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shelves. A framed photograph stood on his desk, but of whom she could not tell, as it faced away from her. A tidy row of legal tomes stood on a shelf near a small curtained window set into the internal wall. A bicycle leaned against a heavy filing cabinet. Dody wondered how he managed to ride the old boneshaker with his leg as stiff as it seemed. Observing his gait, she deduced the problem to be his right knee; must be the war wound Mrs. Slowcroft had mentioned. He sat down once she had assured him that she was comfortable and had just had tea, and that no, her sister in the waiting room would probably not want tea either.
    “I imagine, Doctor, you would like to view Lady Catherine’sautopsy report?” he said before she’d even expressed the reason for her visit. “I anticipated as much, and have it here for your perusal.” His voice, which she hadn’t paid much attention to in the mortuary, was refined for a police officer, softened with but a trace of a northern accent. His suit was well cut, if slightly dated, his cravat pinned with perfect symmetry. A dandy he was not, but he had a pride of appearance that Dody took to be a legacy of his time in the military.
    He pushed the report across the desk. “This is the only copy. I’m afraid you’ll have to read it here. The notes were dictated by Dr. Mangini to Mr. Bright, the assistant coroner.”
    Two photographs had been pinned to the autopsy report. The first was a grainy shot of Lady Catherine lying like a rag doll next to her crushed hat on the cobbles outside St. Stephen’s. Litter and debris were strewn about her person; Dody made out a single boot, bricks, and a piece of four-by-two timber. She pointed to a discarded wooden club. “What manner of weapon is that?” she asked.
    “A belaying pin, Doctor—a large club used to tie ships’ halliards to.”
    “A common weapon of sailors?”
    “Or anyone from the docks.”
    Dody thought for a moment. “Any of these objects, other than the boot, could be the instrument of death. I assume they were all tested for human blood?”
    “The evidence around the body was collected, but not tested. With the autopsy results as conclusive as they seem to be, I doubt such tests will now be authorised. I’m afraid the budget allocated to forensics is limited.” Dody directed a look at Pike that told him exactly what she thought about his department’s competency. Dr. Spilsbury had told her the police often used thebudget as an excuse. If Spilsbury had been in attendance, Dody was sure he would have insisted upon these basic forensic tests.
    The other photograph was of Lady Catherine lying naked on the slab. Neither of the pictures showed the head wounds with any clarity.
    The autopsy report was brief and didn’t take long to read.
    “You have finished with the photographs?” Pike asked, reaching out to gather them up.
    “Yes,” said Dody, “thank you. But I’ll just read through this report again if you don’t mind.”
    Pike put the photographs in a drawer then rose from the desk and limped to the waiting room. Through the open door, Dody heard him address Florence. “It’s marginally warmer in my office, Miss McCleland, why don’t you join us?”
    Indeed, the cold bleak day had turned into a colder, bleaker evening. Dody glanced up from the report and noticed through the office window the rising river mists, tinged an eerie blue from the line of police lamps along the building’s exterior. As Pike pulled up another chair, Florence caught Dody’s eye. She raised an enquiring eyebrow.
    “May I share this with my sister, Chief Inspector?”
    “By all means,” he replied.
    Dody read the report’s conclusion aloud:
    Death believed to be the result of blunt force trauma to the skull. Four separate wounds on the head were discovered, all depressed fractures containing inverted bone fragments and all the result of considerable force. Any one of the blows could have caused coma followed by cessation of life.