toast again and ignored his sister’s giggles.
‘So what exactly did you wear?’ Rosie asked innocently.
As Sam kept munching his toast, his face bright red, Rosie realised how much she had missed the innocent pleasure of getting
one over on her brother.
The indulgent father leaned back in his chair. It was good to have both of them home. The place had seemed quiet since Kathy’s
death and it was refreshing to have the housefull of argument and music again after the long months of silence.
‘Dad,’ said Rosie, looking her father in the eye. ‘The job at the hotel doesn’t pay enough so I’m doing a few hours for this
cleaning agency called Ship Shape.’ She grinned. ‘It’s run by an ex-Wren from Plymouth.’
‘Surely you don’t need to take on more work.’
‘I need the money.’
Sam stood up, scattering toast crumbs on to the floor. ‘I’d better be off, Dad. See you tonight, eh?’
As his son shot out of the front door, Gerry Heffernan carried the dirty dishes to the sink and turned on the hot tap. Rosie
was still sitting at the table and made no effort to help. Then he glanced at the kitchen clock and remembered that Sam wasn’t
the only one with work to go to.
He left the dirty dishes piled up like the unsolved case files on his desk in the CID office. Something to be dealt with later.
At half past nine Wesley would have considered a sink full of washing-up an attractive option as he stood beside Heffernan
watching Colin Bowman slice into Sally Gilbert’s discoloured flesh. He hated post-mortems first thing in the morning. Or at
any time, come to that.
Both of his parents and his sister were doctors but Wesley had been born squeamish and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. When
he had witnessed his first post-mortem he had fainted, but things had gradually improved over the years. Now he could at least
look at Colin Bowman’s handi work without feeling queasy.
Sally had been an attractive young woman in life. A wife but not yet a mother, as Colin pointed out cheerfully.
When he had weighed the dead woman’s internal organs as casually as a greengrocer weighing out potatoes, he gave his tentative
verdict. ‘From the injuries, I’d say she fell into the water from a great height, possibly off a cliff, hitting the rocks
on the way down. She was certainly dead beforeshe hit the water. We’ll have to wait for the toxicology report before we know whether she was under the influence of drink
or drugs.’
‘So it could have been an accident?’
‘There’s some bruising that could have been caused before her death. In fact there are marks on the top of her arms, just
as though somebody’s grabbed her. And look at her hands.’ He held up the corpse’s right hand. ‘Badly bruised, and some of
the small bones have been broken – almost as if someone’s stamped on them.’
Wesley winced at the thought. ‘You mean she might have been pushed off a cliff into the sea and then, when she tried to cling
on, her killer stamped on her hands?’ He wanted to pin the pathologist down to a definite sequence of events.
‘It’s possible.’
‘Oh, come on, Colin, give us a break. Did she fall or was she pushed?’ Gerry Heffernan lacked Wesley’s diplomacy and patience.
‘All I can say is that the injuries are consistent with Wesley’s theory. Come over and have a look.’
Wesley declined Colin’s invitation to make a close examination of the dead woman’s arms and hands, and thought for a few moments
before asking his next question. ‘Had she eaten before she died?’
Colin nodded. ‘She’d partaken of a traditional Devon cream tea shortly before her death. Could do worse for a last meal, I
suppose.’
‘It’s just that her friend Lisa Marriott said Sally Gilbert left the house just after lunch saying she’d be a couple of hours.
So she could have met her killer, had a cream tea with him then died soon afterwards. At least that gives us an idea of
‘So what exactly did you wear?’ Rosie asked innocently.
As Sam kept munching his toast, his face bright red, Rosie realised how much she had missed the innocent pleasure of getting
one over on her brother.
The indulgent father leaned back in his chair. It was good to have both of them home. The place had seemed quiet since Kathy’s
death and it was refreshing to have the housefull of argument and music again after the long months of silence.
‘Dad,’ said Rosie, looking her father in the eye. ‘The job at the hotel doesn’t pay enough so I’m doing a few hours for this
cleaning agency called Ship Shape.’ She grinned. ‘It’s run by an ex-Wren from Plymouth.’
‘Surely you don’t need to take on more work.’
‘I need the money.’
Sam stood up, scattering toast crumbs on to the floor. ‘I’d better be off, Dad. See you tonight, eh?’
As his son shot out of the front door, Gerry Heffernan carried the dirty dishes to the sink and turned on the hot tap. Rosie
was still sitting at the table and made no effort to help. Then he glanced at the kitchen clock and remembered that Sam wasn’t
the only one with work to go to.
He left the dirty dishes piled up like the unsolved case files on his desk in the CID office. Something to be dealt with later.
At half past nine Wesley would have considered a sink full of washing-up an attractive option as he stood beside Heffernan
watching Colin Bowman slice into Sally Gilbert’s discoloured flesh. He hated post-mortems first thing in the morning. Or at
any time, come to that.
Both of his parents and his sister were doctors but Wesley had been born squeamish and he wasn’t afraid to admit it. When
he had witnessed his first post-mortem he had fainted, but things had gradually improved over the years. Now he could at least
look at Colin Bowman’s handi work without feeling queasy.
Sally had been an attractive young woman in life. A wife but not yet a mother, as Colin pointed out cheerfully.
When he had weighed the dead woman’s internal organs as casually as a greengrocer weighing out potatoes, he gave his tentative
verdict. ‘From the injuries, I’d say she fell into the water from a great height, possibly off a cliff, hitting the rocks
on the way down. She was certainly dead beforeshe hit the water. We’ll have to wait for the toxicology report before we know whether she was under the influence of drink
or drugs.’
‘So it could have been an accident?’
‘There’s some bruising that could have been caused before her death. In fact there are marks on the top of her arms, just
as though somebody’s grabbed her. And look at her hands.’ He held up the corpse’s right hand. ‘Badly bruised, and some of
the small bones have been broken – almost as if someone’s stamped on them.’
Wesley winced at the thought. ‘You mean she might have been pushed off a cliff into the sea and then, when she tried to cling
on, her killer stamped on her hands?’ He wanted to pin the pathologist down to a definite sequence of events.
‘It’s possible.’
‘Oh, come on, Colin, give us a break. Did she fall or was she pushed?’ Gerry Heffernan lacked Wesley’s diplomacy and patience.
‘All I can say is that the injuries are consistent with Wesley’s theory. Come over and have a look.’
Wesley declined Colin’s invitation to make a close examination of the dead woman’s arms and hands, and thought for a few moments
before asking his next question. ‘Had she eaten before she died?’
Colin nodded. ‘She’d partaken of a traditional Devon cream tea shortly before her death. Could do worse for a last meal, I
suppose.’
‘It’s just that her friend Lisa Marriott said Sally Gilbert left the house just after lunch saying she’d be a couple of hours.
So she could have met her killer, had a cream tea with him then died soon afterwards. At least that gives us an idea of
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