The Grave Tattoo by Val McDermid Read Free Book Online Page B

unusual features–those tattoos are remarkable. I’m convinced we’re going to get some really fascinating stuff as we go along. This isn’t some drunken local who fell into a bog. This is something special. I think we could be talking the South Seas. Just think how much more interesting–and how much cheaper–it will be to shadow the course of a real forensic investigation rather than relying on reconstruction all the time.’ She squeezed as much reasonable persuasion into her voice as she could manage.
‘Dr Wilde, I agree that what you’re proposing would make gripping viewing. But there’s no way to short-circuit the commissioning process.’
River snorted. ‘What about those instant documentaries that get whipped out of the hat whenever there’s some major disaster or political scandal? You find a way of circumventing protocol then.’
Phil Toner sighed. ‘A body in a bog in the Lakes isn’t a matter of major national significance. Now, if you’d like to come in some time next week…’
‘Not good enough. Look, Phil, why don’t you go out on a limb and make the damn thing anyway? What’s the worst outcome? You end up with a riveting regional series that’s cost you next to nothing. And if it turns out as good as we both know it should, you can present the network with a great coup that cost peanuts. Come on, you know it makes sense.’ She sensed the hesitation on the other end of the line. ‘Phil, did I mention I’m bloody gorgeous? And that the camera loves me?’ she added, a bubble of laughter in her voice.
She was rewarded with a low rumble of mirth. ‘Not to mention that you’ve come up with a great title. Let me think about it,’ he finally said. ‘I’ll get back to you.’
‘When?’ River knew she had a reputation for bloody-mindedness; she preferred to think of it as tenacity.
‘Close of business today. I’ll have an answer for you.’
‘Thanks, Phil. I’ll look forward to your call.’ River put down the phone and punched the air. ‘Yes!’ She jumped to her feet and hurried out of the glorified cupboard the University of Northern England, in a rare display of wit, described as her office. Ten seconds later she was back through the door, grabbing a folder from her desk and almost running out again.
She found her head of department peering dubiously at a human jawbone. Donald Percival was a man given to doubt. He distrusted certainty unless it was backed up with impeccable scientific data. His small mouth was permanently pursed in disapproval and River would have been prepared to swear that every time she entered his presence, his knitted brows grew ever more tortured. When she bounced into the lab, his shoulders seemed to hunch protectively around his artefact and he made her wait impatiently for a full minute before he turned his watery blue gaze on her. ‘Good afternoon, Dr Wilde,’ he said.
‘Marvellous news, Professor,’ River said. ‘It looks as if I’ve got Northern TV on board to make a documentary of the investigation into the Fellhead cadaver. That means we’ll be able to go well beyond the basic work you’ve already granted me funding for.’
Percival frowned. ‘Television? Is that a good idea? Do we want the cameras looking over our shoulder as we work?’
River brushed the objection aside with a sweep of her hand. ‘They won’t get in the way.’
‘Is it sending the right message about this department to the wider world?’
‘I think it’s showing the wider world that we do this well. Which in turn means more outside projects coming to us, bringing money into the department,’ River said, shrewdly going for the Achilles heel of all contemporary academics. ‘More money means better equipment and more students,’ she added, never one to shrink from over-egging the pudding. ‘And as far as this project goes, it means we can afford full-body CAT scanning, stable isotope analysis, cemental annulation. The full bells and whistles. And we can get the