Murder Most Royal — читать онлайн бесплатно полностью

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When she opened it, the screen came to life, revealing four grisly images. The Queen put on her bifocals to examine them more closely. They had been taken in a forensic laboratory and showed what was unmistakably a male left hand and wrist with a pattern of fair hairs below the knuckles, the skin deadly white, bloated, but largely intact. It looked, absolutely, like a gruesome theatre prop, or a model for a practical joke. Her eyes rested on the final image showing the little finger in close-up. Set tight into the ghostly flesh was the gold ring Rozie had mentioned.
Rozie explained the situation. ‘The hand was found by a local girl, ma’am. She was out dog-walking from what I understand. They’re working on the identification now. It shouldn’t take longer than a few days, even with the Christmas holiday. They think it may belong to a drug dealer because a holdall containing drugs washed up further down the beach.
‘I can save them the trouble,’ the Queen said, looking up.
Rozie frowned. ‘Ma’am?’
‘Of casting the net widely. This is the hand of Edward St Cyr.’
In answer, the Queen pointed to the top left-hand photograph. ‘Do you see that flat-topped middle finger? He cut off the tip doing some carpentry when he was a teenager.
‘I take it he wasn’t a local drug baron, ma’am,’ Rozie ventured.
‘This will certainly speed them up, ma’am.’
The Queen’s blue eyes met Rozie’s brown ones. ‘We needn’t say exactly who recognised the ring.’
‘Not this time.’ The Queen was firm. ‘I think that will be enough.’
Terrible though the news was, she reflected with relief that Snettisham, though close, was a nature reserve run by the RSPB. This was not, to put it bluntly, her problem.





