Dead in the Water by Aline Templeton Read Free Book Online Page B

even so, she sensed it hadn’t been a meticulous process – something to check with Bailey. A pre-death injury to the back of the skull from contact with a stone was recorded, but with no indication of size or shape. Lungs: no water present, again baldly presented, but Fleming knew this didn’t necessarily indicate murder. In a substantial minority of cases the shock contact with water produced vagal inhibition and stopped the heart.
    It was only when she reached ‘External Signs: Marks of friction on both wrists indicative of rope burn’ that she understood. Ailsa’s hands had been tied together; she had struggled, and ultimately the ligature, perhaps loosened too by the waves, had fallen off. A horrid picture came to Fleming’s mind: the raging storm, the figure falling from the cliff into the boiling sea below, screaming, perhaps, as she fought to free herself. As if that would have made any difference! Poor, poor Ailsa.
    There had been no recent intercourse and the presence of the foetus, approximately twenty-eight weeks, had been recorded, but this was pre-DNA. Was there the smallest chance that somewhere in a path lab samples still existed? And if they had, where were they to look? The local hospital, with its mortuary, had closed long ago. She glanced at the catalogue, but there was no mention of it.
    As she turned to fetch the next set of reports, Fleming suddenly caught sight of the time. Ten to one! She was due at her mother’s for Sunday lunch. Where on earth had the morning gone?
    The compelling narrative of the crime had caught her imagination and now she was reluctant to leave. She shuffled the papers she had been working with into a rough pile to one side of her desk – never exactly tidy anyway – and hurried out.
     
    Jaki Johnston sat gloomily in the chair nearest the fire, swilling round ice in her third vodka and tonic. The only person who’d paid any attention to her was Diane’s husband Gavin – like she wanted him to! Loose, damp mouth – yuk! – and a blotchy complexion, from the drink, probably; he downed whiskies like alcopops. He was a right letch too, sitting beside her, pawing her arm when he brought her a drink. Then he’d started on suggestive remarks, until he said, ‘We’ll have to get you over to Miramar for a bit of fun – we could mix it up together, you and me, couldn’t we?’ and she’d given him a look of such obvious horror that he flushed, turned away and was now, thankfully, ignoring her.
    All the attention was focused on Sylvia. Somehow she attracted it without doing anything, just sitting there in silver-grey cashmere which screamed not only money but class. Diane was pretty much drooling over her and Marcus was watching her with soppy affection. She was on about her Hollywood days and admittedly she was being very funny.
    ‘And darling Michael was so pleased with this new fact he’d dug out from somewhere that no one liked to tell him that really quite a lot of people did know it, actually!’
    Her stories all showed signs of having been told before, but Sylvia had worked them up well and Marcus seemed happy to hear them again, even encouraging her indulgently to tell some she hadn’t thought of.
    Jaki could tell funny stories too about socializing with her chums, but it wasn’t quite the same as when the chums’ names were Michael, as in Caine, and Frank, as in Sinatra, and a score of others. They were all old now or dead, but even Jaki had heard of them.
    It had been a totally crap weekend. She’d been bored, cold, and permanently slightly hungry, since Marcus hadn’t a clue about catering and there wasn’t a takeaway within miles. She’d have sold her grandmother for a curry right now.
    The only entertainment offered was walking – she didn’t have the shoes for it, or the inclination – and this afternoon as a special treat they’d all driven to see the lighthouse on the Mull of Galloway. OK, it was dramatic, and Sylvia was in ecstasies, but it