Body language was a study Dryden enjoyed. At the moment Stubbs’s was all wrong. He leaned forward in his chair, hands together, attentive. He wanted something, and it made Dryden wary.
He also seemed unable to begin the conversation. Dryden decided to get what he could as quickly as he could. ‘So. Our man in the car – details?’
‘Prelim, autopsy results show time of death to be around twenty-four hours before the body was hauled out of the Lark, an entry bullet wound at the back of the skull and an exit through the mouth. That’s where all the blood came from. None of this came out at the press conference by the way – you didn’t miss a thing.’
‘Bullet wound?’
‘Yup. The traumatic injuries to the neck came after death. There are some threads of heavy rope – similar to that used to attach the iron pulley to one of the ankles. Doc thinks the body was hanged after death, causing the rupture of the neck muscles and the snapped spine at the base of the skull.’
‘But otherwise he was perfectly healthy?’
Their laughter rebounded off the white tiled walls. It was easy to be cynical about the dead. Stubbs showed tiredness for the first time. He closed his eyes and rested his head back over the chair. Above him the sickly reflections of the pool weaved themselves across the ceiling like a slow-motion disco.
‘Yup. A picture of health if he wasn’t on a mortuary slab. In his fifties. Naturally tanned skin, well-developed muscles and tendons, lean torso. Liver clean as a whistle, no sign of cigarettes. Exceptional lung capacity in fact. His skin suggests an outdoor job. Good quality blue overalls, woollen socks. One oddity.’
Dryden tried not to look interested. He already had enough for a decent story and the words ‘off the record’ didn’t mean he couldn’t use the information. He’d just leave Stubbs’s name out of the paper.
‘Despite the clean liver a high level of alcohol in the blood.’
‘So the killer got him blitzed first – anything else in the blood?’
Stubbs gave the reporter a look which just might have been admiration. ‘Sedative. Pretty massive dose apparently.’
‘Tricky slipping a Mickey Finn to a complete stranger – suggests he knew him well?’
‘Suggests,’ agreed Stubbs, adjusting the strangulated tie.
‘The ropes?’
Stubbs was reddening slightly at the cross-examination. Not so much at the implied insubordination as its expertise.
‘Best lead we’ve got. Cut roughly after death with a knife. The pathologist reckons he must have dropped at least thirty feet to produce the neck injuries. In which case there’s a long cast-off lying around somewhere. Two short lengths were cut to fasten the pulley to his foot.’
Dryden cast around for a line: ship’s ropes, haulage ropes, bell ropes, tug-of-war?
‘Odd chemical traces on the ropes: chlorine and machine oil mainly. Lab at Cherry Hinton is doing a full set of tests now.’
Dryden breathed in the vapours of the swimming pool: ozone, no hint of chlorine.
Stubbs tried to read Dryden’s face and failed. The medieval features were blank.
‘What about the hands on the victim – prints?’
‘Checking. Anyway, the killer appears to have made at least one mistake. On October 31st, the day before the victim was found, the blue Nissan Spectre was involved in a road traffic accident on the Littleport by-pass. Just after 10 p.m. There was a shunt at the roundabout and he got whacked in the boot by the driver behind.’
‘Hell. Do you think he had the body in the back?’
Stubbs ignored the question. He unwrapped some spearmint gum and began to chew audibly.
Dryden cracked his fingers one by one. If they were going to play irritating noises he’d win.
‘Driver behind reported it because our man in the Nissan Spectre wouldn’t give his name – instead he offered the bloke £50 cash to get lost and save his no-claims bonus. He thought the damage would cost more than that to repair. Chummy drives off but our man gets the registration number.’
‘And a description of the driver?’
‘You’d have thought so, wouldn’t you?’ Stubbs stretched his legs. He looked tired and worried: the prospect of the approaching police tribunal seemed to be giving him sleepless nights. Dryden felt better. ‘The witness is a teacher from one of the secondary schools in town. Intelligent bloke, mid-thirties, all his faculties. But about as observant as this plastic cup.’
‘Anything?’
‘The suspect wore a hat – US cap-style. No glasses. That’s it. He didn’t get out of his car.’
‘Not much of a photofit there then.’