Deity Read Online Free PDF

of the scars from battles with the hard walls and pavements of modern city life.
    ‘Looks like we can still get prints,’ observed Noble. ‘He’s likely to be in the system for something.’
    Brook nodded absentmindedly. He ran his latex fingers through the man’s hair and sniffed his own hand then stroked the cold face with the back of his hand and sniffed again.
    ‘What is it?’ asked Noble.
    Brook touched his fingers on the man’s smoothly shaved cheek. Then he rubbed them together and held them to his nose. ‘I don’t know. I think he’s had something applied to his face.’ He offered his hand to Noble. ‘Can you smell that?’
    Noble sniffed then shook his head. ‘Can’t smell a thing – I’m a smoker.’
    ‘Lucky you.’ Brook had one last sniff. ‘Make-up? Maybe someone’s tried to make our friend look a little more lifelike, cover all the blemishes and broken blood vessels, probably post mortem.’ He dropped his hand and looked at the head of the corpse. ‘And see the hair? Look how well groomed it is – as if it was cut recently.’
    ‘And the face is shaved as well. Think he’s been tarted up for the coffin?’
    Brook glanced across at Noble. ‘Let’s hope it’s that.’ Noble returned a grim smile.
    Brookstood up and looked again at the bridge 150 yards away. The road across headed north into Borrowash village. ‘Let’s have a look over the bridge, just to tick it off. Is the Police Surgeon on his way?’
    Pullin nodded. ‘Keep your eyes peeled for those clothes,’ he added.
    Noble looked up expectantly as Brook turned back to Pullin with the briefest tic of annoyance. But instead of thanking him for a lesson in basic detection, Brook managed to dredge up a strained smile.
    ‘Good idea, Keith,’ he said, catching Noble’s approving glance. Clearly he was trying to mend fences. Pullin’s demeanour, however, remained sullen. Either he was still annoyed with Brook or had succumbed to the solemnity of standing over a life ended.
    ‘When we’ve seen the bridge, let’s find a café, John. I’m gagging for a cup of tea.’
    ‘Shouldn’t we wait for the PS?’
    ‘We’ll be back.’ Brook made to walk away but then turned back. ‘What’s that?’ He knelt to point at something in the dead man’s side. ‘There.’
    Everyone gathered to follow Brook’s finger indicating an area almost hidden underneath the body.
    ‘I don’t know,’ said Pullin, peering closely at it. ‘Looks like a bit of thread or string. Give us a hand,’ he said to a colleague, and they rolled the corpse on to its side. The thread was visible now, the end of half a dozen large overlapping stitches along a five- to six-inch wound. The assembled officers narrowed their eyes to examine them.
    ‘That looks like a serious wound,’ offered Noble. ‘And very recent.’
    ‘Haveyou ever seen a wound with stitches like that?’ asked Brook. He looked around the assembled team, opening the question to all comers.
    ‘Looks like something you might see on a blanket or a sail,’ said one.
    ‘Or a tent,’ said Pullin. ‘I’ve never seen anything that loose on a wound of that size. Unless it’s a DIY – maybe he did it himself after a fight or something.’
    ‘Maybe.’ Brook moved closer to examine the wound. On an impulse he prodded the corpse on the chest. Next he felt along his stomach. ‘Well, well. That should make the post mortem more interesting, though I’m guessing our friend here may be no stranger to the process.’
    ‘What do you mean?’ said Noble.
    At that moment, the two men holding the corpse let it roll back into position and as it settled, watery red liquid, viscera and, strangest of all, what looked like a couple of small leaves gushed noisily from the wound, causing all but Brook to jump away in shock.
    ‘Shit!’ shouted Noble, forgetting one of only three rules Brook had laid down to him when they started working together.
‘Don’t swear in my presence, John. It betrays a mind