The Ice House Read Online Free PDF Page A

minutes, then shook his head and examined the floor carefully, using a spatula to loosen some dark material near the door. He sniffed the spatula. "Excreta," he announced, "fairly recent, probably animal. You'd better take a cast of that to see if it's got Fred's boot prints. How long's he been dead?" He shivered suddenly. "This is an ice house and several degrees cooler than it is outside. No obvious maggot infestation which implies the blowflies weren't attracted. If they had been, there'd be even less of it left. Frankly, George, your guess is as good as mine how long dead flesh would keep in this temperature. There is also the small matter of decomposition being hastened by consumption. We could be talking weeks, we could be talking months. I just don't know. I'll need to consult on this one."
    "Years?"
    "No," Webster said firmly. "You'd be looking at a skeleton."
    "Supposing he was frozen when he came in. Would that make a difference?"
    The pathologist snorted. "You mean frozen as in fish fingers?" Walsh nodded. "That's really too fantastic, George. You'd need a commercial freezer to freeze a man this size, and how would you transport him here? And why freeze him in the first place?" Webster frowned. "It wouldn't make much difference as far as your investigation goes either. An ice house only keeps things frozen when it's full of ice. A frozen man would defrost in here just like a turkey in a larder. No, that's got to be out of the question."
    Walsh was staring thoughtfully at the severed arm. "Has it? Odder things have happened. Perhaps he's been in cold storage for ten years and was left here recently for someone to find."
    Webster whistled. "David Maybury?"
    "It's a possibility." He squatted down and gestured to the distorted and tattered hand. "What do you make of this? Looks to me as if the last two fingers are missing."
    Webster joined him. "It's difficult to say," he said doubtfully. "Something's had a damn good go at it." He glanced about the floor. "You'll have to sweep up very thoroughly, make sure you don't miss anything. It's certainly odd. Could be coincidence, I suppose."
    Walsh stood up. "I don't believe in coincidences. Any idea what he died of?"
    "A first guess, George. Massive bleeding from a wound or wounds in his abdomen."
    Walsh glanced at him in surprise. "You're very positive."
    "A guess, I said. You'll have to find his clothes to be sure. But look at him. The area from the abdomen down has been completely devoured, except for the lower halves of the legs. Imagine him sitting up, legs out in front of him, with blood pouring out of his belly. It would be seeping over precisely those parts which have been eaten."
    Inspector Walsh felt suddenly faint. "Are you saying whatever it was ate him while he was still alive?"
    "Well, don't have nightmares about it, old chap. If he was alive, he'd have been in a coma and wouldn't have known anything about it, otherwise he'd have scared the scavengers off. Stands to reason. Of course," he continued thoughtfully, "if he was defrosting slowly, the blood and water would liquefy to achieve the same result."
    Walsh performed the laborious ritual of lighting his pipe again, billowing clouds of blue smoke from the side of his mouth. Webster's mention of smell had made him aware of an underlying odour which he hadn't previously noticed. For some minutes he watched the doctor making a close examination of the head and chest, at one point taking some measurements. "What sort of scavengers are we talking about? Foxes, rats?"
    "Difficult to say." He peered closely at one of the eye sockets, before indicating the fractured thigh bones. "Something with strong jaws, I would guess. One thing's for certain, two of them have had a fight over him. Look at the way the legs are lying and that arm, pulled apart at the elbow. I'd say there's been a tug-of-war here." He pursed his lip's again. "Badgers possibly. More likely dogs."
    Walsh thought of the yellow Labradors lying on the warm