were walking home from school, the three of them, and a car going past them hit a pheasant. The poor beast was flapping around, and Robin – they were all about ten at the time – picked it up and broke its neck, just like that.’
‘Anyone would do the same,’ said Slider, who was a country boy himself.
‘I’m from Dublin,’ said Connolly. ‘I’d have taken it to the vet.’
SIX
Route of all Evil
F reddie Cameron rang last thing. ‘To let you know I’ve taken the fingerprints and I’m sending them over to you. Just in case there’s any doubt about the corpse being the corpse.’
‘We’re sure it is, but thanks anyway.’
‘A little surer never hurts,’ Freddie said. ‘There are no scars or interesting marks on the body, and I’m afraid there’s nothing of the face left. Hardly any of the teeth, either, just a couple of molars – not enough to match for dental work. Not sure really how you would make formal identification.’
‘From what we know about him so far, there may be several young ladies who could recognize one part of him.’
‘Hmm. Identification per pinem . Wonder how that would go down in the coroner’s court.’
Slider winced. ‘Unfortunate choice of word in the circumstances – “go down”.’
‘You’re obviously feeling frisky, old chum. Case going well?’
‘As smoothly as a hippo through a hand-operated mangle.’
‘Ah. Situation normal, then. I take it you’re not worried about tox screens and other such arcana?’
‘At the moment I’m working on the premise that it was the gunshot that killed him.’
‘It didn’t do him any good, that’s for sure. Well, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.’
‘Doctor to doctor, you could tell me where he was working, if you wouldn’t mind. He’s not on any GP register. The witness said he worked at a hospital in Stansted but there’s no such place. And his salary seems to have come from something called Windhover, which we can’t identify so far. Ever heard of it?’
‘Windhover? Nope. Though there is something faintly familiar about the name David Rogers, which I haven’t been able to pin down in the old cerebellum.’
‘You think you’ve heard of him before?’
‘Could be. On the other hand, it’s a very ordinary name, isn’t it? There could be any number of David Rogerses. Or Roger Davises. Roger Davidson,’ he tried out, speculatively. ‘David Rogerson. Rabid Dodgerson. It could be anything, really. Or I could have dreamt it.’
‘Thanks, Freddie,’ Slider said warmly. ‘I knew I could count on you.’
Porson came to the meeting the next afternoon, carrying a mug of tea on top of which was balanced a plate bearing a Chelsea bun. The troops parted deferentially for him, but he eased his way to the back of the room and perched on a desk. ‘Carry on,’ he said. ‘I’m not here. I’m a fly on the wheel.’
Slider nodded to Hollis, who went through the basic facts of the case so far: the shout, Catriona Aude, the Firmans, the school’s CCTV, the gun’s provenance. Then Slider took over.
‘We’re assuming, for working purposes, that deceased was in fact David Rogers and that death was in fact caused by the single gunshot at close range to the back of the skull. There’s no reason at the moment to doubt either of these basics, so let’s not complicate an already difficult case. Swilley, what did you find out about Aude and her flatmates?’
‘Nothing suspicious, guv,’ Swilley said. ‘She shares a flat with two blokes and another female. She pays the least and gets the smallest room, and it’s a bit of a pit: clothes, make-up, sounds, magazines – never seen so much shite. She wouldn’t want a cleaner, she’d want a curator. But there’s nothing sinister in there. The flatmates seem decent, normal types. They’ve all got steady jobs, no big debts, no big spending habits. No obvious drug use. The four of them do the usual things – go to pubs, go clubbing,
‘Anyone would do the same,’ said Slider, who was a country boy himself.
‘I’m from Dublin,’ said Connolly. ‘I’d have taken it to the vet.’
SIX
Route of all Evil
F reddie Cameron rang last thing. ‘To let you know I’ve taken the fingerprints and I’m sending them over to you. Just in case there’s any doubt about the corpse being the corpse.’
‘We’re sure it is, but thanks anyway.’
‘A little surer never hurts,’ Freddie said. ‘There are no scars or interesting marks on the body, and I’m afraid there’s nothing of the face left. Hardly any of the teeth, either, just a couple of molars – not enough to match for dental work. Not sure really how you would make formal identification.’
‘From what we know about him so far, there may be several young ladies who could recognize one part of him.’
‘Hmm. Identification per pinem . Wonder how that would go down in the coroner’s court.’
Slider winced. ‘Unfortunate choice of word in the circumstances – “go down”.’
‘You’re obviously feeling frisky, old chum. Case going well?’
‘As smoothly as a hippo through a hand-operated mangle.’
‘Ah. Situation normal, then. I take it you’re not worried about tox screens and other such arcana?’
‘At the moment I’m working on the premise that it was the gunshot that killed him.’
‘It didn’t do him any good, that’s for sure. Well, let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.’
‘Doctor to doctor, you could tell me where he was working, if you wouldn’t mind. He’s not on any GP register. The witness said he worked at a hospital in Stansted but there’s no such place. And his salary seems to have come from something called Windhover, which we can’t identify so far. Ever heard of it?’
‘Windhover? Nope. Though there is something faintly familiar about the name David Rogers, which I haven’t been able to pin down in the old cerebellum.’
‘You think you’ve heard of him before?’
‘Could be. On the other hand, it’s a very ordinary name, isn’t it? There could be any number of David Rogerses. Or Roger Davises. Roger Davidson,’ he tried out, speculatively. ‘David Rogerson. Rabid Dodgerson. It could be anything, really. Or I could have dreamt it.’
‘Thanks, Freddie,’ Slider said warmly. ‘I knew I could count on you.’
Porson came to the meeting the next afternoon, carrying a mug of tea on top of which was balanced a plate bearing a Chelsea bun. The troops parted deferentially for him, but he eased his way to the back of the room and perched on a desk. ‘Carry on,’ he said. ‘I’m not here. I’m a fly on the wheel.’
Slider nodded to Hollis, who went through the basic facts of the case so far: the shout, Catriona Aude, the Firmans, the school’s CCTV, the gun’s provenance. Then Slider took over.
‘We’re assuming, for working purposes, that deceased was in fact David Rogers and that death was in fact caused by the single gunshot at close range to the back of the skull. There’s no reason at the moment to doubt either of these basics, so let’s not complicate an already difficult case. Swilley, what did you find out about Aude and her flatmates?’
‘Nothing suspicious, guv,’ Swilley said. ‘She shares a flat with two blokes and another female. She pays the least and gets the smallest room, and it’s a bit of a pit: clothes, make-up, sounds, magazines – never seen so much shite. She wouldn’t want a cleaner, she’d want a curator. But there’s nothing sinister in there. The flatmates seem decent, normal types. They’ve all got steady jobs, no big debts, no big spending habits. No obvious drug use. The four of them do the usual things – go to pubs, go clubbing,
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