The Borgia Ring Read Online Free

story?’ Pendragon asked, coming round the back of the car.
    Turner went ahead of him along a narrow corridor. It took them through the building and into a small courtyard. A short staircase led on to the flat roof of a concrete extension taking up most of the back garden of the property. Another door from the passage opened on to a short staircase leading downward.
    ‘Packed dance-floor, lots of E, I expect,’ Turner said. ‘Then … a body drops from the ceiling. SPLAT !’ He turned to Pendragon with a mischievous grin and started to sing. ‘“I believe I can fly …”’
    Pendragon ignored him and Turner ushered the Chief Inspector down into the large semi-basement. It stank of sweat and was unbearably hot. Two men stood in the centre of the room: a middle-aged constable and a morbidly obese man dressed in an orange boiler suit. Close by, a pathologistin green plastic forensic gear over his civvies was crouching beside the body of a man who lay twisted to one side, his neck clearly snapped. The victim was a man of colour, perhaps Indian, but his face was now dark and discoloured from internal bleeding. His black hair was matted with blood and grey matter. He was wearing a light-coloured short-sleeved shirt. Just visible were the words Bridgeport Construction printed on the fabric.
    Pendragon crouched down to take a closer look. ‘Time of death?’ he asked the pathologist. The man stared blankly at him and then at Turner before realising who Pendragon was.
    ‘Sometime between one-thirty and two-thirty a.m. And it’s Dr Neil Jones.’
    ‘Thanks, Dr Jones.’ Pendragon straightened up, turned to the constable and nodded at the figure in the orange boiler suit. ‘Who’s this?’
    The constable glanced at his pad. ‘Nigel Turnbull, sir. Aka MC … er, Jumbo.’ He intoned the words with some distaste. ‘A second-year student at Queen Mary College. He made the call.’
    Pendragon eyed the youth. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
    Turnbull was calm and concise. He recounted events from just before the body appeared, the panic that then ensued and how he had called for an ambulance and notified the police. He omitted to mention first texting a friend to get over ASAP to take care of two hundred tabs of E.
    ‘And the time?’
    ‘Just before two-thirty. I remember looking at my watch a few minutes before … before this happened.’ He waved towards the corpse.
    ‘A miracle only one person was injured. I suppose there’s no point asking you for names.’
    Jumbo looked at him blankly. ‘I know a few of the regulars, but we don’t use membership cards.’
    ‘Well, Nigel, perhaps a trip to the station will help jog your memory.’
    Turnbull’s face dropped. ‘Look, I’m only a DJ here. I have no probs with giving you a few names, but they’re just students, same as me.’
    ‘Excellent. Sergeant Turner here has a sharpened pencil at the ready.’
    Pendragon turned back to the constable. ‘Where’s Inspector Grant?’
    ‘Upstairs, sir. He’s talking to the owner of the building.’
    Dr Jones stepped forward and caught Pendragon’s eye. The pathologist was a short, solidly built man, with a thick greying beard and a shock of curls; an over-sized Tolkien dwarf. ‘I’d like to get the body to the lab, if it’s all the same to you,’ he said. ‘Forensics will go over every inch of this place.’
    ‘Fine. And … you’re sure of the time of death?’
    ‘You know I can’t give you the minute and second, but as I said – definitely between one-thirty and two-thirty.’
     
    Jez Turner placed a cup of vending-machine coffee on the desk beside Pendragon’s elbow.
    ‘Thanks,’ said the Chief Inspector, and took a sip. ‘Bloody hell!’
    Turner held his hands up. ‘Don’t blame me.’
    ‘But this is …’
    ‘… perfectly adequate.’ It was Superintendent Jill Hughes at the door to his office. Jack made to get up, but at a signal from Hughes sat back again.
    ‘You’re perfectly welcome to