yours.’
‘Lay off, Downey,’ says another forensic. ‘We all make mistakes.’
I glare at them both for what seems a very long time. ‘Tell that to the next victim.’
I’m still as mad as hell; this could’ve been a prime opportunity to have actually got some of the killer’s DNA. We might not have, but at least we would have tried.
I know that it’s standard procedure in most cases to turn the body the right way up; this ensures that the red cells sink to the back of the body, ensuring an easier job for the embalmer at the funeral home. However in a murder crime scene, this is a catastrophe; a complete and utter waste of crucial evidence.
I finally let go of Clive, as more forensics appear. ‘Did you take pictures of her back?’
They nod.
‘Did you put a ruler on her back?’
I can see the hesitation in their eyes. What is this? Rank amateur’s day?
You always need a ruler to determine the actual size of the bloodstains; basic trigonometric calculations are prepared using the length-to-width ratio of the bloodstains – simple. Even I understand this. However, as the rank amateurs had not even included a ruler, these will now have to be estimated. Christ, everything is a cock-up today. Bring back the gorgeous FME – not only is she superbly efficient, but she’s easy on the eyes, which always helps.
Clive Chambers is packing up his bag, as far away from me as possible. Wise move.
‘Hey, you get anything on the hyoid?’ I yell at him.
He won’t even look up at me. ‘Distinct bruising around the arterial areas, smaller bruises at the snapped hyoid.’
‘Any sign of sexual gratification?’ I snap. I can’t be arsed even trying to be polite to him.
‘He raped her, then slit her. No semen or DNA, he probably used a condom.’
I hear the groan filter around the room. ‘I take it this was before he cut her legs off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Estimated time of death?’ I ask.
‘Around twenty-four hours.’ He’s still talking to his bag.
‘Get the report faxed to me as soon as possible.’ He simply nods, lifts his bag keeping his back to me, and walks away with his shoulders hunched over. I have a feeling he won’t be staying in his present position for very long, and I have a strong sense that he knows it too.
My mobile phone rings, it’s Mack. ‘Meet you at Sparks for coffee?’ He’s obviously hoping for a quick lunch, but I don’t have the time.
‘Too far away,’ I reply. ‘Meet you at Macy’s cafe instead?’
‘Okay,’ he moans.
I pull open the door of Macy’s and am instantly hit by the soothing aromas of warm percolating coffees, lattes frothing, and mochas smelling like sheer heaven. Batches of oven-hot muffins are being taken off the trays; I eye the blueberry ones, my mouth watering. Mack is sitting at a secluded table near the window, obviously keeping an eye out for me. An empty plate with two muffin wrappers already sits there; looks like he was hungry after all.
I order a latte and a blueberry muffin, Mack orders a chocolate chip cookie and an almond muffin; this really isn’t going to help his waistline, but I make no comment.
‘So what you got?’ I say. The clattering of cups being dropped in the background causes us both to jump. I think our nerves are more than a little on edge.
‘Mary Lingard was on duty last night; she recalled that several users came in to use the computers, photocopier and fax services. She couldn’t give a clear description on any of them, so no obvious leads there.’
‘Not even a glimpse of a photofit?’
‘She’s at the station now, going through all the mug shots.’
I know that’s a last gasp try, so does Mack, but neither of us says it. I listen to the sound of steam heating milk, the coffee beans being crushed and feel an inordinate sense of desolation. One witness who can’t identify shit, compromised crucial forensic evidence and a killer on the loose who likes sending me riddles that no one can
‘Lay off, Downey,’ says another forensic. ‘We all make mistakes.’
I glare at them both for what seems a very long time. ‘Tell that to the next victim.’
I’m still as mad as hell; this could’ve been a prime opportunity to have actually got some of the killer’s DNA. We might not have, but at least we would have tried.
I know that it’s standard procedure in most cases to turn the body the right way up; this ensures that the red cells sink to the back of the body, ensuring an easier job for the embalmer at the funeral home. However in a murder crime scene, this is a catastrophe; a complete and utter waste of crucial evidence.
I finally let go of Clive, as more forensics appear. ‘Did you take pictures of her back?’
They nod.
‘Did you put a ruler on her back?’
I can see the hesitation in their eyes. What is this? Rank amateur’s day?
You always need a ruler to determine the actual size of the bloodstains; basic trigonometric calculations are prepared using the length-to-width ratio of the bloodstains – simple. Even I understand this. However, as the rank amateurs had not even included a ruler, these will now have to be estimated. Christ, everything is a cock-up today. Bring back the gorgeous FME – not only is she superbly efficient, but she’s easy on the eyes, which always helps.
Clive Chambers is packing up his bag, as far away from me as possible. Wise move.
‘Hey, you get anything on the hyoid?’ I yell at him.
He won’t even look up at me. ‘Distinct bruising around the arterial areas, smaller bruises at the snapped hyoid.’
‘Any sign of sexual gratification?’ I snap. I can’t be arsed even trying to be polite to him.
‘He raped her, then slit her. No semen or DNA, he probably used a condom.’
I hear the groan filter around the room. ‘I take it this was before he cut her legs off?’
‘Yes.’
‘Estimated time of death?’ I ask.
‘Around twenty-four hours.’ He’s still talking to his bag.
‘Get the report faxed to me as soon as possible.’ He simply nods, lifts his bag keeping his back to me, and walks away with his shoulders hunched over. I have a feeling he won’t be staying in his present position for very long, and I have a strong sense that he knows it too.
My mobile phone rings, it’s Mack. ‘Meet you at Sparks for coffee?’ He’s obviously hoping for a quick lunch, but I don’t have the time.
‘Too far away,’ I reply. ‘Meet you at Macy’s cafe instead?’
‘Okay,’ he moans.
I pull open the door of Macy’s and am instantly hit by the soothing aromas of warm percolating coffees, lattes frothing, and mochas smelling like sheer heaven. Batches of oven-hot muffins are being taken off the trays; I eye the blueberry ones, my mouth watering. Mack is sitting at a secluded table near the window, obviously keeping an eye out for me. An empty plate with two muffin wrappers already sits there; looks like he was hungry after all.
I order a latte and a blueberry muffin, Mack orders a chocolate chip cookie and an almond muffin; this really isn’t going to help his waistline, but I make no comment.
‘So what you got?’ I say. The clattering of cups being dropped in the background causes us both to jump. I think our nerves are more than a little on edge.
‘Mary Lingard was on duty last night; she recalled that several users came in to use the computers, photocopier and fax services. She couldn’t give a clear description on any of them, so no obvious leads there.’
‘Not even a glimpse of a photofit?’
‘She’s at the station now, going through all the mug shots.’
I know that’s a last gasp try, so does Mack, but neither of us says it. I listen to the sound of steam heating milk, the coffee beans being crushed and feel an inordinate sense of desolation. One witness who can’t identify shit, compromised crucial forensic evidence and a killer on the loose who likes sending me riddles that no one can
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