Evanly Bodies - By Rhys Bowen Page 0,9

the History Department at the university."

"It's his house?"

"Yes sir."

"We've had a positive identification? It wasn't an intruder?"

"Who broke in to eat Professor Roger's boiled egg for breakfast?" Sergeant Presley quipped, saw the steely look in Bragg's eyes, and added, "Not an intruder, sir. His wife identified him. She was the one who found him when she came back from walking the dog."

"Where's she now?"

"With a female PC. She resting upstairs in her bedroom."

"How's she taking it? Hysterical?"

"No sir. Very calm really. One of these upper-class ladies who's brought up not to make a fuss, I'd say."

"So it was the wife who made the nine-nine-nine call?"

"Yes sir."

"Anyone else in the house? Servant of any kind?"

"Not in evidence, sir. We just secured the crime scene and called in the plain clothes branch."

"Very good." For once Bragg sounded almost pleased. "Has the doctor been summoned, and forensics?"

"The doctor's here now, sir. It's up to you blokes to ask for forensics. Outside of our jurisdiction, you know."

Evan thought he looked rather smug when he said this, as if he was enjoying this encounter with DI Bragg.

"Right. Evans, get on to it. Use the squad car radio. We want the full Forensics Incident Team here right away."

"Very good, sir," Evan said. His feet felt like lead as he walked back to the car. After working for so long with DI Watkins and then with Glynis Davies, people he had come to know and trust, this was a bitter blow. From the few words that had been exchanged, he suspected that Bragg was well aware of his past successes and was determined to keep him firmly in his place: a junior officer, whose role was confined to running errands.

He made the calls to headquarters, then let himself into the house through the open front door. The house looked immaculate, as if it was ready for a photo shoot for Better Homes and Gardens. From the central hall Evan could see a drawing room and dining room full of good quality antique furniture, absolutely glowing with high polish. No clutter. Not a thing out of place. There were vases of fresh flowers on side tables, and exquisite, hand-embroidered cushions on chairs and sofas. Not at all the sort of place where anything as sordid as a murder should have happened.

DI Bragg glanced up briefly as Evan entered the kitchen: Detective Sergeant Wingate was standing close to the window with an older, harried-looking man beside him. Evan recognized the police doctor, with whom he had worked before. Wingate was obviously from an upper-class background, dressed in well-cut slacks and sport's jacket. His hair was a little longer than Evan would have worn it. There was no sign of the other DC. Evan suspected he'd also been sent on some menial errand.

At first glance the kitchen matched the other rooms he had seen-understated good taste and money at work: white wood, glass-fronted cabinets, blue-and-white Delft tile, blue-and-white china on the shelves, a vase of yellow crysanthymums as decoration, and a red Aga discreetly nestled into a corner. Then his eyes were drawn to the table by the window. It had been set for breakfast with a white cloth and the same blue-and-white china he'd seen on the shelves. Only now the scene was marred by a body, wearing a checked shirt and tweeds, sprawled across the table. From where he was standing Evan couldn't see the face, but he could see the red stain that had soaked into the white cloth around where the head lay.

"Ah, Evans. Got in touch with forensics then?" Bragg asked. "Good man. Now watch your step in here, won't you? Don't touch anything until forensics has given the place a good going over. We don't want you mucking up the crime scene with your fingerprints."

As if I would, you berk, Evan thought.

"Anything you'd like me to do now, sir?" he asked.

"Just hang around, observe, learn," DI Bragg said. "Do you have your notebook handy? I'll need you to take notes when I conduct interviews."

"Yes, sir." Evan produced a notebook and pen, rather wishing that he'd gone over to a handheld computer, which would have definitely scored points.

"Right, Doctor, as we were saying." Bragg turned back to the man standing by the window. "Time of death?"

"I can't give you to the minute," the doctor said, looking at Bragg with the same distaste Evan himself felt. "He was in the middle of eating a boiled egg. His wife can tell you at what time she served