Read Online Tell Tale by Mark Sennen - Free Book Online Page B

turned and padded back towards the body to join the other CSIs. Savage stood for a moment and then made her way down the avenue of lights back to the perimeter and from there to the car park. She stood next to her car and gazed across the ink-black water, where pinpricks of starlight speckled the surface. After dark, there was no reason for anybody to come here, but in the day Fernworthy Reservoir was a popular place. There would be families picnicking, fishermen fishing, walkers and mountain bikers exploring the woodland. It was inconceivable Ana had been attacked anywhere near here in the daytime – or even been moved here – without somebody noticing. Unless, as Layton had suggested, magic was involved.
    Savage stood next to the mobile incident room van and watched Dr Andrew Nesbit, the pathologist, climb out of his car in the gloom. He put his black bag on top of the car and began to put on a protective suit, pulling the outfit up over a tweed jacket and tie. She guessed he’d be unimpressed with John Layton’s hypothesis concerning magic. The methodical way he put on the suit, gloves, hat and mask said it all. When it came to performing his job, scientific method was everything. There was no room for spirituality. His gangly form had been compared by many to a spider, but Savage wondered if a robot might be a more apposite choice. His matchstick-like limbs moved efficiently to ensure the gear went on with the minimum of fuss, although Savage was surprised when he performed a small flourish as he snapped the latex gloves in place. Perhaps the pathologist didn’t realise anybody was watching.
    ‘Charlotte,’ Nesbit said, as he walked over to the van. He looked up at the clear sky above, and as he did so, starlight glinted on his half-moon glasses. ‘Beautiful evening. I must admit I don’t get up on the moor as much as I’d like. Then again, I don’t get anywhere as much as I’d like these days. And to be honest, you guys don’t help. Catching them, Charlotte, that’s the thing, hey?’
    ‘We do try, you know?’ Savage gestured towards the woodland. ‘Sometimes we need help though.’
    ‘She’s in there, then?’ Nesbit followed Savage’s gaze. ‘Not in the lake?’
    ‘No, but it was an easy mistake to make. Her clothes were found by the water’s edge.’
    ‘And nobody thought to search the woodland just to make sure?’
    Savage sighed. ‘Moot point. The entire area was searched but somehow they either missed the body or it wasn’t there.’
    ‘So the clothes were dumped first and then the killer returned with the body?’
    ‘I’m hoping you might be able to explain that.’ Savage pointed at the wood once more. ‘Shall we?’
    As they reached the scene, Savage paused, and let Nesbit continue on his own to where Layton was bent over a nearby bush, torch in hand.
    ‘Fingertipped ten metres all around and found nothing,’ the CSI said, straightening. ‘Not even a footprint. Got a pump coming to drain the ditch.’
    Nesbit nodded and peered at the corpse of Anasztáz Róka, the girl’s flesh white as porcelain in the light from the floods. ‘I can see why you wanted me out here. She’s in a strange position, isn’t she? Let’s see …’
    Nesbit dropped his bag down onto a nearby tree stump and then stepped over to the body. He moved his head in small movements, taking in every aspect. Then he reached down and took the girl’s lower leg in both hands. He flexed the leg back and forth and then mumbled to himself. Next, he reached for the arm and did the same.
    ‘Andrew?’ Savage said. ‘Anything interesting?’
    ‘Dislocated.’ Nesbit looked over at Savage and then at the ground surrounding the body. ‘The knee and the shoulder. Difficult to see how this happened here. A considerable amount of force must have been used and there’s no sign of a struggle. Am I right, John?’
    ‘Yes. As I said there’s nothing on the ground. No indentations, no scuffing, no footprints. There are