The Cambridge Theorem Read Online Free Page B

The Cambridge Theorem
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the fireplace. Six shelves of books in the standing case. The file cabinet was locked. The small key from the young man’s ring fitted and in the first drawer Smailes found neatly arranged hanging files. The first read Abominable Snowman .
    Swedenbank was examining the bookcase above the bed. Smailes left the file cabinet unlocked and walked over to inspect the poster of the white-haired gent, who looked familiar to him. It was Bertrand Russell, or one of the Alberts, Schweitzer or Einstein, Smailes wasn’t sure which.
    â€œSeen enough, Sarge?” asked Ted. Smailes had to hand it to him. He wasn’t doing badly for a first suicide.
    â€œYeah, I think so.”
    â€œHow long has he been dead?”
    â€œMaybe eight, ten hours. Joints in the fingers already stiff. Light still on the desk, bed not slept in. Funny thing about rigor mortis. It’ll go away again in a few hours.”
    â€œWhat do you make of the note?”
    â€œDunno. Little bit fishy. First typed note I’ve seen. I’d like to know who ‘they’ are.”
    â€œPrints, pictures?”
    â€œWell, the scenes of crimes boys have to come in for the snaps, but forget the prints. It’s pretty routine. Get the coroner’s officer on the radio and tell them to get their wagon down here. The ambulance boys can scarper—Bert and I can help with the stocking stuffing.
    â€œTell the SOCO boys we need pictures, then get the full ID, next of kin from your man Beecroft. Hop a ride back with Dickley and help him with the SD report. He didn’t have the sense to empty the pockets or secure the note. Take these things, will you Ted?”
    There was reassurance in the mechanics of police procedure after the untidy violence of Bowles’ terrible deed. Smailes handed over the personal effects and pulled the note from the typewriter. He didn’t need to tell Ted what to do at the station, and was relieved. Swedenbank was gratified at the deference being shown him. His hands looked as if they were wearing fingerless woollen mittens as he took the belongings from Smailes. There was an odd intimacy in the gesture. The two detectives avoided each other’s eyes.
    â€œThanks, Sarge.”
    â€œSure, Ted.”
    Smailes could hear Swedenbank issuing orders to the ambulancemen—yes, the detective sergeant would verify death; yes, he would send for the coroner; no, they didn’t need to stay. Then he heard him in slightly brusquer terms telling Dickley to accompany him to the porters’ lodge so they could be sure to get the details right. Ted seemed to have the tone of injured authority just right.
    He folded up Bowles’ note and put it in his jacket pocket with the dead boy’s keys before leaving the room. The typed note was unusual, but from the neatness of the room and the filing cabinet, it didn’t seem entirely out of character. He found Hawken in the cramped kitchen off the other side of the landing, standing solicitously over Mrs. Allen, who was drinking tea. Her face was flushed beneath a wreath of gray curls, her considerable weight crumpled onto a small stool. She started to get up as Smailes entered the small room.
    â€œNo, please. Rest your legs,” he said gently.
    She seemed gratified and blinked into the chipped mug, which she held with both hands.
    â€œWould you like to question Mrs. Allen here, or in my rooms, officer?” Hawken asked. He obviously felt he should be in charge. Smailes had not planned to question anyone yet, but Hawken had forced a response.
    â€œI don’t want to keep you, Mrs. Allen. I’m with Cambridge CID. Just tell me what happened here this morning.” He avoided words like “body” and “dead man.”
    â€œWell,” she said, gathering herself with a sniff and setting her mug down on the edge of the steel sink.
    â€œI comes up ’ere to the first floor about ten o’clock. I usually does ’is room first,

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