Nero's Fiddle Read Online Free PDF Page A

eased the target away from the unbalanced tower and dragged it to the middle of his blotter. Then he stared at his mug of tea. Once again he had ignored the refreshment for too long and it now contained a lukewarm mix of fluids. As the internal temperature of the drink dropped, the milk grew a skin and attempted to expand large enough to touch the edges and possibly plot its escape.
    With a sigh, he pushed the mug to one side. He dreamed of a world where tea came hot and on demand. Perhaps in some sort of insulated cup so it didn’t matter if it lay unattended for a short period, the drink wouldn’t turn treacherous and tepid. Utopia .
    Flipping open the file cover, Fraser stared at the black and white photograph of Nigel Fenmore. Or, more accurately, the space Nigel Fenmore’s body once occupied, staining the mattress in a black outline. The demise of the elderly gentleman unsettled him. Burning was such a slow and grim way to die and nobody even noticed, not even the victim. If it weren’t for the foul odour sinking to the floor below, the death might have gone undiscovered for several weeks. He wondered if his end would be similar, alone and with no one to remark upon his passing. Perhaps he should make a greater effort to talk to his neighbours.
    He closed the file and tossed it back with its companions, causing the delicate structure to lurch to one side. Christmas approached fast and full dark settled over London hours ago. He rose from his chair and grabbed his overcoat. This winter seemed colder than anyone could remember, or perhaps the queen’s intense mourning for Prince Albert cast a pall over the country.
    Closing his office door, he decided to head down to hear Doc’s report before he found his way back to his cold and empty house. The upper levels of the Enforcers Headquarters were an anthill of activity, with people scurrying back and forth. Even this close to Christmas they didn’t slow down; in fact, the approaching holiday saw a marked upswing in crime, as a certain segment did their gift shopping in the homes of others.
    The press of uniformed men thinned as Fraser took the stairs below street level. He passed the cell level and the rowdy inmates shouting their innocence. Once he dropped to the second level into the ground, he found himself alone. Very few ventured this far, where death took up residence.
    As he pushed through the heavy steel doors, he noticed that for once the morgue did not feel chill, as the winter temperature outside plummeted due to the heavy layer of snow blanketing the city. Underground and above ground conditions met and mirrored one another. They were both frigid.
    “Hiho, Doc. Much on?” He halted on seeing the limbs arrayed on the table.
    Doc leaned his knuckles on the cool stone, his attention absorbed by the small collection in the middle of his autopsy table. “Nigel Fenmore was a physician, you know, and a tutor at medical school. He once served the Duchess of Kent and ushered our queen into the world. Now look at him.” Doc fell silent, his attention held by the head, foot, and hand. With the red and white striped cap removed, the head revealed a bald pate. A few long white hairs clung to the outer perimeter of the skull. Nigel had combed each strand over with care before donning his night cap. His eyes were closed in eternal sleep and his face held a peaceful expression.
    Fraser stepped closer. “No family has claimed him yet, but we’ll wait until after Christmas in case someone shows, if you can spare the room.”
    Doc let out a deep sigh and raised his gaze. “I am filling up fast with those who wish to permanently escape the good cheer, but at least my fellow surgeon does not occupy much space. I will find a quiet corner for Doctor Fenmore.”
    The suicide rate jumped mid-December and did not settle again until after New Year’s Eve. It revealed the dark side to the festive period. Fraser and Doc would be kept busy cataloguing the deaths of those who felt