Cause of Death (21 page)

Rina blinked. So how much was this estate worth? She didn't want to ask. She'd rather just sit down with this portfolio of his, somewhere quiet and where she had access to a half-bottle of brandy or at least a pot of strong tea. Just what the hell had Karen been up to?

Rina wasn't sure she wanted to know, but there was a question she just had to ask. ‘This relative that died. You're sure it's all above board? I mean, you hear such dreadful things. Such cruel scams.'

The solicitor smiled. ‘We, of course, wondered about that. We commissioned private detectives both here and in Canada and spoke to the firm dealing with the estate over there and all the relevant tax authorities. Miss Munroe financed that of course, so you don't need to be concerned about that.'

‘I see,' Rina said. ‘And you don't think it a strange thing to do? To make over all of this money to a boy she can scarcely know?'

‘Of course we wondered about that too. As you say, there are so many schemes and scams and criminal activities going on, but we commissioned our own investigation into Miss Munroe. She lives in France for most of the year, was educated in Paris and Lyon and speaks several languages. She lives very quietly, very respectably.'

Respectably, Rina thought. Karen. Who the hell had she created for them to investigate?

‘And is it possible for you to contact her? Is there a phone number I could have?'

‘I'm sorry, Mrs Martin, but she specified there should be no direct contact either from you or the boy. I do, of course, have a number I can call to leave a message. I think she anticipated that you might wish to do this.'

Rina nodded. ‘Could you tell her,' she said, ‘that of course I will look after George. It will be my pleasure, but could you also tell her that an old acquaintance, Mr Haines, has been in touch, and as she's leaving soon she may just want to deal with that before she goes.'

The solicitor looked puzzled. ‘Will she understand that? Does she need a phone number or anything?'

‘She'll understand. It's a minor matter, but I'm sure she'll want to get it sorted out.'

She smiled sweetly at the solicitor who was clearly thinking that something odd was going on here, but he couldn't quite work out what or how concerned he ought to be.

‘Now what was it you wanted me to sign?'

T
he little coffee shop on the promenade had been the location for many meetings and odd conversations. This Tuesday morning, Andy chose a discreet table in the corner where he and Miriam could sit undisturbed and passed the folder across to her.

For a while she sipped coffee and studied the photographs and reports in silence, a small frown creasing her brow and the bridge of her nose. Andy watched a little anxiously. He wasn't sure if Miriam would be able to help; was equally unsure if he actually wanted her to say anything definitive. Anything that might add to the weight of suspicion now bearing down on him.

Anxious too that Mac might disapprove. Mac was anxious about anything that might distress Miriam.

She finally shuffled everything together and looked brightly at Andy. He breathed a sigh of relief.

‘So,' she said, ‘what can I tell you?'

‘Well,' Andy said slowly. ‘I know there's not a lot to go on.'

‘Not a great deal, no. A skull would be helpful, but going with what we do have, I agree with what's in the report. The ends of the long bone are fully fused, so the likelihood is this is a person older than, say, twenty-five, but with the lack of any significant age-related wear, well, I'd say younger than fifty.'

Andy nodded. ‘How long would it take for a body to rot?' he asked.

‘Um, depends on the circumstances. In a hot country you could get full skeletonization within, say, a couple of weeks.' She paused, frowning. ‘How much do you know about any of this?'

‘Not a lot,' Andy admitted. ‘I mean, how would you conceal something like that? Dead bodies smell . . .'

Miriam laughed. ‘True,' she said. ‘But you can minimize that. I heard about a body left wrapped in industrial cling film. The neighbours noticed a bad smell but thought it was the drains. Putrefaction causes a terrible stink, but the worst of it is over in a relatively short time.'

‘How short? Say, if I'd buried something in the garden.'

‘You only have a flat,' Miriam observed. ‘And I think your mother would notice if you dug up her flower beds.' She looked quizzically at him. ‘Do you have something specific in mind?'

‘I don't know,' Andy admitted. ‘I'm really not sure.'

‘Ookay. Right. Well let's start with the basics. Buried or unburied?'

‘I think buried.'

‘Disturbed?' She tapped the folder. ‘Judging from the state of these bones I'd say probably not.'

‘Probably not then. Miriam, can you tell how long they'd been buried?'

‘Not just from looking at these pictures. You see there's no context, just a few bones thrown into a trench. I really wouldn't like to make a better guess than my old colleagues have in the report.'

‘OK.' Andy had known this but was still disappointed. ‘So if the body had been buried?'

‘That would slow things down. Decomposition would still take place and there'd be some insect activity. Fly strike can literally happen within minutes of death. Then there'd be the action of worms and micro-organisms in the soil and so on.'

‘But would neighbours, say, smell the decomp?'

‘Um, well, it would depend how close they got and how deep the body was buried. Look, what happens in general terms is this. Decomp starts pretty quickly and the first stage lasts maybe four to ten days, depending on where the body is and factors like temperature. Rigor sets in after a few hours, but by that time the body is already starting to rot from the inside out. It literally starts to digest itself. The first stage, when the digestive enzymes start to break down cell walls, well that starts within a few hours and lasts maybe three or four days. As you know, you also get the blood dropping down to the lowest point of the body. In fact, that can start as soon as an hour or two after death. Chances are, a body could be quite close by and you'd not notice much out of the ordinary.'

‘So at what point—'

‘Might the neighbours notice the smell? Well, putrefaction proper starts roughly between day four and day ten after death. Gases build up, the body bloats, tissues start to break down. Then you get what we call black putrefaction, which lasts roughly until day twenty-five or so. You've got to remember, Andy, a lot of this depends on exposure and temperature. Bloating subsides and the skin blackens and starts to peel away. What you smell then is butyric acid, not just the results of bloating and body fluids. You OK?'

Andy nodded. He knew Miriam was just trying to help, but a picture had started to form in his mind of Kath Eebry, not just dead but rotting and falling away into the earth. The woman he had known disfigured by the process of death and complete decay.

‘And then what?'

‘And then we get the drying stage. It starts sometime between the twenty-fifth and fiftieth day, but it can take any anything up to a year, after which you'll be left with bones and hair and maybe a little dried skin.' She shrugged. ‘That's just one very basic scenario. It would seem to fit what we have, but—'

‘And what do you make of this?' Andy shuffled through the photographs until he found the image of the bone with the strange marks. ‘At first it looked like maybe marks from a knife or something, but—'

Miriam shook her head. ‘No, I don't think those are cut marks. I think they're caused by pressure. Something pressing down on the body as it decomposed, then the pressure of, say, soil gradually becoming more intense as the flesh rots away and whatever caused the pattern finally coming to rest on the bone.' She frowned. ‘There seems to be some slight discolouration in and around the indentations, but that might just be an artefact on the image. I'd need to see the bone itself. Has anyone run any tests?'

‘I don't think so,' Andy said. ‘Whoever she is – was – she's kind of at the back of the queue right now.'

Miriam nodded sympathetically. ‘Limited resources,' she said. ‘Everything has to be prioritized. If you had a positive ID then she'd move up the line.' She studied Andy carefully. ‘Do you think you know who she was?'

He shrugged self-consciously. ‘I think, right now, I don't want to know,' he said. ‘Oh, don't worry, I'll run down every lead I can find. I'll do my job, it's just . . .'

‘Andy, have you talked to Mac about this? You don't have to do this on your own. Far from it. If you think you may have a personal connection . . . is that what you're saying?'

‘I think . . . Look, I have talked to Mac. Not his fault, but he's got a lot on his plate at the moment apart from this and I don't want to let him down.'

Miriam was amused at the thought. ‘Mac knows you wouldn't,' she said. ‘But you are a team, you know, and there's such a thing as
him
letting
you
down too. He'd be horrified to think he was doing that.'

‘Yeah, I know.' Andy sipped the rest of his coffee. It was cold now and suddenly seemed too sweet. ‘Thanks, Miriam, you've been a big help. Want another coffee?'

‘Love one, and how about we talk about something else for a while.'

Andy nodded and got up to get their drinks. He was aware of Miriam's gaze following him as he crossed the little café, and knew she was right. He did feel oddly let down and horribly alone, but he also knew that he had to be the one to see this through. That this wasn't a burden he was ready to share.

‘We'll have to stop meeting like this,' George joked wryly as he spotted Mac waiting for them. ‘You'll be getting us a reputation.'

Mac smiled. In actual fact he always waited at a distance from the college, not wanting to cause additional complications for George and Ursula, but he was relieved at the tone of the greeting; he had not parted from George on the best of terms.

Ursula smiled shyly at him. She looked pale, he thought, and anxious. He wondered what was wrong.

‘So?'

‘So we've got a problem,' Mac said. Beating about the bush didn't seem very appropriate right now.

‘With?'

Where to start. ‘With your dad's old boss, Haines. He had his men pick Stan up off the street and beat seven shades out of him.'

‘Is he OK?' George touched Mac's arm, emphasizing the level of his concern. George rarely volunteered physical contact, even with those he knew well.

‘He's OK, back at Peverill Lodge and being pampered as you might expect.'

Ursula laughed and George relaxed a little. Mac could tell he was pleased to see Ursula happier, even momentarily.

‘What did he do that for?' George asked.

‘He wanted Stan to do something and Stan wasn't very willing. George, I think you should go away for a few days. I can arrange a place today and we can soon clear it with Hill House.'

The teenagers halted and looked at him and then at one another. ‘No,' George said, and in a tone that told Mac this was final. That he'd have to pick him up and physically take him away to change his mind.

‘George, I don't think you understand.'

‘Then you'd better tell me, but the answer will still be no.'

‘Ursula—'

‘Mac, don't even bother.'

They walked on and Mac took a deep breath. ‘It seems your sister's back,' he said.

George stiffened but walked on at the same pace.

‘There's something big going down between Haines and another major player. It's possible Karen is mixed up in that somehow. Haines wanted Stan to go after her, to—'

‘Kill her?' George laughed. ‘Like that's really going to happen.'

‘Stan refused, so Haines threatened to get to Karen through you. I'm sorry, George, but I really think—'

‘No.'

‘I could—'

‘Make me?' George halted and swung round to face Mac. ‘Look, if he's after me he'll get to me wherever. You know that as well as I do. I'm tired of running, Mac. I did it most of my life and I'm not doing it now. Haines wants me he can come and get me, but I'm not hiding out just because I happen to be someone's son or someone's brother.'

The teenagers walked on stiff-backed and Mac followed them.

‘George, you have to think about other people. You could be putting others at risk.'

He was not prepared for the surge of anger which George turned on him.

‘Don't you try and blackmail me. Don't you try and make me feel bad. You don't have a clue, do you, don't know a fucking thing about me. I grew up being blackmailed. With people forcing me to do what they wanted. My dad used his fists, but my mum was just as bad, kept me just as scared, and Karen. Karen . . .' He broke off and Mac could see that he was fighting tears. ‘Always bloody Karen.'

Ursula had hold of him, her arms tight around him as George hid his face in her shoulder, his entire body shaking. She did not even look at Mac.

Slowly, George calmed and pulled away. Ursula laid her hands against his cheeks, cupping his face. He leaned towards her, forehead resting on hers as she wiped tears away. Mac stood apart, at a loss and completely excluded. He wanted to tell them that it would all be OK, that in the end everything could turn out right, but he didn't want to be caught in a lie.

‘George, I'm sorry,' Mac said.

‘I think you should go,' Ursula told him, but there was no anger in her voice, just more sorrow, Mac thought, than any girl of fifteen should ever have to know.

A
ndy had gone home and changed his clothes, looked to see what he had in his fridge and decided he didn't fancy any of it. He needed to get out for a bit, he decided, and found himself on the coast road heading back towards Frantham. He drove past the turn off for the town and out towards the half-dozen houses where Ted Eebry lived and pulled over on to the grass verge a few hundred yards shy of the crescent.