Read Online Hidden Witness by Nick Oldham - Free Book Online

thoughts. He sat down at the desk in the mortuary office and jotted down a few ideas about the way forwards with the investigation in the notebook. He’d hardly had time to scribble down three headings on separate pages – ‘Victim’, ‘Location’, Offender’ – when someone came into the office and interrupted him.
    It was DS Alex Bent, who tapped lightly on the glass door, even though it was open. He was drenched, looked exhausted. ‘Boss?’ he said, quietly but urgently.
    Henry squinted at him. ‘I was just about to solve this murder by cracking the intricate medieval and religious code I found in this book,’ he said seriously, tapping his finger on the notebook.
    â€˜Really?’ Bent said, Henry’s little joke flying right over his head.
    â€˜Yeah – so this better be good.’ Henry closed the notebook, realizing it was completely the wrong time of day to have a stab at humour. ‘What?’
    â€˜Well, you being the only SIO in spitting distance – do you want to turn out to another job?’
    The shiny, perfectly sharpened dissecting knife was poised above the old man’s chest, ready to make the first incision: the classic cut down the middle of the body from the soft skin just below the Adam’s apple, all the way down to the pubes. From that first cut, the outer layers of skin and subcutaneous fat would be pared away to expose the ribcage which, depending on its condition, would be removed by use of shears, not unlike those found in a garden shed. It would then be lifted off like the lid on a square biscuit tin. Only difference was there wouldn’t be any goodies in this tin, but a squashed heart, lungs, liver and kidneys – organs that would then be hacked out for examination.
    â€˜Don’t even think about it.’ Henry said mock dramatically as he swung through the mortuary door.
    The pathologist, Keira O’Connell, paused, keeping the knife hovering just inches above the flesh like the Sword of Damocles. She inclined her head and peered over her facemask. ‘And why not?’ she asked, voice muffled. ‘Has this man actually died of natural causes, meaning a post-mortem is no longer necessary?’
    â€˜Would it be possible to delay?’ Henry asked.
    â€˜Give me one good reason.’
    â€˜Another shooting’s come in – young lad up on Shoreside. No more details as yet, but I’d like you to come to the scene if possible.’
    â€˜OK . . .’ O’Connell checked the clock and for the benefit of the recording equipment stated the time and date and that the PM was being suspended for the time being, then asked the mortuary technician to turn off the machine. He obeyed, using a remote control. ‘Not much detail you say?’ she said, stepping away from the slab and replacing the knife in its position in the line of tools, then removing her mask, ‘but you must have something?’ she asked Henry. She walked towards him, peeling the latex gloves off, then unpinning her hair, which she shook free and patted into place, even though the expensively cut bob tumbled out perfectly.
    Something clogged up Henry’s throat as he replied, ‘No, nothing,’ dreamily.
    Ten minutes later the body had been stored on a tray in the chiller, his belongings secured in a locker – Henry taking the key – and they were en route to the scene in his car.
    â€˜You know, if this isn’t a murder, I’ll still have to claim a call-out fee.’
    â€˜It’s a murder. I have enough faith in my officers for them to be right about that – so you’ll be handsomely recompensed for your troubles and you can continue to live in the style to which you’re accustomed. How much for tonight? A grand, I’m guessing.’
    She guffawed. ‘I wish.’
    They drove on in silence for a few minutes. Rain continued to lash down heavily, the windscreen