Free Something the Cat Dragged In by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

glow, knowing he hadn’t hauled his son so abruptly out of Embalming II in vain. Here, not in some stuffy classroom with an articulated plastic figure stretched out on the table, was the real nitty-gritty of undertaking. He could see the heir apparent to the Goulson dynasty gazing at him with reverence, seeing Dad as a true mover and shaker, a veritable Batman among morticians. And the boy, he thought indulgently, would be picturing himself as a valiant young Robin, and not so far out at that.
    “About that hole in the skull.” Dr. Melchett must have decided Shandy had been hogging the floor long enough. “Ottermole, you remember I said it was an unusual wound to have been made by a harrow peg.”
    There was in fact no reason why Ottermole should remember since Melchett hadn’t actually said so; but he’d been on the verge of thinking so. He avoided the chief’s eyes and cleared his throat.
    “I also remarked that the head of Ungley’s cane was surprisingly heavy and might be filled with lead. On reflection, I think we ought to get that cane tested for possible traces of human blood.”
    “I couldn’t agree with you more, Doctor,” Shandy replied, since he was already having it done anyway. “Why don’t we have the tests run in the college’s Chemistry Department so that if the finding is negative there won’t be any—er—”
    “Great idea,” Ottermole interrupted. “You go right ahead and do that, Professor. How soon can you get me a report?”
    “Quite soon, I should think. It’s a simple enough test.”
    “Good. We’ll handle this one ourselves. No calling in the state police, huh?”
    Ottermole’s tone was jocular, but his glare was baleful. Shandy looked at Svenson. Svenson looked at Melchett. Melchett looked at his watch and said he must get back to his patients. Goulson asked if they’d be wanting any more photographs of the deceased.
    “Why don’t you take one of Chief Ottermole with the corpse?” Shandy suggested to restore the atmosphere of bonhomie. “Covered, of course. I expect the Fane and Pennon will ask for it when he holds his press conference. Though that will have to wait on the results of our findings. There’s still plenty of time to catch next week’s edition,” he added when Ottermole’s face began to fall.
    Goulson was only too happy to oblige. He took one of President Svenson and Shandy with the corpse, the chief, and the boy for good measure, because this was a day he wanted his son to remember. When the film was all used up, they thanked him profusely, granted permission for him and the boy to start their customary duties to the deceased, and left.
    Once outside, Melchett immediately got into his car and sped officeward. Ottermole said briskly, “Well, I better get on with the investigation,” then sneaked a hopeful glance at Shandy, who nodded.
    “Strike while the iron’s hot. President Svenson and I were saying on the way down here that somebody ought to pay a call on Henry Hodger the lawyer. He’d be most apt to have Ungle’s will, if there is one. That might give us a lead.”
    “Worth trying,” Ottermole agreed. “I’ve been thinking about that, myself.”
    Which was a lie, or he’d already have been over to hound the lawyer, but Shandy didn’t mind about that. What counted was having Ottermole along. The chief’s presence might make Hodger less unwilling to disgorge any information he might have. They went.
    Hodger was in his office. In fact, he gave the impression of haying taken root to his desk chair. That wasn’t strange, considering how many years he must have spent sitting in it. He didn’t rise when they entered.
    “Figured you’d be around sooner or later, Ottermole. I know about Ungley, if that’s what you’re here to tell me.”
    He didn’t appear to notice either Shandy or the president, and overlooking Thorkjeld Svenson was quite a feat. Shandy became more interested in the lawyer than he’d expected to be, although Hodger was