The Borgia Ring by Michael White Read Free Book Online Page B

from his higher-ups?
    There were two cars parked close to the doors to the path lab, both jalopies, a rusty Nissan and an ancient Ford Capri with leopardskin seat covers and furry dice dangling from the rear-view mirror.
    ‘Classy,’ Pendragon murmured to himself as he strode towards the entrance.
    It was refreshingly cool inside, but the stink of the place was all-pervading. He was about to enter the suite of rooms that constituted Jones’s domain when a door swung towards him. It was held open by the pathologist. There was a group of half a dozen people coming along the passageway. Amal Karim’s family here to identify the body, Pendragon guessed. An elderly woman and a young man led the way followed by younger visitors, siblings or close relatives of the dead man, perhaps. The old woman was wearing a dark silk sari; her face was moist with tears. A young man in a cheap brown suit was supporting her with one arm around her shoulders. His own eyes were filled to brimming. Pendragon watched the group leave the building.
    Jones tapped him on the shoulder and nodded towards his lab. ‘Always the worst part of the job,’ he said. ‘The dead are dead, but the relatives … Anyway, I suppose you’ve come about the bone.’
    ‘Bit optimistic, I know.’
    ‘Too bloody right … What do you expect?’
    ‘Anything. Hunches?’
    ‘DCI Pendragon, I’ve had a corpse to deal with, and the corpse’s family … and it’s still only frigging …’ he looked at his watch ‘… twelve-forty and I’m starving!’ He looked down at the ground sheepishly then at Pendragon. ‘It’s old – extremely old. The very lovely Dr Newman is right, it’s a metatarsal, fifth finger of the right hand, the little finger. You can tell by the size and curvature of the bone. It’s been freshly separated from the other bones of the same finger. You can see that from patches of discoloration to either end of the bone.’
    ‘Makes sense.’
    ‘How so?’
    ‘A few hours before this bone was found, an entire human skeleton lay in the same spot at the bottom of a dirty great hole on a construction site. The skeleton went walkies sometime last night. But whoever performed the disappearing act was obviously a little careless.’
     
    Back at the station, the afternoon was allocated to a succession of interviews. First on the list was Terry Disher, the man who had unearthed the skeleton the previous afternoon.
    ‘Am I a suspect?’ he asked as soon as he sat down opposite Pendragon. They were at a steel table in Interview Room 2. He had declined the offer of tea. Pendragon had a cup in front of him, and took a sip before responding.
    ‘Just routine, Mr Disher. This is a murder inquiry.’
    ‘Do I need a solicitor?’
    ‘No. But if you feel …’
    The builder was shaking his head. He was a big man, at least six foot four and two hundred and fifty pounds. Notmuch fat on him. He had whitish-blond hair and intense blue eyes. Pendragon had read the report on him. Disher was twenty-six. Went to school in Bromley. Worked abroad on construction sites in Germany for a few years then came back to London. Married a year ago, one son. He lived on the local estate.
    ‘All right. Fire away,’ he said. ‘Dunno if I can help, but I’d like to see the bastard who did it put behind bars.’
    ‘You were a friend of Mr Karim’s?’
    He reflected for a moment. ‘Yes and no. As much as anyone could be, I guess. He kept himself to himself. That lot all do.’
    ‘“That lot” meaning the Indian workmen?’
    ‘All the ethnics. The East Europeans, the black guys. There’s not a lot of … what do they call it now? … multi-culturalism in the building trade.’
    Pendragon produced a half-smile. ‘No, I don’t imagine there is.’ He took another sip of tea. ‘Do you know if Mr Karim had any enemies? Did anyone in the company dislike the man?’
    Disher shrugged. ‘As I said, he kept himself to himself. I don’t think he had any friends or