A Painted Doom Read Online Free PDF Page A

stationed at the gate whether Dr Bowman had arrived. Colin Bowman, the genial pathologist who
     attended whenever they encountered a suspicious death, was the man to provide the answers to their questions. But the enquiry
     was greeted by the shake of a constable’s head.
    ‘Dr Bowman’s not here, sir. It’s a Dr Kruger. She’s examining the body now. She’s just over there by the hedge, sir,’ the
     constable added reassuringly.
    ‘She?’
    Wesley detected a wariness in his boss’s voice. ‘Dr Kruger’s a lady, sir,’ replied the constable, a little nervous.
    Gerry Heffernan snorted in disgust, in Wesley’s opinion unreasonably. ‘I don’t care if she’s a member of the royal family,
     I want Colin Bowman. Get someone to call him, will you? And don’t take no for an answer.’
    ‘Dr Bowman’s on holiday, sir. Someone said he’s in France.’ The constable who had hopes of joining CID, was glad to be able
     to show off his aptitude for detection.
    Gerry Heffernan muttered something incomprehensible which Wesley thought it best to ignore.
    ‘We’d better have a word with Dr Kruger, then,’ said Wesley firmly. He followed the young constable through the gate. A few
     yards to the right, up against the thickhedgerow, the product of centuries of nature’s work, the police photographer’s flashbulbs knifed through the gloom like lightning.
     Wesley could almost feel the waves of disapproval emanating from Gerry Heffernan, who was shambling along behind him. He just
     hoped that he wouldn’t take his disappointment out on the unsuspecting Dr Kruger.
    It seemed they had timed their arrival well. Dr Kruger, a tall young woman with dark curly hair and a face which, although
     not pretty, was pleasantly attractive, stood a few feet away from the body, removing her plastic gloves which, Wesley guessed,
     meant that she had finished her initial examination. She wore jeans, a dark-coloured fleece and, sensibly, a pair of sturdy
     green wellingtons. Wesley noted approvingly that she had come prepared.
    He introduced himself and Heffernan. The doctor rewarded them with a friendly but businesslike smile.
    ‘Single gunshot wound to the head at fairly close range,’ she announced matter-of-factly. ‘Death would have been instantaneous.’
    Wesley studied the body lying on the ground a few feet away. The dead man lay on his side facing the hedge. His slim form
     was clad in black leather and faded denim; on his feet he wore clean blue suede trainers. His clothes weren’t brand new but
     something about them told Wesley that they were expensive. The man’s hair was dark and fairly long; he couldn’t see the face
     from where he was standing, and he was glad of this as he stared down at the shell that had once been a human being. He hated
     looking into the faces of those who had suffered violent deaths.
    The doctor squatted down beside the body and heaved gently at the dead man’s shoulder until the face was revealed: an old
     face, far more furrowed with age and experience than the clothes and hairstyle suggested.
    Wesley stared for a few moments at the neat black hole in the forehead, then he turned away. When he looked back he was relieved
     to see that the face was hidden again.
    ‘Could it have been suicide?’ he asked hopefully. ‘No gun’s been found near by,’ said Dr Kruger. ‘I should think that rules
     out suicide or accident.’
    ‘Anything else you can tell us, love?’ Heffernan growled. ‘Time of death, for instance?’
    Dr Kruger gave the chief inspector a warning look. ‘I’d say he’s been dead approximately twenty-four hours – give or take
     a few hours. That means he probably died some time on Wednesday afternoon.’
    Heffernan grunted and walked away towards a group of scenes-of-crime officers; familiar faces. Wesley stood by Dr Kruger and
     watched him go.
    ‘Is he always that rude?’ she asked.
    Wesley found himself feeling apologetic. ‘Sorry about that,’ he