Free Where Death Delights by Bernard Knight Page A

asked Angela, sipping her tea.
    â€˜I told Meredith that I was happy to give any help I could, so he’s ringing his QC pal with our phone number. He should be contacting me tomorrow to give me more information.’
    â€˜Roll on tomorrow!’ said the scientist gaily. ‘This could be the start of something big, as they say in Hollywood! Getting the lawyers to put your name about will do us no harm at all. Tomorrow might be a memorable day, especially if the Scottish lady comes up trumps!’
    It was to be an eventful day, one way and another.
    Sian was in early and with Angela supervising, set about the barbiturate analysis. Though the scientist was primarily a biologist, an expert in blood, semen and anything botanical or zoological that had a forensic angle, she had been about the Metropolitan Police Laboratory for so many years that many of the other techniques had rubbed off on her. Sian had worked mainly in the clinical chemistry section of her hospital laboratory and had been studying for an external degree in biochemistry for the past year, going on half-day release to the Technical College, a practice which her new employers had willingly agreed to continue.
    While they worked away together, Richard had a call from John Christie to say that there were two more post-mortems waiting at the Chepstow mortuary, so by ten o’clock, he was down in the ancient town sited just above the point where the Wye emptied into the Severn.
    Though the mortuary was in yet another council yard, it was slightly more modern and a little larger, with a small office for the attendant partitioned off from the outer room. This worthy was a small man, with a very large, bald head and prominent projecting ears like jug handles. He advanced on Richard to solemnly shake hands, his almost childlike features wreathed in smiles.
    â€˜I’m Solomon Evans, doctor – everyone calls me Solly.’
    In spite of his smooth, guileless face, Richard thought he must have been about fifty, and it soon became apparent that he was a little backward, except when it came to collecting his tip for each post-mortem. John Christie, who had arrived before Richard, gave him a conspiratorial wink over Solly’s head.
    â€˜This chap does the best skull-sawing you ever came across, doctor,’ he said, which caused the little man to give a beaming smile.
    The two cases were already in the post-mortem room, which was a little more elaborate than Monmouth, with a long metal draining board attached to the sink and a proper wash-hand basin. There was even a small desk for writing notes and an electric heater fixed high on the wall.
    The coroner’s officer related the histories, one of which was a body recovered from the river, the other was another sudden collapse in the street. By the time Pryor had dealt with the examination of the bodily organs of the latter, Solly had opened the scalp and with a handsaw, meticulously removed the calvarium, the bowel-shaped top of the skull. This exposed the dura, the thick membrane over the brain.
    â€˜Never seen him accidentally cut through that, in all the times I’ve been here,’ said Christie, giving Pryor another wink.
    â€˜If I ever damage that, I’ll not take my tip from you, Doctor,’ promised the little man solemnly.
    The presumed drowning took longer to deal with, as the pathologist found no classical signs, which was not unusual, especially as from the state of the body, it must have been in the water for several days. However, there was no other obvious cause of death, but Pryor collected blood and urine samples, as well as some tissue blocks in small pots of formaldehyde, to take back to Garth House.
    The deceased had been identified as a fifty-year-old man from the town, last seen outside a public house on the previous Wednesday night, in an advanced state of inebriation.
    â€˜He was a well-known drunk, Doctor,’ said Christie.
    â€˜Been run over twice when