Well, mostly.

The bacon was pretty gross. He ate the roll, though. He was upset, and being upset made him hungry.

"Hmm."

"Hmm, what?"

"Have a look at this."

Coleridge stepped up and craned over Sam's body. Freeman pointed at something stuck in the torn windpipe, right the way up her throat and probably into her mouth.

"You mind not dribbling crumbs on the evidence, detective?"

"Sorry, doc."

He put the remains of his bacon roll on the instrument tray.

"These are clean, right?" he asked.

Freeman shook his head and ignored Coleridge.

Some people, Coleridge thought, had no manners.

"See?"

"I see, but..."

"It's a feather."

"I know it's a fucking feather. What's it's doing in her neck?"

Freeman shrugged and took a camera from beside the body. He snapped a couple of photos, spoke into a mike for a while, then clicked the recorder off.

"Let's have a look shall we?"

"Knock yourself out," said Coleridge, pushing the last of his breakfast into his mouth.

Freeman pulled out the feather with a pair of long tweezers. Held it up. "A feather."

Coleridge sighed. "What kind of bird?"

"I'm a pathologist, in case you hadn't noticed the body of the decapitated woman I'm working on. I am not an ornithologist."

"Fair enough, doc. I'm a detective. I'll do some detecting, I guess. I reckon that might be what we call in the trade *a clue.'"

"I would surmise as much myself."

"Stick to doctoring, Freeman. You ain't got the lingo."

"Not street enough?"

"Too damn smart," said Coleridge. "Thanks, doc. That it?"

"That's it. Same as the others, excepting the presence of the head. I'll email you the report."

"Alright. I'm off to find a bird watcher." Coleridge hunted around for the last of his bacon roll.

"In Norfolk? I shouldn't think it'd be too hard," said Freeman.

"No. I suppose not. But then, that's what phones are for. See, doc? I'm learning."

"Wouldn't hurt you to do a bit of leg work."

"Funny. Don't let me keep you from your golf, or whatever it is you doctors do." He scanned the room again. "You see where I put my roll?"

Freeman shook his head. Sighed.

"McDonald's, one shouldn't wonder."

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Coleridge really didn't have the patience to wander about the nature preserves looking for a nerd with a pair of binoculars.

He used the phonebook instead. He could have used the Internet, he supposed, but he didn't like it. It didn't feel right, finding a phone number by tapping on a keyboard. He didn't know why, but it was probably the same reason he didn't like GPS or dishwashers or TVs that could record themselves. Maybe missing things was a good thing, sometimes, because when you missed something you invariably found something else instead.

Either way, it felt right picking up the phonebook, feeling the weight in his hands. Solid. Something real.

He propped the phone between his shoulder and his ear and put the number in. A nerd picked up on the first ring.

He wasn't the only asshole working on a Sunday.

"Hello? RSPB."

"Who am I talking to?" asked Coleridge.

"Leary. Wayne. Can I help you?" He sounded defensive already. It wouldn't be the first time. Coleridge was well aware that his phone manner needed a bit of work, but he had better things to do. Like catch a murderer.

"Mr. Leary? I'm Detective Coleridge. You want my ID?"

"What for?"

"I've got a feather, ah, involved in a case."

"You've got a feather involved in a case?"

OK, Coleridge, he thought. Could have put that better.

"I've got a feather I need identifying."

"You want to give me ID for identifying a bird feather?"

Fucking smartass.

"You want my ID or not?"

"I don't think the Freedom of Information act covers that."

"Okay," he said with a sigh. "I'm glad we cleared that up."

"You have the feather with you?"

"Of course."

"Can you let me see it?"

"Ah..."

He heard the nerd sniffing over the phone. It sounded pretty patronizing. Warranted, probably. Coleridge hadn't thought it through.

"You want to email me a picture?" said Leary. Like he was talking to a child.

He might as well have been. Coleridge looked at the picture on his desk. Looked at the computer.

"Sure. Hold on."

He pressed the hold button on the phone. "Mandy!"

"What? I'm in the middle of..."

"Come on. I need your expertise."

Mandy huffed and put down whatever it was she was working on. Coleridge smiled sweetly at her when she stood over him.

"Stick that in there, would you?" he said, showing her the picture, gesturing at the computer.

"What are you talking about?"

"Some nerd wants me to email him that picture. Just do whatever it is you do, eh?"

"Seriously, Coleridge. You don't know how to scan a picture?"

"Mandy," he said, "I barely know how to turn the fucking thing on. Come on, the guy's waiting."

She shook her head and snatched the photo from him. Made it look like she was pissed off, but she was all right. She was one of the few people in the office he genuinely liked. Probably because she wasn't a copper.

She came back after a couple of minutes and clicked a few times at his computer. The picture came up.

Coleridge whistled. "You're a genius. Always saying so, ain't I?"

"Coleridge, you've never paid anyone a compliment in your life."

"Well, I'm doing it now." He smiled again. She shook her head again. Like she'd had enough of him, but he knew she liked him really. He bought her a Christmas present every year. Well, for her kid. She probably chucked it. He didn't have the faintest idea what kids liked.

"Right," he said. "Nearly there."

"What now?"

"Send it over to him."

"Who?"

"The guy on the phone."

"What's his email address?"

"How the hell should I know?"

She sucked her teeth and looked at him.

"What?"

"You could ask him."

"Yeah. Okay. Hold on."

He picked up the phone again. "Leary? You still there?"

"Yes, I'm still here." He didn't sound too happy about it.

"What's your email?"

Leary read it out and Coleridge repeated it to Mandy, miming her tapping while he was doing it.

She swore under her breath, but she brought up Coleridge's email and typed in the address.

"Thank you," Coleridge whispered. Blew her a kiss. She thumped him, but she smiled a little bit, even if it was just the corners of her mouth twitching.

"I've got it," said Leary. "Hang on."

Coleridge waited while the nerd from the RSPB opened the file.

"It's got some blood on it. Did someone kill this bird? Should I open a file on this?"