Read Online Innocent Blood by Elizabeth Corley - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Corley
Ads: Link
leant over from his chair and poured her more wine.
‘It’s the usual: politics, paperwork and petty-mindedness.’
‘Oh, you mean the three Ps of police work. You forgot the others – piss-poor pay.’
She laughed, then sighed.
‘You’re right. It’s nothing out of the ordinary but a number of people are upset by my promotion.’
‘That was inevitable; just don’t let it get to you.’
A shadow crossed her face, as if his words were an unwelcome echo.
‘I know, I should forget about them. Now,’ she said, with an obvious effort to change the subject, ‘tell me all about MCS; word at the station is that you’re doing well.’
‘Really? Truth is I’m busier than I’ve ever been. I like being in charge of something and I can still get involved in the complex operations if I want, so I don’t feel cut off.’
‘You’ve always been a sucker for complication. Give me a straightforward life any time.’ Again the trace of shadow in her features. ‘Can you tell me about any of the work? I need a distraction.’
‘Not much.’ The Choir Boy investigation was strictly need-to-know and Fenwick felt uncomfortable in confiding, even to her. ‘But there’s something you might be interested in. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow. A boy’s body was discovered on the Downs, not ten miles from here, earlier this week.’
‘Why don’t we know at the station?’
‘It’s being kept quiet for now. Part of the hillside had crumbled, it’s chalk and the ridge is eroding. When workmen went in to clear debris from a minor road, one of the JCBs came off the tarmac and slid down a slope into a tree, partially uprooting it. The boy’s body was underneath.’
‘How did it get under a tree?’
‘It was a small one, a birch. They grow fast at the edges of woodland. Either the person who buried him put a sapling on top or it self-set. Either way, we would never have found him had it not been for the carelessness of the JCB driver.’
‘A burial; so it’s murder?’ He nodded. ‘Then why aren’t Harlden involved?’ she asked, instantly alert.
‘There’s a possible connection with a case MCS has been working on for months. We’ve been given first crack at it.’ He stared at her in a way that made it clear there was no room for argument and, credit to Nightingale, she let the matter drop. Fenwick rewarded her with a blow-by-blow account of the work the forensic team had been doing since the discovery.
‘The body was skeletised so the first job was to estimate approximate date of death, age and sex of victim, the usual. While that was going on I asked the lab to find a dendrologist to analyse wood from the tree that had been growing on top of him and that gave us a minimum burial time – the tree was at least twenty years old, you see. Grey, the pathologist, did an exceptional job in less than twenty-four hours, confirmed that the bones were those of a prepubescent boy, probably aged between ten and thirteen. Using the lab’s analysis and dating from the dendrologist, we were able to produce a shortlist from missing persons; that’s why I’m so late back. We recovered a skull complete with upper and lower teeth so they were cross-checking dental records all morning. They identified him just after lunchtime as Malcolm Eagleton. His parents still live locally so I had to see them.’
She grimaced in sympathy; Fenwick merely sipped his wine.
‘Bad luck. Were they expecting it?’ For all his taciturn, emotionless style, Nightingale suspected that Fenwick loathed breaking bad news to a family as much as any officer.
Fenwick sighed and poured them both more wine.
‘I’m not sure you can ever expect to hear that your child’s dead, even after more than twenty-five years, which is how long he’s been missing,’ he said heavily. ‘And of course they had questions that I couldn’t answer, including cause of death. There were no marks of injury on any of the bones we discovered, including the
‘It’s the usual: politics, paperwork and petty-mindedness.’
‘Oh, you mean the three Ps of police work. You forgot the others – piss-poor pay.’
She laughed, then sighed.
‘You’re right. It’s nothing out of the ordinary but a number of people are upset by my promotion.’
‘That was inevitable; just don’t let it get to you.’
A shadow crossed her face, as if his words were an unwelcome echo.
‘I know, I should forget about them. Now,’ she said, with an obvious effort to change the subject, ‘tell me all about MCS; word at the station is that you’re doing well.’
‘Really? Truth is I’m busier than I’ve ever been. I like being in charge of something and I can still get involved in the complex operations if I want, so I don’t feel cut off.’
‘You’ve always been a sucker for complication. Give me a straightforward life any time.’ Again the trace of shadow in her features. ‘Can you tell me about any of the work? I need a distraction.’
‘Not much.’ The Choir Boy investigation was strictly need-to-know and Fenwick felt uncomfortable in confiding, even to her. ‘But there’s something you might be interested in. It’ll be in the papers tomorrow. A boy’s body was discovered on the Downs, not ten miles from here, earlier this week.’
‘Why don’t we know at the station?’
‘It’s being kept quiet for now. Part of the hillside had crumbled, it’s chalk and the ridge is eroding. When workmen went in to clear debris from a minor road, one of the JCBs came off the tarmac and slid down a slope into a tree, partially uprooting it. The boy’s body was underneath.’
‘How did it get under a tree?’
‘It was a small one, a birch. They grow fast at the edges of woodland. Either the person who buried him put a sapling on top or it self-set. Either way, we would never have found him had it not been for the carelessness of the JCB driver.’
‘A burial; so it’s murder?’ He nodded. ‘Then why aren’t Harlden involved?’ she asked, instantly alert.
‘There’s a possible connection with a case MCS has been working on for months. We’ve been given first crack at it.’ He stared at her in a way that made it clear there was no room for argument and, credit to Nightingale, she let the matter drop. Fenwick rewarded her with a blow-by-blow account of the work the forensic team had been doing since the discovery.
‘The body was skeletised so the first job was to estimate approximate date of death, age and sex of victim, the usual. While that was going on I asked the lab to find a dendrologist to analyse wood from the tree that had been growing on top of him and that gave us a minimum burial time – the tree was at least twenty years old, you see. Grey, the pathologist, did an exceptional job in less than twenty-four hours, confirmed that the bones were those of a prepubescent boy, probably aged between ten and thirteen. Using the lab’s analysis and dating from the dendrologist, we were able to produce a shortlist from missing persons; that’s why I’m so late back. We recovered a skull complete with upper and lower teeth so they were cross-checking dental records all morning. They identified him just after lunchtime as Malcolm Eagleton. His parents still live locally so I had to see them.’
She grimaced in sympathy; Fenwick merely sipped his wine.
‘Bad luck. Were they expecting it?’ For all his taciturn, emotionless style, Nightingale suspected that Fenwick loathed breaking bad news to a family as much as any officer.
Fenwick sighed and poured them both more wine.
‘I’m not sure you can ever expect to hear that your child’s dead, even after more than twenty-five years, which is how long he’s been missing,’ he said heavily. ‘And of course they had questions that I couldn’t answer, including cause of death. There were no marks of injury on any of the bones we discovered, including the
Similar Books
