‘What do we do about the body, then?’ said the doctor. ‘If we had some ice, we could keep him cool.’
Midge considered this herself. The body would quickly start to decompose in the water, making later forensic examination more difficult. If there was one thing the rows of evidence in the property office had taught her, it was that preservation was critical.
Harold pointed out of the window. ‘We could... well, we could always use the snow?’
Midge glanced outside. It was unorthodox, but on the face of it, if they could cover him in snow it would mean keeping him intact to some extent.
‘We would have to ensure minimum disturbance while packing the snow on,’ said Dr Mortimer.
‘I don’t think any of us are keen to start fiddling with him,’ retorted Harold. ‘If that’s what you mean.’
‘Excuse me!’ interrupted Noah. ‘While you’re busy discussing how to create a human popsicle, is no one else at all worried that we are now clearly stuck in the house with a hostile paranormal?’
‘What are you talking about?’ asked the doctor impatiently.
‘It’s the ghost,’ said Noah, trying to gulp some air without opening his mouth. ‘It wants us to help it or... something...’ He was now gabbling to such an extent that Midge decided he was probably panicking, and that the best course of action would be to either slap him or ignore him.
‘Ghosts aren’t real,’ said Dr Mortimer, firmly. ‘But this body is, and for now, we should preserve it and then the room.’
Unfortunately, Rendell proved to be just as awkward in death as he had been in life, and covering him in snow and ice was far easier said than done. The first problem was agreeing on who would try to remove the plug from underneath him, in order to allow the hot water to drain out. Fortunately, rigor mortis and pooling hadn’t yet set in, which Dr Mortimer explained to Noah would have led to an unpleasant and messy rectal evacuation. Nor had the body decomposed enough to require the police underwater diving team and their protective gear, which was ideal for scooping up all of the subsequent body mush. Andrew said this was a really good thing, because all they had managed to find was a couple of pairs of marigolds and they weren’t much protection against the hundreds of unpleasant bacteria released from dead body goop. He began listing some of these before a nudge from Harold alerted him to the fact that Noah had turned an unhealthy shade of green at the word ‘mush’. Fortunately, Harold had managed to find several buckets downstairs, which they used to transport the snow from outside. Midge and Harold had to do this by themselves, because the doctor had gone to check onGloria at the first sign of manual lifting and Noah had to keep stopping to throw up and wash his hands.
‘It’s not normal, you know,’ said Harold to Midge as they stood beside the baths after their second round of snow bathing. ‘All that hand-washing.’
‘Not normal?!’ shouted Noah, his face turning red. ‘Fiddling with a dead body isn’t exactly normal, is it? But you two look like you’re on a day out in Brighton.’
It was true.
‘Had to get used to dead bodies in the army,’ said Harold.And to killing people, thought Midge.
‘This is so messed up,’ said Noah. ‘You do realize that, don’t you?’
‘How about you?’ Harold asked Midge, waving a hand down at Rendell, who now looked like a grotesque caricature of Frosty the Snowman. ‘You seem fairly relaxed about it all.’
‘Dead people don’t talk as much,’ said Midge.
When it came to fetching the last bucket of snow, Midge had to ask Noah to carry it back into the house by himself because of the sharp, relentless pain radiating from her knee due to the unaccustomed physical effort.
‘Well, if ever we want to go into the body disposal business, I think we make quite the team!’ panted Harold, kicking at a croquet hoop protruding through the lawn’s snow.
‘Rendell is not disposed of,’ frowned Midge. ‘He’s quite clearly still inside the bathing room. You can see him any time, should you so want to.’
‘Sorry,’ muttered Harold, his nose pink with the cold. ‘Probably inappropriate, anyway.’
The sky was grey with the threat of sleet. In the distance, the vast moorland slopes encircling them made Midge feel like a cornered ant, futilely scuttling around. On the top floor of the hall, Midge could see Gloria looking out of her bedroom, hersilhouette framed by the window and giving the appearance of a hooded eye watching from the house’s I.
‘Poor sod,’ said Harold.
Midge’s fingers were numb with the cold and her toes, despite the police boots, were curled under in an effort to retain some heat. ‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Gloria or Rendell?’ It was true, Gloria’s state of mind had seemed fragile enough before being confronted with a dead body.
‘Some people never have any luck in life,’ Harold replied. Which was a novel thought for Midge, who had never considered that a person’s chances of being murdered were influenced by luck alone. All in all, surely Harold seemed far too calm for a man whose employer had just been found dead under suspicious circumstances. She was hoping there would be a clue when they searched Rendell’s room as to why he was dead.
Indeed, as she contemplated the freshly dug snow holes now peppering the lawn, something started to stir deep inside Midge, something that had perhaps been awakening for a while. Her slumbering investigative instincts were telling her that despite Noah’s protestations of ghostly foul play and Harold’s of suicide, this was indeed a murder. She stared after Harold as he made his way back towards the door, a long-forgotten feeling of excitement and anticipation working its way through her. As he disappeared inside, it occurred to her that every one of them was now a suspect, and that out of all the guests in the hall, other than Harold, she was the one with the strongest motive to kill their host.
Bending her head, deep in thought, Midge poked her cane into the snow on the croquet grass and drew two circles, before slowly joining them together with a line.
Chapter18
Extract fromThey Do It With Stringspodcast
