The Nosferatu Scroll Read Online Free PDF

mutilation.
    There was a further commotion behind them, and Bronson turned to see two uniformed carabinieri approaching. Behind him, Angela was still snapping away, recording the scene.
    The two carabinieri looked closely into the open tomb. One of them crossed himself and muttered something that could have been a short prayer.
    “Your name, please, signor?” the other officer asked.
    Bronson pulled out his passport and gave it to him.
    The officer wrote down Bronson’s name and passport number, handed back the document, and then asked, in halting English, what he was doing in Venice. Bronson replied in fluent Italian that he was on holiday with a friend. They had heard shouts and screams from the vicinity of the tomb and had come to investigate. He also produced his warrant card and explained that he was a British police officer, and his former wife—the womanwho was still taking pictures of the open tomb behind them—worked for the British Museum.
    The policeman glanced at her. “And why is she taking so many pictures of that skeleton?” he asked.
    Bronson raised his voice slightly, and repeated the question to Angela, in English.
    “It’s not actually the bones I’m interested in,” she replied, “but these pottery vessels in the tomb. They’ve been broken, but I think they were probably intact when they were put in beside her.”
    “How do you know that the skeleton is female?” Bronson asked.
    “The pelvis is fully exposed, and the male pelvis and female pelvis are very different in shape. This skeleton is definitely that of a woman.”
    Bronson translated what she’d told him to the police officer.
    “It’s very strange, what’s happened to that body,” the Italian said. “Perhaps it was done by vandals, a couple of centuries ago.”
    “What will you do with it?” Bronson asked.
    “Eventually, I expect we’ll bury it again, but for the moment we’ll have to take it into custody. Our orders in this kind of circumstance are quite clear. It’s the body of a human being, and because it’s skeletal we will need to get a forensic pathologist out here to inspect the scene and ascertain its age. Then we’ll transport it back to the mortuary for examination, just in case any kind of crime has been committed.”
    “Well, whoever did that to her head is certainly guilty of a crime.”
    Privately, Bronson thought that transporting the body to the local morgue was a complete waste of everyone’s time and effort, but he fully understood the position of the carabinieri. Police forces in Britain had similar regulations governing the handling of both corpses and skeletal remains. It was not unknown for murderers to conceal the bodies of their victims inside existing graves.
    A few of the onlookers had started to drift away, many of them taking pictures of the tomb and its occupant as they left, but others, curious at the presence of two police officers beside an ancient open grave, were beginning to appear.
    “I don’t know if it would be of any help to you,” Bronson said, “but my partner is an expert on pottery. If you have a problem dating the burial—if the inscription on the tomb can’t be read, I mean—then she can probably help by analyzing those pottery shards.”
    “Thank you for the offer, Signor Bronson. Which hotel are you staying at?”
    Bronson told him, as Angela finally finished her photographic record and stepped forward to join him.
    The second police officer was already speaking into his radio, organizing transport for the forensic pathologist from Venice out to the Isola di San Michele.
    While they waited for the boat to arrive, Bronson and Angela provided the two carabinieri with brief written statements of their recollection of the events of the evening.
    Almost half an hour passed before three new figures emerged from the mist, accompanied by one of the police officers who had gone to the vaporetto stop to wait for the boat. One carried a collapsible stretcher, another a