The Riverboat Mystery (Jenny Starling #3)(38)
The medical examiner was close on his heels. The two forensics men, and the final man of the group, a big, solid, blond individual who was presumably a sergeant, stayed by the door, awaiting orders.
Jasmine said, rather loudly, ‘What on earth is going on?’
‘If you please, madam,’ the sergeant said in a deep, pleasant bass. ‘Take a seat. We’ll know more shortly.’
Hearing sudden and unexpected voices, David and Dorothy Leigh at last appeared in the doorway leading from the starboard deck and stared at the strangers in disbelief.
Inside, Inspector Neil Rycroft, he of the pug face, stared at the dead man on the floor and watched the medical examiner give his usual brief but thorough examination.
‘Dead no more than four hours, no less than one. No outward signs of violence. No cuts, bumps, contusions or entry marks that I can see. No signs of strangulation.’
‘He’s wet,’ Rycroft said. His voice was high-pitched, almost childlike in tone, but curiously expressionless. He didn’t seem to be accusing the medical examiner of missing the obvious, nor did he seem to be coming to any conclusions himself. That voice had misled many a criminal — and many a criminal’s solicitor — into thinking that Neil Rycroft was a bit of a simpleton.
Which he most definitely wasn’t.
The ME obviously knew Rycroft’s ways well, for he merely responded, just as impassively, with a single ‘yes.’
‘Drowning would seem to be the obvious cause of death,’ Rycroft added thoughtfully.
The doctor grunted and stood up. ‘I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve completed an autopsy. We’re a bit stacked up at the moment though. A lot of those train-crash victims from Richester way have been sent down to our labs. It’ll be a few days before I can give you any details.’
Rycroft sighed. ‘Right. But you think he drowned?’
The surgeon turned the corpse over, did some rather disgusting medical things and then nodded.
‘I’d say, unofficially, there was little doubt of it,’ the surgeon said, then added cautiously, ‘but don’t quote me just yet. And certainly don’t put anything down on paper until I can confirm it.’
The inspector nodded, showed the surgeon out, and beckoned his forensic boys in. He shut the door carefully behind them, then stood looking at the group scattered throughout the main salon.
‘Who discovered the body?’ Rycroft asked, looking automatically at Tobias Lester.
It was odd, Jenny thought, just a shade miffed, how men of authority seemed to naturally seek out another of their kind.
Tobias nodded at Jenny. ‘Our cook did.’
The inspector and his sergeant glanced at the large, calm woman, their eyes assessing. She looked like an avenging goddess from some long-forgotten mythology — six feet tall, voluptuous and rather beautiful, in an odd way.
The parrot, which had returned to his perch on her shoulder, gave them pause, but not for long. No doubt in the course of their professional life they came across all sorts.
‘You found him like that?’ Rycroft jerked his head towards the galley.
Jenny shook her head. ‘No.’
Rycroft stiffened. It was a rather absurd gesture in one so small and ugly, confronting one of Jenny Starling’s girth and six-feet-tall frame. ‘You really shouldn’t interfere with a body, you know,’ he said crisply, disapproval now rife in his high voice.
‘I do know, as a matter of fact,’ Jenny shot back just as crisply. ‘When I went into the galley at about half past four, everything was perfectly in order. It was only when I opened the door to the cupboard that Mr Olney fell out. I left him where he lay. I touched nothing, immediately put a chair in front of the door, left to tell the captain to dock the boat and send someone for the police, then sat in the chair in front of the door until you came. Nobody went in or came out of the galley, unless they did so during the brief minute I left to inform the captain what had happened.’
She stated the facts in a calm, unassertive manner, but she noticed both policemen’s eyes sharpen on her in sudden avid interest. She could almost read their minds.
Very calm. Very cool. Very correct. All very praiseworthy but totally unnatural. We’ll have to keep our eye on this one.
Jenny had seen that look before in a policeman’s eye. Alas, all too often. She was dreading the time when they finally got around to taking down names and details — her name would be mud in the vast majority of police stations in and around Oxfordshire and the Home Counties.
‘I see. Very commendable,’ Inspector Rycroft said dryly. ‘Since you seem to have such a good grasp of events, perhaps you could give Sergeant Graves here a list of all the people on board? I’d also like a rundown of the ship’s itinerary.’
Tobias winced at the term ‘ship.’
Lucas stirred, thinking that he, as host, should be the one to do the talking, then suddenly remembered that these were rozzers — and Lucas Finch and rozzers had never mixed — and just as quickly subsided again, more than happy to leave the dirty work to the cook.
Jenny glanced at the sergeant, who was waiting, pencil in hand, hovering over his ever-ready notebook.
Jenny knew all about policemen’s notebooks too.
‘The mur— the dead man is Mr Gabriel Olney,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure where he lives but I’m sure that Mrs Olney, Mrs Jasmine Olney, will be able to tell you,’ she began, getting off to a thoroughly disastrous start.