A Donation of Murder by Felicity Young

into the room. ‘Set us up some lights, please, Constable,’ he ordered as he removed a brand new, brass-fitted electric torch from his pocket.
    He fumbled for a moment looking for the switch. ‘It’s the first time I’ve used one of these things, it runs on energy cells,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if they’re as good as everyone says they are.’ He found the switch and clicked the torch on, playing it about the walls and floors like a theatrical spotlight. Dody was impressed. The gadget was new to her too, and sure to prove useful.
    â€˜Watch your feet,’ Pike said. The torch beam picked up sundry items of rubbish, ripped-up floorboards and broken crockery strewn about the floor, and a half-burnt bonfire of household goods.
    â€˜The items in that bonfire would have produced a particularly thick smoke,’ Dody commented. ‘These men seem so brutal, so desperate. All this for the contents of a jeweller’s safe?’
    â€˜Not even all the contents of the safe; as far as I know just one pouch was taken. Shepherd has not yet briefed me on the details, but I’m sure all will be revealed soon. The first body is over here.’ Pike led Dody towards a shattered window and pointed to the body of a young man lying face up on the floor a few feet away.
    â€˜Would you be so kind as to proceed with the examination, Doctor?’ Pike asked.
    â€˜Certainly.’
    The constable from the front door joined them, lighting then placing several bulls-eye lanterns around the body. With the addition of Pike’s unwavering torch beam, the light was reasonable enough for a preliminary examination. Dody found no signs of injury on the front of the body, though the man’s nostrils were black from smoke. Perhaps Pike was correct, Dody thought, perhaps he did die from smoke inhalation.
    The constable helped Dody turn the body into a prone position and she ran her bare hands from his feet up his legs and back to feel for injuries and broken bones. A sticky spot at the base of the victim’s head caught her attention. She pulled her hand away and examined her shining fingers under the light.
    â€˜Blood,’ she said.
    Pike squatted beside her and shone his beam onto the man’s head. Dody eased apart a clump of matted hair.
    â€˜This man has been shot in the back of the head,’ she said to Pike as she wiped her hands on his proffered handkerchief. ‘The exit wound is at the top of his forehead, above the hairline, which makes it difficult to see.’
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    â€˜Extraordinary shot, hardly any blood at all,’ Pike remarked. ‘I had no idea we had such a marksman in the force.’
    â€˜Luck, perhaps,’ Dody replied. ‘Gunshots to the head don’t bleed profusely when death is instantaneous. Surrounding tissue also provides a barrier.’
    â€˜You’ll need to look for the bullet, Constable,’ Pike said.
    â€˜I’ve already got it sir,’ the young man said, handing the bullet to Pike. ‘It was tangled in the rag mat.’
    â€˜Good work.’
    The young man glowed at Pike’s compliment. Pike turned the flattened lead between his fingers. ‘Looks like a 22,’ he said as he slipped it into his inside coat pocket.
    â€˜Show me the other bodies, please, Chief Inspector,’ Dody said.
    The second man was positioned near the door. He too had been shot through the back of the head, the bullet passing through the skull and burying itself in the doorframe. The constable took out his penknife and prised it from the splintered wood. Pike put it into his pocket with the other one.
    The third man, the one on the landing, was heavily bearded with a tangled thatch of thick hair. His wound appeared more severe than the other two, the back of his head all but shattered. Pike winced when he saw the damage.
    â€˜Tell the men below they can collect the bodies now,’ he ordered the constable, ‘and have them