But it didn’t rule her out either.
Dinah Smith raised her mug, and sipped noisily at the tea. Then she looked up at Holden. ‘Just make sure you catch the bastard,’ she said.
‘Ah, good morning, Susan. And good morning, Jan.’ Dr Karen Pointer beamed at her two visitors.
Detective Constable Lawson replied brightly, but Holden merely nodded. The fact was that she wasn’t interested in exchanging politenesses. Given that their plans to spend the evening and night together had gone so spectacularly up the spout, what she would really have liked to do is hug the woman, to hold her tight and smell her skin, but Karen Pointer seemed to be oblivious of her, and interested only in the corpse over which she now pored, like a philatelist over a stamp album.
‘Well, it looks like the same murder weapon. The initial stab wound is not quite in the same place as it was on Maria’s body, but the knife was either the same one or an identical one. However, he didn’t die instantaneously. He may have lost consciousness. There’s no sign of a struggle, but the blood from the neck wounds indicates he was still alive when those were inflicted. Then there followed the facial disfigurement. A single stab to each eye. The coup de grâce. Though that appears to have taken place after the heart had ceased to pump.’
‘Time of death?’ Holden was brusque, but if Pointer noticed she gave no sign of it.
‘It’s hard to be precise. The house wasn’t heated, and so it was pretty cold. I’d estimate between maybe twelve noon and two o’clock.’
‘Can’t you be more precise?’
Dr Pointer looked up, and this time there was irritation in her voice. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Oh!’ came the graceless reply.
Lawson, conscious of the tension between the two women,forced herself to focus on the body, and to imagine, without emotion, what it must have been like. Lying on the slab, stripped of clothes, and bereft of dignity, it presented a very different picture from the image imprinted in her head, of the twisted blood-spattered , brutalized person she had seen on that kitchen floor. What sort of person could do that?
‘At least,’ Pointer said suddenly, ‘it would be hard to tie the time down with absolute certainty. But maybe nearer two o’clock than one.’
‘Right,’ Holden grunted. Then, almost as an afterthought: ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s unofficial, you understand.’
‘Of course.’
Again there was silence, and into this Lawson now gently tossed the question which had been growing in her mind. ‘Dr Pointer,’ she said, before remembering the pathologist’s preference for first names. ‘Karen, there was a lot of blood. Do you think the killer could have avoided getting it on his – or her – clothes?’
‘It’s hard to be certain. The knife cut the carotid artery in the neck, so that might have sprayed, but the heart was already in crisis by then, so there would have been less pressure, and.…’ She drifted to a stop.
‘Thank you, Karen,’ Holden broke in, apparently deciding that they had got all they could from the visit. ‘You’ve been very helpful. If you could email your full report over when it’s done, I would be most grateful.’
‘Not at all,’ came the reply. Formal politeness was suddenly back in vogue in the pathology lab. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. His possessions are over there.’ Pointer pointed to a large grey high-sided tray sitting on one of the work benches. Lawson, looking at it, felt a sudden surge of queasiness. The tray was just like the ones in airport security, the ones into which you have to place everything you are carrying and half of what you’re wearing. She had only flown abroad twice in her life, which made her something of an oddball amongst her friends. The first had been with friends toIbiza, and the second had been less than a year ago. It had started with a five-hour delay at Gatwick. This had been followed, on night number two, by her developing a
Dinah Smith raised her mug, and sipped noisily at the tea. Then she looked up at Holden. ‘Just make sure you catch the bastard,’ she said.
‘Ah, good morning, Susan. And good morning, Jan.’ Dr Karen Pointer beamed at her two visitors.
Detective Constable Lawson replied brightly, but Holden merely nodded. The fact was that she wasn’t interested in exchanging politenesses. Given that their plans to spend the evening and night together had gone so spectacularly up the spout, what she would really have liked to do is hug the woman, to hold her tight and smell her skin, but Karen Pointer seemed to be oblivious of her, and interested only in the corpse over which she now pored, like a philatelist over a stamp album.
‘Well, it looks like the same murder weapon. The initial stab wound is not quite in the same place as it was on Maria’s body, but the knife was either the same one or an identical one. However, he didn’t die instantaneously. He may have lost consciousness. There’s no sign of a struggle, but the blood from the neck wounds indicates he was still alive when those were inflicted. Then there followed the facial disfigurement. A single stab to each eye. The coup de grâce. Though that appears to have taken place after the heart had ceased to pump.’
‘Time of death?’ Holden was brusque, but if Pointer noticed she gave no sign of it.
‘It’s hard to be precise. The house wasn’t heated, and so it was pretty cold. I’d estimate between maybe twelve noon and two o’clock.’
‘Can’t you be more precise?’
Dr Pointer looked up, and this time there was irritation in her voice. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Oh!’ came the graceless reply.
Lawson, conscious of the tension between the two women,forced herself to focus on the body, and to imagine, without emotion, what it must have been like. Lying on the slab, stripped of clothes, and bereft of dignity, it presented a very different picture from the image imprinted in her head, of the twisted blood-spattered , brutalized person she had seen on that kitchen floor. What sort of person could do that?
‘At least,’ Pointer said suddenly, ‘it would be hard to tie the time down with absolute certainty. But maybe nearer two o’clock than one.’
‘Right,’ Holden grunted. Then, almost as an afterthought: ‘Thank you.’
‘That’s unofficial, you understand.’
‘Of course.’
Again there was silence, and into this Lawson now gently tossed the question which had been growing in her mind. ‘Dr Pointer,’ she said, before remembering the pathologist’s preference for first names. ‘Karen, there was a lot of blood. Do you think the killer could have avoided getting it on his – or her – clothes?’
‘It’s hard to be certain. The knife cut the carotid artery in the neck, so that might have sprayed, but the heart was already in crisis by then, so there would have been less pressure, and.…’ She drifted to a stop.
‘Thank you, Karen,’ Holden broke in, apparently deciding that they had got all they could from the visit. ‘You’ve been very helpful. If you could email your full report over when it’s done, I would be most grateful.’
‘Not at all,’ came the reply. Formal politeness was suddenly back in vogue in the pathology lab. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. His possessions are over there.’ Pointer pointed to a large grey high-sided tray sitting on one of the work benches. Lawson, looking at it, felt a sudden surge of queasiness. The tray was just like the ones in airport security, the ones into which you have to place everything you are carrying and half of what you’re wearing. She had only flown abroad twice in her life, which made her something of an oddball amongst her friends. The first had been with friends toIbiza, and the second had been less than a year ago. It had started with a five-hour delay at Gatwick. This had been followed, on night number two, by her developing a
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