The assistant Rodney stepped forward and helped Merlin turn the body of Glenn Noble. Two eye-shaped stab wounds were revealed.
Diamond’s hands tightened behind his back. “Not much doubt about those.”
Merlin watched him and said nothing.
“They don’t look superficial, either.”
Still nothing.
“I reckon they tell a story.”
There was a long interval of silence before Diamond spoke again. “You’re a helpful bugger, aren’t you? You know I’m pig-ignorant, yet you’re not going to help me out.”
Merlin shot an amused look across the corpse and then relented. “This one to the right of the spine did the main damage. Penetrated the lung two inches above its basal margin.”
Diamond bent closer to the body to examine the wounds. “Obviously you’ve cleaned him up.”
“You don’t get much external bleeding from stab wounds. There was a pint or so in the right pleural cavity.”
“So was that what killed him?”
“It was a potentially fatal injury.”
“The cause of death, in other words.”
“The potential cause of death.”
Diamond straightened up, frowning. “Am I missing something here?”
“I can’t be specific as to the cause.”
“With a couple of stab-wounds like this and massive internal bleeding? Come on, Jack. Give me a break.”
Merlin said, “As I understand it, the wife admitted to you that she cracked him on the head with a teapot.”
“I believe her. Somebody certainly smashed a teapot. His shirt-front was stained with tea, as I’m sure forensic will tell us in their own good time. Probably tell us if it was Brooke Bond or Tetley’s and whether she warmed the pot.”
“There’s bruising here on the head, just above the hairline,” Merlin confirmed.
“Look, what is this about the teapot? The man has two deep stab wounds.”
“And a bruised cranium.”
Diamond screwed his face into an anguished expression. “Are you telling me it’s possible that the teapot actually finished him off?”
“It’s an interesting question. I can’t exclude the possibility of a fatal brain injury. Of course I’ll examine the brain.”
“Haven’t you done that?”
“It has to be fixed and cut in sections for microscopic examination.”
“How long will that take?”
“Three to four weeks.”
“God help us.” He complained because of his own frustration. He knew Merlin would give him all the information he could as soon as it was available. He was the best.
“And even after I examine the brain, I may not have the answer.”
“Oh, come on, Jack!”
“I mean it. I’ve examined people who died after blows to the head and I could find no perceptible damage to the brain. We don’t know why it happens. Maybe the shock wave passing through the brain stem was sufficient to kill them.”
“So even after four weeks, you may not have the answer?”
“I’m a pathologist, not an ace detective.”
There was an interval of silence.
“Let me get one thing clear in my mind,” said Diamond. “Is it possible that what Mrs Noble told me is true that he was still alive when she clobbered him?”
“Certainly.”
“With stab wounds like this?”
“A victim of stabbing may survive for some time.”
“How long?”
“How long is a piece of string?”
“Your middle name wouldn’t be Prudence by any chance?”
Merlin smiled.
“A few seconds? A few minutes?”
“I couldn’t possibly say.”
“And how would he have appeared? Unsteady, like a drunk?”
“Your guess is as good as mine.”
“A distressed drunk?”
“Distressed is probably right.”
“Unable to speak?”
“That’s possible. The knife cut through some of the blood vessels and airways in the lung, so there was bleeding not only into the chest cavity but into the air passages. That would have affected his power of speech.”
“You see what I’m getting at?” said Diamond.
Merlin grinned. “You’re testing the woman’s story. I was at the scene before you, remember,” he rubbed it in. “I saw the brandy bottle on the table. But I’m not given to speculation, as you know.”
“Jack, I could be making an arrest very soon. Someone entered that house and stabbed him. Not the wife. I’m convinced she’s telling the truth.”
“Do you have a suspect?”
“I’m getting close.”
“I wouldn’t get too close. If you nab them for murder at this stage, you could be torn to shreds by a good defence counsel. Mrs Noble admits that she clobbered her husband with the teapot. She may have killed him, stabbing or no stabbing.”
6
It was a five-minute drive, no more, from the hospital to the murder house in Collinson Road. Frustrated by his session with Jack Merlin, Diamond looked to Julie Hargreaves for some progress in the investigation. He had left her there with Trish Noble, ostensibly checking the contents to see if anything had been stolen. More importantly, she would have been working on drawing Trish out, putting her at her ease and gaining her confidence in the way that she did with women suspects almost without seeming to try. If there were secrets in the lives of the Nobles, Julie was best placed to unlock them.
When he looked in, the two women were waiting in that chintzy living room with the bullfight poster and the map of Somerset. The television was on and coffee and biscuits were on the table. There must be something wrong with my methods, Diamond thought. While I look at a dead body, my sidekick puts her feet up and watches the box.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked.
Julie looked up. “We were waiting for you.”
“What are you watching — a kids’ programme?”
“Actually we were looking out of the window at the SOCOs in the back garden.” She reached for the remote control and switched off. “They look as if they’re about to pack up. Would you like coffee?”
“Had a hospital one, thanks.” In a paper cup from a machine and tasting of tomato soup, he might have added. He wouldn’t want another drink for some time. He reached for the packet of chocolate digestives and helped himself. “What’s the report, then? Anything missing?”
“Most of the furniture from my kitchen,” Trish Noble said accusingly.
“That’ll be the scenes of crime team,” Diamond told her. “They must have left you a check-list somewhere. You’ll get everything back eventually.”
“They weren’t the ones who pinched the photos from my fridge door.”
He said smoothly, “You’ll get them back.” He reached for the art book he’d remarked on before and leafed through the pages. “Is anything of value missing? Money? Jewellery?”
Julie answered for her. “We checked. Everything seems to be there.”
“Speaking of money,” Diamond said to Trish as if she had brought up the subject herself, “we’ll need to look at the bank account and your credit card statements. You do have a credit card? How are you placed financially? I’m not being nosy. We need to know.” He knew, but he wanted to question her on the details.