Death Toll Read Online Free Page A

There’s some Caucasian influence …’ He stopped talking as one of the civilian staff from the St James’s mobile canteen came in with a tray of teas. Mugs were taken, then cradled.
    Kazimierz’s face simply registered her pleasure at the contents of her own cup. Shaw, forcing himself to be cautious, added a rider. ‘Picking race from bones is dodgy territory, but the signs are difficult to ignore.’
    She screwed the top back on the Thermos. ‘Bravo. African, indeed. Bone lengths are very pronounced as well – long arms relative to the skeleton. And the skull shape’s classic as you said – alveolar prognathism,’ she said, indicating the protruding lower jaw. ‘A big man, maybe six feet two.’ She ran the retractable tape measure along the femur. ‘Less – but not much. As you also observed – there’s some conflicting evidence. The teeth – yes. And the forehead is actually higher than you’d expect, given the prognathism.’
    â€˜Should make him easy to find,’ said Valentine, stretching until one of the vertebra in his back gave way with a plastic thud. ‘If he was buried at the same time as the coffin in 1982 he’d have stood out like a spot on a domino round here. Peterborough, the East Midlands, loads of ’em – but Lynn …nah.’
    Valentine shifted feet, knowing he’d combined insensitivity with a dollop of non-PC language. He thought of Shaw’s daughter, playing on the beach at the CID summer picnic, her skin a subtle shade of butterscotch. In the awkward silence he edged a finger round the collar of his shirt, and pulled at the knot in his tie. One of the other things that really annoyed him about Shaw was that he never wore a tie: just a crisp white creaseless shirt, open at the neck.
    Dr Kazimierz began talking into a digital voice recorder that hung round her neck. ‘According to Mr Hadden and his team, the clothes on our coffin-lid victim here are right for the 1980s or late 1970s. Quality is good – possibly very good.’ She held up a shred of material, the original mercury red still visible. ‘In fact this shred – removed from the left side of the chest – is silk. I am entering it into the evidence.’ Rummaging in the black bag she found a batch of forensic envelopes and bagged the item.
    â€˜And three further items,’ said the pathologist. ‘Which are from the area alongside the right hip, where a jacket pocket would have been.’ She lifted a wallet and a multi-bladed pocket knife, encrusted with mud, and a few coins, describing them as she did so.
    She placed the wallet on an evidence bag and briefly teased at the leather with her gloved fingers. She switched off the recorder and spoke to Shaw. ‘We have a wallet, leather, once black, pretty much rotten. Anything left inside? I doubt it. The leather will fall apart if I try to empty it here, so unless it’s a matter of life and death – literally – I’ll get this to the lab. Inspector?’
    Shaw nodded reluctantly. But he couldn’t argue with the judgement. This man had probably died more than two decades ago. Getting inside his wallet now rather than in six hours’ time was hardly a priority.
    â€˜The coins all dated before 1982. Several from the 1970s. One 1969 shilling,’ she added, setting them out.
    She shone a pencil light on what looked like a shard of green glass embedded in clay next to the victim’s right leg. Using a bowl of water and a paint brush she gradually softened the clay, then let it dissolve. Gradually a broken glass began to appear. Below it was another – this time apparently unbroken. It took her a minute to work it clear, and when she held it to the light they could all see it was a Victorian-style tumbler, etched with an illustration of a whale at sea being pursued by an open boat. The whale was exquisitely drawn, each