Dark Confluence by Rosemary Fryth, Frankie Sutton Page B

not enjoy dealing with death, but it was all part of the job.
     
    However, the last three bodies he had dealt with were making him seriously reconsider his career. It was not so much the manner of death – drowning was always nasty, especially when the bodies started to bloat with gas. What had seriously put the wind up him was the look on the faces of the dead. In all the years of policing, he had never seen such grimaces of horror and fear. It seemed as if all three bodies had died in such terror that the marks of their torment were forever incised upon their features.
     
    The coroner too had commented on it; his normally serene complexion blanching. He was a strange, dry sort of chap, the sort of man who would never blink twice around a dead body. He had a macabre sense of humour too, perhaps cultivated in order to be able to do his job properly, and then go home, and sleep well afterwards. Senior Sergeant Maxwell had worked with the coroner a couple of times in the past after bodies had been discovered in the Emerald Hills region. There had been nothing particularly out of the ordinary about those deaths, just two dead bikers from one of the criminal gangs operating drug rings on the coast. Investigations had uncovered that the murders were due to a payback from a rival gang, and arrests were made. Gunshot wounds were messy, but at least you could rationally explain them. The coroner had thought nothing of it. Yet these latest ones seemed to affect him, his eyes looked haunted for a long time afterwards.
     
    To make it worse, over the last forty-eight hours, the Senior Sergeant had been fielding phone calls from the press since the news about the publican had broken. Just as soon as morning staff had arrived for work at ‘The Royal’ the mess of alcohol was found, and then shortly afterwards they discovered the body of the publican in the cellar. The coroner had determined that he had died from a fractured skull from falling onto the concrete stairs, although the small bites on his legs and the piece bitten from his ear could not easily be explained. The coroner had immediately considered rats, although the evidence seemed to point to the fact that the bites had happened prior to death.
     
    The Senior Sergeant had known the publican well. In fact, most townsfolk were on speaking terms with him and his death had hit the town hard. The coroner had assured him that a DNA profile was in process on whatever had bitten the publican, but the Senior Sergeant was not mollified. The publican’s death rankled and he would be glad to know the results of the investigations.
     
    That afternoon, the second corpse had been discovered. Hikers had discovered a backpack and clothing by a local waterfall, and investigating further, had noticed the bloated body of the man partly visible in the pool. Police divers were again called, and the body and evidence removed. The coroner, who had set up a temporary office in Emerald Hills, had advised that the body had been in the water for a couple of days.  At least the cause of death was clear this time, drowning due to being under the influence of a prohibited substance, even if the look of horror on his face could not be explained away – perhaps the hippy had experienced a bad trip. The mushrooms had been impounded as evidence, and a search of the area had located a few more growing, some obviously interfered with. Senior Sergeant Maxwell had been tempted to remove those as well. However, he was not sure if the local national parks ranger would have approved. He marked the location on a map and reminded himself to ring the ranger office as soon as possible.
     
    The phone rang again, interrupting his thoughts. He picked it up and almost groaned aloud, yet another reporter sniffing out a story. The press had scented blood.
     
    *
     

Chapter 11
     
    Jen sat down to lunch and perused the local paper. She immediately noticed that the death of the publican had been relegated to page three.