Murder on the Edge by Bruce Beckham Page A

a document in the centre of Skelgill’s desk.
    ‘There’s
the interim autopsy report, Guv.  Herdwick says he’ll have more detail
this afternoon.’
    ‘What’s
with him – has he taken up golf or something?’
    DS
Leyton replaces the trophy on Skelgill’s filing cabinet and sits opposite his
boss.  ‘Maybe he’s getting distracted by that new assistant, Guv. 
She’s turning a few heads about the place.’
    Skelgill
grins cynically.  ‘Maybe we should arrange a meeting – so you can
see what all the fuss is about.’
    DS
Leyton pulls a face indicating some indifference.  ‘Word is that Smart’s
already asked her out.’
    Skelgill,
on the other hand, appears discomfited.  But rather than respond further
to this apparently unwelcome information he scowls and points a gun-finger at the
report.
    ‘Have
you read it?’
    ‘Er...
yeah, Guv.’  DS Leyton sounds unsure as to whether he should have done so in
advance of his superior.  ‘While I was waiting for you to finish with DS
Jones.’
    Skelgill
leans back in his seat.  ‘Fire away, then.’
    ‘Right,
Guv.’  Now DS Leyton rubs his temples, as though this will help to bring
the details to the front of his mind.  ‘There ain’t a whole lot,
really.  No injuries or signs that he was involved in a struggle...’
    ‘I
thought we knew that already?’
    ‘Just
confirmation I suppose, Guv – and this covers internal as well as
external.’
    Skelgill
nods grudgingly.
    ‘Nothing
untoward in his blood or urine – alcohol, drugs, poison.  No indication
of any illness or disease.’
    Skelgill
looks like he is getting bored with the growing list of negatives, but his
attention level rises as DS Leyton suddenly gets to the crux of the matter.
    ‘Cause
of death asphyxiation by strangulation.  Possibly but not definitely
self-inflicted.  Probably but not definitely by the rope found around his
neck.’
    Skelgill
thumps his desk in a gesture of obvious annoyance, and to remove any doubt
about his feelings accompanies the blow with a choice expletive.
    ‘What’s
Herdwick playing at?  That’s no use to us – possibly... probably
– I think you’re right, Leyton – I’d say definitely he’s
taken his eye off the ball.’
    Skelgill
reaches for the handset of his telephone, but in his enhanced state of displeasure
he manages to knock it off the cradle and onto the floor on DS Leyton’s side of
the desk.  The amply proportioned sergeant grunts as he bends forward to
retrieve it.
    ‘There
is one thing, Guv – time of death – between noon and midnight on
Saturday.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘It
says they’re ninety-five percent confident about that.’
    Skelgill
glares at DS Leyton.  ‘Why didn’t you say that at the start?’
    ‘Sorry,
Guv – I was just going through the points in the order I could remember ’em.’
    Skelgill
declines the handset that DS Leyton is still holding out to him, rises and
crosses to the window.  He hauls up the venetian blind and stares out
across the car park towards the woods and rising fields beyond.  Rain has
returned to Cumbria, and a low blanket of grey stratus is coating the county with
a fine precipitation.
    ‘So
it’s murder.’
    DS
Leyton looks expectantly at his superior, but Skelgill seems preoccupied with
the view.
    ‘Murder,
Guv?’
    Skelgill
spins around.  For a moment there’s an expression of impatience upon his
face, but then he softens and stalks back around his desk to his seat.
    ‘If he
died on Saturday, Leyton, it wasn’t at Sharp Edge.’
    ‘What
makes you so sure, Guv?’
    ‘No
way could a body have lain there in plain sight and not be spotted from
above.  Weekends this time of year it’s like Clapham Junction.  Not a
chance, Leyton.’
    DS
Leyton nods reflectively.  ‘I suppose he was found early doors on
Monday, Guv.’
    ‘Exactly
my point – the very first people out on the fell saw him – and
they’d not even climbed the ridge.’
    And
now the puzzling dilemma – with