Play Dead Read Online Free

turned away from the sliding doors and moved back towards the centre of the space. The rest of them filed around and followed like some kind of disjointed snake.
    The professor moved through the office section to the far end of the space. The left-hand side held a kitchen area with all the normal appliances. Kim wasn’t so sure she wanted to take a look in the fridge or the freezer. The rest of the space was taken up by a three-seater leather sofa and a round meeting table made of the same light beech as the desks.
    A woman stood before a boiling kettle, spooning instant coffee into an array of mugs. Her legs were encased in dark jeans and what appeared to be compulsory-issue wellington boots. Her tawny hair was pulled back in a functional ponytail that rested on the back of a college emblazoned sweatshirt.
    ‘This is Catherine Evans, entomologist. She’s our resident maggot lady.’
    The woman turned her head, smiled and nodded. The smile was neither warm nor welcoming. It was functional and reminded Kim of a toddler being told to smile for a tolerated aunt.
    She couldn’t help but feel that Catherine Evans had heard that introduction a hundred times already and briefly wondered how the woman felt about her extensive journey of education and study being reduced to a description of ‘maggot lady’.
    Professor Wright stopped and turned, clasping his hands before him. ‘We have a couple of consultants roaming the site at the moment but they are currently observing Ant and Dec so will not interfere…’
    ‘Excuse me?’ Kim said, perplexed.
    He smiled. ‘I will explain,’ he said, leading them outside. He closed the door behind him and began walking slowly, heading east.
    ‘Officially we are categorised as a research facility specialising in forensic anthropology and related disciplines,’ said the professor. ‘More commonly known as a body farm.’
    ‘Isn’t there one in America?’ Dawson asked.
    ‘There are actually six in America. The largest belongs to Texas State University and covers an area of seven acres.’
    Dawson frowned and shook his head. ‘No, that’s not the…’
    ‘You’ll be thinking of the original body farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, founded by Doctor William Bass in eighty-one and made famous by the author Patricia Cornwell. Westerley is much smaller than the two and a half acres of the Texas facility but is used in the training of law enforcement in scene-of-crime skills and techniques. I visited the place some years ago and modelled Westerley on many of their ideas and theories.’
    ‘So how much land do you have?’ Dawson asked.
    Professor Wright nodded forwards. ‘As far as the eye can see and a little bit beyond the south border.’
    Kim followed his gaze. The area he’d indicated totalled seven or eight football pitches and although the ground undulated in places it was a downhill slope from the Portakabin.
    He pointed to the west. ‘Those trees mark the barrier to Staffordshire. The entire south is blocked by hedgerow beyond the oak trees and to the east is a brook that separates us from our closest neighbours.’
    ‘And how do they feel?’ Dawson asked.
    He smiled. ‘We don’t place a weekly advertisement but our closest neighbour is a food-packaging factory. It’s a half mile in any direction to the nearest resident.’
    Dawson seemed satisfied.
    ‘How many bodies do you have?’ Bryant asked.
    ‘Currently seven.’
    ‘Where do you get ’em from?’ Stacey asked.
    ‘Donations from family members, a person’s own wishes as stated in a will—’
    ‘Hang on, Professor,’ Bryant interrupted. ‘You’re telling me that family members actually donate their loved ones to this research?’
    Professor Wright hesitated. ‘Donations to medical research rarely state the nature of the research. Few family members would wish to know the details, but they are content to know that the death of a loved one may be of scientific benefit, and of course it is.’
    Kim stepped in.