Chapter 23
FIFE
Late afternoon and the air was hot outside Queen Margaret Hospital in Dunfermline.
Art shivered as they walked through the corridor to get to the lift.
His parents had died in here, his father first, then his mother a few years later.
His father had had a stroke and Art had said goodbye to him in a bed upstairs.
Then his mother had died of breast cancer.
‘You’re quiet,’ Cameron said.
‘Just thinking about my folks who both died in here.’ He looked at the younger man as they waited on the lift to take them down to the basement level. ‘Coming to the mortuary does that. Makes me think about death.’
‘Aye, that poor kid,’ Cameron said as the lift doors opened and they stepped in. ‘I try not to dwell on it, but having my own two kids makes me feel nauseous when we have to attend the death of a child.’
‘Me too, son, and I don’t have any kids. There are some evil bastards walking about this earth, and we only get to capture a small percentage of them.’
The mortuary corridor was cold, but at least it was well lit. They walked along to Sherlock’s office, but he wasn’t in.
‘He’s through in the post-mortem suite,’ one of the assistants told them.
‘Thanks,’ Art said, shivering. ‘I’m either feeling the effects of the temperature down here, or somebody walked over my grave.’
‘Don’t start getting all creepy when there are dead people down here,’ Cameron complained as they went into the suite.
Det Supt Breck was already there, having driven in his own car.
For a pathologist, Sherlock Holmes had no right to be so cheery, Art thought. Maybe the man liked a wee drink between cutting up cadavers. He knew he would.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, smiling across the table at the detectives. ‘This is Doctor Eva Cruz, from New York City. She’s doing an exchange with Edinburgh University.’
She smiled at them. ‘It’s Eva.’ She looked like she was sixteen but was probably in her early forties. Dark hair, cut short. She wore no make-up but didn’t need it. She looked like she hit the gym frequently.
‘Hi, Eva,’ Art said, getting a look from Breck in the process.
‘Eva,’ Cameron said, nodding to her.
‘I called Doctor Cruz in to have a look at our victim,’ Sherlock said, gently lifting the white sheet back from the skeleton underneath.
Breck looked down at the brown bones that he could see in the tears of the clothes, at the skull grinning at them. It had been cleaned up, probably with a paintbrush to take most of the dirt off, but there were remnants of skin still clinging on, looking like well-tanned leather.
‘Small person or child?’ Breck asked.
‘Child,’ Eva said. ‘A little boy, in the age range of between six and eight.’ She delivered the line with professionalism, but there was an underlying hint of sadness.
‘We were very careful removing him from under the floor,’ Sherlock said. ‘The ropes are still attached to his wrists, his arms behind his back. There’s a large hole in the back of his skull.’
‘Fuck me,’ Breck said, then looked at Eva. ‘Pardon the French.’
‘That’s okay. I’m fluent myself.’ She looked down at the boy. ‘It looks like he was beaten at some point in his life, too. He had a broken arm that healed. Broken ribs. Broken collarbone. There was also a fragment of a bar of soap.’
‘Like it was a punishment,’ Breck said. ‘Like how your mother used to tell you she would wash out your mouth with soap for swearing, or something.’
‘You sound like you’re talking from experience,’ Eva said with a smile.
‘Aye. My mother was very strict. That’s why she’s going in a fucking home.’
‘Can you tell how long he’s been dead?’ Art asked.
‘A long time. Decades. Whoever killed him put him under those floorboards a very long time ago.’
‘Any other ID in the pockets?’ Art asked.
‘Nothing,’ Sherlock said.
Breck nodded. ‘Right. I need a DCI to take the lead on this. I’ll make a call upstairs and see what they come up with.’
‘Righty-o,’ Sherlock said.
‘I’m sure Alan will be back soon,’ Art said as they rode the lift upstairs.
Breck looked at him. ‘Meantime, we need a DCI running this show. Especially if we find out Pat McRae was helped along. Deal with it, Arthur.’
Art nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’