Read Online Good Morning, Midnight by Reginald Hill - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Reginald Hill
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if you’ll pardon the expression,” said Dalziel. “Dr Lockridge, how do? What can you tell us?”
Tom Lockridge had emerged from the room. He didn’t look well.
“He’s dead,” said Lockridge.
“Don’t reckon you’re going to get any argument there,” said Dalziel, peering towards the shattered figure. “But it’s always good to have these things confirmed by an expert. Saves us laymen wasting time with the kiss of life. You wouldn’t like to give us just a bit of detail, but, Doc?”
“Not long dead,” intoned Lockridge dully. “Two to four hours, maybe. Cause of death, probably self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head…”
“Probably?”
“You won’t know for certain till the pathologist has taken a look, will you?” said Lockridge, sparking slightly.
“Won’t know what? That they killed him or that they were self-inflicted?”
“What? Both. Either. They look to be self-inflicted. He took his shoe and sock off…”
“Why do you think that was?”
“I presume so he could pull the shotgun trigger with his toe.”
“You’re a bugger for presumptions, Doc. Mebbe he were a freemason. Didn’t notice an apron, did you?”
This was a facetious callosity too far, thought Pascoe.
Lockridge evidently thought so too.
“Mr Dalziel,” he said very formally, “as a doctor, I know the therapeutic value of gallows humour, but I still find your tone offensive. I hope you will take pains to control it before you break the sad news to Mr Maciver’s relations.”
“Mr Maciver? That’s Mr Maciver, is it? How can you tell?”
They all stared towards the shattered head.
“I don’t know… I just assumed, with him going missing… Yes, I’m sure it’s Pal… I used to be his doctor, you see.”
“Is that right? So how about distinguishing marks? Something that ’ud spare us having to give his nearest and dearest a close-up of that?”
“He does… did… does have a distinct naevus at the base of his spine.”
“Naevus? Like in Ben Naevus, you mean?”
“Birthmark,” explained Pascoe, he knew unnecessarily.
“Oh aye. But you’ve not taken a look?”
“No. I assumed you’d want the body left as undisturbed as possible till your SOCO people had finished in there.”
“SOCO? You think there’s been a crime then, Doc?”
“I know there’s been a suspicious death. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. You’ll have my report as soon as possible.”
He started to peel off the protective overall but Dalziel said, “Hang about, Doc. Do us a favour. Just pop back in there and check out yon naevus thing, just so’s we can be sure.”
For a moment Lockridge looked as though he might refuse, then he turned, went back into the room, pulled the dead man’s shirt-tail out of his trousers, peered down for a moment, then returned.
“It’s him,” he said shortly. “Can I go now?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but removed his overall and hurried away down the stairs.
“Bit pale round the gills, weren’t he?” said Dalziel. “And he didn’t even tuck the poor sod’s shirt back in.”
“He knew the guy. Bound to be a bit of a shock, seeing him dead,” said Pascoe.
“Don’t be daft. He’s a doctor. Spends his life looking at dead folk that were alive on his last visit. Show me a quack who’s not used to it and I’ll pay hard cash to get on his panel.”
“Perhaps he was a friend as well as a patient.”
“Former patient. Aye, that might do it. Someone you think you know tops himself, it makes you wonder about all the other buggers you think you know.”
“Tops himself? Getting a bit ahead of the game, aren’t you, sir?” said Pascoe.
“That’s how you win matches, lad. Any road, door locked and bolted on the inside. Windows with the kind of shutters that ’ud keep a tax inspector out. Gun between his legs, shoe and sock off. Lots of little hints there, I’d say.”
“Nevertheless,” said Pascoe obstinately.
“Oh God, you been at the
Tom Lockridge had emerged from the room. He didn’t look well.
“He’s dead,” said Lockridge.
“Don’t reckon you’re going to get any argument there,” said Dalziel, peering towards the shattered figure. “But it’s always good to have these things confirmed by an expert. Saves us laymen wasting time with the kiss of life. You wouldn’t like to give us just a bit of detail, but, Doc?”
“Not long dead,” intoned Lockridge dully. “Two to four hours, maybe. Cause of death, probably self-inflicted gunshot wounds to the head…”
“Probably?”
“You won’t know for certain till the pathologist has taken a look, will you?” said Lockridge, sparking slightly.
“Won’t know what? That they killed him or that they were self-inflicted?”
“What? Both. Either. They look to be self-inflicted. He took his shoe and sock off…”
“Why do you think that was?”
“I presume so he could pull the shotgun trigger with his toe.”
“You’re a bugger for presumptions, Doc. Mebbe he were a freemason. Didn’t notice an apron, did you?”
This was a facetious callosity too far, thought Pascoe.
Lockridge evidently thought so too.
“Mr Dalziel,” he said very formally, “as a doctor, I know the therapeutic value of gallows humour, but I still find your tone offensive. I hope you will take pains to control it before you break the sad news to Mr Maciver’s relations.”
“Mr Maciver? That’s Mr Maciver, is it? How can you tell?”
They all stared towards the shattered head.
“I don’t know… I just assumed, with him going missing… Yes, I’m sure it’s Pal… I used to be his doctor, you see.”
“Is that right? So how about distinguishing marks? Something that ’ud spare us having to give his nearest and dearest a close-up of that?”
“He does… did… does have a distinct naevus at the base of his spine.”
“Naevus? Like in Ben Naevus, you mean?”
“Birthmark,” explained Pascoe, he knew unnecessarily.
“Oh aye. But you’ve not taken a look?”
“No. I assumed you’d want the body left as undisturbed as possible till your SOCO people had finished in there.”
“SOCO? You think there’s been a crime then, Doc?”
“I know there’s been a suspicious death. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. You’ll have my report as soon as possible.”
He started to peel off the protective overall but Dalziel said, “Hang about, Doc. Do us a favour. Just pop back in there and check out yon naevus thing, just so’s we can be sure.”
For a moment Lockridge looked as though he might refuse, then he turned, went back into the room, pulled the dead man’s shirt-tail out of his trousers, peered down for a moment, then returned.
“It’s him,” he said shortly. “Can I go now?”
He didn’t wait for an answer but removed his overall and hurried away down the stairs.
“Bit pale round the gills, weren’t he?” said Dalziel. “And he didn’t even tuck the poor sod’s shirt back in.”
“He knew the guy. Bound to be a bit of a shock, seeing him dead,” said Pascoe.
“Don’t be daft. He’s a doctor. Spends his life looking at dead folk that were alive on his last visit. Show me a quack who’s not used to it and I’ll pay hard cash to get on his panel.”
“Perhaps he was a friend as well as a patient.”
“Former patient. Aye, that might do it. Someone you think you know tops himself, it makes you wonder about all the other buggers you think you know.”
“Tops himself? Getting a bit ahead of the game, aren’t you, sir?” said Pascoe.
“That’s how you win matches, lad. Any road, door locked and bolted on the inside. Windows with the kind of shutters that ’ud keep a tax inspector out. Gun between his legs, shoe and sock off. Lots of little hints there, I’d say.”
“Nevertheless,” said Pascoe obstinately.
“Oh God, you been at the
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