“Glad to have got you at last, Inspector. Listen. We have an appointment with the marble slab tomorrow morning. I have to declare that I made a start on this right away—for various perfectly good scientific reasons, which I will explain when I see you. Could you make it earlier than we had suggested? Eight o’clock? I find I have two other cases queuing. No, nothing concerning you—there’s a farmyard incident involving a pitchfork from over the Norfolk border and a domestic skull-splitting in the Mill Road MacFarlane hasn’t bothered you with.

“But—your intriguing Dunstan chap continues to throw up the surprises. Contents of gut speak volumes and, Redfyre—they’re not saying what we were expecting at all!”

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Cambridge, Monday, the 19th of May, 1924

By eight o’clock on a Monday morning, Addenbrooke’s Hospital on Trumpington Street was well into the new day, alive with uniformed staff moving purposefully about. Redfyre found his own pace always quickened in emulation of their confidence when he entered the building. He took off his hat and, as he made his way down the corridor that led to the pathology laboratory, was warmed to note how many of the nursing staff recognised him and greeted him by his rank as they swished past in their starched headdresses, even offering him refreshment:

“Good morning, Sister.”

“Good morning, Inspector.”

“It’s a fine May morning, Nurse!”

“Have you had breakfast, Inspector?”

“I’ve just sampled the Chelsea buns at Fitzbillies . . .”

“Then we can have nothing further to tempt you!”

He admired the smiling, efficient staff, working at the forefront of medical research and care, and reflected that the whole machine was kept moving smoothly along on the rails by a woman: the matron. Redfyre had always entertained hopes that someone would have the wit to sack this valuable lady and reinstate her as Head of the Cambridgeshire Constabulary. Or Prime Minister.

Spearheading the pathology department, though he modestly tried to give the impression that he was struggling against overwhelming scientific forces, was Dr. Beaufort. The two crime-fighting professionals liked and understood each other, recognising they shared not only the same qualities of intelligence and dedication, but the same flaws, which they found it wiser never to name, not even to each other.

Beaufort was already at work on the tramp’s body when Redfyre arrived and he involved his colleague at once in his deliberations.

“It’s the stomach contents that this case—rather precariously—rests on. Something of a surprise there, as I told you. But let’s get quickly through the underpinnings, shall we?