a brown leather one, he always had it, and I put it behind the bar under the till for safekeeping.

The evening was quiet. A dozen regulars, maybe fifteen. Frank Dinsdale was in from seven as usual, sat in his corner by the fire. Bernard was behind the bar most of the evening but he was not himself. Short with people. He snapped at old Tommy Askrigg over nothing, which was not like him. Tommy only wanted the television turned up because he is deaf in one ear, but Bernard acted as if he had asked for the moon. Something was on his mind but he did not say what.

Last orders at half ten. Frank was the last out, about twenty to eleven. I was wiping down the bar and Bernard was in the back, cashing up, or I thought he was. I went out to the car park to put the bins by the gate for the dustmen on Monday and Bernard followed me out. He wanted to talk about the rota. I have been asking for Saturday afternoons off since August and he keeps putting me off. We had words about it. It was not a row, whatever Frank Dinsdale says he saw. It was a disagreement about shifts. Bernard could be stubborn about the rota. He could be stubborn about most things, if I am honest.

I left at a quarter to eleven. My car was in the car park. I drove home to my cottage, half a mile down the lane. I sat in the car for a bit before going in. You do that sometimes, when you have had a long day and there is nobody inside waiting. I did not go back to the Crown.

When I left, Bernard was going back inside. He had his stock book open on the bar and his pencil behind his ear. He said he had accounts to finish. Mr Palliser's briefcase was still behind the bar, under the till. I remember seeing it as I got my coat.

I arrived at the Crown at a quarter past seven on Monday morning with my front door key. The front was bolted from inside, which was normal. I let myself in and the bar was tidy, the stock book still open on the bar. Then I noticed the cellar door was open. The light was off. I went to the top of the steps and looked down and I could see something at the bottom. A shape. I switched the light on.

It was Bernard. Face down at the bottom, with his legs still on the steps. Broken glass everywhere. Blood on the flagstones under his head.

I went straight to the telephone box on the green and rang 999. I did not touch him. I did not go down the steps. My hands were shaking so badly I could hardly get the pennies in.

I know people have been talking. I know what I said to Janet Gledhill in the shop. I was upset. Bernard and I were close for two years and then he ended it, just like that, in July, and started seeing some woman in Harton. You say things when you are hurt. You do not mean them. I did not kill Bernard. I found him. There is a difference.

He was not a bad man. He was a difficult man, but he was not bad. He remembered my birthday every year, even after we were finished. Bought me a proper cake from the baker's in Harton. I do not know why I am telling you that.

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Statement signed: M. Douthwaite 4th October 1976

Statement of Keith Palliser

Taken at the Fleece Hotel, Harton, on the 5th day of October 1976, by Detective Sergeant B. Crabtree, North Yorkshire CID.

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I am the area representative for Tadcaster and North Riding Ales. I cover twenty-three pubs across the North Riding, from Thirsk to Richmond. The Crown at Netherdale is one of my accounts. I visit once a month to go through the delivery records, check the cellar stock, and discuss any orders. It is not glamorous work, but I know every landlord between here and the A1, and most of them know me by the sound of my car on the gravel.

I have been calling at the Crown for four years. Bernard Ilkley ran a tight ship. He knew his business. We always got along well enough, though he was not what you would call warm. He liked things done properly and he expected the brewery to deliver what was on the invoice. Fair enough. That is what I am there for.

On Sunday I drove over from Harton and arrived at the Crown about two o'clock. Bernard and I went through the books in the back room, same as usual. We looked at the October order, discussed whether he wanted to switch from the mild to the new brown ale the brewery is pushing, that sort of thing. He was in good spirits when I was there. We finished about half four.

I left at five. I was halfway to Harton before I realised I had left my briefcase behind the bar. It has all my account files in it, delivery logs, order forms, the lot. I thought about going back but it was Sunday evening and I did not fancy the drive twice. Bernard said to leave it, come and get it whenever I liked, the back door would be open. I planned to collect it on Monday morning on my way to my next call at the Black Bull in Coverdale.

I drove to the Fleece in Harton, where I always stay when I am in this part of the Riding. Mrs Barker runs a good house. Clean sheets, hot water, and she does not ask questions about your business. I had supper in my room about half six, then went down to the residents' lounge for the evening. I watched the Sunday film on Yorkshire Television. It was a Doris Day picture, one of those ones with Rock Hudson. Very pleasant. I had a cup of tea about half nine and Mrs Barker and I chatted for a minute or two about the weather, the end of the drought, that sort of thing. I went up to bed about a quarter to eleven and read for half an hour. I was asleep by half past.

I heard the news on Monday morning from Mrs Barker. She had it from the postman. I was very sorry to hear it. Bernard was a good landlord and a decent man. A fall down the cellar steps is a terrible way to go. Those steps are treacherous. I have been down them myself, carrying stock lists, and you have to watch your footing.

I collected my briefcase from the police constable who was at the Crown on Monday morning. He checked it and returned it to me. There was nothing in it but my paperwork.

I am sorry I cannot be more help. I was not in Netherdale on Sunday evening. I wish I had gone back for the briefcase when I had the chance. I might have seen something. Though I suppose if I had gone back, I would only have been in the way.

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Statement signed: K. Palliser 5th October 1976