A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation Read Free Page A

You know there was that big do at the museum, opening the coffin and all that? You refused to go, remember?’
    ‘I remember,’ growls Nelson.
    ‘Well, an hour before all the bigwigs were due to arrive, one of the archaeologists gets there early and finds this curator guy, Neil Topham, lying beside the coffin, dead as a doornail.’
    ‘Which archaeologist?’ asks Nelson. But he knows the answer. He knew as soon as Clough mentioned the Smith Museum.
    Clough relays the question over the phone.
    ‘It was Ruth, boss. Ruth Galloway.’
    The car swerves across the road.
    When Nelson arrives at the museum, Rocky Taylor is standing by the front door, a circumstance that does nothing to ease Nelson’s troubled mind. He regards Rocky, a local lad, as a typical slow-moving country bumpkin. Nelson, who was born in Blackpool, still thinks of himself as a Northerner, which, in his mind, is synonymous with sharp wits and a proper sense of humour. On entering the lobby, he is slightly relieved to find Tom Henty in attendance. Tom, though born and bred in Norfolk, is Nelson’s idea of the perfect police sergeant – steady, tough, unflappable. He’s going to need all those qualities today. Tom is standing beside a glass case containing a particularly hideous stuffed bird. Next to him, on a hard chair, looking pale but in control, is Ruth Galloway.
    ‘Ruth,’ Nelson nods at her.
    ‘Hallo Nelson.’
    Clough, following in Nelson’s wake, is rather more forthcoming. ‘Ruth! Long time no see. How’s that baby of yours?’
    ‘Fine. She’ll be one tomorrow.’
    ‘One! Can’t believe it. Seems like only yesterday that she was born.’
    ‘Less of the chatting, Sergeant,’ says Nelson, not looking at Ruth. ‘This is a crime investigation, not a coffee morning.’ He turns to Henty. ‘What happened?’
    ‘Got a call at two-twenty.’ Henty flips open his notebook. ‘Came through to the duty desk. Dr Galloway was at the museum and found the curator, Neil Topham, lying on the floor beside the coffin. The one that was due to be opened at three. Dr Galloway called the emergencyservices – police and ambulance. Taylor and I got here the same time as the ambulance. Paramedics took him to hospital but he was DOA.’
    ‘Damn.’
    That was bad news for Neil Topham admittedly, but also for the investigation. The body will be covered with the prints of the well-meaning paramedics. And the only evidence of the crime scene will be the one witness. Ruth Galloway.
    ‘Have next of kin been informed?’
    ‘DS Johnson’s at the hospital now.’
    That’s good. Judy Johnson’s the best at that kind of thing. Get bad news from Clough and you might never recover.
    Nelson looks at his watch. It’s now three-thirty. ‘Did you manage to stop the vultures descending?’
    Henty coughs deprecatingly. ‘I rang Superintendent Whitcliffe and informed the local press.’
    ‘Whitcliffe isn’t coming is he?’
    ‘No. He said he’d let you deal.’
    I bet he did, thinks Nelson savagely.
    ‘Rocky turned away the rest of the public,’ says Henty. ‘Your friend was there. The warlock.’
    Nelson grunts, recognising the description without difficulty. ‘Cathbad? Of course he was there. Opening a coffin would be just his idea of fun.’
    ‘He said he wanted to talk to you,’ says Henty impassively. ‘Something about skulls and the unquiet dead.’
    Nelson grunts again. ‘Well it’ll have to wait. Can you show me the room where the body was found? Clough,wait here with Dr Galloway.’ And he stalks away without a backward glance.
    There is something strangely calm about the Local History Room. It’s a long, narrow space, slightly too high for its width, as if it was once part of a larger room. The floor, like the rest of the museum, is covered in black and white tiles and the walls are painted in cheerful primary colours. The window is open and the breeze blows the dusty curtains inwards. The coffin, with its straining sides, stands four-square