‘Both of you run around Hyde Park?’
‘During the week. We both work in an office not far from here. There’s a group of us, four most days, sometimes five.’
‘The others?’
‘Dean thought we’d be the most likely to be able to help you. We’ve seen a few strangers running around the park, not sure if one of them is your man.’
‘Would you recognise him?’
‘Difficult,’ Roy said. ‘We’re focussing on the run, and if he’s wearing glasses, or has a cap on his head, then it’s not likely.’
‘You’d recognise a serious athlete, someone super-fit?’
‘We see them from time to time, not that we’d ever talk to them. Maybe a nod of the head.’
‘Are you two up to having a look at a dead body?’
‘If it’s important,’ Adrian said. ‘When?’
‘Now. Thirty, thirty-five minutes, no more.’
‘Don’t hold out too much hope, but we’re willing to help if we can,’ Eardley said.
Chapter 6
Graham Picket, the pathologist, was a tall, thin man who regarded humour as a wasted commodity, civility as a marginal necessity. He did not appreciate the two women coming through the door and into his inner sanctum.
‘Don’t worry about the pathologist,’ Wendy said as the man came towards her and Christine Mason.
‘You’re DCI was on the phone. Told me I’ve got to let you see the body,’ Picket said.
‘I’m sure that DCI Cook would have followed procedure.’
‘We’re busy here.’
‘Mr Picket, may I introduce Mrs Mason. We believe that she knew the deceased.’ Wendy said.
‘Very well,’ Picket said, ignoring Christine Mason. ‘And now I’ve got DI Hill coming here with two more. I hope you won't be long. I’ll get someone to take you in. Sign the book on the way in, on the way out.’
‘We will.’
‘Unpleasant man,’ Christine said when Picket was out of hearing range.
‘Too much time in here. It gets to them all in the end. Too depressing seeing dead bodies, then cutting them up.’
‘Do they?’
‘How do you think they conduct an autopsy?’
‘I’ve never thought about it. A check of the body, take DNA, check the teeth, a sample of blood.’
‘Check out YouTube if you’ve got the stomach for it. They do what you’ve said plus more. The organs are removed, so is the brain. Then they stitch the body up, make it presentable for the family.’
‘Colin?’
‘Sorry. A bit too close to home for you, I suppose.’
‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘If it becomes too much, exit the area as soon as you can. They don’t like the place dirty.’
‘Do many? I mean…’
‘I know what you mean and yes. Some people look stunned as if they were a dead fish, some will break down in tears, others will bring up their lunch. You’re the teary type.’
‘You can tell?’
‘Yes. If you’re holding back on me, I’ll know after this. Everyone feels guilt, wants to talk. The easiest way to loosen tongues, not the most pleasant.’
‘I’m not holding back the truth. We had something special. You’d not understand.’
Wendy said no more, realising that the woman had it bad. The first flush of ageing when she was no longer the young woman with her choice of men, no longer as firm in the body as she had once been, no longer able to turn a man’s head with a swish of her hair, a wiggle of her hips.
Wendy had passed that stage in her twenties, by then married with two sons, a career in the police force. She had been content, even when the sons had gone through the rebellious stage, coming home drunk, attempting to sneak in a random female, their first tattoos. And her husband had always been there for her, attentive, decent, never looked at another woman, apart from the Christmas party at the council offices where he had worked. She had seen him there, the mistletoe, one too many glasses of wine. The next day, sober, he remembered nothing, never fully understanding why Wendy hadn’t spoken to him for a week, hadn’t shared his bed for two.
And now, she was standing beside a woman, more attractive than she had been, although Christine Mason was only eight years younger than her. Yet Christine Mason, the accounts manager at the Fitzroy Hotel, was not a happy woman. Further checks on her husband, the erstwhile Tony, had revealed that the man was taciturn, well respected for his negotiating skills, his ability to successfully bring back a contract for his company’s products from countries that did not fare well for their human rights records. A contact, name not given, had updated Richard Goddard about the man. Isaac was sure that it was Lord Shaw, the previous commissioner of the London Metropolitan Police, who had passed on the information after consulting with senior people in the Foreign and Commonwealth Office.
Lord Shaw had mentored Richard Goddard from the first year of his career, and now Isaac was being mentored by Goddard.
Christine Mason said nothing, only looked around her at the clinical and cold surroundings. Wendy could tell she was regretting her request to see the body, but she had come so far, she was going to continue. Wendy was determined on that. The woman still needed to open up to her, to lay bare her innermost thoughts, her fragility, her need for a younger man, the reason why she thought that Colin Young was interested in her for herself, and not
