Kinship Sample:
ID 1551206: Buccal swab from identical twin sibling, Catriona Morgan [HID1551_201] (dob 01/07/86) [Collected 15/04/18]
Jane Doe [HID1551_200] Samples:
Partial facial and upper body saponification; DNA extracted from femoral bone marrow
DNA isolation was carried out separately for all samples. Genetic characteristics were determined by the following PCR single-locus-technology analysis.
Results were confirmed by retesting original samples. All laboratory analyses and interpretations follow the recommendations of the DNA commission of the International Society for Forensic Genetics, ISFG.
Conclusion:
Based upon our analysis and the biostatistical evaluation of its results, it is practically proven that Jane Doe [HID1551_200] is > 99.9999% Ellice MacAuley (dob 01/07/86), of 36 Westeryk Road, Leith.
And that Catriona Morgan [HID1551_201] (dob 01/07/86) is > 99.9999% the living identical sibling of the deceased.
Expert Witness:
Dr Iain Patterson MB ChB, BMSc(Hons), FRCPath, MFFLM
Head Forensic Pathologist
North Lothian CID
I read it twice, three times, until my eyes go blurry. When I give back the phone, my hand is shaking.
‘I want a copy of that,’ I try to say with some authority, but my voice is shaking too. White noise rushes through my ears as if I’m underwater.
‘Of course,’ Rafiq says.
‘I still want to see her.’
‘I really think that would be a bad idea. It won’t help. If anything—’
‘I have to.’ I make myself look at Rafiq. Her brow is wrinkled, her mouth thin, her eyes full of concern. ‘Please.’
She finally nods. ‘But afterwards, I have to ask you some questions, Catriona. Okay? It’s important.’
I barely hear her over the beating of my heart or the roaring in my ears.
Rafiq takes me through another door: VISITOR FACILITIES. As if we’re in a stately home. In the corridor beyond, more doors: INTERVIEW ROOMS, COUNSELLING ROOMS. I follow on behind Rafiq. I don’t speak. I don’t think.
We pass a door labelled BIER ROOM, but before I can ask her what a bier is, Rafiq opens the door alongside it. VIEWING ROOM. And my mouth clamps shut.
Everything inside it is soft focus, unobtrusive, warm. Non-institutional. The lights are low, and the acoustics somehow muted. I realise that what I’ve been imagining ever since Logan’s The Greenock Dive and Marine Unit recovered her this morning is one of those sterile white-tiled rooms with metal storage drawers and steel tables with big plugholes, like something out of CSI or Silent Witness.
When Rafiq asks me to sit down, her voice has lost all of its sharp edges too. The armchair is beige and cushioned. There are watercolour landscapes hanging on the walls, reminding me of that hospital waiting room of nearly thirteen years ago, its plastic-framed seascape of rocks and sand and waves. I look everywhere but at the big blue-curtained window on the wall opposite.
The knock makes me jump. The door opens, and I spring up, grateful to stop sitting, to stop trying not to look.
‘Catriona,’ says Rafiq. ‘This is Dr Claire MacDuff.’
Dr Claire MacDuff is about mid-fifties, and five feet if she’s lucky. Her sandy hair is short but thick, her glasses green-rimmed, her smile solicitous. She’s wearing jeans and a jumper, which is the thing I find most disconcerting of all. I’d been expecting scrubs, shower cap, gloves, gumboots, the works.
I accept her offered hand, and halfway through a very vigorous shake, she tells me, ‘Hello. I was the lead doctor on your sister’s post-mortem.’
‘Oh,’ I say, swallowing the ridiculous great that wants to follow it.
She finally lets me go. ‘I understand why you’re here, but I’m afraid that I’ve recommended no relatives view the body in this case. As SIO, DI Rafiq was also in attendance at the PM, and so is aware of the reasons for my objections.’ She holds up a palm before I can speak. ‘However. She has also explained the circumstances, and I’m not unsympathetic. But you’ll hear me out before I agree to anything, okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Ordinarily, when we find a body in the Forth, it’s because decomposition gases bring it up to the surface after a few days. But your sister was in the Forth for thirteen days. That means that in addition to normal decomposition, the body has been subjected to many other changes and traumas. It’s important that you know that, and it’s important that you know what before I’m happy for you to see her, okay?’
For the first time since phoning Logan, it occurs to me that what I’m about to see might be just about the worst thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Even though I’ve been shaking since I woke up – since probably before I woke up – I suddenly go still.
‘When a body has been in water for some time, it can undergo a natural preservation process known as saponification. This process forms something called adipocere, which means that much of Ellice’s body tissue has become waxy, brittle, and deformed.’ She looks at me. ‘Think of a well-used candle or soap on a rope.’
‘Aye, okay.’ Rafiq bristles, laying the flat of her hand between my shoulder blades. ‘Is it necessary for you to be quite so—’
‘She needs to know what she’s asking for,’ says Dr MacDuff. She turns her steady gaze back to me. ‘The head, more specifically, the face, is always the most disfigured part of a submerged body. It’s why we almost always rely on DNA for ID. Ellice’s lips, ears, nose, and larynx have been colonised and partially eaten away by comestible marine predators. There has been significant damage.’
I have no clue what comestible marine predators are, though I’m not about to ask. ‘Okay.’
‘Cat,’ Rafiq says, now rubbing slow shallow circles across my back. Her eyes are so black I can’t see their pupils. There are two deep lines between her eyebrows. ‘Are you hearing this? Seeing her isn’t going to help. She’ll not be recognisable as your sister any more. I’d strongly advise – we’d both strongly advise – that you don’t do this.’
I step away from her, and out of reach of her hands, her concerned gaze. I preferred it when she was a cold and efficient robot who called me Catriona; I can’t bear this strange kindness.
‘I want to see her.’
‘Okay,’ Dr MacDuff says. ‘If you wait here, I’ll have the technicians move her from the bier room.’
I wait until she’s gone to take in an unsteady breath.
‘Cat—’
‘I’m sure,’ I say, and wish that my voice wasn’t wavering.
Rafiq squeezes my shoulder, moves towards the curtain. A small green light comes on in a switch panel close to the door.
I’m holding my breath. And even when I realise it, I can’t stop. I can’t let it go and breathe in another. Shivers are trickling down from my scalp, pressing my shoulder blades together, cricking my neck. My bottom lip throbs when I bite down on it again, and I taste old blood, new blood. ‘I’m sure.’
Rafiq’s nod is short. She pulls back the curtain, exposing the well-lit room beyond in slow increments. I close my eyes. Open them.
I need to know. That’s all there is.
And then. There it is.
It has no hair. Its scalp is completely bald. Shiny, creamy, and rippled thick – and the first thing I do think of is a well-used altar candle, its wax melted and remelted into asymmetric waves. Its nose is just a hole, a black maze of sinus passages. It has no eyelids. No eyes. Its teeth are fixed in a lipless grin. Beneath its waxy grey neck and a blue drape, I can just about see the thick black closing stiches of Dr MacDuff’s Y incision at the wide end of each collarbone. I try to imagine the body underneath the drape, so still and flat on top of the metal stretcher. I stop.