A Lesson in Secrets_ A Maisie Dobbs Novel - Jacqueline Winspear [30]
“No, that’s all right, I’ve got my bicycle. I’ll be in my office, when you’re ready.” Linden turned and left the room.
“Poor wee mite, it’s not right when a young woman like that has to come across a murder.” MacFarlane shook his head as he moved towards Liddicote’s body and peered down into his face.
“She thinks it was a heart attack, and she’s kept her head—I dread to think what we would be dealing with now had she not had such a good measure of common sense.”
Stratton had said little beyond greeting Maisie and seemed uncomfortable in her presence, and yet it was clear he was pleased to see her. Since they first met, some three years earlier, Maisie had known that Stratton, who had shown himself to be a shy man in matters of a personal nature, was fond of her. He was a widower with a young son and a job that demanded work at all hours. And though their exchanges had sometimes become heated when their work brought them into contact with each other, he remained fond of her, and she was sure he had heard she was being courted by James Compton. It was now clear that he was embarrassed at having revealed his emotions in such an obvious manner.
After the pathologist arrived, Maisie took the opportunity to engage Stratton in conversation, though her attempt at rendering the atmosphere a little easier was not helped by MacFarlane.
“How’s your son—he must be, what, eight years old now?”
“Growing fast, eating me out of house and home. But he’s doing well at school, though I’ve thought about sending him to a boarding school—my hours, you see.”
Maisie shook her head. “No, don’t, try to keep him at home—your mother lends a hand, doesn’t she?”
“Yes, she’s a great help.”
“I was sent away after my mother died—admittedly, I was older, and it wasn’t for school—but I missed my father very much, especially having lost my mother.”
“You do know you’re speaking to a woman who’s affianced, don’t you?” MacFarlane interjected, having left the pathologist and his assistant for a moment.
“Take no notice, Richard, he’s having you on—I am not engaged.”
“It’s only a matter of time, according to my sources.”
“Wouldn’t your sources be better employed on police work?” Maisie threw the tease back at MacFarlane, though she was annoyed that he would try to embarrass both her and Stratton.
“And what if it was police work?” replied MacFarlane.
“Sir—” Stratton touched MacFarlane on the arm to let him know the pathologist had begun to put away his instruments and had instructed his assistants to prepare Greville Liddicote’s body for removal.
The pathologist, Tom Sarron, joined them. He was a tall man, thin, with a serious look about him that reminded Maisie of other scientists she had met in the course of her work. When he entered the office, he had taken off his jacket to reveal shirtsleeves already rolled up, and the white coat he donned was freshly laundered, still with creases where it had been starched and pressed. Sarron had moved around the body with reverence, and Maisie had heard him talk to Liddicote, even make a light joke, as if the dead man’s soul were still present and watching.
“Anything we don’t know?” asked MacFarlane.
Sarron shook his head. “Not really. The deceased seemed in fair condition for his age, but even a twenty-year-old pugilist with a strong neck musculature would have struggled to survive this sort of attack—sudden, immediate severing of spinal cord, severe damage to brain stem, with arterial and vascular damage.”
“Had to be a strong person.”
Again Sarron shook his head. “No, don’t assume strength. It’s the technique. If someone is swift, the attack unexpected, the angle just right, and the perpetrator knows exactly where to place their hands and how to do it—it’s not in the strength but in the execution.” He looked up and half-smiled. “Sorry about the pun. I always seem to do that.”
“Aye, you do. We’ll be calling you Sorry Sarron before long.”