Deadly Cry (DI Kim Stone #13) - Angela Marsons Page 0,81
so.’
Kim opened her mouth to retort something along the lines of his estimated times of death having that same level of fluidity but noticed the pinched expression on his face just in time.
‘Something else come in, Keats?’
‘Two children in a house fire.’
The room fell silent. Bad enough imagining two young souls lost in such a horrific manner, but to have to pick through their remains for answers took a stronger stomach than she had.
The retort died in her mouth.
‘Okay, Keats, we’ll take the edited version and let you get on.’
‘Thank you. As usual, all weights and measurements will be on my official report which will be with you later today. The victim appeared to be in reasonable health and, although we’re pretty sure our killer doesn’t share a meal with his victims prior to death, so it’s unlikely to help, her last meal was scrambled eggs and bacon.’
Normally, Bryant would have asked what kind and Keats would have shot back a response, but now was not the time. The vision of two dead children awaiting his attention was still firmly in the mind of all of them.
‘Not really that helpful, Keats, to be—’
‘Inspector, cases have been solved through the examination of stomach contents.’ He shook his head as he launched into full lecture mode. She had five minutes spare to indulge him.
‘Two men held up a coffee shop in Eugene, Oregon. The barista shot the first man, but the second got away. CCTV wasn’t working, so the second masked gunman couldn’t be identified. The post-mortem of the first gunman revealed food that had barely been digested, and investigators could make out a certain type of fry served by a local fast-food restaurant. CCTV checks showed both men eating a meal at that restaurant and also trying the masks on prior to the event. Gotcha.’
‘Gotcha?’ Kim asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Just using a vernacular you might understand.’
‘Thanks for that, Keats, now—’
‘No signs of a struggle with this one,’ he noted, returning to the job at hand.
‘We think this victim knew the killer,’ Bryant said.
‘But not the other two?’ he queried.
Kim shook her head.
‘Okay, well, as I’m pressed for time I have only one thing of interest to reveal and there’ll be no dramatics.’
That was a first for the pathologist.
‘Photos or actual?’
‘Both,’ he said, standing to the left of the trolley.
Kim followed suit and moved towards the body.
He took the right arm and turned it so the wrist was facing up.
‘Scratches,’ Kim noted.
‘There was no watch or jewellery on this wrist, so could not have come from that and definitely inflicted after death.’
‘Just like Katrina,’ Bryant noted. ‘But why on the wrist?’
‘Easy place to get to,’ Kim answered. ‘It’s October, it’s cold, and all our victims have been heavily clothed. It’s almost like he doesn’t want to violate the body, but that’s not what’s puzzling me.’
‘I’ve already checked and there’s nothing,’ Keats said, reading her thoughts.
What the hell were the scratches and why were they only present on two of the three victims?
Eighty-Two
Penn ended the call from the boss and wrote the word ‘scratches’ against the name of Nicola Southall.
‘Okay, why every other one?’ Stacey asked, staring at the board, hoping for some kind of inspiration.
No one answered, and she could feel a sense of frustration growing in the room.
‘Anybody else feel like we have all the puzzle pieces on the table but just can’t find the corners to get it started?’
Both Alison and Penn nodded at her miserably.
‘We’ve got post-mortem reports, incident reports, letters from the killer. We’ve got dates of incidents we think are connected and we’ve got…’ her words trailed away as those last words kicked at something in her brain.
‘Hang on one sec,’ she said, rifling for one single piece of paper.
She looked at the phone records of the phone that had called Nicola Southall the morning before.
‘Penn, have you got the exact dates for all those incidents?’ she asked. Just the month of the incidents he’d listed was not detailed enough for what she wanted to check.
‘Somewhere,’ he said. ‘Why, is it important?’
‘Might be,’ she said, looking at the list on the board and the paper in her hands.
‘Okay, what do you?…’
‘Call out the date and stand by the board with your marker pen.’
‘You know it’s a good job I don’t mind being bossed around,’ he said, pushing a roll of curls out of his eyes.