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  ‘How come you got the happy snapper out when it’s not a suspicious death?’ Jeffries asked Mike.

  ‘I wanted to be sure we had all the angles covered,’ Mike replied, looking ever so slightly sheepish.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re pandering to the middle-class tendency to sue, Mike.’ Miller couldn’t help a small smile.

  ‘Well, he is, was, a solicitor, so litigation is always a possibility should any of his family or colleagues be unhappy with our findings.’ ‘Glad it’s not just to pass the photos round amongst your mates when you’re out for the weekly beer and curry night.’ Jeffries laughed and Mike winced. He was the least likely person to indulge in a beer and curry night, or to allow the pictures to be shown round, either. Jo was quite sure the pictures would only go as far as the Coroner and then be safely locked away. Not deigning to reply to Jeffries, Mike pointed to an open ampoule on the table. Jo went over and looked at it.

  ‘Amyl nitrate.’

  ‘That’s a popper, isn’t it? To prolong orgasm?’ Miller asked and Jo nodded as she carefully put the ampoule into an evidence bag.

  ‘He probably emptied it onto the orange segment on the floor there, which he then put in his mouth so that he could bite on it when he was close to – ‘

  ‘Yeah,’ Jeffries interjected, ‘I’m guessing he would have had his hands too full to break it at that point.’

  No one felt the need to add anything to that.

  Once the photographer had finished, Jo picked up the bitten orange segment in her gloved hands, and placed it carefully in another evidence bag and instructed Mike Parton to keep it, and all the equip- ment, around and attached to the body, as evidence, just in case. He was also not to remove any of the clothing or harness until the Cor- oner had seen it, even though she knew he would do that anyway. It was normal protocol in a case of sudden death such as this, whether or not there were any suspicious circumstances. The body would be transported to the morgue looking every bit as stupid as when he was found. He was to be spared no indignities.

  ‘It’s a natural death as far as you’re concerned then?’ Miller checked with her.

  ‘Natural? You’ve got to be joking, Guv. There’s nothing natural about dressing up in rubber and letting your John Thomas dangle like that.’

  Whilst Jo might agree in part with Jeffries’ views, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of knowing it.

  ‘I don’t think we’re looking at a suspicious death, no,’ Jo said and turned away.

  In fact, it was as clear a case of auto-erotic asphyxiation as she was ever likely to see, but the Coroner was known to be particular about no one interfering with the evidence before he saw it, no matter how cut and dried a case it was likely to be.

  With that, she left the bedroom and escaped back into the drawing room. She was dismayed to find that Miller followed her out.

  ‘Jo!’ he said as soon as they were away from the open door.

  She composed her face into a neutral expression before turning towards him.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I, um, just wondered how you were.’

  Sure that she was giving him a completely impersonal look, it gave her a slight feeling of satisfaction to see that he was not so composed. ‘Fine, thank you. How about you? And Lizzie?’ Mentioning his wife would probably be considered by many to be hitting below the belt, but justified as far as Jo was concerned. She didn’t want either of them forgetting that he was not a free man. Or that his wife was pregnant.

  ‘Fine, she’s fine. Doing well.’ He answered her with a brief smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  ‘Good.’ There didn’t seem to be much more to say after that, and Jo was relieved when Jeffries came out of the bedroom, removing his latex gloves. Mike followed, carrying a box of evidence bags.

  ‘Can you just countersign, Dr Hughes?’ Mike asked her and she went over to the table where he was putting the box down. Jo was kept busy, putting her initials on the seals and labels on the evidence bags and signing the log, and barely acknowledged Miller’s goodbye as he and Jeffries left, satisfied that the solicitor was, indeed, dead. No doubt his manner of death would be the subject of crude jokes in the station canteen for months to come.

  ‘Are we done?’ Jo asked Mike when the last bag had been replaced in the box, duly signed and labelled. ‘Only I really ought to get back to surgery.’

  Meticulous as ever, Mike checked his list and counted the bags one last time.

  ‘What the bloody hell’s going on here?’ A woman’s voice, sharp and haughty, someone who was used to getting her own way, came from the hallway. There was the sound of a much more squeaky reply, presumably from the poor girl who had found the body.

  ‘For goodness’ sake pull yourself together and tell me what’s going on,’ the voice continued, but was followed by a deeper, more soothing voice as Mike strode towards the open flat door to find out who was there.

  ‘Give the girl a chance, Antonia.’

  ‘Excuse me, madam –’

  The constable belatedly tried to intervene, but footsteps were rapidly coming up the stairs and two people came into the room before Mike or the constable had the chance to stop them. A man and a woman; he was in his early forties, hair kept a little on the long side, flecks of grey at the temple, well manicured, immaculately dressed in a con- servative grey suit and tie, and he looked every inch the provincial solicitor. She was in her thirties, her dark brown hair well cut in a sharp, angular style, but her pin-striped suit was made slightly less severe and business like by her scarlet nail varnish, not to mention the fishnet tights and four-inch spike heels she was wearing.

  Mike held up his hand to stop them coming any further into the room. The body and evidence had not yet been removed, and it was his job to keep everything uncontaminated until the scene was de- clared clear. Once he was satisfied that the body had been removed and nothing else was needed to be done, and not until then, would he allow anyone else in, and then, only the next of kin or whoever they requested be allowed entry.

  ‘Please, just stay where you are,’ he said firmly.

  ‘Who are you?’ The woman, Antonia, Jo presumed, asked him. ‘Coroner’s Officer. Mike Parton. And you are?’

  ‘Antonia Hersham.’ She held out her hand and Mike automatically shook it. ‘And this is my colleague, and partner at Townsend and Bartlett, Mervyn Bartlett.’

  Mike shook his hand as well, before the rather daunting Antonia turned her attentions to Jo.

  ‘Jocasta Hughes, Forensic Physician.’ She introduced herself quickly, but Antonia was clearly unimpressed and turned her attention back to Mike.

  ‘I take it something has happened to Giles Townsend? I mean, I can’t imagine he’d need a Coroner’s Officer unless he was dead.’

  Jo looked at Mike. He didn’t look happy.

  ‘I’m sure you understand that we would prefer to say nothing until we have a formal identification and the family have been informed,’ he told her firmly. ‘Now, if you wouldn’t mind?’ He tried to usher them back towards the door.

  ‘Mervyn can identify him for you, can’t you, Mervyn?’ She stood her ground, and gestured for Mervyn to come forward, but he didn’t look so sure that he wanted to.

  ‘No!’ Mike said a little too quickly, as if he thought the poor man would suddenly charge into the bedroom and see his partner strung up on the back of the door. Instead, Mervyn looked relieved. ‘It will have to wait until we have transported the body back to the mortuary. It’s often best if the next of kin identify the body, but if that is not possible, I will contact you.’ Mike recovered his control of the situation.

  Antonia turned to Jo.

  ‘What was it? His heart? Or did he have a stroke? I always said he was too stressed for his own good.’

  ‘I couldn’t possibly say until after the post mortem,’ Jo tactfully put her off, even though she had a pretty good idea about the cause of death. ‘Perhaps you could give us the name and address of his next of kin
?’

  ‘Of course. His wife Harriet. I’ll write down her address and telephone number for you.’ Mervyn looked very pleased to have something practical and not too grim that he could do.

  ‘She doesn’t live here, then?’

  ‘God, no, they have a large house in Hawkhurst, this was just Giles’s pied-a-terre.’ Mervyn wrote the details down and handed them to Jo with a little smile. Jo handed the piece of paper on to Mike. It was he who would have the task of breaking the news to Mrs Townsend and getting her to identify her husband, but not until after all the bondage gear had been removed, she hoped.

  ‘Well,’ Antonia seemed reluctant to go, but her partner was mov- ing towards the door, ‘If there’s nothing we can do here?’

  ‘I think we should get poor Penny back to the office and get her a nice strong cup of tea.’ Mervyn told her and then added, for Jo and Mike’s benefit, ‘Penny’s our receptionist. We sent her over here to find out what had happened when Giles didn’t show up for a breakfast meeting and didn’t answer his phone. She found the body, poor lass. Been a terrible shock.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ Jo was sure poor Penny would be telling everyone in the office all about exactly how she found the body for weeks to come. It would certainly take her that long before she could erase the image from her mind, if she ever did manage to do that. ‘She had a key?’

  A look of anxiety passed across Mervyn’s face but Antonia didn’t even blink.

  ‘Giles sometimes worked here and Penny would come and collect paperwork. I’d better just check his desk – ‘

  Antonia moved towards the desk by the window but was headed off by Mike Parton.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ms Hersham, but I must insist you not touch anything. Not until you have permission of the next of kin.’

  ‘But – ‘

  ‘Penny.’ Mervyn cut in. ‘We need to get her back.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ At last Antonia seemed to realise that she had no hope of getting past Mike and Jo and resigned herself to the disappointment. ‘Right, yes, let’s get Penny back and give her a chance to talk it through. Get it off her chest.’ She nodded at Jo and Mike and left, with Mervyn in tow, as two mortuary attendants arrived with a stretcher to transport the body.

  ‘Get all the gory details, more like.’ Jo said to Mike and he nodded agreement. ‘I’d best be off too, if you’ve finished with me?’

  ‘I don’t suppose I could prevail upon you to come with me to break the news to the widow, could I?’ Jo must have looked unenthusiastic, so he continued, ‘I know it’s a liberty and you’re a very busy woman, but we’ve nearly finished here and it’s not going to be easy, explaining it to her, how it happened, I mean.’ Jo realised that Mike, so good at breaking bad news to loved ones and relatives, was uncomfortable with the sexual aspect of this death. Even more uncomfortable than Jo. ‘Mike, I think that’s probably the understatement of the year.’ And with a sigh, Jo agreed to go with him. ‘Might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb, but I need to be back in time to do some visits.’

  Chapter 2

  The house in Hawkhurst turned out to be a substantial neo-gothic pile about a mile outside the village and which, being set in dense woodland, looked as if it could have been used as a set in a Hammer horror film. Jo parked her midnight blue, convertible Audi TT on the ample driveway behind Mike’s more prosaic but equally immaculate Vauxhall Nova and got out. She looked at the house dubiously.

  ‘His colleagues didn’t mention children.’

  ‘No, but it is rather large for two people on their own, better be prepared.’

  ‘I still don’t know how you persuaded me to come along,’ she grumbled as they approached the imposing front door, thinking that Giles Townsend could have fathered an entire football team and it still wouldn’t have occurred to his colleagues to warn them.

  ‘Because I’m just a wonderful human being? Or you felt sorry for me? Maybe it’s because you are a soft touch.’ Mike smiled at her, know- ing very well that it was none of these; it was because of overwhelming curiosity. She was wondering what sort of woman was married to the man who had risked his life, and lost it, in the pursuit of a longer and better climax. Mike knew her much too well.

  ‘Whatever the reason, I will need to take a very large cake in to work to make up for this.’

  ‘Take my advice, make it yourself. A home-made cake says so much more.’

  Jo snorted in amusement.

  ‘You’ve clearly never tasted my cooking then. I want the cake to show how much I appreciate them, not give them all food poisoning.’

  Mike smiled, but she wasn’t joking. Cooking, and in particular baking, had never been one of Jo’s strengths.

  There was an antique brass bell knob, but there was no sound when Mike tried it, so he used a knocker shaped in the likeness of a lions’ head instead. They both stood still and listened for a response. At first all they could hear was the yapping of a small dog, coming from somewhere deep in the recesses of the house. Then it was joined by the deeper bark of something larger.

  ‘Could you live in a place like this?’ Jo asked as they waited.

  Mike looked around him. There were no other houses in sight, just the lane disappearing through the woods.

  ‘No problem. Nice and quiet, wouldn’t get disturbed by the neighbours, that’s for sure.’

  Jo shivered.

  ‘I prefer to have all my basic needs in walking distance, not to men- tion the reassuring feeling that if I screamed for help, someone might actually hear.’

  ‘That doesn’t mean to say they’d do anything about it. A scream for help would get zero response in a lot of places.’

  And Jo had to concede that he was probably right. Maybe she should move further out, particularly as the young man currently liv- ing on the ground floor of the house conversion where she lived in Hastings old town, almost certainly wouldn’t hear her screams over the noise of the diabolical thrash metal music he played so loud that the bass beat rattled the windows.

  At last they heard footsteps and a voice calling out: ‘Do be quiet, Tucker! Lady! In here.’ There was a yelp, some scuffling and the sound of a door slamming, and then the front door opened with a rattle of chains to reveal a middle-aged woman who looked at them enquir- ingly.

  ‘Yes?’

  Mike stepped forward. ‘Mrs Townsend?’

  ‘And you are?’ Jo had a chance to look more closely at the woman whose husband had trussed himself up for solitary sex, and found that she looked completely and unexpectedly normal. Jo could tell that she had been pretty enough as a young woman, but now she was in her fifties and a bit on the plump side. Her hair had been allowed to turn grey naturally and fell to her shoulders in what should have been a neat, straight style, but was softened by a breakout of natural waves. Her only concessions to adornment were one small gold stud in each earlobe and a single-strand gold chain around her neck. Jo bet that the woman was a member of the Women’s Institute, was on the Parish Council and had no shortage of invitations for lunch.

  ‘Mike Parton. Coroner’s Officer for Hastings and St Leonards,’ Mike showed his ID, holding it high and steady, giving Mrs Townsend plenty of time to check it. ‘Could we come in for a moment?’

  Mrs Townsend stepped back, allowing them to enter the spacious hall. There was continuous yapping and a disgruntled bark from behind one of the doors that led into the hall, and the sound of claws scratching against the wood.

  ‘Quiet!’ Mrs Townsend said sharply to the perpetrators, and there was a slight whine as the animals obeyed, but the continuing snuffling sound suggested that at least one of the dogs was far from happy about being kept away from the visitors.

  The floor in the hall still had what looked like the original black and white ceramic tiles and was furnished with large pieces of heavy, dark Jacobean-style furniture that would have looked out of place in a smaller room, but fitted the house and its atmosphere perfectly. Mrs Townsend was leading them through into another room, and Jo’s
over-active imagination half expected it to be a torture chamber or a dungeon. Mr Townsend would seem to have been into that scene, so it was entirely possible his wife was some sort of dominatrix, although, Jo had to admit, she didn’t look like one. His colleague, Antonia Her- sham was far more what Jo imagined a dominatrix would be like than this rather mousy, grandmotherly woman. As she entered the room, Jo was surprised to find it was a pleasantly light and chintzy sitting room, with the sun pouring through the tall windows, showing up the dust motes and making them dance. It seemed to suit Mrs Townsend far more than the dark and overbearing hall.

  ‘Do sit down.’ Mrs Townsend told them. ‘I’m going to put the ket- tle on, make some coffee, I take it you’ll both have one?’

  ‘Mrs Townsend – ‘ Mike started, but she interrupted him, holding up her hand to stop him mid-sentence.

  ‘No. I will make coffee first, Mr Parton. I suspect whatever news a Coroner’s Officer brings, it won’t be good, particularly when he brings a woman along to cope with the tears. I shall need a good strong coffee to get me through it.’ And she went out, leaving Mike and Jo to sit and wait.

  As they heard Mrs Townsend open the door to the kitchen, there were some sudden loud yelps and the sound of claws skittering across the hall floor.

  ‘Tucker! Lady!’ Mrs Townsend called as a small black mongrel with more than a hint of Jack Russell in his ancestry came racing into the sitting room and skidded to a halt, to be almost bowled over by the larger, slower chocolate Labrador following. The terrier stood his ground, barking and yapping at the two strangers who had invaded his territory, but picking out Mike as the bigger threat, whilst the Lab jumped up, stuck two enormous paws on Jo’s lap and tried to lick her into submission.

  ‘Yuck, down!’ Jo said loudly and pushed the Labrador off her, where upon the dog sat obediently at her feet, grinning, dribbling and wagging its tail violently. She fished in her bag for a tissue to wipe the worst of the slobber off her face and hands.