The Skeleton Man

‘Yup. She’d changed her will to cut out Matthew from inheriting half the estate, but there was a small bequest which was never claimed. Mark says that his brother phoned soon after the death and was devastated to find he’d missed the funeral. Why hadn’t they called? A good question, to which they don’t have much of an answer. Anyway, Mark says his brother’s view was that if they really wanted him out of their lives he’d oblige. They’d never see him again, and if they were that ashamed of him he’d change his name. A convenient detail, which doesn’t mean it’s not true, although there’s no official record of a change of name by deed poll.’

Dryden thought about the Skeleton Man, turning slowly on the rusted hook. ‘But Mark couldn’t have done it alone – strung him up like that. And it would mean the sister was in it too – or at least in covering up. If the victim was conscious he’d have kicked out, the hands were only loosely tied so he could have done some damage with his arms as well. There’s no way one man could get him up onto that stool unless he went willingly, and I don’t think that’s likely, do you?’

Shaw nodded. ‘If it is murder, it’s a lynch mob.’

Dryden had thought of that but it was the first time anyone had said it out loud. It was an ugly term, even uglier than the thought of the yellow bones hanging silently in the cellar for seventeen years.

‘Mark Smith has given us a DNA sample to crosscheck with the skeleton. We’ll know in two to three days if there’s a family link. I have to say he looks pretty relaxed about that, but you never know.’

The detective smoothed out the plan of the cellar. ‘Which brings us back to the forensics. We needed the best examination possible of the cellar floor – the best in the circumstances, given the time limits – and luckily the animal rights SOCO team is first class, so when they’d finished with Peyton’s tomb they did some overtime for us.

‘One of the problems here is that with over a decade separating us and the crime in question any successful prosecution will demand material evidence that puts our villain, or villains, in the cellar. The problem is contamination of the scene. Half the British army had been through it by the time we got here, led by Major Broderick himself. In fact if someone had set out to contaminate a crime scene they couldn’t have done it better. Size 12 boots everywhere. Then there was the water from the hoses they used to put the fires out. We put in some hot-air blowers but it took us twenty-four hours to dry the place out. Then they combed it, every centimetre, starting here at the foot of the stairs and working outwards. We’re nearly done now.’

‘And?’

‘These,’ said Shaw, unlocking a small cash box. He took out a plastic envelope with three or four pieces of gravel inside. ‘Shropshire pea,’ he said. ‘Ornamental gravel. Looks like it fell out of the tread of someone’s shoes. We’ve checked the squaddies’ boots – nothing.’

‘So, is there a match in the village?’

‘Several. But it’s not a standard gravel size. It’s much smaller than the commercial brands we’ve located so far. So we’re having samples from the village analysed upstairs. We might get a match, who knows.’

Dryden held the small packet as if it might bite. ‘Where’d you get the degree in forensics then?’

Shaw looked at the gravel in the bag. ‘Cambridge.’

‘Couldn’t you get in anywhere else?’

Shaw laughed.

‘So what else did you find?’

The next packet held three cigarette ends, reduced to shreds barely held together by thin cylinders of paper. ‘Standard brands. All date to mid to late eighties, early nineties – except for one, a single Ducados stub. Common Spanish brand – we’re having the company take a look in case there’s something – anything – unusual.’

‘Spanish?’

‘Yes. But we’re not that excited. It’s the kind of brand holidaymakers used to pick up through duty free. There’s no genetic material on any of these stubs – the soaking didn’t help – but I’d be delighted if you forgot to mention that in your story. The Ducados is significant in a way, but I’ll get to that later.’

Dryden wondered if Shaw realized the depth of the parochialism of the Fens. A Spanish cigarette was about as exotic as a snow leopard.

Shaw shook another evidence bag. ‘There was one crisp new Marlboro dog-end, but Major Broderick informs me one of his men is on a charge as a result. Got bored on guard duty, apparently.’

Putting it aside he brought out a fourth envelope. ‘There was this,’ said Shaw. It held a small curl of plastic, a bit like one half of a DNA helix. ‘Fibreglass shaving, machine tooled.’

They both shrugged, but Dryden suspected Shaw was holding back, giving him just enough for a decent story which would unnerve the culprit, or culprits, if they were still alive, and still local. He noted that he hadn’t mentioned any progress on the surgical gauze found under the victim’s sleeve.

Dryden peered at the helix through the evidence bag. ‘It could be good,’ he said.