Damned by Logic by Jeffrey Ashford

to worry. Mrs Ansell had said the two of them would take down the curtains in the dining room for dry-cleaning today. ‘Mrs A?’ she called once more. When there still was no reply, Mrs Kelton recalled the number of burglaries there had been in the neighbourhood recently. Perhaps the open back door meant something more ominous than just a one-off mistake ...?
    She wondered if she should go inside to take a look and try and find out what had happened to the silent Mrs Ansell. However, upon reflection – and there had been all those recent burglaries – she decided instead to call the police. They might laugh at her fears, but that was preferable to being attacked by a teenage thug who was still inside, rummaging around for anything that would help to finance his drug habit.
    PC Urquhart stood inside the hall and listened to Olive’s convoluted description of what she had seen and not heard.
    â€˜Suppose you stay here while I have a good look around, madam. Make some tea,’ he added; it might calm her down to be doing something and he wouldn’t mind a cup. ‘And make sure you don’t touch the handles of the back door.’
    As he moved into the kitchen and through into the hallway, PC Urquhart became aware of a slight smell which was worrying since it reminded him of the time he had been called to a house in which a man had died.
    The old cleaner had told him that she had not searched the downstairs rooms. He did so now and found nothing to indicate vandals or thieves had been there. As he climbed the stairs, the obnoxious smell became more noticeable. With mounting certainty, he entered each room. He was unsurprised when, in the second bedroom, a woman lay dead on the bed, her dishevelled nightdress and bedclothes in disarray around her.
    PC Urquhart called in the discovery and then prepared himself for the undoubted histrionics he would have to deal with from the old biddy downstairs, who had hopefully by now made a lovely steaming pot of tea.
    The forensic pathologist visually examined the dead woman’s eyes. He stood up, crossed to where Glover stood.
    â€˜The marks on the neck are too faint to categorize; the post-mortem may be able to say whether the skin has been bruised by pressure or not. However, there are no pinpoint haemorrhages in the eyes as one would expect in a case of throttling.’
    â€˜Then for the moment, there’s no positive cause of death?’ Glover queried.
    â€˜That’s the picture.’
    â€˜Very helpful!’ Glover had spoken less lightly than intended.
    â€˜We aren’t omniscient.’
    â€˜Any more than we are.’ He wondered whether to add something more to lessen the other’s annoyance at what he had said, decided not. ‘How about time of death?’
    â€˜Around two days ago. Rigor has passed, there’s staining on the abdomen.’
    â€˜So until the PM we can’t be medically certain we’re dealing with a crime?’
    â€˜No.’
    The pathologist left. Glover crossed to the window and looked out at the street, his mind asking the question whether he should treat this as a probable murder before the PM was held. To do so, would tie up many man-hours when he had many other cases to deal with, not least the murder of the presumed high-class hooker, Melanie Caine, which was still causing him much concern. However, should this death prove to have been an unnatural one – particularly a possibility with those very faint marks on the neck – and he hadn’t initiated a murder investigation straightaway, this would mean an unwelcome delay as the first twenty-four hours could be all important. One scenario could be that the intruder might have gone into the house to steal, found the owner had died from natural causes, been scared by the danger in which he’d placed himself and fled, taking and disturbing nothing. Such circumstances had occurred. Although, in all likelihood, surely a