Across the fields their colleagues were working around the pale carcass on the plastic sheet, scraping, photographing and bagging head and feet. Another officer was erecting a screen to shield their activities from the occasional early morning jogger and dog walker.
As time wore on, traffic began to increase and cars passed them in rotation on the single track road, depending on the traffic lights either side of the two bridges. On one rotation, Dr Higginbottom, the duty Police Surgeon, drove towards them and slowed down when he saw them. Noble indicated the dirt track which would take the doctor to the scene and he continued on with a wave.
‘Busy road,’ said Noble.
‘During the day,’ replied Brook.
‘But even if it was the middle of the night, assuming our John Doe was dumped from this bridge, someone took a massive gamble on not being seen by a passing car — especially if they were actually parked up on the bridge. I mean, it’s not wide.’
Brook nodded. ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t take that chance but maybe they were desperate.’
‘They?’ enquired Noble.
‘Or he or she. But even a body that light needs lifting.’
‘It’s a low wall,’ observed Noble. ‘One person could do it, I reckon.’
After a further few minutes of unproductive examination, the two detectives continued north towards the second bridge spanning the railway line. A dirt-track drive for a farmhouse set back out of sight from the road had a sign warning trespassers about CCTV cameras. Brook raised an eyebrow at Noble.
‘We’ll check it out.’
‘It’s probably for show, but
Crossing the railway bridge, the first houses of Station Road appeared. Jason Wallis, sole survivor of The Reaper’s attack on the Wallis family several years before, had lived briefly with his aunt further up the road. Brook tried to remember which house.
‘Didn’t young Wallis live on here?’ asked Noble.
‘I believe he did,’ Brook replied, but his mind had already moved on. He looked around, his gaze alighting on a stack of traffic cones on the pavement. ‘You were right, John. It is just one person. And he or she wasn’t desperate at all but very calm and rational.’ Noble looked at Brook, wondering if he was going to explain his reasoning. Instead, Brook walked over to the cones, counted them then looked back down towards the river. ‘This road goes south past Elvaston Castle, right?’
‘Right.’
‘And beyond?’
‘Through Thulston, then on to Shardlow or the A50.’
‘And beyond the A50, the M1,’ Brook remembered. He returned his attention to the cones. ‘Make a note to check with the Highways Agency when they last did any work here. It’s possible that whoever dumped our friend, faked a road closure.’
‘That’s a lot of forethought,’ said Noble.
‘That’s what worries me.’
‘And he’d need more than cones. Maybe a
Brook nodded. ‘Get DS Gadd and a couple of uniforms over here. We’re going to need a canvass of all the nearby houses as soon as possible before memory fades. See if anyone noticed anything.’
‘Not very likely if it was the middle of the night.’
‘No — but hold that thought, John. It’s time for a cup of tea. There was a cafe at the junction when I came past — might be open now.’ Brook jerked a thumb at the cones and made to set off along Station Road. ‘My treat as you’re guarding the evidence.’ Noble sagged on to a nearby fence and pulled out his cigarettes.
Brook removed the lid from his polystyrene cup and watched the ambulance depart. Dr Higginbottom squelched over from the river bank in his Wellingtons, fastening up his trademark leather bag. He removed his glasses when he stood beside Brook and Noble, and eyed their hot drinks.
‘Well, you were right, Inspector. He doesn’t appear to have any lungs, or indeed any internal organs. I didn’t want to poke around inside or disturb the stitching in case this turns into a murder inquiry
‘Why would there be any doubt, Doctor?’ asked Noble.
Higginbottom smiled. ‘There’s always doubt, until there’s certainty, Sergeant. Now, who said that? I can’t remember. But suffice to say, without a detailed examination, all I can do here is assure you that the subject is deceased and that he died before he went into the river. Keith Pullin seems to be in the right area for how long the body’s been in the water. Between one and three days, very roughly. The body has the right amount of
Like most of the medical experts Brook knew, Higgin-bottom liked to confuse his audience with a bit of Latin before explaining in layman’s terms. It was all those years they were forced to study a dead language and it had to be justified with a certain level of showmanship.
‘Which is?’ asked Brook deferentially.
Noble smiled. He was pretty sure Brook already knew.
‘Gooseflesh,’ replied the doctor smugly. ‘At a guess I’d say he died a couple of days before he went in the water, but don’t hold me to it. Do you want that tea, Inspector? I didn’t have time for a drink before I got the call.’ Brook handed his cup to Higginbottom and watched dismayed as the PS removed the lid, drained the contents, then handed the cup back with a contented sigh. ‘But as to murder, it’s impossible to be definite about Cause of Death without an autopsy. It could even be natural causes. One thing, he didn’t drown, even before his lungs were removed. There’s no haemorrhaging of the middle ear and no sign of cadaveric spasm. That’s when-’
‘We know,’ said Brook, dispensing with deference after the theft of his drink.
‘Oh,’ replied a miffed Higginbottom. ‘And do we know the deceased yet?’
‘Not yet,’ said Brook.
‘Well, it shouldn’t be hard to find out,’ continued the doctor. ‘Prison looks likely — he’s had a hard life. I suspect he’d be homeless and he’s a part-time drug abuser — probably alcohol too. His teeth were very rotten, worn down by the acids in alcohol, and there’s evidence of intermittent needle-marks. My guess, he took drugs when he could get them, but not as a matter of course, which probably means he couldn’t afford to buy very often — hence homeless, indigent, delete as applicable.’ He grinned. ‘Contrary to popular opinion, most regular addicts hold down jobs. Thanks for the tea, Inspector. I’ll let you have my report asap.’
Brook winced faintly at the assault on the English language as Higginbottom marched back to his car to remove his Wellingtons. His eyes followed the doctor, then moved to his empty cup, then settled on Noble’s untouched drink. Taking the hint, Noble hastily drained his own cup before it could be sequestered.
Back in his car, Brook didn’t turn towards Borrowash to follow Noble to the A52 and back to Derby. Instead he followed the road south towards open country and the parklands of Elvaston Castle. When the road turned sharply, Brook pulled his car to the kerb and hopped out. He did a quick search of the ground, both on the pavement and the road. In a patch of mud at the side of the road he saw a circular mark that might have been caused by a traffic cone being placed there. He looked back up towards the river bridge but it had been obscured by the bend.
Brook took out his basic mobile phone and switched it on. As usual, there were no messages — only DS Noble had the number. He spent several minutes trying to work out how the phone’s camera worked, then took a rather grainy picture of the mark in the road and, after storing it, turned the phone off again.
He jumped back in the BMW and drove on into the leafy hamlet of Thulston, looking all the while for a stack of road-traffic cones at the side of the road. There were none. Leaving Thulston, he arrived at a T-junction. He looked left then right.
‘So which way did you go from here?’ A car horn sounded behind him so Brook swung right to pick up the ring road back into town.
