Dusty Death Read Free

element doesn’t drink, of course, sir. But you’re right, it’s dealt with. The ringleaders appeared in court this morning. The matter is taking its course without your involvement.’
    â€˜Good. Well, if that’s all you have to tell me, I think you might now be better employed in—’
    â€˜There is this, sir.’ Percy Peach took his time as he carefully drew the big photograph from its folder, building up his moment of drama, enjoying the older man’s impatience.
    â€˜What on earth is this, Peach? I must warn you that unless it’s something of real importance, I have much more . . .’ Tucker stopped: even his considerable resources of verbiage were arrested by this dramatic black and white photograph. He said stupidly, ‘It’s a body.’
    Peach resisted the urge to congratulate his chief on his percipience. Instead, he nodded and said, ‘Certified as such at 12.47 hours today by the police surgeon, sir.’ It was one of the more bizarre features of police procedure that even if a skeleton which was centuries old was discovered, it had to be certified as officially dead by a qualified doctor, as the first step in any investigation.
    â€˜How old is this?’ Tucker stared at what was scarcely more than the outline of something human, still encased in the dust and soil of the clearance site. He was reminded of those pictures of corpses which had been miraculously preserved for two thousand years in the ashes of Pompeii.
    â€˜Can’t say yet, sir. We’ll need a post-mortem report and anything else the forensic team can give us before we know where to start.’ In the presence of this bleak and distant death, Peach found all inclination to score points off this high-ranking buffoon had left him. The stark monochrome reminder of the mystery of mortality which lay across Tucker’s desk overshadowed more petty concerns.
    Tucker studied the picture for a moment longer before he said quietly, ‘Where was this found?’
    â€˜In the last terrace of houses being demolished for industrial redevelopment, sir. The area out beyond Montague Street.’
    Tucker nodded slowly. He seemed unable to take his eyes off the picture. ‘Not that old, then. Not as old as it looks here.’
    â€˜Probably not, sir. Those houses haven’t been occupied for at least ten years. Except by mice and rats.’
    â€˜But this could have been put there after that. Or could have been killed somewhere else and dumped in there.’
    Just for a few minutes, they were coppers united in the face of a puzzle. Peach could not remember when he had last had that feeling. ‘Yes. We’ll need to wait and see about the circumstances. For what it’s worth, it’s pretty certain the body had been hidden somewhere in there. The clearance company’s staff inspect all property carefully before demolition. It’s standard practice, apparently. No one saw any sign of a corpse anywhere in that terrace of houses before the breakers and bulldozers moved in; even the cellars were carefully checked.’
    â€˜Or should have been. No one’s going to admit he didn’t do his job, in these circumstances.’
    Police cynicism, born of hard observation. Peach felt the pleasure of shared experience again with this man who normally seemed so far away from crime. ‘Exactly, sir. But it does seem probable that this body had been hidden away somewhere. The police surgeon couldn’t tell us much, and of course he couldn’t strip anything away from the body for fear of destroying evidence. But he did say that it seemed to be partly mummified.’
    Tucker had still not taken his eyes away from the photograph. He said slowly, ‘Yes. These look like scraps of flesh, here. And skin, perhaps.’ He picked up a ball pen from his immaculate desk and pointed at two different points on the big photograph.
    â€˜Yes, sir.’ It had been