Read Grave Stones for Free Online Page B

propped up against the stones, almost tucked beneath them. His chin had dropped forward onto his chest, presenting the back of his head, and his legs were stretched out in front of him. Korpanski could see only too clearly the terrible damage done to the back of the skull and took in, within seconds, the entire bloody scene around him: the copestone, lying innocently nearby in the mud; the wall spattered with blood, hair and a nasty, dried-up jelly-like substance that he took to be brain tissue. And Mrs Weston was right. The fingers had been nibbled, probably by rats. He spoke over his shoulder to Alan King. ‘You’re going to have to summon a full forensic team,’ he said. ‘It’s either one hell of a coincidencethat the stone fell on the exact spot where unlucky old farmer Grimshaw decided to have a picnic or else the poor guy’s been bashed over the head and we’ve got ourselves a murder scene. Either way we’ll need the police surgeon and some shelter.’ He backed away from the wall. ‘A couple of uniformed had better start house-to -house and interview anyone who’s at home this side of the road. Leave the other side till later. And try and contact the daughter for identification, will you?’ They walked together back up the path, nodding to Dawn Critchlow as they passed her, supporting the stricken woman. ‘We’d better make our access route up the farm track. That’ll leave this area relatively clear.’
     
    Within an hour the farm was sealed off, as were the back gardens of the houses that backed onto the farm. A team of officers was interviewing all the inhabitants in the odd numbers of Prospect Farm Estate and Doctor Jordan Cray, Matthew Levin’s locum, was examining the body.
    ‘Can you say how long he’s been dead?’ Korpanski asked hopefully.
    Cray turned to face him. ‘Somewhere around a week,’ he said. ‘There’s been quite a bit of rodent and insect activity. It might be worth summoning a forensic entomologist. Do you know when he was last seen alive? Family?’
    Korpanski shook his head. ‘There’s a daughter,’ he said. ‘I think she’s now a nurse somewhere in Stoke. They’re trying to locate her.’ He was practically hoppingfrom one foot to the other. ‘But I don’t think they were close. There was a wife but no sign of her for a number of years. Can you tell whether it was homicide or accident?’
    Both Cray and Korpanski looked at the copestone. ‘Almost certainly the ultimate cause of death was multiple skull fractures due to this stone coming into contact with the poor man’s head, which I suppose in a very unlucky life could conceivably be an accident. But,’ he said, picking up one of the dead man’s bagged hands, ‘there are defensive injuries. And more than one blow. The poor guy was trying to protect himself from an assailant. He was felled and probably slumped against the wall. Then our killer probably dislodged that thing from behind, delivering the fatal injury.’
    Korpanski nodded and looked around him.
    As a crime scene it was a nightmare. Soft mud left impressions – until the rains came again and again and washed them all away. There were even animal footprints. Little paws, bigger ones. They had sniffed, licked, nibbled and walked away into the night, having sullied his crime scene.
    ‘Sir.’
    He jerked in response to the urgency in DC King’s tone, following the detective’s tread with a feeling of foreboding.
    The body of a black and white Welsh Border collie was stretched out on the concrete area near the front door of the farmhouse. The dog lay rigid, a feeding bowl just within reach of the chain that fastened himto the wall via a ring on his collar. Korpanski wasn’t a great dog lover. As a uniformed policeman on the beat he’d been bitten too many times to feel much affection for the animal. But he did love Border collies. Partly because his grandmother had owned one and partly because he saw the breed as the equivalent of policemen.