said, giving his head a scratch. `Anyway, he's married.'
`So?'
`There's a kid somewhere, too. Don't give me that look, Gwen. I've seen enough in my life to know whether a guy's a fag or not. And Crockett's not. He's just… quiet.'
Too bloody quiet sometimes, Archie told himself. And not the cheeriest of company at the best of times, but bloody good at his job. There wasn't much Crockett missed.
Sheets of paper sliced into the tray while Davey stood up and went back to the whiteboard.
`Okay,' he said, `we're waiting on the final report from Dr MacBride but we already know some things from what Archie and I saw at the autopsy. Firstly, we can rule out death by drowning.'
Davey picked up a marker and began to make a list on the board. `According to Dr MacBride the body was dead before it went into the water.'
Illegible handwriting, Archie noted. What did they teach kids these days?
`Secondly, the body was not in the water for very long. No attempt seems to have been made to weigh it down, although a more thorough check will be made to see if perhaps something, which later came loose, was attached to the bag. At this stage, it doesn't look as though the original intention was to submerge the body. Dr MacBride's initial estimate of the time of death puts it at about four days ago.'
`So, we're looking at Tuesday the first,' Archie said, as he strolled over to the whiteboard and changed the word `lose' to `loose'.
`Possibly Wednesday,' Davey said, staring at the correction with knitted brows. `The body was naked inside the bag and appears to have been severely beaten about the head and upper torso. There are also a number of what look like small cigarette burns.'
`Self inflicted? ' Archie asked, almost hopefully.
`Unlikely,' Davey said.
`Sicko,' muttered Archie, resuming his seat.
`At this stage Dr MacBride's guess is death by suffocation,' Davey continued, `but we're waiting on confirmation.' He scooped up the pages from the printer and handed out copies to the other six members of the team.
`No dabs on the body itself,' he added, `but there are a few on the bag which could give us joy. Immersion hasn't helped, but Carmen's working on it.'
`Right.' Archie returned to his desk. `So. This man Kransky. Run me through what we've got.'
CHAPTER TWO
`Bullshit!' Decca exclaimed. `I was sure you were going to tell me he'd tried to kill himself!'
`As a matter of fact—' Volker's voice was lost in a crackle of static.
`You're breaking up,' she said. `Text me which number you're at.'
She snapped the phone shut and exhaled heavily. Tiny puffs of cloud shifted and the sun bore down like a death ray. Decca took off her leather jacket and tramped towards the entrance of Erskine House.
Oleg Kransky had murdered his wife? No way, she told herself. He was a troubled character, no doubt about it, and he was a passionate man, but he was no murderer. His last visit had been bizarre. Decca's receptionist had gone on an errand, leaving the front door temporarily unattended. Oleg had shown up without an appointment. Dressed in suit and tie but unshaven as usual, he had barged into Decca's office carrying a bunch of flowers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, and suggested they go to a motel together.
Decca hadn't thought he was drunk but when she reached out her arm to indicate he should take a seat he'd swept her towards him and waltzed her around the room, singing at the top of his voice. She remembered feeling calm enough to note his beautiful singing voice. Around and around the room they twirled, until Oleg had faltered and began to sob uncontrollably. He'd thrust her away from him and backed himself against a wall as the wine bottle slipped from his hand and smashed on to a tiled section of the floor. The bunch of flowers — were they red carnations? — scattered as they fell.
Decca had cautiously returned to her side of the desk, waiting for him to calm himself before she spoke. He continued singing softly. Singing made him feel better, he told her. He sang a little song about his wife, Inga, then disappeared out the door with neither explanation nor apology.
He'd never come back.
Decca dumped her bags and threw open the balcony windows, before stretching out full length on the bed. That was the only drawback to long-distance motorcycle travel, she reflected, as the muscles around her lanky bones unwound. There was not much shifting about in your seat to be had. It was necessary to maintain the same position for hours on end — knees bent, arms stretched forwards, spine scrunched.
Her mobile alerted her to a text from Volker. She plucked a mineral water from the mini-bar and, catching sight of herself in the large mirror, pulled her long, blond hair free of its ponytail and ruffled sweaty fronds around her forehead. A shower was what she needed but she flopped on to one of the couches and punched in Volker's number.
`Volker Danehart.'
The voice of her ex-husband, so familiar and so loaded, flooded Decca's system with a dozen different chemical responses. A few short years ago they had been the two halves of one perfect whole. Or so she had thought.
`It's me,' she said.
`So it is,' he said. `Where are you again?'
`Tell me about Oleg.'
`Nothing more to add, really,' he said. `He's murdered his wife, he's under arrest, and after they took him to hospital they found your…'
`Why was he taken to hospital?'
`Interestingly enough, for precisely what you said not ten minutes ago. He tried to kill himself.'
`So, it was a murder-suicide thing?'
`That's what the police think.'
`What does Oleg say?'
`Well, that's just it, you see,' Volker said. `Your Mr Sausage isn't saying anything. Hasn't said a word since he was revived in ICU.'
`Okay,' Davey said. `There was no ID on the victim. No distinguishing marks, other than a few small scars. No moles, birthmarks, tats, piercings and no jewellery — but we were still able to circulate a reasonable description. Early thirties, Caucasian, approximately 170 centimetres, slim build but…' Davey hesitated.
`What?' Archie was impatient.
`Slim but, you know…?' He cupped his hands to his chest.
`Big tits?' Archie asked.
There were stifled chuckles all round.
`Yes,' Davey replied, relieved. `Wasn't sure how to put that in the report.'
`So, what did you say?'
`I used the word `voluptuous', boss.'
`Big word,' Archie said suppressing a smile. `Go on.'
`Where was I? Oh, yeah, shoulder-length hair dyed red, eyes
