A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation by Elly Griffiths Page B

animal-skin cloaks embracing embarrassed-looking museum officials. But there are many reports of collectors refusing to hand over their ill-gotten spoils, of threatening behaviour, bitter recriminations. Nelson can’t see that the police have been involved but he’ll check the files. Could this group, who seem both organised and determined, be involved in Neil Topham’s death?
    ‘Boss?’ Judy Johnson is standing in the doorway.
    ‘I thought you’d gone home,’ says Nelson. ‘You look knackered.’ He realises that this is hardly tactful but Judy
does
look exhausted, grey-faced and almost shell-shocked.
    ‘I’m going in a minute,’ she says, ‘but I got the report from SOCO on the Smith Museum. There were some fingerprints found at the scene so I thought I’d run them through our database, see if there were any matches.’
    ‘And were there?’
    ‘Just one.’
    She puts a print-out on Nelson’s desk. It informs him that fingerprints found at the scene match the prints of one Michael Malone.
    Michael Malone. Alias Cathbad.

CHAPTER 8
     
    The Newmarket pub is on a crossroads leading to King’s Lynn via one fork, Downham Market via the other. Rumour has it that there was once a terrible stagecoach accident at the junction, and even today Danforth Smith’s horses sidle and spook if they pass this way. Stories of spectral carriages and ghostly horses are almost certainly unsubstantiated but, nevertheless, there is something unsettling about the location of the pub, backed by woodland, dense and inhospitable, and the only other building in sight is a deserted garage, with rusty Esso signs that creak in the wind. Despite these drawbacks, the pub is the watering hole of choice for the staff of Slaughter Hill Racing Stables and tonight, Karaoke night, it is full to bursting. Caroline Smith and her friend Trace have just left the microphone to tumultuous applause following a spirited rendering of
I Will Survive
. They give way to four stable lads who share a love of Queen’s oeuvre and an almost total lack of musical talent.
    ‘What will it be this time,’ wonders Trace, as they fight their way to the bar, ‘
Bohemian Rhapsody
or
We Will Rock You
?’
    ‘I’ve got an awful feeling about
Radio Gaga
,’ says Caroline, pushing her damp hair back from her face. ‘We haven’t heard that for a while.’
    But the quartet surprise them with
We Are The Champions
. Caroline and Trace escape with their beers to a relatively quiet corner of the pub.
    ‘We had a policeman round our place today,’ says Caroline. ‘Called Nelson. Do you know him?’
    Although Trace, in her leather trousers and artfully ripped top, hardly looks like the sort of person who would be on cordial terms with the police, she is going out with Dave Clough and so is regarded as an expert on King’s Lynn’s finest.
    ‘Yeah, I know him. He’s Dave’s boss. Dave thinks a lot of him but he’s always seemed a bit of a Neanderthal to me. What did he want?’
    ‘I don’t know. He wanted to see Dad. I thought it might be about that thing at the museum.’
    ‘To do with the bishop’s coffin?’ Trace is part of the field archaeology team who first discovered Bishop Augustine.
    ‘Yes. You know the curator dropped down dead?’
    ‘I’d heard. Why are the police investigating? Do they think he was bumped off?’
    ‘I don’t know. I thought you might know.’
    Trace shakes her head. ‘I try not to let Dave talk too much shop. If I wanted to know about police stuff, I’d watch
CSI Miami
. Much more interesting.’
    Caroline laughs. ‘This Nelson guy seemed to be talking to Dad for an awfully long time, that’s all.’
    ‘Why don’t you ask your dad about it?’ asks Trace, though she thinks she knows the answer.
    Caroline’s face darkens. ‘I can’t talk to him about anything at the moment.’
    ‘So you didn’t discuss the pay rise?’
    ‘No.’ Caroline stares into her lager in order to avoid Trace’s expression of amused