The Secret Life and Curious Death of Miss Jean Milne by Andrew Nicoll Read Free Book Online Page B

her arms up and twisted them to get her clothes off, and at every move her poor, blackened, battered head lolled and flopped about so she seemed to be looking for comfort in each of their faces in turn, but none of them would look at her.
    “Three knitted spencers.
    “A pair of corsets.
    “A linen chemise.
    “A flannelette chemise.
    “A blue serge skirt.”
    Dr Templeman’s assistant went down to her feet and hauled it off her.
    “A knitted petticoat.”
    They had to lift her up by the hips.
    “A pair of linen drawers.”
    She was as good as naked. Girlish. Like a young lassie.
    “A pair of stockings and a pair of garters.”
    The worst of it was done. Dr Templeman’s assistant stood with his notebook ready and the great man said: “Gentleman, the discolouration of the skin clearly shows that she has lain on her face since death. The bodily fluids sink downwards due to the effects of gravity, so the skin is pale and blanched on her back and it has taken on this bruised appearance on the front.”
    He lifted her arms, each in turn. “There are no visible cuts or wounds on the hands or forearms, no signs of a struggle or an attempt at self-defence.”
    The professor nodded. “I concur.” And then he lifted up a knife and he cut her throat. He cut her throat. He cut her throat and he pushed his fingers into the wound.
    “The hyoid bone is intact.”
    He took his fingers out of her throat and Dr Templeman opened the wound and put his fingers in.
    “I concur. That means, gentlemen, that this lady was not strangled. The hyoid bone is a small structure in the upper part of the throat. In the event of strangulation it is invariably broken.”
    The professor said: “I can see no possible advantage in examination of the internal organs.”
    Dr Templeman said: “I concur.” And then, as if to justify himself, he said: “There are no signs of any external injury other than the obvious blow to the head. She was not stabbed. Decomposition is advanced. The internal organs are unlikely to offer anything useful at this late stage.”
    The Procurator Fiscal plucked up the courage to stop sucking on his pipe for just long enough to ask: “How long, exactly?”
    “Hard to say,” said the professor: “Have you any idea when she was last seen?”
    “We have witness statements confirming that she was definitely alive on the 21st.”
    “Only eleven or twelve days. Not impossible.”
    “I concur.” said Dr Templeman. “Not impossible.”
    The Chief Constable said: “Dr Sturrock suggested she may have lain as long as three weeks.”
    “Out of the question,” they said together. “Oh, out of the question.”
    Dr Sturrock did not seem at all offended by that, but he took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed to the body with the stem of it, as he had with his silver pencil before, and he said: “Would you be good enough to examine the underside of the body?”
    “The underside?”
    “Aye. Her back.”
    Dr Templeman and the professor gave each other a look and, gripping the poor woman by the shoulder, they tipped her over a little, but before they could turn her, the body gave a gurgle and a belch that had everybody puffing hard on their tobacco again. “There are a few minor, post-mortem injuries on the lady’s back.”
    “Post-mortem?”
    “Yes, Doctor, definitely post-mortem. Minor scratches, no doubt caused during the transportation of the body from the scene.”
    “I concur,” said the professor.
    “I see. And those wounds on the breast. There. Yes. Those. Those two holes there.”
    “Maggots,” said the professor.
    “Undoubtedly,” said Dr Templeman. “The emergence of maggots. The all-conquering worm.”
    That gave me a shudder and then the Chief Constable leaned close and whispered in Dr Sturrock’s ear and the good doctor muttered: “You’re obsessed, man,” but then he said: “Is there any indication as to whether the deceased was criminally assaulted?”
    They leaned across her body, the two