you think?’
Sarah stood, and walked slowly to the window. It was very dark now, and solid sheets of water were pouring from the roof. She looked out, then turned to face him. ‘If his lips were blue, I’d probably think heart, given his age. I’d take his medical history into account, though. From what you’ve said, Lord Orlach must have been quite fit.’
‘Yes, he was. Now let me ask you another. If you’d certified heart failure, but you’d cocked it up, what might you have missed?’
‘Any number of things. Cerebral involvement possibly, or if you’re looking at murder, some form of poisoning by injection. The likeliest though would probably be simple asphyxia; suffocation with a pillow. In those circumstances, if I’d diagnosed heart failure, I’d have missed tiny petaechial haemorrhages . . . ruptured blood vessels . . . around the lips and face. Actually, it might not be too difficult to overlook them in an old person.’
Her husband’s eyes were gleaming. ‘Okay,’ he went on. ‘Let’s suppose that’s what happened, and that your patient’s been under the ground for a few months. If we had the body exhumed, could we still determine that he’d been asphyxiated?’
‘Of course you could. All you’d have to do would be to look in the chest. If there was no sign of a coronary occlusion, or other major damage to the heart, and if the lungs were distended, then suffocation it would be.’
Bob smiled up at his wife. ‘See what happens when you start me thinking?’ he said. ‘I think I’ll have a word with this Dr Street. D’you reckon her number will be in the book?’
‘No,’ said Sarah, ‘but her husband’s will. She’s married to a retired naval officer, and they live in Dirleton.’
‘In that case, I think I’ll call her and make myself an appointment for first thing tomorrow morning.’
60
‘What’s put you in such a cheery mood this morning?’ asked Andy Martin.
Skinner beamed at him across the coffee table. ‘Let me put it this way. You know our time-honoured phrase when we’re after a warrant to search someone’s pad, “Let’s dig up a Sheriff.”?’
Puzzled and intrigued, the Head of CID nodded. ‘Well tonight we’re going to have a variation on that theme. We’re going to dig up a judge.’
‘Eh!?’
Quickly, he explained his interest in Lord Orlach’s death. ‘I went to see Dr Street this morning,’ he went on. ‘She admitted that her examination was a bit perfunctory. She said that he wasn’t normally her patient, so she wasn’t aware of his history, only his age, and it was on that basis, coupled with his physical appearance, that she made her decision.
‘I also had a chat with the old boy’s cleaning lady, She remembers that on the morning she found him dead, there was a window open at the back of the house.
‘So, I’ve decided to take a chance. I’ve instructed our legal people to obtain an exhumation warrant from the Sheriff in Haddington. We’ll carry it out at midnight tonight, and have the post-mortem done immediately. Unless we need to wait for lab work, my aim will be to have Orlach back underground within twenty-four hours . . . forty-eight at most.’
Martin looked doubtful. ‘Bob, isn’t this a hell of a big kite you’re flying, on a hell of a short string.’
The big DCC laughed out loud. ‘The formula for a crash, you mean? Sure it is, but what’s new?’ His expression grew serious once more. ‘I just feel we owe it to Norman King: shit, we owe it to every defendant to turn over every stone in our investigations.’
‘When you put it like that, I suppose you’re right,’ his friend conceded. ‘Will Sarah be taking part in the autopsy?’
‘Absolutely not! I feel too close personally to this one for her to be involved. Anyway, it’ll be done in the middle of the night and I intend to be there, so she’ll have to mind the boys.’
‘Won’t the grave-diggers talk about it?’
‘They would if they were involved; I’m going to use police officers. Do you want to be there?’
‘Digging, d’you mean?’
‘If you want,’ laughed Skinner.
‘No. I’ll give this one a miss, with or without a shovel.’
‘Your choice.’ The DCC picked up his coffee. ‘But here,’ he said, ‘I’m not the only one looking perky this morning. What’s put the spring in your step?’
‘You’re going to like this,’ Martin grinned. ‘I may have a lead to the robbery team. Remember McGrigor’s murder? The man Saunders? It turns out that he bought his girl-friend two and a half grands’ worth of sparkle at Raglan’s, just before the place was done.’
‘But he was . . .’
‘. . . on the dole; that’s right. Sammy and Karen are up there now, speaking to Mrs Hall. I reckon there’s a fair chance that when he was making his purchase, he was casing the place as well.’
Suddenly, Skinner’s smile was as wide as that of the DCS. ‘You don’t say. What’s John been able to find out about him?’
‘Next to fuck all so far. He didn’t have any friends in West Linton, it seems, nor any family that anyone knew of. The last people to employ him, a big building firm, described him as a good worker, but said that he kept himself to himself. So did his landlord. He didn’t keep a bank account, as such, only a deposit account in the Dunfermline Building Society.
‘I’ve told McGrigor to do better today. He can start at the Dunfermline, and go on from there.’ Martin took a breath, and looked at his colleague.
‘Do you have any thoughts about it, Bob?’
‘He was a plumber, they said?’
‘That’s right.’
‘So where did he learn his trade? Find someone who knew him as a kid, and you’ll learn more about him.’
The Head of CID nodded. ‘Good idea. I’ll let McGrigor follow his own lines and put my two on to that.’
‘How about the Regan girl?’ asked Skinner. ‘Any trace of her?’
‘None so far, but Stevie Steele’s made contact with the parents, and let them know that we want to speak to her. He says the father seems like an upright bloke, who’ll probably co-operate with us. The old man was astonished to hear she was missing at all. He got nothing from her day job, but the manager of the TA Mess where she worked was quite helpful.
‘He gave him the names of some lads she was friendly with. You never know; she might have let something slip to one of them.’
‘I doubt it, since she didn’t even tell her parents. But as you say, you never know.You’ve told Steele to get on it right away?’
‘Sure. I thought I’d have trouble from Dan Pringle. He’s got a sergeant off sick, and his team had a call to another suspicious death this morning, near Merchiston Castle School. He was fine about it, though, and I repaired the damage by offering him Kwame Ankrah for the rest of the week. Our friend is very sharp. He can be a real asset.’
‘Into each life a little rain must fall,’ said the DCC. ‘Dan knows that. Not that I’m complaining about last night’s lot, mind. It’ll make digging a bloody sight easier.’
61
Until that moment, Detective Superintendent Dan Pringle had been remarkably cheerful for the time of day. With the onset of middle age, the detective had experienced difficulty in sleeping. Stress was something which, he believed, happened to other people, but eventually, Mrs Pringle, suffering from what she described as ‘secondary insomnia’, had compelled him to visit their GP.
After only two nights on the mild sedatives which the doctor had prescribed, he had enjoyed more sleep than
