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about Mary’s good breeding and the usual tosh about how he’d corrupted her. Usually he just shrugged off the views of people he considered idiots, but there was a faintly sleazy tone beneath Brazier’s drunken reproach, as he talked about that lovely girl and how wasted she’d been on an oaf like him, that gave him the mounting urge to plant one right between Brazier’s shifty eyes.
    ‘… And then she started drinking – which, as anyone knows …’
    That was it. Frost grabbed Brazier by the cravat and pulled down the leering face so he was level with it, and then headbutted him for all he was worth. Blood spurted from Brazier’s smashed nose and he staggered back against the hall table, knocking over some poncey china clown figurine which smashed on the floor. Frost felt concussed from the blow and was sure he was going to topple over. But just then he felt a firm grip on his shoulder and a calm voice saying, ‘Hey, Jack.’
    Frost looked up into the concerned eyes of DS John Waters.
    ‘John. Nice of you to pop by.’
    ‘Time to go, Jack.’
    ‘Probably should, eh?’ He smiled.
    ‘It’s highly likely they’re from the same body, and blood tests will corroborate this, though not prove it one hundred per cent.’ Drysdale continued: ‘They are, I think we can all agree, both from a male.’
    Simms regarded the pale hairy foot in the tray before him, and beside it the upturned hand, which was large and thick-set. Both articles he was having difficulty registering as real body parts; they looked more like props from The Addams Family .
    ‘We can also observe that the method of severing is consistent,’ said Drysdale.
    ‘The fingers look broken,’ Clarke mused. Drysdale nodded enthusiastically. Simms was put out – why the hell couldn’t he notice things like that?
    ‘Yes, quite! Now look at this,’ Drysdale added. ‘See the toenails – manicured, clean. And the palm of the hand, soft, indicating no manual work. Someone with a comfortable life, perhaps?’
    ‘I see,’ responded Simms, racking his brain for something useful to say. ‘Skin must tell you something, about age?’ he offered doubtfully.
    ‘Yes. Texture is a good indication.’ The pathologist stroked the severed limb, almost affectionately. ‘I would hazard that the victim is under thirty. There’s a powdery residue underneath the fingernails – I will need to run some tests …’
    ‘Any idea how long these have been lying there?’
    ‘A matter of days at most. The cold weather would slow the decomposition, but as the detective rightly mentioned, they couldn’t have been there very long as the birds would’ve had them. I shall be in touch with Forensics.’ The pathologist looked quite excited; unusual for him, thought Simms.
    ‘Thanks for coming, Sue,’ Simms said quietly, holding open the door. The showers had ceased and the sun hung low above the pine trees that bordered the lab grounds. Simms had always found the tranquil, picture-postcard setting of the County lab to be at odds with the morbid secrets it held inside.
    ‘No, not at all – I screwed up. I should have cordoned off the field when the foot appeared, I know that.’ She smiled tiredly. ‘Thanks for not making a meal of it – Mullett would have gone ballistic. Him and his procedure …’
    ‘He need never know,’ Simms reassured her, pulling out his cigarettes.
    ‘Not for me, thanks.’
    ‘Given up?’ He flicked the Zippo top up, lighting one.
    ‘Yep, sort of …’
    ‘Lots are. At seventy pence a packet, no wonder …’ He sensed something awkward in her manner. ‘Right, I’ll drop you off, you look beat.’
    ‘What about you?’
    ‘I’ll head back to the station, see if the SOCOs have turned up anything interesting from the Coconut Grove, then wait for Harry to come round.’
    ‘You want that case badly, don’t you, Derek? I know they’re all out and it seems like your chance – but don’t get too excited; once Frost is back in the land