The Bug House Read Online Free PDF

the morning to you.’
    ‘I found this waif and stray wandering around outside,’ Una says in her forty-a-day rasp.
    ‘DC Kath Ptolemy,’ the blonde-haired woman says as Fallow’s eyes swivel towards her. ‘Are you DCI Vos?’
    ‘Do you have a name for him?’ asks Tunderman, the pathologist.
    ‘For the moment we’re sticking to Ahmed Doe,’ says Vos.
    ‘Very PC.’
    ‘Superintendent Anderson seems to think it’s got a ring to it. What have you got for me, Mr Tunderman?’
    ‘Well, the injuries are consistent with a substantial impact,’ Tunderman says. ‘However the damage to the skeletal structure and internal organs, while catastrophic, is not as severe as one might expect.’
    Bernice Seagram is looking at the smashed body on the metal mortuary table. ‘What
would
you expect, Mr Tunderman?’
    ‘Almost
total
destruction,’ Tunderman says almost wistfully. ‘I’d guess our man was struck more of a glancing blow. You say he was suspended from a bridge?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Then it’s possible the air pressure from the approaching train moved him slightly. Or perhaps he wasn’t positioned centrally. Either way the bulk of the impact was down the left side. Hence the missing leg and the crush injuries to the ribcage and pelvis.’
    ‘But he would have died instantly,’ Seagram says.
    ‘Oh good Lord, yes. Although I can’t imagine his last moments alive were terribly pleasant.’
    ‘What’s to say it wasn’t suicide?’ Vos says.
    Tunderman tugs at his top lip. ‘Nothing in theory. But I did find this.’
    He grips the dead man’s head and moves it slightly to one side to expose two bluish marks on the right side of his neck, down near the shoulder.
    ‘Vampire bites?’ says Vos.
    ‘Taser marks,’ says Tunderman, who is not renowned for his sense of humour. ‘More specifically, stun-gun marks. The electrodes were applied directly to the skin rather than being attached to propelled darts.’
    ‘So he was immobilized?’
    ‘I should say so,’ Tunderman says. ‘You get 150,000 volts zapped into your neck, you aren’t going far.’
    ‘What about the body itself?’ Seagram asks. ‘Any distinguishing marks?’
    ‘Well it’s interesting you should say that, because as a matter of fact there is one very distinct anatomical anomaly. However I doubt very much the fall caused it, and I am absolutely certain it is not a natural defect.’
    Seagram looks at Vos, who in turn looks at Tunderman as the pathologist carefully leans over the body and removes the sheet covering it.
    ‘Ouch,’ says Vos.
    Outside the hospital, in the sheltered area reserved for recuperating patients to get some air, Seagram lights a menthol cigarette.
    ‘Give me one of those, will you?’ Vos says, grabbing one from the packet.
    ‘I thought you’d moved to mini-cigars, boss,’ Seagram says, passing him a lighter.
    ‘I’m smoking too many of them,’ Vos says. ‘I’m going back to poncing cigarettes off you.’ He lights the cigarette and draws the smoke down deep into his lungs. ‘Christ, it’s like sucking on a Polo mint.’
    They smoke in silence together for a while. Then Seagram says: ‘Fuck me, somebody branded his
balls
?’
    ‘Don’t tell Huggins. He’ll be blaming it on militant feminists.’
    ‘I don’t know any militant feminist organizations with the initials “KK”.’
    ‘Me neither. But I’m no expert. All I know is, it must have been painful.’
    ‘Tunderman said it wasn’t recent. What do you think? Torture?’
    ‘Possibly. Maybe initiation?’
    ‘You think he went to public school? That could explain the stun gun to the neck as well. These Eton types are all fucking masochists.’
    It’s meant as a joke, but Vos says nothing. He is gazing at a young man in a wheelchair being pushed lethargically around a small maze of bushes by a porter who looks like he would much rather be doing something else – and Seagram knows he is thinking about Vic Entwistle. His consigliere.