Blood on the Bones by Geraldine Evans Read Free Book Online Page A

unlocked and settled themselves in the next-door office, he said, 'I don't suppose this place runs to a photocopier, so just jot down the salient details: Date and place of birth, religious name and previous name and last family address. We should, from that, be able to track down anyone we might need to speak to.'
    Llewellyn interrupted to correct another assumption. ‘Actually, I think you'll find you're behind the times when it comes to the religious life. The sisters have embraced modern technology. They have a photo copier and a fax machine in their general office. According to Constable Green, they even have their own website. But,’ Llewellyn picked up his pen and began to note down the information from the files. ‘I don't suppose it would be right for us to presume to help ourselves to the sisters’ paper and equipment.’
    This was a sentiment with which Rafferty was in wholehearted agreement; not being willing for the Catholic Church to think his embrace of their equipment meant he was ready or willing to embrace anything else.
    They had barely made a start, when the head of Constable Timothy Smales appeared round the door, with the information that Dr Dally was ready to leave.
    Rafferty, rather than leave the confidential files lying about when the spare keys were missing, stashed his files under one arm.
    Llewellyn did the same with his own pile, and they both followed the young constable out of the room.
    Dr Sam Dally, who normally never rushed anywhere, for whatever reason now chose to champ at the bit.
    ‘About time,’ he complained when Rafferty and Llewellyn reappeared. ‘I can't hang around here all evening, you know. I do have other bodies urgently awaiting my expertise.’
    It crossed Rafferty's mind to wonder if he wasn't the only one to be spooked by nuns and religion. Maybe Sam also felt uncomfortable around them and their medieval robes. It was a pleasing thought.
    ‘Keep your hair on, Sam,’ he advised the balding doctor. ‘I don't suppose your bodies are going anywhere. Much like mine and Llewellyn's here.’ He paused, then enquired, ‘So, what's the verdict?’
    Sam nodded down at the body, now fully disinterred and lying in an open body bag, preparatory to being removed to the mortuary. 'My early inclination, given the normal cycle of insect infestation and the clemency of the recent weather, is that chummy here, has been dead for a period of between six and eight weeks. I imagine the forensic entomologist's input will confirm that and should be able to more accurately tell you the likely timescale. And as to the cause of death, I would think that even you, Rafferty, can surely not have failed to notice the fact that his skull has a large dent in it.'
    Funny man.
    Sam picked up his bag. ‘Obviously, until we get him and his little creeping creatures back to either the morgue or the lab, there's little else I can tell you, so I'll bid you good day.’
    Rafferty held up a detaining hand. ‘Before you go, Sam. Can I take it that one of the bodies you'll be giving your expert attention to later on this evening will be ‘chummy', here?’
    ‘Certainly.’
    Rafferty was taken aback by Dally's unusual, ready agreement to be accommodating. He had taken Sam's eagerness to get away as a pointer that he shared the aversion to nuns. But now, as the doctor's next remarks revealed his true feelings, Rafferty realised how wrong his conclusion had been.
    ‘I don't want to make this case any more difficult for you than it's likely to prove to be, Rafferty,’ was Sam's unusually thoughtful-sounding explanation for his obliging behaviour.
    Rafferty's gaze narrowed. Sam's ready accommodation told him that, far from empathising with him and wanting to be helpful, the pathologist was preparing to bait him. And so it proved.
    Sam gave him a huge smile, shook his head, and muttered, ‘Nuns! Better not keep them waiting, Rafferty. If you do, you might find that God gives you an even greater penance to