The blue Volkswagen Passat rolled smoothly to a stop at the edge of the grass verge next to the side pedestrian entrance to the graveyard. Police crime scene tape was wrapped around everywhere it was possible to wrap tape. Detective Inspector Liam Collins opened the passenger door of the Passat and stepped out onto the verge. He walked across the grass towards the pedestrian gate, glancing back over his shoulder at the car.

'Are you planning on coming Sergeant, or are you waiting for a gilt edged invitation?'

'Sorry Sir.' The short harried looking man hurriedly closed his door and locked the car. He quickly walked over his now receding superior. Detective Sergeant Roger Desmond was a slight, weasel faced man with sparse thinning hair and a long pointed nose. His wrinkled beige suit was a size too big for him making him look like a boy wearing his father's clothes.

In contrast, Collins was a tall slim good looking man in his early thirties. He had a shock of blue-black hair, severely in need of a trim and contrasting with his neatly trimmed van dyke beard and moustache. His lightweight dove grey summer suit fit him as if tailored to his exact measurements, and the lilac shirt and dark purple tie he wore complemented each other perfectly, the tie matching the jacket's top pocket handkerchief. The whole ensemble in his opinion, made him look devilishly handsome.

Collins was on the promotions fast track. He was the youngest officer to make Detective Inspector in the Wessex Region, consequently, his was a rising star on which many of the junior officers were attempting to hitch a ride.

Opening the gate and ducking under the crime scene tape, he stepped into the graveyard, not bothering to hold the gate open for his Detective Sergeant. Stepping carefully forward he looked around for the actual crime scene. The Sergeant was almost running as he came up behind him.

'I think it's over there Sir.' he said gesturing over to the far corner of the graveyard.

'I had pretty much guessed that Desmond. The milling wooden tops and forensics people were a bit of a give away. What do we know?'

'The gravedigger, a Mr...' Desmond fumbled for his notebook whilst trying to keep up with the longer strides of the other. '...Mr Wallace Tiernan, found the body at eight-thirty this morning. He was about to finish a grave he had started yesterday. He had collected his wheelbarrow from the tool shed adjacent to the church and wheeled it over to his work site.' Desmond paused.

'As he approached the grave he could see something in the bottom. Once at the edge of the hole he saw it was a body. At that point he called us.' Desmond closed his notebook, aware that Collins had stopped and was listening intently to his account. It never ceased to amaze him that whist Collins could act like a total git most of the time, he was outstandingly good at solving cases. In fact, his solve rate was higher than any other officer of his rank in the Wessex Region.

'This Tiernan, is he still here?'

'Yes Sir. I thought you'd want to speak to him so I had uniform hang onto him. He's waiting for us in the tool shed at the rear of the church.'

'Right, let's go and have a look at the scene, then we can pop in, say a few Hail Mary's, and have a chat with our gravedigger.'

'That's the Catholics Sir.' Desmond said quietly with a little catch in his voice.

'Hmm?' Collins had already started off towards the scene. He turned back. 'What are you blathering about Desmond?'

'Hail Mary's Sir. It is the Catholic church who call upon the sinners to say them...' before he could say any more, Collins interrupted him.

'And your point is?' his voice heavy with sarcasm.

'St Luke's is C of E.'

Collins stared at him attempting to take in what the man was saying.

'Okay, I'll say it again for those sitting at the back. Your point is?'

'St Luke's is not a Catholic church Sir, so you wouldn't be saying Hail Mary's.'

'Indeed.' Collins uttered the word with a finality that said DROP IT. Desmond looked down at his shoes for a moment before looking up and again gesturing towards the scene.

'Shall we, Sir?' He managed to make the last word sound like an insult. The two men made their way across the graveyard. As they approached the scene a nondescript man dressed in a white all in one coverall approached them. He had two pairs of the blue paper booties worn by the best dressed attendees of crime scenes these days. Collins motioned to wave them away but thought better of it and slipped a pair over his Italian loafers. Desmond pulled his pair on over his black hush puppies. The two detectives then continued on to the group of forensic scientists clustered around the hole and the body bag next to it. Collins approached the scientist clearly orchestrating the organised chaos that was the forensic investigation.

'Well George, what have we got?' Collins looked at the corpulent, pouchy faced man in the white all-in-one. The man turned to look at Collins with a mixture of scorn and distaste. 'Do we have a CoD yet?' Collins continued.

'Probably something to do with the large flat indentation on the back of his head.' Senior pathologist George Duncan did not like Collins, had never really got on with him. In his opinion, the man was an upstart, a young wet behind the ears whipper-snapper. He even had his own term for him, in Duncan speak he was a jumped up jackass.

'Very droll. Any idea what caused it?'

'Single, blunt force trauma. I suspect something large, and flat.' said Duncan without the hint of a smile.

'Again with the droll. Any idea what it could be?'

'No.'

'Okay.' Collins had a catch in his voice by now. He didn't like being given the run around by anyone. When it was a pathologist it annoyed him even more. Pathologists were an insular group with an unusual slant on life, probably due to the fact they spent many of their waking hours with the dead. The I see dead people syndrome. He often felt that he was viewed by George Duncan as too slow witted to be admitted to the stratospheric upper crust of criminal investigation that he inhabited.

He took great pleasure in needling Duncan at every opportunity and whilst he was used to Duncan's returned hostility, it had never manifested at a crime scene before, he usually saved it for private meetings in his own domain. 'Care to guess?'

'No.' Duncan bit off the word and looked at Collins coldly. 'I don't make guesses. I leave that to amateurs like you.' Duncan turned his back on Collins and began a discussion with one of the other forensic scientists. Collins' cold ferocity surprised even himself as he reached forward and grabbed Duncan's arm. He spun the pathologist back around to face him, moved in close so his face was only inches away from Duncan's and spoke in a low dangerous tone.

'Don't you ever, turn your back on me. Do you understand?' Duncan attempted to pull away, unsuccessfully. When this failed he grabbed Collins' hand. He too was livid, the anger draining his face of blood and making him resemble one of the cadavers he was so used to dealing with.

'You're making a scene. Let go of my arm!' he hissed.

Collins continued to hold Duncan's arm, 'I'll ask you again.' He bit off the words, coldly and calmly. 'Any idea what the murder weapon is?' They stared at each other for what seemed to be an infinity of time, but actually only spanned three or four seconds. Collins glanced down with a look of surprise as he realised that he was still holding Duncan's arm. He released it taking a step back and giving the overweight man some personal space. Duncan looked at his arm and rubbed it, then slowly raised his gaze to lock with Collins.

'Could be a spade, or shovel.' he grudgingly muttered.

'Thank you George.' Collins smiled broadly; Duncan scowled. 'When will you have an idea of ToD?' Again Duncan scowled. Collins raised his eyebrows. The look said Do you really want to get into this again?

'I can guess if you want.' Duncan made the word guess sound as if Collins were expecting him to eat some of the dirt from the bottom of the open grave. Collins let it pass. Duncan continued a little less grudgingly 'Judging by the level of rigour, I would estimate it at somewhere between eleven and five yesterday. I should have the PM finished before close of business this evening. Come to my office later this afternoon and I will see what I can do about narrowing it down a bit.' It wasn't an invitation so much as an instruction. Collins nodded once curtly and turned away. Almost as an afterthought he turned back.

'Oh George, do we know who the victim is?'

Again grudgingly, 'William Maitland aged eighty one.'

'Eighty one? Are we sure he didn't just trip and fall into the hole, and hit is head?'

'The bottom of the hole was soft earth, there were no large flat rocks or anything else that might account for our victim possessing a flat head. Besides, this wasn't where the deed was done.' Duncan was starting to get into his stride. 'He was killed over there.' Duncan pointed across to another group of graves a few yards away.

'Then his killer manhandled his body over to this fresh grave and rolled him into it. If you look you can see the scuff marks where he was dragged. Trust me, this was blunt force trauma.'

'OK, you're the doctor. See you later!' Collins spun on his heel to face DS Desmond. 'Well Desmond, let us go and say a few- ' he stopped and thought better of it. 'Let's go and interview the gravedigger.'

'Yes Sir.' After taking off the blue over boots, the two police officers made their way across the graveyard towards the small Church.

Chapter 4