It took Shona no time and zero medical training to conclude that the person under the tarpaulin was dead. He was as dead as anyone she had ever seen, in fact, and possibly even deader.
The fire had consumed all of his skin and most of his flesh. What little it had left behind, the heat had scorched into leathery knots that clung like tumours to his charred and blackened bones.
There were teeth marks here and there. Small and sharp. Pine Martens, maybe. They’d had a go at what was left of him, but it must’ve been slim pickings.
There was no smell to him. Not the stench of death that generally hung around bodies, anyway. Instead, the tent was thick with the smell of ash. It hung in the air, sharp and bitter, and with a note of an accelerant to it. Petrol, maybe, or something alcoholic.
She made her assessment, noted the time, then backed out of the tent and breathed in the fresh air.
“Yep, he’s dead alright,” she confirmed. “Usually I jab them with a pencil and see if they react, but I didn’t even need to bother this time.”
“Cause?” Logan asked.
“Dunno yet. Going to be hard to determine. He’s been burned, but no saying if that was before or after he died. Problem is, there’s not a lot left of him to tell us much. The way he’s lying there, I don’t think he was alive when he was burned. Or not conscious, at least. Doesn’t look like he made any attempt to get away from the flames, or put them out in any way.”
“You think someone burned the body so we couldn’t identify it?”
Shona shrugged. “Maybe. But, they left the teeth intact.”
Palmer snorted. “Amateur. That’s the first thing I’d have done, knocked out the teeth. Smash the teeth, cut off the fingers, carve out any identifying tattoos, then burn. That’s how I’d do it.”
Logan regarded him solemnly for a moment. “Aye, well, we’ll keep that in mind, Geoff,” he said, then he turned back to Shona. “Could he just have been smoking in his tent, and set himself alight?”
“Theoretically,” the pathologist conceded.
Geoff snorted for a second time. “Aye, if he was smoking while doused in petrol. Could you not smell the accelerant?”
“Could’ve been alcohol,” Shona said.
Palmer rolled his eyes so hard they almost went all the way around. “In that case, where’s the bottle?”
Shona shrugged. “I don’t know. Have you looked for it yet? An animal could’ve carried it off a bit.”
Palmer glanced back at the tent, then around at the dense thickets of heather and brush around them. “I don’t… I’d have to check.”
“How about you do that, then?” Logan suggested. “Since you’ve come all this way, you might as well make yourself useful.”
Ten minutes later, Logan stood at the side of the single-track road with DI Forde and a ludicrously mud-slicked DC Neish, who had fallen no less than six times while on Logan’s wild goose chase.
The midges were out in force. They formed clouds around the detectives, whose hands moved in a constant cycle of scratching and swatting at the bloody things.
The Mountain Rescue helicopter had touched down on one of the wider areas of the road a few hundred yards in the direction of the coast. Shona stood at it surrounded by the rescue team, discussing how they could retrieve the body without causing it any further damage. She already had her work cut out for her, and having the corpse fall to bits while being winched into the air would not make it any easier.
“So, turns out that lad was telling the truth, right enough,” Ben said, slapping himself on the cheek to squash a midge mid-munch. “Just as well Mitchell called you in, I suppose.”
Logan gave a low grunt, but said nothing.
“Was the body a mess, boss?” Tyler asked. He gestured pointedly down at himself. “Because, you know, it gets fairly muddy out there.”
“I’m sure he’s had more glamorous days, aye.”
“Any sign of an ID?” Ben asked. “Or is that too much to hope for?”
Logan shook his head. “Anything he might’ve had on him would have been burned away. Might need to go on dental records.”
“I could take a look through the Missing Persons register, boss,” Tyler suggested. “See if we can narrow down the search a bit.”
“Nice try, son,” Logan told him. He pointed over in the direction of the SOC tent—a several hundred-yard yomp away through the boggy bracken. “I want you over there helping the Mountain Rescue boys.”