A Bali Conspiracy Most Foul Read Online Free PDF Page B

murderer but by the random hand of fate.
    Barton found what he was looking for. He walked over to them holding something in the palm of his hand.
    It was a flat piece of bone, singed around the edges.
    Singh asked, ‘Part of a skull?’
    Dr Barton nodded. ‘Yes, I think so.’ He tapped himself on the forehead. ‘Frontal plate.’
    â€˜Why is it important?’ The Sikh policeman was mystified.
‘Presumably you’ve got frontal plates and occipital plates and every other bone in that macabre collection of yours!’
    Barton held up the piece so they could see it clearly. The others peered at it. The doctor slipped his index finger through a perfectly round hole in the centre of the cranial plate.
    Inspector Singh sighed.
    Bronwyn looked at him questioningly. She asked, ‘What is it?’
    â€˜A bullet hole,’ said the inspector from Singapore.

Three
    â€˜I don’t understand!’ exclaimed Bronwyn, clutching her thin hair with both hands. ‘Was this one of the bomb victims?’
    Dr Barton nodded. ‘Yes, in the sense that the remains were recovered from the Sari Club. No, in that he was already dead when the bomb went off.’
    â€˜But how is that possible? Surely the body would have been spotted? It was a crowded nightclub!’ Singh made his doubts clear.
    Atkinson said, ‘It is almost impossible to understand. But the Sari Club was completely destroyed. There’s no way of knowing for sure if there were any store rooms or corners where a body might have been stashed.’
    â€˜How certain are you it’s a bullet hole? Couldn’t it have been caused by shrapnel or nails or something like that?’ Singh’s tone was belligerent, instinctively treating the doctor like a witness whose story had to be tested under pressure.
    Dr Barton remained composed. ‘It’s a good theory, but the Sari Club bomb was not laced with the normal cocktail of metal objects. And – it’s not conclusive – but I tested the
carbonated remains around the bullet hole’ – he held up his bizarre trophy – ‘and, although one burnt-out piece of bone looks very much like another, there was gunpowder residue around this hole.’
    Singh exhaled, blowing out his cheeks. He said, ‘So what you’re saying is that in the midst of carnage, there’s also been murder?’
    â€˜Well, it’s all murder,’ retorted Barton.
    Singh scowled at him, thick eyebrows almost meeting above his large nose. ‘You know what I mean – there was an individual murder in the midst of mass murder.’
    â€˜The question is – does it matter?’ Atkinson posed the question like an academic in an ivory tower.
    â€˜What do you mean?’ asked Bronwyn in a subdued voice.
    â€˜We’re dealing with an international investigation into a terrorist attack. Do we have the time and resources to look into a murder?’
    â€˜Are you suggesting we ignore this?’ Singh was angry.
    â€˜I’m suggesting that maybe we should look away. Relative to the suicide bombings – this is a minor matter!’ Atkinson, recognising that he was in a minority of one, was aggressive, his head thrust forward on his thick neck.
    â€˜Why did you show this to us if you want to pretend it didn’t happen?’ asked Bronwyn.
    Singh nodded his head to second the question. Bronwyn had the natural perspicuity that he always attributed to women. Atkinson’s behaviour and opinion were not consistent.
    â€˜It’s my fault,’ said Dr Barton. ‘I don’t think we should disregard this poor bastard.’
    â€˜That’s why you’re here,’ said Atkinson, looking at the Sikh policeman and grinning suddenly, exposing a row of small, sharp teeth.

    Singh had a suspicion he was not going to like what was coming next.
    â€˜We heard that your government sent us a security expert without any