Free The Kings of London by William Shaw

all their talk of revolution, when push comes to shove, they understand the need for the rule of law. We should do our utmost to ensure his department is not inconvenienced by any of this.’
    Breen looked out of the window. A motorbike and sidecar had broken down in the middle of the oncoming traffic and cars were trying to squeeze past it. ‘I felt a little like a schoolboy called to the headmaster’s study,’ he said.
    ‘You have never understood the way things are done, Paddy. If you don’t understand that, all the good intentions in the world are worth nothing.’
    The car pulled up finally at the back of the police station. Bailey got out. ‘Do as he says, please. Give Rhodri Pugh’s assistant regular updates on the case.’
    ‘Even though he’s probably getting them already from his boss’s department?’
    But Bailey didn’t appear to hear. He was already halfway into the building.

NINE
    The police surgeon, Wellington, was in a foul mood.
    ‘How in buggering blasted hell can I be expected to work like this?’
    They were redecorating his office. A man in blue overalls was painting the wall behind him, cigarette perched on his lip.
    ‘Not my fault,’ said the painter.
    Wellington wore a dark worsted waistcoat and a bright-yellow cravat and smoked Dunhill Mixture in a briar pipe. A fan of light opera, he had once invited Breen to come and see him perform in
The Mikado
with his amateur operatic society in Guildford. Breen had used his sick father as an excuse to miss the second act.
    ‘I was perfectly happy with this office the way it was. This obsession with painting everywhere…’ But the painter ignored him, dipping his brush into the off-white and returning again to the wall. ‘Why have you brought that woman with you?’ he said, even though Tozer was only a few feet away. ‘There’s no reason for a woman to be on this murder investigation. Mind you, I seem to remember it’s you who now habitually throws up when you see dead bodies, Breen.’
    ‘Tell us about the body that was recovered from Marlborough Place. Is it here?’
    ‘The body’s been sent to the Home Office pathologist. Burnt to buggery, unfortunately. I had a good root around though.’
    ‘And? Could you still see the mutilations?’
    ‘Fascinating.’ Wellington grinned. ‘All
post mortem
, far as I could see. Hacked about like nobody’s business. I don’t suppose they found a bucket of blood anywhere?’
    ‘Blood?’
    ‘Whoever killed him strung him up by his ankles and bled him.’
    ‘Like a pig,’ said Tozer again.
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘Why, do you think?’
    ‘I’ll get to that.’
    ‘But after he was killed, not before?’ Tozer persisted.
    ‘Precisely. Not terribly effective after the heart’s stopped, but there must have been quite a lot of blood all the same.’
    ‘So how was he killed?’
    Wellington smiled. ‘Hard to say. Skull was all smashed in but that might have been the house collapsing. There were signs of pulmonary oedema in the lungs, apparently,’ he said. ‘And an eyeball survived. It was moderately bloodshot. I’d guess suffocation. But that’s just a guess. See what the pathologist says.’
    Tozer said, ‘You think he was tortured?’
    Wellington leaned across the desk and said, ‘Paddy, old chum. Are you the investigating officer on this case, or is this bloody woman in charge?’
    ‘Sorry,’ said Tozer.
    ‘Like I said, the skin wounds on the legs and arms are
post mortem
, as were the incisions on the wrists and neck, so it’s hard to know if it was torture or not.’
    Breen asked, ‘Had he been tied up?’
    Wellington said, ‘You’ll have to wait for the pathology investigation. Bit of a corker, this one. Never really see this sort of thing. Looks like somebody got a kick from carving him up after he was dead, though we can’t be totally sure yet that all the wounds were
post mortem
.’
    Tozer said, ‘So you think this was some loony?’
    ‘I would have thought so. Not even