Free Snow Storm by Robert Parker Page B

wondered if this display was
for the effect of warning off burglars. He half expected to see a
stuffed bear in full hind leg standing frontal assault. A testament
to the ‘bravery of Major Chumley-Something-Or-Other who’d shot the
bugger on the way back from doing something colonial.
    It was like the setting
for Cludeo. Only he didn’t think it was Professor Plumb in the
drawing room with the lead pipe on this occasion, more likely some
rocket with a Kalashnikov and most definitely in the hallway going
on the amount of airborne claret.
    He realised he’d never
seen anything like it, outside the realm of horror films and
possibly even then not so much. How could a human being even
contain that much blood?
    What looked to be some
serious money’s worth of artwork had been splattered with a
combination of different tissue types and some pricey looking china
had been shredded along with half the wood panelling that made up
the lower walls and the side of a grand staircase that you wouldn’t
want to walk on now for fear of getting some nasty looking skelves
through your best brogues.
    He presumed
the vase had once sat on top of the granite plinth that now rested
against the mashed remains of the space between the deceased’s
ears. A chandelier lay across his back, having plummeted from its
original mooring in the ceiling, probably after being cut out by a
hail of bullets, judging by the circle of tell-tale holes. He
wondered what all if this was worth, the usual trinkets the rich
liked to surround themselves with, a Rolex Oyster here, a Tiffany
lamp there. It all mounted up. There was no limit to what you could
spend if you wanted to. They said that lottery winners were
generally quite happy until they moved to a smarter area and then
resumed the game of keeping up with the Joneses, just at a higher
level.
    “ So did he
grab the plinth as he fell or do you think he had it pushed onto
his head after the fall?” he finally asked; as Dr Brown’s beefy
head moved around in shock, closely followed by his substantial
jowls.
    “ Jim, you
need to watch that,” he replied. “My ticker’s not what it was and
no offence but I don’t much fancy getting mouth to mouth from
you.”
    “ None taken,”
Burke laughed “And likewise if I’m honest. I’ve considered having
DNR tattooed on my forehead for that very reason.”
    “ You might
want to be careful though some of these places don’t have the best
record on infection control,” the doctor replied without a trace of
irony.
    “ Well, what
do you think did for this one?”
    “ Oh I’d say
Mr Kalashnikov,” Brown said, looking tired. “Either that or Mr
Uzi.”
    “ Was there a
Mr Uzi?”
    “ Haven’t the
foggiest.”
    “ Something to
google when I get home.”
    “ Indeed.”
    “ Anything
standing out?”
    “ Other than
the fact that our killer or indeed killers over egged the pudding
somewhat?” “Subtlety is a lost art.”
    “ It is. They
meant it though, that’s a certainty. You don’t manage to spray that
amount of lead about the place without having to stop to reload a
good few times.”
    “ Good
point.”
    “ And they
don’t seem to have been shy about finishing the job. I’d say they
knocked over the plinth. The cursory look I’ve been able to get at
what is left of his head indicates there isn’t much of a face left,
which seeing as the plinth as at the rear of the skull indicates it
has been rather shot up.”
    “ So he
wouldn’t have been able to grab it, that being the
case?”
    “ Well there
is always the possibility. That’s why some marksmen, notably the
SAS have a tendency to go for the mouth shot. Obviously part
bravado, partly the fact it encumbers the primitive part of the
brain and stops any twitching movements, shooting the hostage in
the head as you laugh your last, that sort of thing. I’d say our
boy here was a bit past trying to balance on a plinth though. We’re
dusting the whole place for prints, naturally.”
    Burke