Blood in Grandpont Read Online Free Page B

back, as shewalked to the back of her car, opened the boot and pulled out a squat, black case.
    Both the wind and the rain had eased somewhat, but water was still beating down furiously from the black sky with a power that gave the unfortunate group of figures no sense of relief. Umbrellas had been found, however, so as Dr Pointer knelt down to examine the body, she did at least receive some protection from the remorseless elements.
    ‘I can confirm that the subject is dead,’ she said. ‘There’s a stab wound in the neck.’ Her eyes made their way methodically down the body, until they came to rest on a darker patch. ‘Can I have more light?’ she snapped, and began to unbutton the sodden fawn mackintosh in which Maria Tull had died. She pulled it open. A dark red patch on the white blouse told its own unequivocal story. ‘There’s a stab wound to the heart as well,’ she continued. ‘At least death would have been quick, maybe instantaneous.’ She peered closer, unbuttoning the blouse to get a proper look at the wound. ‘You should be looking for a narrow-bladed knife,’ she concluded, before rebuttoning the blouse and standing up. ‘If it’s OK by you, Detective Inspector, I’d rather continue my investigations in my lab, in the morning.’
    Holden nodded. ‘There’s nothing to be gained by you catching pneumonia,’ she said, wishing that she too could escape into the dry, but there were things they had to do first. ‘We’ll take a look round for the weapon.’ Holden now knelt down herself, not to take look at the wound, but check the woman’s coat pockets. This yielded a mobile phone, which she passed to her young colleague, Detective Constable Jan Lawson. ‘Bag this, will you.’ Then Holden stood up. ‘There must have been car keys, and probably money, and she’s wearing lipstick, so the chances are she was carrying a handbag. So let’s get looking for them. If we don’t find one, we can always check the car’s registration to get an ID.’
    While Holden and PC Hughes began a methodical sweep of that end of the car park, Lawson and PC Wright followed a footpath which exited at the back and dropped down into Angel andGreyhound Meadow which separates this more modern area of East Oxford from the medieval city. Wright went left and Lawson right, but it was Lawson who found the handbag where it had apparently been tossed, half hidden under some bushes behind a fallen tree trunk. It was large and brown with black patches, like a crocodile. The leather was soft and expensive, and the name PRADA was positioned, discreetly but prominently, just under the lip of the bag. Lawson could only dream of owning something like this, assuming it was genuine, and no reproduction rip-off. Despite the circumstances she felt a brief flash of envy. The dead woman had clearly possessed both money and style.
    The bag had not been ransacked. The only item obviously missing was a wallet or purse. Of the knife which killed the woman, there was no sign. All of which pointed to a mugging, a druggy wanting cash for his next fix, Lawson volunteered much later, as she drove her boss home. This was after they had made the necessary but unpleasant visit to the Tull household, to tell a husband and two adult children about the death of their wife and mother, Lawson was determined to put that experience behind her by focusing upon the practical detail of the case. Holden made no response to this speculation. ‘Don’t you agree?’ Lawson pressed. She wasn’t someone who found silence comforting.
    ‘Concentrate on getting me home in one piece, Constable,’ Holden replied brusquely. Her mind was on practical detail too, but for her there was a whole raft of it floating around in her head. What staff would she need? How early should she get Lawson to collect her in the morning? What were the chances of finding forensic evidence? (Might the killer’s clothing have snagged somewhere as he or she fled the scene?) Was there any