A Spider in the Cup (Joe Sandilands Investigation) Read Free Page A

said Sam. His gentle delivery could not dampen the drama of his next announcement. “Red flag’s under water. Tide’s racing up. I reckon we’ve got ten minutes afore she goes under again.”
    The sound of Professor Stone’s voice caught them all in a state of uncertainty amounting to paralysis. It was unhurried, calming even, in its familiar mocking tone. “Well, a day not entirely misspent,” he commented. “At least the team has achieved one of its objectives.” Receiving no response other than a glower of outrage from the others, he ploughed on. “Miss da Silva is to be commended on her find.” He pushed forward. “Excuse me. May I? While we still have a moment?” He knelt to look inside the dead girl’s mouth, clamping his arms behind his back to underline the fact that he was not about to tamper with the evidence.
    “Ah, yes. Thought I caught a flash of something when you tested her for rigor, Hermione. I’ve seen one of these before. It’s a coin you see. A large one. It’s jammed in there, under her tongue. Hmm … And it’s gold. In fact …” He twisted his neck to anuncomfortable angle, recovered himself and pronounced, “If this is what I think it is, I’m going to make a unilateral decision to extract it before it gets lost in the tide. I know! I know!” He held up his arms to ward off the hissed advice to touch nothing. “These are exceptional circumstances, and I’m sure the police would want us to preserve any evidence we can find.”
    They watched as he delicately slid the coin from the mouth and held it out for inspection on the palm of his hand. “Well, well! At last I can be of some use. This is a medal depicting the Emperor Constantius the First capturing London. Made to mark his victory over Allectus. In two hundred and ninety-six AD, I believe. Interesting. Very. You have indeed struck gold, Miss da Silva! Do you see the slight reddish tone it has?” He tilted the coin from side to side to demonstrate. “Thracian gold. Extremely valuable.”
    He was elbowed out of the way without ceremony by Joel. The man whose spade had brought her back into the light picked up his jacket and draped it respectfully over the slender remains. He bowed his head and his deep Suffolk voice rolled out over the unconsecrated grave.
“Lord, grant her eternal rest and may light perpetual shine upon her,”
he said.
    Their “amens” mingled with the shrill blasts of a police whistle and the peremptory calls of a pair of beat bobbies racing along the embankment towards them.

CHAPTER 2
    J oe Sandilands, seated in the back of the unmarked squad car that had picked him up from his flat in Cheyne Walk, was speeding along the embankment in the opposite direction, heading for Mayfair. The driver’s automatic but abrupt raising of his right foot from the accelerator at the sound of the police whistles caused Joe’s briefcase to fall to the floor. He leaned forward and slapped his driver happily on the ear with his rolled-up newspaper.
    “Eyes front! Not one for us, Sarge! Just grit your teeth and drive past. The local plod can manage.”
    All the same, both men’s heads swivelled to the right as they passed the scene of activity on the riverbank.
    “The usual, I expect,” offered the sergeant. “Three bodies washed up on that spot so far this month. It’s the current,” he explained vaguely. “You’ll be all right, sir. We’re no more than ten minutes from Claridge’s. It’s still early—we should beat the crush at Hyde Park Corner.”
    The sergeant glanced up at his rearview mirror and smiled with approval at the stern face of his passenger. Assistant Commissioner Sandilands. Seven in the morning and here he was, bustling about, well into his day. He’d probably already finished the crossword. He was top brass—no doubt of that—but the othermen of his rank would be still abed, rising later to put on their uniforms and swagger about opening bazaars, pushing piles of paper from one