Now in her green Pathologist’s scrubs, Professor Lizzie McCormack moved gracefully around the body, her dexterous hands in an organized routine, measuring and moving limbs, picking up and setting down the many shiny precision instruments, each having its own function to perform, whether it be cracking and cutting bone or slicing through flesh. She probed orifices with swabs and scraped under fingernails, meticulously noting and labelling each sample, whilst speaking with her soft Scottish brogue into a metal microphone hanging from the ceiling, poised above the cadaver.
“The body is that of a normally developed pubescent white female, and appearing generally consistent with the stated age of fourteen years,” she began. Moving to the head, she scrutinized, probed and measured the many and numerous wounds. “There is evidence of multiple sharp-force injury,” she continued in a steady voice. After spending some considerable time counting and detailing each of the head wounds she moved to the neck. She pointed at several marks to the Scenes of Crime Officer hovering around her and then stepped back whilst close-up photographs were taken. Then, taking a small surgical scalpel, she began the process of incising the yellowing flesh at the base of the neck and peeled the scalp and face completely over the head to reveal a glistening white skull.
Inside fifteen minutes the Professor had removed the brain, measured and weighed it, and sliced off small samples of the grey tissue for further analysis. She then began moving down the body, examining the many cuts and gashes inflicted on the upper torso. Within a minute she gave out an elongated “Mmmm,” paused, and caught Hunter’s gaze. “You’re going to find this very interesting, very interesting indeed.”
Hunter’s eyebrows cinched together, furrowing his brow.
“That’s grabbed your attention hasn’t it,” she grinned, and began circling an index finger above the cadaver’s abdomen. “I thought at first these were minor stab wounds,” she continued, dabbing her pointing finger at several regular marks gouged into the flesh. “These cuts are nowhere near as deep as the others. The blade has only penetrated the first subcutaneous layer.”
Hunter moved in closer, bending over Rebecca’s body, focussing on the area Professor McCormick was pointing to. He stared at the series of consistent slashes above the navel, unable at first to make head-nor-tail of them; that was until he followed the slow deliberate movement of the pathologist’s finger; then he did. He could quite clearly make out the letters I I V and a number 3 lined across the stomach. He shot his glance back towards the Professor catching her preoccupied look.
“This is a first for me,” she announced. “Well in the flesh anyway, so to speak, but I must say I have seen photographs of similar marking to corpses and read about this some time ago.” She paused again before continuing. “What you have here Detective Sergeant is the killer’s signature. What you make of it is the same as me at the moment, a series of letters or Roman numerals, and what appears to be the number three.” She took a step back whilst the Scenes of Crime officer moved in with his camera and rattled off a sequence of photographs, its flash highlighting the red marks carved into the marble-like flesh.
“Add to this, the playing card which was found lying across her chest and I can say with some confidence that this is definitely the killer letting you know that this is his or her handiwork. Though given the viciousness of the attack, I am more inclined to favour that a man’s hand is responsible for this.” The pathologist caught Hunter’s startled look.
“I would start by contacting other forces, because it’s my guess that this young girl here is not his first victim.” She returned to her examination of Rebecca and just over an hour later she snapped off her latex gloves and turned to Hunter.
“Many of the wounds to the face and head are regular and suggest a knife of at least ten centimetres in length with an angled blade at its point. Many are stab type wounds, which have penetrated both the facial and muscle tissue of the head, and in places the bone beneath has actually been chipped. The most serious of those are to the eye sockets. Here the knife has actually sliced through into the brain and penetrated to an extent of ten centimetres. The downward slant of these wounds indicates a continued jabbing action. A real frenzied hacking at the face.”
Lizzie emphasized by thrusting her arm up and down several times. “My other findings are death by asphyxia due to ligature strangulation. The hyoid bone and the thyroid and cricoid cartilages are fractured, which would indicate tremendous pressure around the throat. The marks suggest a belt of some type and I reinforce this by a buckle mark where it’s nipped the upper neck. The mark is so clear that if you find the right belt I will be able to confirm a match. This is a particularly vicious and sustained attack. From the lack of defence injuries I would suggest she was strangled first and then as she lay dead or dying she was stabbed numerous times to the face and head. There is no evidence of any sexual interference, though swabs have been taken for more detailed analysis. It never ceases to amaze me just how cruel the human race is,” she finished as she turned towards the shower room.
* * * * *
“Earlier today the body of a teenage girl was found in old farm buildings close to the town of Barnwell. Police have identified her as fourteen year old Rebecca Morris and confirm that she had been brutally murdered.”
The hairs at the back of his head bristled and he could feel his face flush. The rest of the news report became just a jumble of words as he stared at his 32” plasma TV screen, which flicked between scenes showing the regional station’s newsroom and the reporter who was broadcasting a short distance from the derelict buildings which he recognised as the farm from which earlier he had had to flee.
That had been the closest yet to being caught.
Screwing up his face he shuddered, feeling temporarily light headed. He had held his breath for far too long as he focussed on the news item. He exhaled sharply and took in a much needed gulp of air.
In the depths of his mind he recalled the past two-days’ events. The night before last, especially in the early hours, and for most of yesterday morning he had hardly been able to contain his excitement. That fervour had increased ten-fold when he had caught sight of her waiting by the bus stop where he had arranged they should meet. As she had climbed into his car he could feel himself getting an erection. He had to pull the hem of his T-shirt over his lap to hide the bulge.
He could recall the conversation as though it had just happened.
“Didn’t think you were going to come.”
“I promised I’d be here didn’t I?” she’d smiled back at him. “Though I don’t know what I’m going to say when mum and dad find out I’ve skipped an exam.”
“That’s not going to matter once we get this portfolio done. A modelling agency will soon snap you up and the money you’re going to earn will take care of any exam marks,” he’d lied.
In the barn he’d watched her change out of her school clothes, blushing with embarrassment, and he’d managed to shoot several frames of her undressing before she had stopped him. She’d placed one hand in front of his lens whilst strapping the other firmly across her chest, covering her pretty pink cotton bra that hid her small yet firm breasts.
He’d laughed and tried to pull her arm away but she’d resisted and got angry.
“I want to go home,” she’d demanded. “That’s it. I’ve had enough.” And she’d put her blouse back on.