Bodies Read Online Free Page A

bodies simultaneously was something new in my experience, apart from my one IRA bomb. These four had all died very quickly, that was clear, but three of them at least had had a second or two of terrified anticipation. Bob Cordle, I guessed, had been crouched behind his camera and had known nothing until the bullet entered his back. Dale Herbert seemed to have turned in the direction of the door, and was presumably shot second. He was—he had been—a long, scruffy,amiable-looking youth. Bob Cordle was shortish, balding and potbellied, wearing a cardigan and old-fashioned grey flannels.
    â€œThere was a notebook in his jacket pocket,” said Joplin. “It looked interesting. The boys will let you have it as soon as they’ve done with it.”
    â€œGood,” I said. “We may need it to identify the man, if Phil Fennilow doesn’t know him.”
    The models, it had to be presumed, had had longer to anticipate death: not long in real terms, but long enough to them. The girl was full-figured, light brown-haired, with what one guessed had been a very attractive face. It was heavily made up, as probably it had to be, even for that apostle of the natural, Bodies magazine. But the makeup was done skilfully, and there was no suggestion of the tart. I turned over the clothes, which, similarly, were smart and good, not smart and tart. I guessed at a girl who liked the good things of life, but was not extracting enough money out of the Thames Valley to buy them. The man was more difficult. Men always are, but particularly so in this case. Shorts and tracksuit and jogging shoes don’t tell you much, and you could guess he was some kind of athlete from the body alone. The bag held the card Joplin had mentioned, a bodybuilding magazine and a jock strap. The body itself told one little, except that he had dedicated himself to making it beautiful.
    â€œMr. Anonymous,” I said. “Nothing but a collection of pectorals and biceps brachis.”
    â€œYou’re not without pectorals and biceps brachis yourself,” said Joplin.
    â€œSorry. Was I moralizing? I mustn’t get into the Hamlet syndrome every time I see a corpse. No doubt eventually the young man will acquire a name and a personality. Well then—four bodies and six shots, and nobody reported anything to the police at the time. Isn’t it wonderful? Still, I suppose you could say that was Soho.”
    â€œSoho isn’t all crooks,” protested Joplin. “After all, it’s fifty percent restaurants.”
    â€œWhose proprietors take very good care not to get on the wrong side of the crooks,” I said. “They’ll keep very quiet until we go asking—then they’ll have to weigh up which side in the crime war they prefer to keep on the right side of.”
    I drew back the drape from the window and looked along the street.
    â€œChinese opposite. Greek three doors down. I used to go there when I was on that Vice Squad investigation.”
    â€œWhat a job!” commented Garry Joplin. “Talk about the little Dutch boy sticking his finger in the hole . . . ”
    â€œYou’re not far wrong. What’s on this side? I can’t see.”
    â€œI thought you might have noticed,” Joplin said, “what was next door to this place.”
    â€œI was dropped at the door. The next door up looked rather like a brothel.”
    â€œNo, on the other side—this side, in fact. It’s a strip joint called ‘Strip à la Wild West.’ ”
    â€œThe mind boggles. Was it,” I asked delicately, “wild west girls or wild west boys who were stripping?”
    â€œGirls. Nothing queer about that set-up.”
    â€œNot that it makes any difference. I gather you’re suggesting that the show would have included guns.”
    â€œIf you can go by the pictures outside. Guns and whips—which sound pretty much alike. If people in the vicinity had