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Chapters (38)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Chapter One
  4. Chapter Two
  5. Chapter Three
  6. Chapter Four
  7. Chapter Five
  8. Chapter Six
  9. Chapter Seven
  10. Chapter Eight
  11. Chapter Nine
  12. Chapter Ten
  13. Chapter Eleven
  14. Chapter Twelve
  15. Chapter Thirteen
  16. Chapter Fourteen
  17. Chapter Fifteen
  18. Chapter Sixteen
  19. Chapter Seventeen
  20. Chapter Eighteen
  21. Chapter Nineteen
  22. Chapter Twenty
  23. Chapter Twenty-one
  24. Chapter Twenty-two
  25. Chapter Twenty-three
  26. Chapter Twenty-four
  27. Chapter Twenty-five
  28. Chapter Twenty-six
  29. Chapter Twenty-seven
  30. Chapter Twenty-eight
  31. Chapter Twenty-nine
  32. Epilogue
  33. Afterword
  34. Next in Series
  35. Canelo Crime
  36. Newsletter
  37. About the Author
  38. Also by Nick Louth

‘All we can say is an absolute minimum of three months to get adipocere, right up to a handful of years. We can certainly already rule him out as a historic body, simply based on the modernity of much of what we found upon him. The fillings, the comb and the bits of ballpoint. There’s enough tattered plastic around the body to make it likely he was buried in a couple of refuse bags.’

‘It’s all beginning to look coherent then,’ Gillard said.

‘Yes, we finished on the upper torso in the excavator bucket, but there’s quite a bit more fingertip-search work to do in the hole by the water’s edge. A few of us will be busy on that up to our waists until the late evening I imagine, and when we’ve finished we’ll get the excavator to dig out the last bits just in case we’ve missed anything. One more thing. The archaeologist has been pestering me to allow his volunteers to sift parts of the site while the digging is halted. The riverbank has seen some Anglo-Saxon finds in the past, and he thinks it might be a good opportunity.’

‘Only once you’ve finished at the crime scene, and assuming the water company has given permission’

‘Aqua Western is okay with it. And we’ll be done by midday tomorrow.’

‘All right then. Who knows, they might find something we missed.’

Gillard thanked Quoroshi and finished the call. The CSI chief, originally an Iraqi refugee, had proved an invaluable asset to Surrey Police over the last decade. He’d worked his way up in the forensic service which Surrey and Sussex shared, and proved his worth not only for his knowledge but also his managerial skill. Crime scene investigation is a dirty and often repellent business, and unlike some senior officials, Yaz liked to stay at the sharp end. If there was a long overnight investigation, shivering in a forensic tent in the pouring rain, you could bet your bottom dollar that Yaz would be there right through. Consequently, his staff were ferociously loyal, and would do literally anything for him.

The detective looked out of the car window. Rain was beginning to fall. He didn’t envy the job they would have to do that night.