A Dog's Life (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 4) by Oliver Tidy Page B

Grimes had his worst fears realised. Until that point there was always a chance – about one in a million – that the dead body would not turn out to be a man who witnesses could attest had been enjoying a lunchtime drink with a member of the local CID, a man that Grimes really shouldn’t have been within a mile of.
    Bernie Stark was burned almost beyond recognition. He was no longer the greyest man that Grimes had ever seen. What skin there was left on his face was charred a rich black. His hair, his beard, his eyebrows all gone. Frizzled to nothing. If he’d had his teeth in they would have been exposed in death’s grin because Bernie Stark had no lips left. Or nose. Or eyelids or eyes. Or ears. It was only his shoes and trousers – beer-stained – that Grimes really recognised. That and he was about the right size.
    ‘Jesus, can’t we open a window?’ said Grimes.
    ‘Not ‘til SOCO have checked them,’ said a voice behind them. Superintendent Vine entered the room. The expression on her face indicated that this was her first look at the dead man. ‘Fire team think that he probably inadvertently set himself alight while drinking and smoking.’
    Marsh thought: why would he just sit there and allow himself to burn to death then? Why not jump up and run to the sink or roll around or try to smother the flames with something? But she kept her mouth shut. She nodded and tried to look deep in intelligent thought.
    Grimes was thinking of himself. He was thinking that he was going to be in the shit when it came out that he’d been with Bernie very recently. He didn’t think that now was a good time to share that information.
    The sounds of Maurice Wendell and the SOCO team arriving and making their noisy way up the stairs spared the officers further awkward exchanges.
    Wendell was first into the room. Before he could say or do anything Superintendent Vine was in front of him.
    ‘You must be Bob Falkner’s replacement,’ said Wendell looking up at her from his less than average height. He offered his hand.
    ‘Superintendent Vine.’ The handshake was made. ‘You are?’
    ‘Wendell. Pathologist.’
    ‘Good. Pleased to meet you.’ She turned and said to Marsh, ‘As soon as you locate DI Romney, please ask him to give me a call.’ With a smart, ‘Mr Wendell’ she left.
    ‘She seems all right,’ said Maurice, when Vine had retreated. Neither Marsh nor Grimes took up the thread. ‘Oh, dear. Like that is it? Where’s Tom?’ Neither Marsh nor Grimes took up the thread. ‘Oh, dear. Like that is it? I might as well talk to him ,’ he said, indicating the dead man. ‘Got a name?’
    ‘Bernie Stark,’ said Grimes. ‘I think.’
    Marsh shot him a questioning look.
    ‘Right, well if you two will excuse us, I need to get better acquainted with the unfortunate gentleman.’
    Marsh and Grimes made way and as SOCO and Wendell were talking, Marsh said, ‘You know him then?’
    Grimes looked furtively around them before saying, ‘We need to have a quiet word, Sarge. Somewhere private.’
     
    *
     
    ‘How did we end up talking about my mother?’
    ‘Because that’s where we’ve been heading ever since you walked in the door asking me for help and that’s where everything usually starts.’
    ‘Everything?’ What do you mean everything?’
    ‘Men’s problems with the opposite sex.’
    ‘I don’t have a problem with the opposite sex. I hope you’re not going to suggest I could be queer.’
    ‘That’s not what I’m saying, Tom. I suspect strongly that we’ve been building up to this ever since you started coming to see me.’
    ‘Why didn’t you say something earlier? Could have saved me some time and money.’
    ‘I wanted you to get there in your own time. It’s important for you to be ready to discuss something like this. Properly. Very important. It’s hard to admit that you might have feelings of intense dislike towards your own mother, isn’t it?’
    ‘Hate my own mother. What are you