Free Death in Holy Orders by P. D. James Page A

that at once. But it didn’t need a doctor to tell you he was gone. Dead about five to six hours, Doc Mallinson thought. Of course, he was still pretty well buried when we got there. Mr. Gregory and Mrs. Munroe had uncovered most of the body and the top of his head, but his face and arms weren’t visible. Father Sebastian and Father Martin stayed at the scene. There was nothing either of them could do, but Father Sebastian insisted on staying until we’d uncovered the body. I think he was wanting to pray. So we dug the poor lad out, turned him over, got him on a stretcher, and Doc Mallinson had a closer look at him. Not that there was anything really to see. He was caked with sand and he was dead. That was about it.”
    “Were there any visible injuries?”
    “Not that we could see, Mr. Dalgliesh. Of course, when you are called to an accident like that you always wonder a bit, don’t you? Stands to reason. But Doc Mallinson could find no signs of violence, no crack in the back of his head or anything like that. Of course, there was no knowing what Doc Scargill might find at the PM. He’s our regional forensic pathologist. Doc Mallinson said he couldn’t do any more except assess the time of death and we’d have to wait for the autopsy. Not that we thought there was anything suspicious about the death, mind you. Seemed plain enough at the time. He was burrowing about in the cliff too close to the overhanging ledge and it came down on him. That’s what it looked like and that’s what they found at the inquest.”
    “So didn’t anything strike you as strange or suspicious?”
    “Well, strange more than suspicious. It was a funny position he was in—head down, like a rabbit or a dog burrowing into the cliff.”
    “And nothing was found close to the body?”
    “There were his clothes, his brown cloak and a long black garment with buttons—a cassock, isn’t it? Very neat, they were.”
    “Nothing that could have been a weapon?”
    “Well, only a spar of wood. We dug it out when we were uncovering him. It was lying pretty close to his right hand. I thought we’d better bring it back to the station with us in case it was important, but not much notice was taken. I’ve got it here, though, if you’d like to see it, sir. I can’t think why it wasn’t thrown away after the inquest. We got nothing from it, no prints, no blood.”
    He went to a cupboard at the end of the room and drew out an object wrapped in plastic. It was a spar of pale wood about two and a half feet long. Examining it closer, Dalgliesh could see traces of what looked like blue paint.
    Sergeant Jones said, “It’s not been in the water, sir, not to my eyes. He may have found it on the sand and picked it up, not meaning anything in particular. It’s a kind of instinct, picking things up on the beach. Father Sebastian suggested that it came from an old bathing hut the college had demolished just above the steps to the beach. Apparently Father Sebastian thought the old blue-and-white one was a bit of an eyesore and something simple in plain wood would be better. So that’s what they did. It’s used as well to house the rigid inflatable they keep in case swimmers get into difficulties. The old hut was beginning to break up anyway. But not all of it had been taken away and there were still a few rotting planks piled there. They’ve all gone now, I dare say.”
    “What about footprints?”
    “Well, they’re the first thing you look for. The boy’s were covered by the fall of sand, but we did find a single broken line further up the beach. They were his all right, we had his shoes, see. But he walked along the shingle most of the way and so could anyone have done. The sand was well scuffled at the scene. You’d expect that with Mrs. Munroe and Mr. Gregory and the two priestly gentlemen not worrying where they put their feet.”
    “Were you yourself surprised at the verdict?”
    “Well, I must say I was. An open verdict would have seemed