The Simple Death by Michael Duffy Page B

through dark sunglasses. When Troy reached them, they made their way down the steep stairs. He could see uniforms at either end of a path that ran around the bay, diverting the pedestrian traffic. Although it was almost ten on a weekday, there were plenty of people about. A police photographer had set up a camera on a tripod and was filming the scene.
    The Avery was the Wateries’ biggest vessel, and Troy guessed it was here because it was the best for working outside the heads. Two men in black wetsuits were in the water, pushing a floating stretcher towards the shore. Two more were standing among the big rocks with a group of half a dozen other police. The detectives reached one of the uniforms standing on the path and showed their ID.
    The body was lying between two boulders, a dark plastic sheet covering it. The smell was apparent as they got close, and Troy figured they’d need to get it out of the sun before too long. A uniformed inspector explained they were waiting for the doctor, who’d been delayed. He said, ‘According to the Wateries, the position and state of the body are consistent with Pearson coming off the ferry Thursday night, being taken out to sea and brought back by the tides last night.’
    McIver nodded and looked around.
    Conti said, ‘We need to get some tape up.’
    â€˜It’s not a crime scene,’ said McIver.
    Conti appeared surprised. So was Troy: it was almost certain the body had floated in, but this needed to be established beyond doubt. McIver was staring at the sea, unconcerned; Troy saw that yet again he was not himself.
    â€˜What have we got?’ he said to the inspector impatiently.
    The man looked up and around to see how visible they were to the onlookers. He told two of his officers to lift up one side of the sheet so it would act as a screen.
    Troy had never dealt with a drowning before, but he had some idea what to expect. Pearson’s body was bloated. Troy couldn’t recall if at some point the stomach would burst, or if the gases would go down. The face and hands were swollen and covered with what at first looked like large red sores, and he realised the flesh had been eaten by sea creatures. Despite this, he recognised Pearson from his photographs. McIver was holding one up, comparing what was in front of them to the picture of a smiling young man standing next to his father at what looked like a family gathering. God bless you, Troy prayed. You and yours.
    â€˜The clothes are what his wife says he was wearing that day,’ the inspector said, ‘and we found his wallet in his pocket.’
    Troy looked at Conti, who was staring hard, no sign of emotion apart from a certain heaviness to her breathing. She pointed and said, ‘What happened there?’
    Most of the clothing on Pearson’s left arm had gone, and the limb had been gnawed so badly that in several places the bones were visible.
    â€˜Probably the sleeve got torn off by a rock or the ferry’s propeller,’ McIver said. ‘Or maybe a shark had a go at it, exposed the skin and allowed the fish in.’
    â€˜Jesus,’ said Conti.
    â€˜It’s a bit like that.’ McIver looked around. ‘Seen enough?’
    The doctor had arrived, and after greeting the detectives he crouched down by Mark Pearson’s body.
    Troy said, ‘The arm’s not good.’
    McIver grunted. ‘He was right-handed?’
    Troy closed his eyes and pictured Pearson’s desk in his flat. The mouse had been on the right of the computer.
    â€˜Yes.’
    â€˜Bugger.’
    â€˜What?’ said the inspector.
    McIver frowned. ‘If he was a pethidine addict and injected into his left arm, we won’t be able to see the marks.’
    â€˜Won’t toxicology tell us?’ said Conti.
    â€˜It’ll show if he used recently,’ the doctor said, ‘but not if he was a regular.’
    McIver told the inspector they’d finished, and