Waghorn was back on script and talking about outgrowths on vertebrae. Diamond didn’t pay attention. His brain was mapping a procedure of his own. How do you deal with a murder two hundred and fifty-odd years ago when all potential witnesses and suspects are dead?
If the killing of Beau Nash was the overriding issue, there was still the secondary mystery to be explored: why had the body been found in the loft in Twerton? Was that where the murder had taken place or had he been stabbed to death at his home in Sawclose and moved there? Find the answer and you might unmask the murderer. An encouraging amount of information had already been unearthed, but there was more to come, he felt confident. He’d need to enlist more help from historians like Estella.
How would his employers react to him spending time on an eighteenth-century murder case? Headquarters wouldn’t be thrilled if twenty-first-century crimes were put on the back burner. He’d have to make clear that this wasn’t happening. But the beauty of the Beau Nash case was that Georgina had insisted he did the job. He could quote her own words back to her if necessary. ‘I want this death investigated properly and you will be in charge. You attracted all this media attention and you can deal with it.’ The media interest wasn’t going away. Once the press learned the identity of the skeleton and the cause of death the phone lines at Concorde House would go into meltdown. In fairness to everyone at the new police office, he’d better give advance notice of what they should expect. He’d have another session with Georgina as soon as this autopsy was over.
You’d think a murder from so long ago could be dealt with at leisure.
Not so.
But the urgency that now gripped Peter Diamond wasn’t shared by Dr. Waghorn. His painstaking journey across the arid landscape of the bones continued into a second hour and seemed to be heading for a third. Most of the students had a glazed look and certainly Peter Diamond did. He was strongly tempted to make his exit now that the cause of death had been established. Anything else of interest would surely appear in the report for the coroner. But he was here as the police witness and he had a duty to see it through. If something else of interest showed up he’d kick himself for jumping ship.
The usual sequence in dealing with an unexplained death requires identification of the body before the autopsy takes place. The first duty of the coroner is to find out who the deceased was. When it is obvious that no one can say for certain, then the autopsy goes ahead in the hope that it will provide information about age, racial type and physical appearance, including any disfigurements. The coroner will then carry out an investigation as the first stage of the inquest.
Of course Diamond had his own opinion who the skeleton was, but legal proof was another thing altogether, and this suited him. No need for Waghorn to know. Better all-round if the autopsy took place without prejudice. So the big detective was comfortable, not to say cocky, at being the only person in the room who could name the victim.
Yet he was under no illusion. Any time now the news would break that the skeleton of Beau Nash had been found. Once that was known, it was inevitable that one of the students in this room would tell the press about the fatal stabbing.
His secret was helping him sit this thing out.
The hip bone connected to the thigh bone. His own thigh bone needed stretching. Two hours gone. A coffee would be good.
And so it continued from thigh bone to knee bone to shin bone to ankle bone to heel bone to foot bone to toe bone when he felt like chorusing in relief, ‘Now hear the word of the Lord.’
‘In summary,’ Waghorn said, dashing Diamond’s hope that this marathon was over, ‘the deceased was an elderly male, probably over seventy, about five foot eight in height, toothless, but otherwise intact, who would appear to have met a violent death by some sharp instrument that marked his fifth rib on the left side and the middle phalanx of the small finger of his left hand. The latter is of significance because a defensive injury would suggest he was the victim of an attack, rather than inflicting damage on himself. The staining of the left upper part of the clothes leads me to presume that the likely cause of death was the business end of the sharp instrument penetrating the thoracic cavity and severing a vital organ. This will, of course, go into my report. Are there any questions?’
The students were already closing their notebooks and preparing to leave. Pity anyone so obtuse as to prolong the session.
‘You may speak,’ he said.
It happened.
The offender was the same student in the football shirt who had spoken at the beginning. Perhaps he hoped to redeem himself. Anyway, he had his hand raised.
‘Please,’ Waghorn said to the room in general. ‘There is a question.’
Groans.
‘Have the courtesy to remain in your seats.’ Then to the questioner, ‘Yes?’
‘Could it have been a sword?’
‘Could what have been a sword?’
‘The sharp instrument.’
After a moment, Waghorn said, ‘Conceivably. Why do you ask?’
‘Didn’t they carry swords in those days?’
‘In which days?’
‘I don’t know — the eighteen-hundreds?’
Somebody else said, ‘The seventeen-hundreds, dumbo. The clothes are definitely seventeen-hundreds.’
Diamond said, ‘I have it on good authority that the frock coat is typical of about 1760.’
‘There you have it from the police,’ Waghorn said. ‘Far be it from me to question their information. However...’ He walked to the clothes rack and lifted a smaller evidence bag from the rail and held it high for all to see the pair of once-white underpants inside. ‘I don’t believe they wore Y-fronts in 1760, not with the Marks and Spencer label.’
9
Clenching and unclenching his fists, Diamond remained in the lecture theatre with Dr. Waghorn. All the audience had left and so had the technicians.
‘Is it some kind of student hoax?’
‘The pants?’ Waghorn said. ‘I don’t see how it can be. They were under the breeches, in position around the pelvis when I separated the clothing from the bones — and must have been when the skeleton was first revealed in the loft.’
‘You don’t think they could have been put on afterwards?’
A shake of the head. ‘Impossible. Haven’t I made clear already that a skeleton without flesh is disarticulated? This one was only held in place by what remained of the clothes. Any idiot trying to dress it in pants would need to strip off the breeches first and the whole structure would disintegrate.’
‘All right. What would an eighteenth-century man be wearing? Some kind of drawers?’
‘For pity’s sake, superintendent. I’m a forensic anthropologist.’
‘The clothes don’t interest you?’
‘That’s an impertinence. Didn’t I make a point of bringing them all to the autopsy and showing everyone the bloodstaining?’
‘You just said you’re an anthropologist. Let’s say ninety-five percent of your attention was on the bones. What the victim was wearing was secondary. I’m not blaming you.’
‘It sounds suspiciously like it.’
‘You took off the pants and put them aside.’ Picturing the scene, Diamond had a new thought. ‘Did you have an assistant working with you?’
‘I did. It’s normal.’
‘The young woman with the clothes rack?’