the dissecting room opened suddenly and woke him. There was a whiff of something unpleasant in the air: cheap floral perfume sprayed from an aerosol by a zealous technician. Diamond blinked, stretched, reached for his felt hat and raised it in a token greeting.
'You should have come in,' he heard Dr Merlin tell him.
'Too close to lunch.' Diamond hoisted himself ponderously on to an elbow. It was true that he wasn't used to missing lunch. He had stopped buying suits off the peg when he took up rugby and started thickening. The rugby had stopped eight years ago, when he was thirty-three. The thickening had not. It didn't trouble him. 'What's your snap verdict, then - subject to all the usual provisos?'
Merlin smiled tolerantly. Soft of speech, with a West Country accent redolent of blue skies and clotted cream, this slight, silver-haired man projected such optimism that it was a pity the people he attended were in no state to appreciate it. 'If I were you, Superintendent, I'd be rather excited.'
Diamond made a gesture in the direction of excitement by heaving himself into a sitting position, squirming around and dangling his legs over the side of the trolley.
Merlin went on to explain. 'It's the opportunity one of your sort dreams of - a real test of his sleuthing ability. An unidentified corpse. No clothes to identify her from a million other women. No marks of any significance. No murder weapon.'
'What do you mean - "one of your sort"?'
'You know very well what I mean, Peter. You're the end of an era. The last detective. A genuine gumshoe, not some lad out of police school with a degree in computer studies.'
Diamond was unamused. 'No murder weapon, you said. You're willing to confirm murder?'
'I didn't say that. I wouldn't, would I? I'm in the business of making incisions, not deductions.'
'I just want any help you can give me,' said Diamond, too weary to argue professional demarcations. 'Did she drown?'
Merlin vibrated his lips as if to buy time. 'Good question.'
'Well?'
'I'll say this. The body has the appearance you would expect after prolonged immersion.'
'Come on, Jack,' Diamond urged him. 'You must know if she drowned. Even I know the signs. Foam in the mouth and nostrils. Bulging of the lungs. Mud and silt in the internal organs.'
'Thanks,' said Merlin with irony.
'You tell me, then.'
'No foam. No over-distension. No silt. Is that what you needed to know, Superintendent?'
Diamond was accustomed to asking the questions, so he tended to ignore any addressed to him. He stared and said nothing.
Someone stepped out of the autopsy room carrying a white plastic bag. He spoke something in greeting and Diamond recognized him as one of the scenes-of-crime officers. The bag now on its way to the Home Office Forensic Science Laboratory at Chepstow was known in the trade as the guts kit.
'Drowning is one of the most difficult diagnoses in forensic pathology,' Merlin resumed. 'In this case, decomposition makes it even more of a lottery. I can't exclude drowning simply because none of the classical signs are present. The foam and the ballooning of the lungs and so on may be present when a body is retrieved from water soon after a drowning occurs. They may not. And if they are not, we can't exclude drowning. The majority of cases of drowning I've seen over the years have lacked any of these so-called classical signs. And after a period of immersion ...' He shrugged. 'Disappointed?'
'What else could have killed her, then?'
'Impossible to say at this stage. They'll test for drugs and alcohol.'
'You found no other signs?'
'Other signs, as you put it, were conspicuously absent. Chepstow may give us a pointer. This is rather a challenge for me, too.' Merlin didn't go so far as to rub his hands, but his blue eyes certainly gleamed in anticipation. 'A real puzzle. It might be more productive to determine what didn't kill her. She was definitely not shot, stabbed, battered or strangled.'
'And she wasn't mauled by a
'You should have come in,' he heard Dr Merlin tell him.
'Too close to lunch.' Diamond hoisted himself ponderously on to an elbow. It was true that he wasn't used to missing lunch. He had stopped buying suits off the peg when he took up rugby and started thickening. The rugby had stopped eight years ago, when he was thirty-three. The thickening had not. It didn't trouble him. 'What's your snap verdict, then - subject to all the usual provisos?'
Merlin smiled tolerantly. Soft of speech, with a West Country accent redolent of blue skies and clotted cream, this slight, silver-haired man projected such optimism that it was a pity the people he attended were in no state to appreciate it. 'If I were you, Superintendent, I'd be rather excited.'
Diamond made a gesture in the direction of excitement by heaving himself into a sitting position, squirming around and dangling his legs over the side of the trolley.
Merlin went on to explain. 'It's the opportunity one of your sort dreams of - a real test of his sleuthing ability. An unidentified corpse. No clothes to identify her from a million other women. No marks of any significance. No murder weapon.'
'What do you mean - "one of your sort"?'
'You know very well what I mean, Peter. You're the end of an era. The last detective. A genuine gumshoe, not some lad out of police school with a degree in computer studies.'
Diamond was unamused. 'No murder weapon, you said. You're willing to confirm murder?'
'I didn't say that. I wouldn't, would I? I'm in the business of making incisions, not deductions.'
'I just want any help you can give me,' said Diamond, too weary to argue professional demarcations. 'Did she drown?'
Merlin vibrated his lips as if to buy time. 'Good question.'
'Well?'
'I'll say this. The body has the appearance you would expect after prolonged immersion.'
'Come on, Jack,' Diamond urged him. 'You must know if she drowned. Even I know the signs. Foam in the mouth and nostrils. Bulging of the lungs. Mud and silt in the internal organs.'
'Thanks,' said Merlin with irony.
'You tell me, then.'
'No foam. No over-distension. No silt. Is that what you needed to know, Superintendent?'
Diamond was accustomed to asking the questions, so he tended to ignore any addressed to him. He stared and said nothing.
Someone stepped out of the autopsy room carrying a white plastic bag. He spoke something in greeting and Diamond recognized him as one of the scenes-of-crime officers. The bag now on its way to the Home Office Forensic Science Laboratory at Chepstow was known in the trade as the guts kit.
'Drowning is one of the most difficult diagnoses in forensic pathology,' Merlin resumed. 'In this case, decomposition makes it even more of a lottery. I can't exclude drowning simply because none of the classical signs are present. The foam and the ballooning of the lungs and so on may be present when a body is retrieved from water soon after a drowning occurs. They may not. And if they are not, we can't exclude drowning. The majority of cases of drowning I've seen over the years have lacked any of these so-called classical signs. And after a period of immersion ...' He shrugged. 'Disappointed?'
'What else could have killed her, then?'
'Impossible to say at this stage. They'll test for drugs and alcohol.'
'You found no other signs?'
'Other signs, as you put it, were conspicuously absent. Chepstow may give us a pointer. This is rather a challenge for me, too.' Merlin didn't go so far as to rub his hands, but his blue eyes certainly gleamed in anticipation. 'A real puzzle. It might be more productive to determine what didn't kill her. She was definitely not shot, stabbed, battered or strangled.'
'And she wasn't mauled by a
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