River Deep Read Free Page B

dead, in her opinion, for more than twenty-four hours. That in spite of the circumstances she did not think he had drowned. Martha thanked her. It was enough to ensure a post mortem was unavoidable. They needed a skilled pathologist to begin to unravel the mystery.
    Doctor Mark Sullivan must have been waiting for her phone to be free. As soon as she replaced the handset it rang again. In an echo of Randall and Delyth Fontaine he was concise, professional and factual. Well used to dealing with both the law and the medics. Only someone who knew him very well would occasionally sense the slight slurring of a few of his consonants, a momentary hesitation while he chose appropriate words, a silence when he should have spoken. Martha knew him very well. She had known him in the years before she had become coroner. Before he had started drinking.
    “We have a muscular, well-nourished man – in his early forties, I should think.” A pause. “I’ve left his clothes on so haven’t picked up on any obvious cause of death. He could have fallen down the cellar steps, maybe drunk, banged his head, either simply died of a head injury ordrowned when the water filled the cellar. There are plenty of possibilities and I’m not going to be sure until I’ve done a post mortem. There’s a slash in the left side of his jacket, over the heart so my guess is there’s a wound there.” Another pause. “He died at least twenty-four hours before we found him. Rigor mortis is wearing off. From what Delyth and the policeman said I think his body might have lain in the cellar and floated up the stairs. Unfortunately or fortunately the River Severn decided to play gutter Press and expose the evidence.” In spite of the witticism he sounded tired. His speech was getting slower.
    “What’s your gut feeling? Are we looking at a natural death, simple concealment or something more, Mark?”
    “Don’t know, Martha. I really … don’t … know. Probably a homicide.”
    “Have you picked up any superficial injuries?”
    “A bit of bruising on the hands and face which could be ante, peri or postmortem.”
    “I see.”
    He gave one of his sudden warm, soft chuckles. “You know me, Martha, I like to wait until after the PM. Keep my cards close to my chest. I’ve watched far too many pathologists make monkeys of themselves playing the guessing game.” There was something infectious about his chuckle. She laughed too.
    “Martha – I was wondering if …”
    “I would come and view the body in situ? Yes – it seems a good idea. Give me half an hour.”
    “Good.” He sounded relieved. “And wear galoshes.”
    There were always a multitude of domestic arrangements to tend to before she was free. Having cajoled Agnetha into leaving her bedroom door ajar and turning her CD player down, put a pizza and oven chips into the oven, thrown salad into a bowl and drenched it in bottledFrench dressing she bribed the twins into loading the dishwasher after tea and doing all their homework before changing into some trousers and a mac. She tried to ignore the fact that the twins were whispering again as she came downstairs. Twenty minutes later she was back in her car, wellies loaded into the boot and heading back down the drive, towards the town.
    The roads were wet and shiny black, lit by orange lampposts and eerily quiet. Folk were staying at home, intimidated by the river, guarding their property and impotently watching. She parked on some elevated ground near the Abbey and squleched her way over the duckboards to cross the English Bridge.
    No one could doubt that something was going on here tonight. The scene was lit with swiping blue strobes; floodlights beamed on Marine Terrace.
    Two policemen stepped forward, recognised her and waved her through. The sky was thunderous with sudden flashes of forked lightning. The entire scene looked as threatening as a Boris Karloff movie. She dropped down the steps towards the river and walked along the path,