"Head down fast!" Temple muttered to Cantwell. "Look as if you're fully engaged in that pie of yours." He reached out for a newspaper lying on a nearby table. He opened it and held it up to shield himself from view.
Ted Steele had just come into the bar. Temple was not sure that he would recall meeting him at Redbourne's place, but he could not afford to be recognised at this stage.
WingCo's wife saw Steele and her demeanour changed. She did not greet him with any warmth, she looked over her shoulder then edged him out into the hotel lobby.
"Go out and see where they're off to." Temple rasped. "He doesn't know you. If anyone asks where you're going, say you're looking for the Gents."
Some ten minutes or so later, Cantwell returned:
"It wasn't easy, Gov."
"Whoever said life was easy, Cantwell!"
"I thought I'd lost them but they had disappeared into the Manager's Office. I hung around, then some flunky asked me what I wanted."
"How did Mrs WingCo behave towards him?"
"They seemed to know each other well. She put her hand on his arm - they were talking a lot - quite fast. But I couldn't hear what they were saying."
"Never mind. Get us another couple of pints and some crisps, we'll stay here till tea-time. Might see a bit more of the action."
Cantwell grinned:
"I don't mind this sort of work, Gov." Temple raised his eyes to heaven.
Half an hour later, Ted Steele was seen to walk purposefully passed the bar and towards the car park. He looked pleased with himself. Shortly afterwards, a thickset man with receding red hair came into the bar.
Cantwell nudged Temple and said quietly:
"Jimmy 'WingCo' Jackson, Gov."
He was smartly dressed in twill trousers and a navy blazer. An RAF tie in a Windsor knot stood out against a white shirt. Temple took an instant dislike to him. He was what Temple called a 'ponce'. He knew the type only too well, a smarmy bastard who had been to some minor public school and pretended to be something he was not. He guessed that Cantwell was right, this man was as much a Wing Commander as he had been a Field Marshall.
WingCo did the same performance as his wife. He went from group to group with small talk and banter. At last it was their turn.
"Gentlemen, welcome to the Blandford, I hope you ..."
"We are having an important business meeting." Temple said in clipped tones, "so if you don't mind .."
To his credit, WingCo Jackson seemed not to take offence. Quite the contrary, in fact. He nodded and grinned.
"Sorry, old man, I completely understand. I'll not waste your valuable time."
A few minutes more and the barman came over with two pints of bitter:
"The Manager's compliments." He said placing the glasses in front of them.
Cantwell was as near to seventh heaven as he had been since working with Temple. He knew it couldn't last but decided to enjoy it while it did.
Just before they were going to leave, Temple indicated they should walk slowly passed the Manager's Office, collect some brochures from the desk then head back to the car. Mrs Jackson emerged from the office and flashed them a smile.
"I do hope we see you both again, very soon. Do let us know if we can ever facilitate any business meetings for you." She directed her remarks at Temple. "We can provide a function room and catering facilities."
Temple nodded. She reached out and shook his hand, then Cantwell's, before going into the Lounge Bar.
"Well, Gov, they certainly know how to make you feel welcome. My Debbie would love it here. Feel just like a Queen."
As they drove out, Temple thought that Cantwell and his wife would get short shrift if they turned up at the Blandford. They were not the clientele the Jacksons were after. That much was very evident.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Friday, January 8, 2010
The Blandford and Mrs 'WingCo'
The Blandford car park was half full. Temple told Cantwell to make a note of the other car registration numbers so they could check them back at the station. They both walked slowly towards the main hotel entrance.
"We'll order a couple of pints and some food. Let's sit somewhere not too near the bar but from where we can get a good view of who is coming in and what's going on. No questions, no small talk. For now, all we want is to get a picture of the place and this WingCo and his wife."
Cantwell nodded, it suited him just fine. A pint and a pie were what he needed now he had recovered his equilibrium after the episode in the mortuary.
There were about seven or eight people in the Lounge Bar. Cantwell ordered drinks and food for them while Temple selected where they would sit. He found a small table near the far side of the bar which gave clear sight of the room and entrance yet hid them from general view.
The bar itself was elegantly decorated in tones of pale blue and gold. The floor to ceiling windows had gold satin drapes. Unlike most public bars, this one was carpeted in a thick royal blue Wilton. French windows opened out onto a neat patio and garden where there were several tables and chairs. The furniture was light oak and highly polished. The bar itself was of a darker oak with light green leather padding. Mirrors reflected a series of lights so that the rows of bottles of exotic liqueurs glinted enticingly.
"Do you reckon that Ben Ellacott and his wife came here? The sort of clothes she had in the flat would be about right for this place, don't you think?" Temple mused aloud as he looked at two women sitting in a large leather sofa near the french windows. Their male companions wore expensive suits and had slicked back hair. "Can't imagine Redbourne here though. Maybe he doesn't wear that loud check suit he uses in the bookies."
A slim woman with a brown pageboy hairstyle came in and glanced round before going over to the bar. Cantwell sat forward and nudged Temple:
"Mrs WingCo, Gov, otherwise known as Mrs Judy Jackson."
Temple sipped his beer and watched her with interest. She was slim and dressed in a close fitting blue dress. He guessed she was in her mid thirties. her face was cleverly made up not too much powder and lipstick but enough to make her more alluring.
She nodded in their direction and gave a fleeting smile that never quite reached her eyes. She was a well-practised mine hostess, Temple thought.
The barman brought over a ham sandwich for Temple and a pie and chips for Cantwell. The low table suited Temple but Cantwell was forced to lean forward to eat his meal. He felt the beginnings of indigestion.
Mrs WingCo began circulating amongst the customers. She edged over to a group of four men sitting near the entrance. With ease, she put her hand on the back of one of their chairs and engaged them all in conversation. After about five minutes, she had persuaded them to re-order some drinks. Then, she moved on to the two couples near the french windows. Here, she was less familiar, making sure she stayed closer to the two women than their male escorts. Even so, she left them smiling and laughing at one of her remarks.
A man sitting alone at the bar had her full attention. He was obviously one of the regulars. She was more animated with him, flirtatious almost. He was encouraged to drink up and buy another.
Eventually, she meandered her way to their table. She was obviously sizing them up, wondering how she should play it with them. The smile, when it came, was directed at Cantwell.
"Hello, gentlemen, I hope you are having a pleasant time here at the Blandford. Is everything to your satisfaction?" Cantwell swallowed a large piece of crust and nodded.
She turned towards Temple, her head inclined, waiting for his response. He did not oblige. This rather threw her usually stage-managed presentation. Few people failed to respond to her. If nothing else, however, she was a good actress. Hiding her irritation she smiled again:
"I hope to see you both again."
She walked away, a slow swaying of her hips showing off her figure to perfection. It was then that Temple saw another figure walking into the hotel. It was Steele, Redbourne's tall lanky henchman.
"We'll order a couple of pints and some food. Let's sit somewhere not too near the bar but from where we can get a good view of who is coming in and what's going on. No questions, no small talk. For now, all we want is to get a picture of the place and this WingCo and his wife."
Cantwell nodded, it suited him just fine. A pint and a pie were what he needed now he had recovered his equilibrium after the episode in the mortuary.
There were about seven or eight people in the Lounge Bar. Cantwell ordered drinks and food for them while Temple selected where they would sit. He found a small table near the far side of the bar which gave clear sight of the room and entrance yet hid them from general view.
The bar itself was elegantly decorated in tones of pale blue and gold. The floor to ceiling windows had gold satin drapes. Unlike most public bars, this one was carpeted in a thick royal blue Wilton. French windows opened out onto a neat patio and garden where there were several tables and chairs. The furniture was light oak and highly polished. The bar itself was of a darker oak with light green leather padding. Mirrors reflected a series of lights so that the rows of bottles of exotic liqueurs glinted enticingly.
"Do you reckon that Ben Ellacott and his wife came here? The sort of clothes she had in the flat would be about right for this place, don't you think?" Temple mused aloud as he looked at two women sitting in a large leather sofa near the french windows. Their male companions wore expensive suits and had slicked back hair. "Can't imagine Redbourne here though. Maybe he doesn't wear that loud check suit he uses in the bookies."
A slim woman with a brown pageboy hairstyle came in and glanced round before going over to the bar. Cantwell sat forward and nudged Temple:
"Mrs WingCo, Gov, otherwise known as Mrs Judy Jackson."
Temple sipped his beer and watched her with interest. She was slim and dressed in a close fitting blue dress. He guessed she was in her mid thirties. her face was cleverly made up not too much powder and lipstick but enough to make her more alluring.
She nodded in their direction and gave a fleeting smile that never quite reached her eyes. She was a well-practised mine hostess, Temple thought.
The barman brought over a ham sandwich for Temple and a pie and chips for Cantwell. The low table suited Temple but Cantwell was forced to lean forward to eat his meal. He felt the beginnings of indigestion.
Mrs WingCo began circulating amongst the customers. She edged over to a group of four men sitting near the entrance. With ease, she put her hand on the back of one of their chairs and engaged them all in conversation. After about five minutes, she had persuaded them to re-order some drinks. Then, she moved on to the two couples near the french windows. Here, she was less familiar, making sure she stayed closer to the two women than their male escorts. Even so, she left them smiling and laughing at one of her remarks.
A man sitting alone at the bar had her full attention. He was obviously one of the regulars. She was more animated with him, flirtatious almost. He was encouraged to drink up and buy another.
Eventually, she meandered her way to their table. She was obviously sizing them up, wondering how she should play it with them. The smile, when it came, was directed at Cantwell.
"Hello, gentlemen, I hope you are having a pleasant time here at the Blandford. Is everything to your satisfaction?" Cantwell swallowed a large piece of crust and nodded.
She turned towards Temple, her head inclined, waiting for his response. He did not oblige. This rather threw her usually stage-managed presentation. Few people failed to respond to her. If nothing else, however, she was a good actress. Hiding her irritation she smiled again:
"I hope to see you both again."
She walked away, a slow swaying of her hips showing off her figure to perfection. It was then that Temple saw another figure walking into the hotel. It was Steele, Redbourne's tall lanky henchman.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
The pathologist at work
You could not help but feel sorry for Cantwell, Temple mused as they drove to the mortuary. The poor bloke should never have become a copper. If he had joined the Met he would either have hardened up or been chucked out. In Devon, things were different, the pace of life was slower. So slow, in fact, that his ex-wife reckoned it was moribund. However, beneath the seeming calm, lay a morass of intrigue and corruption every bit as intricate and unpleasant as in Camberwell. The only difference was that the locals either did not recognise it, or felt unthreatened by it. So far, Temple did not know which it was.
Cantwell must be schooled in the ways of investigation, of that Temple was totally convinced. He needed to learn how to put his vast local knowledge to good use. So far, on all their enquiries, he had just acted as a source. Now he had to become a user of such knowledge.
"We'll go together to see the autopsy, Cantwell. You might see something that I miss. We'll go on to the Blandford afterwards. It'll be lunch by then so you can have your lunch and pint there."
Cantwell thought that by then his appetite would be well and truly crushed. Ellacott on a slab was not an appealing aperitif.
Dr Stephen Edwards, the pathologist, was a dapper man. He had served in the Navy during the war and still behaved as if he were on a battleship preparing for action. He recognised Temple as a fellow officer and treated him as an equal. This was something he did with no other policeman, however high ranking.
"It's a simple case, Jim. A drowning, nothing more nor less. A drowning in fresh water, even though he was found out at sea." He pointed to a large glass jar containing Ellacott's lungs. "Full of sticky muddy debris. I'd say he drowned fairly close to the estuary. There was so much mud in the lungs that the water must have been saturated with it." He turned back to the body. "He had several abrasions on his face, neck and torso. However, I think most of these were post mortem. He hadn't eaten for several hours." He pointed to another jar containing parts of Ellacott's stomach.
Cantwell began to feel nauseous. The heat in the room, the smells and the sights were utterly revolting. Temple observed Cantwell's increasing pallor and wondered whether he should keep him there or put him out of his misery.
"Why not check to see how Mrs Ellacott is? I'll see you back at the car."
Cantwell nodded gratefully and bolted for the door. He was gone in a trice.
"Bloody fool!" Dr Edwards raised his eyes to heaven. "What the hell is wrong with these chaps? Little bit of blood and guts and their legs go to jelly. Worse than bloody girls! How can you stand to work with a ponce like that?"
"Cantwell's alright. He just hasn't seen the world, that's the main problem. Never been further than Bristol. This small town is all he's ever really known, so you can't expect too much." He drew in his breath sharply and tapped the slab on which Ellacott's body was lying. "I'm not too sure that I wouldn't have swapped my life experiences for his."
Dr Edwards twiddled a scalpel in his fingers and smiled ruefully:
"See what you mean, Jim. You were with the Eighth Army, weren't you? Not a pretty place to be for six years of your life. My own experiences weren't exactly a world cruise either. Blokes like your sergeant don't know they are born! Anyway" he sighed, "back to our fellow here. Anymore you need to know?"
"You say he hadn't eaten for some while before he died. What was his last meal? I know you can't be too precise."
"He'd had some very fatty sausages and carrots, I can tell you that much. As a guess, he went into the water about 2 to 3 hours after he'd eaten." He tapped the scalpel on the slab. "He'd probably been in the water for between ten days to two weeks. Any help?"
"Yep! Pity is, you can't tell me how he came to be in the river in the first place. No bruising or scratches before death?" He asked hopefully.
"Nothing that I can be certain about, Jim. There is a large bruise on his back, just below the neck - but what caused it and when he got it," he shook his shoulders, "who knows? Sorry."
"Thanks anyway, Stephen, you've told me quite a bit I needed to know. Not exactly what I wanted to know - but then again it will stop me rushing off half-cocked into trouble."
Cantwell was leaning against the bonnet of the car puffing hard on a cigarette. He stubbed it out when he saw Temple striding towards him:
"Anything useful, Gov?"
"Quite the contrary. No evidence that Ellacott was killed before entering the water. Nothing substantial to prove he was pushed in, apart from heavy bruising near the neck. But you and I know that, for sure, he had a little help. He wasn't just going for a swim with his clothes on." He glanced at his watch. "Right, Cantwell, you can drive us up to the Blandford. It's time we had a good look up there."
Cantwell must be schooled in the ways of investigation, of that Temple was totally convinced. He needed to learn how to put his vast local knowledge to good use. So far, on all their enquiries, he had just acted as a source. Now he had to become a user of such knowledge.
"We'll go together to see the autopsy, Cantwell. You might see something that I miss. We'll go on to the Blandford afterwards. It'll be lunch by then so you can have your lunch and pint there."
Cantwell thought that by then his appetite would be well and truly crushed. Ellacott on a slab was not an appealing aperitif.
Dr Stephen Edwards, the pathologist, was a dapper man. He had served in the Navy during the war and still behaved as if he were on a battleship preparing for action. He recognised Temple as a fellow officer and treated him as an equal. This was something he did with no other policeman, however high ranking.
"It's a simple case, Jim. A drowning, nothing more nor less. A drowning in fresh water, even though he was found out at sea." He pointed to a large glass jar containing Ellacott's lungs. "Full of sticky muddy debris. I'd say he drowned fairly close to the estuary. There was so much mud in the lungs that the water must have been saturated with it." He turned back to the body. "He had several abrasions on his face, neck and torso. However, I think most of these were post mortem. He hadn't eaten for several hours." He pointed to another jar containing parts of Ellacott's stomach.
Cantwell began to feel nauseous. The heat in the room, the smells and the sights were utterly revolting. Temple observed Cantwell's increasing pallor and wondered whether he should keep him there or put him out of his misery.
"Why not check to see how Mrs Ellacott is? I'll see you back at the car."
Cantwell nodded gratefully and bolted for the door. He was gone in a trice.
"Bloody fool!" Dr Edwards raised his eyes to heaven. "What the hell is wrong with these chaps? Little bit of blood and guts and their legs go to jelly. Worse than bloody girls! How can you stand to work with a ponce like that?"
"Cantwell's alright. He just hasn't seen the world, that's the main problem. Never been further than Bristol. This small town is all he's ever really known, so you can't expect too much." He drew in his breath sharply and tapped the slab on which Ellacott's body was lying. "I'm not too sure that I wouldn't have swapped my life experiences for his."
Dr Edwards twiddled a scalpel in his fingers and smiled ruefully:
"See what you mean, Jim. You were with the Eighth Army, weren't you? Not a pretty place to be for six years of your life. My own experiences weren't exactly a world cruise either. Blokes like your sergeant don't know they are born! Anyway" he sighed, "back to our fellow here. Anymore you need to know?"
"You say he hadn't eaten for some while before he died. What was his last meal? I know you can't be too precise."
"He'd had some very fatty sausages and carrots, I can tell you that much. As a guess, he went into the water about 2 to 3 hours after he'd eaten." He tapped the scalpel on the slab. "He'd probably been in the water for between ten days to two weeks. Any help?"
"Yep! Pity is, you can't tell me how he came to be in the river in the first place. No bruising or scratches before death?" He asked hopefully.
"Nothing that I can be certain about, Jim. There is a large bruise on his back, just below the neck - but what caused it and when he got it," he shook his shoulders, "who knows? Sorry."
"Thanks anyway, Stephen, you've told me quite a bit I needed to know. Not exactly what I wanted to know - but then again it will stop me rushing off half-cocked into trouble."
Cantwell was leaning against the bonnet of the car puffing hard on a cigarette. He stubbed it out when he saw Temple striding towards him:
"Anything useful, Gov?"
"Quite the contrary. No evidence that Ellacott was killed before entering the water. Nothing substantial to prove he was pushed in, apart from heavy bruising near the neck. But you and I know that, for sure, he had a little help. He wasn't just going for a swim with his clothes on." He glanced at his watch. "Right, Cantwell, you can drive us up to the Blandford. It's time we had a good look up there."
Sunday, January 3, 2010
In the office
Next morning, the day began bright and sunny, the mists and low cloud of the previous week had lifted. On such a morning Devon was indeed glorious. The red soil, green grass and blue sea were dazzling compared with the unmitigated greyness that had shrouded it.
As Cantwell left home, his mood was lifted. He and Debbie had spent the previous evening making plans for the future and she had cooked him a good supper. So, for once, he was cheerful as he entered the office. As usual, Temple was already at work. He looked up and nodded.
"Glad you're early. We've got to go through the ledgers again to see if there are any more anomalies. Then we're off to the Blandford. After what Miss Beaumont told us I think it's time we paid a visit to this 'WingCo' Jackson bloke. Does he know you?"
"No, he wouldn't know me but I know quite a bit about him and the set up at the Blandford." Temple leaned back and gestured for Cantwell to go on. "His father owned the place and ran it like a quiet family hotel. Nothing fancy. Then, just before the war, his son - just plain Bob then - married a London woman. She thought herself a cut above us Devonians. Turned her nose up at everyone, particularly the old regulars who went to the public bar. After a while, she changed the place. She got a special lounge bar, kept the regulars out and invited in some of the lah-de-dahs. Old Mr Jackson seemed to give up the ghost. He retired to a B&B in the town, died soon after.
"During the war, Bob got called up. He was something or other with the air force. But, as Miss Beaumont said, from what we all heard, he was a mechanic or ground maintenance crew. He wasn't even a pilot, let alone a wing commander!
"When the war ended, Mrs Jackson gave herself even more airs and graces. They've got one daughter, Geraldine. Little thing but reckons she's a princess. She's got a couple of ponies and rides in gymkhanas, member of the East Devon Hunt Pony Club." He paused and grinned. "You're wondering how I know all this. I can see you're curious. Truth is, my sister's daughter goes to school with Geraldine, so she gets all the gossip. Useful really."
Temple wished his daughter was at school in Starmouth. He'd have enjoyed hearing her tales about school. No doubt Barbara didn't give the child the time to tell her stories, too full of her own. He pushed the thoughts away:
"And what of this 'WingCo' himself. Any dodgy dealings? Bound to be if he's a pal of Redbourne's."
"Well, Gov, Miss Beaumont got me thinking. If Redbourne and WingCo visited Ellacott at the pharmacy then they were not up to anything legit, that's for sure."
"I phoned the path lab early this morning, they're sending us details about the effects of sodium amytal, drinomyl etc. We can then pay Eager Beaver another visit and see if he knows exactly how Ellacott was helping Redbourne's business."
"Shall I get us a coffee, Gov?"
"Good idea."
The phone rang and when Temple answered, he was pleased to hear Sam Walter's voice.
"Jim, I'm doing your investigating for you! You'll owe me!"
"If it gets Redbourne - then I will indeed owe you. So what have you got?"
"You remember we talked about Tiffin telling Redbourne that he was getting too big for his boots? Well, some of the old lags in Camberwell tell me that Redbourne's been seen up here several times in the last month. He and Tiffin were as thick as thieves and Redbourne was flashing around his money. He was telling Tiffin that no one could touch him now, that he was in with the toffs down in Devon and they owed him!
"You make sure you watch your back, Jim. He's a sharp manipulator. Nothing ever stuck on him - just like Capone! Somehow he comes away smelling of roses. We've had our suspicions but no hard evidence. If you want extra help, you just let me know. I'd watch it with some of your superiors too - enough said." He put the phone down before Temple had time to ask any questions.
Cantwell found Temple deep in thought when he returned with the coffee. He drank it in one gulp then got up with a determined look:
"We're going to the pathologist first. The post mortem should be underway by now. We need to know the full facts around Ellacott's death. Then we'll go to the Blandford."
Cantwell's heart sank. He disliked autopsies. He disliked even more the prospect of looking at Ellacott's corpse. The sights and smells nauseated him. Until he had been allocated to work with Temple, he had managed to avoid any autopsy. Since Temple, however, he had been more times than he cared to remember. And as far as he dared to recall, each time was worse than the one before.
As Cantwell left home, his mood was lifted. He and Debbie had spent the previous evening making plans for the future and she had cooked him a good supper. So, for once, he was cheerful as he entered the office. As usual, Temple was already at work. He looked up and nodded.
"Glad you're early. We've got to go through the ledgers again to see if there are any more anomalies. Then we're off to the Blandford. After what Miss Beaumont told us I think it's time we paid a visit to this 'WingCo' Jackson bloke. Does he know you?"
"No, he wouldn't know me but I know quite a bit about him and the set up at the Blandford." Temple leaned back and gestured for Cantwell to go on. "His father owned the place and ran it like a quiet family hotel. Nothing fancy. Then, just before the war, his son - just plain Bob then - married a London woman. She thought herself a cut above us Devonians. Turned her nose up at everyone, particularly the old regulars who went to the public bar. After a while, she changed the place. She got a special lounge bar, kept the regulars out and invited in some of the lah-de-dahs. Old Mr Jackson seemed to give up the ghost. He retired to a B&B in the town, died soon after.
"During the war, Bob got called up. He was something or other with the air force. But, as Miss Beaumont said, from what we all heard, he was a mechanic or ground maintenance crew. He wasn't even a pilot, let alone a wing commander!
"When the war ended, Mrs Jackson gave herself even more airs and graces. They've got one daughter, Geraldine. Little thing but reckons she's a princess. She's got a couple of ponies and rides in gymkhanas, member of the East Devon Hunt Pony Club." He paused and grinned. "You're wondering how I know all this. I can see you're curious. Truth is, my sister's daughter goes to school with Geraldine, so she gets all the gossip. Useful really."
Temple wished his daughter was at school in Starmouth. He'd have enjoyed hearing her tales about school. No doubt Barbara didn't give the child the time to tell her stories, too full of her own. He pushed the thoughts away:
"And what of this 'WingCo' himself. Any dodgy dealings? Bound to be if he's a pal of Redbourne's."
"Well, Gov, Miss Beaumont got me thinking. If Redbourne and WingCo visited Ellacott at the pharmacy then they were not up to anything legit, that's for sure."
"I phoned the path lab early this morning, they're sending us details about the effects of sodium amytal, drinomyl etc. We can then pay Eager Beaver another visit and see if he knows exactly how Ellacott was helping Redbourne's business."
"Shall I get us a coffee, Gov?"
"Good idea."
The phone rang and when Temple answered, he was pleased to hear Sam Walter's voice.
"Jim, I'm doing your investigating for you! You'll owe me!"
"If it gets Redbourne - then I will indeed owe you. So what have you got?"
"You remember we talked about Tiffin telling Redbourne that he was getting too big for his boots? Well, some of the old lags in Camberwell tell me that Redbourne's been seen up here several times in the last month. He and Tiffin were as thick as thieves and Redbourne was flashing around his money. He was telling Tiffin that no one could touch him now, that he was in with the toffs down in Devon and they owed him!
"You make sure you watch your back, Jim. He's a sharp manipulator. Nothing ever stuck on him - just like Capone! Somehow he comes away smelling of roses. We've had our suspicions but no hard evidence. If you want extra help, you just let me know. I'd watch it with some of your superiors too - enough said." He put the phone down before Temple had time to ask any questions.
Cantwell found Temple deep in thought when he returned with the coffee. He drank it in one gulp then got up with a determined look:
"We're going to the pathologist first. The post mortem should be underway by now. We need to know the full facts around Ellacott's death. Then we'll go to the Blandford."
Cantwell's heart sank. He disliked autopsies. He disliked even more the prospect of looking at Ellacott's corpse. The sights and smells nauseated him. Until he had been allocated to work with Temple, he had managed to avoid any autopsy. Since Temple, however, he had been more times than he cared to remember. And as far as he dared to recall, each time was worse than the one before.
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