Moran, Jane and Lawrence were in Ladywell mortuary, Lewisham, with Professor Dean Martin, the forensic pathologist. Lawrence knew Martin well, having worked with him on countless murder investigations. Jane had met him on previous murders she had been involved in.
Dean Martin made the usual crack about his name to the audience. ‘As good looking as I am, I’m not to be confused with the Rat Pack crooner.’
As Jane watched him put on his green mortuary gown and black wellington boots, she thought that he had put on weight since she last saw him. He was now in his late fifties, the top of his head was bald with thinning grey hair at the sides, his half-moon glasses were perched unsteadily on the end of his bulbous red nose, his cheeks had become ruddier through alcohol consumption and he was walking with a limp.
‘Have you hurt your leg, Professor?’ Moran enquired.
‘No, a build-up of uric acid crystals in my foot is giving me hell,’ Martin replied gruffly.
Moran looked confused, but Lawrence whispered an explanation. ‘The prof has gout due to too much booze. It’s extremely painful so he may be crotchety throughout the PM.’
The victim’s body was already laid out on the steel mortuary slab, covered with a white sheet. Moran looked at his watch.
‘Where is DI Gibbs? It’s nearly ten past and I told him to be here for eleven.’
‘His girlfriend turned up with some more suitable clothes, so he went to the men’s locker room to get changed before coming here.’ Jane thought it was strange that Moran wanted Gibbs to be at the PM. Normally only one senior officer attended, whilst the other looked after the incident room and made sure all the necessary actions were being undertaken.
The mortuary door suddenly flew open.
‘Sorry I’m late.’ Gibbs sauntered in wearing a very fashionable tan-colored tweed suit, matching waistcoat, white button-down shirt, matching wool tie and brown slip-on boots.
There was a stunned silence as everyone took in what Gibbs was wearing.
‘You forgot your deer stalker hat, Sherlock,’ Lawrence remarked.
Gibbs smiled. ‘I’ll have you know that it’s herringbone tweed and made to measure from a shop in Knightsbridge... Admittedly it’s a second-hand shop where high society locals take their unwanted clothes, but nevertheless, great quality and a bargain.’
Martin laughed. ‘It’s probably a dead man’s cast-off.’
‘That may be so, Prof, but it’s better than the creased, shiny-arsed, grey pin-striped suits the rest of CID wear,’ Gibbs replied, pulling his tweed jacket forward by the lapels to accentuate how classy he thought he looked. Gibbs saw Lawrence nudge his head towards Moran, who was wearing a grey pin-stripe suit.
‘Of course you’re the exception to that statement, guv,’ Gibbs said sheepishly, in an effort to cover his faux pas.
Moran shook his head. ‘It’s one extreme to the other where your dress sense is concerned, Spencer. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m sure the professor would like to get on with the post-mortem.’
Martin pulled the white sheet from the body, in the manner of a magician working an audience when they reveal something during a conjuring act.
‘Do we have a name for this poor girl?’ Martin asked.
‘No. A dead set of fingerprints was taken to the Yard. No match so far, but they’re still working on them,’ Lawrence replied.
‘Unfortunately the pathologist is unwell, though I suspect it’s an excuse as he was out on the booze last night. DS Lawrence, I’d be grateful if you would assist me as you have a great deal of experience in mortuary procedure.’
Lawrence gowned up and asked Jane to list and package the exhibits, which she was happy to do. She identified the body as the one in Bussey Alley and confirmed that, as yet, Missing Persons and house-to-house enquiries had still not revealed who she was. Moran added that the divisional surgeon had stated time of death was just before or after midnight. Jane saw Lawrence discreetly raise his eyebrows at Moran’s remark, as Martin lowered his head and glared over the brim of his half-moon glasses at Moran.
‘A divisional surgeon should only pronounce life extinct; comments on injuries or time of death are not their domain. If I’d been called to the scene, I could have taken a rectal body temperature, checked hypostasis, state of rigor mortis, whether it was present, and or affected by weather conditions — all critical factors in determining a reasonably accurate time of death.’
Moran looked embarrassed. By his silence he clearly knew he should have heeded DS Lawrence’s advice at the scene. Tactfully not looking at Moran, Lawrence took some photographs of the victim before she was undressed and her clothing put in exhibit bags for forensic examination at the lab. Her blue coat, pink blouse and bra were removed first. Lawrence remarked that the clothes didn’t look expensive and the blouse had a Littlewoods label inside the collar. Jane double-checked the blouse and confirmed that, although they had only recovered three buttons, four had come off, so one was still missing. She confirmed that the market trader’s boots had been checked by a DC when he came in to make a statement, but no joy. As Lawrence removed the victim’s pleated skirt, they could all see that she wasn’t wearing any underwear.
‘Her underwear may have been taken by the killer, as some sort of sick souvenir,’ Jane suggested.
‘Or she may not have been wearing any,’ Gibbs added politely.
‘Either of you could be right. However, there are no scratch marks around or below the hip area or upper thigh to suggest they were forcibly removed.’
Lawrence took out the stockings and suspender belt, then handed them to Jane, who had a closer look.
‘There’s not a tear or ladder on either of these stockings, which seems strange if she was attacked in the alleyway and forced to the ground.’
Martin looked closely at the victim’s hands, knees and face. ‘Her hands are quite calloused — possibly from some form of manual labor. I can’t see any abrasions consistent with being forced face down onto the pavement, or dragged along it. That’s not to say she landed on her back in the first instance, but we’ll get to that later. There are faint signs of old stretch marks on her tummy, so I’d say your victim has given birth, but not recently.’
Martin took swabs from the victim’s mouth, vagina and anus to be tested for semen.
‘Has she been sexually assaulted?’ Moran asked, pointing to some marks on her inner right thigh.
‘The abrasions on the thigh are linear scratch marks, but there’s no bruising to her vaginal or anal area. The abrasions are parchment-like, the surface is dry and there are no signs of bleeding or bruising, so in my opinion the scratches occurred after death.’
‘Sorry, but I’m not quite sure what you mean, Professor,’ Moran said.
‘Her assailant may have committed necrophilia and that’s why there’s no vaginal bruising.’
There was silence in the room as everyone felt sickened at the thought of such a depraved act. Jane was used to attending post-mortems, and although hardened to some of the horrific sights she saw, she always felt sad for the victims and the fear and pain they must have suffered at the hands of their killers.
At Martin’s request, Lawrence helped him lift the victim’s head and shoulders to sit her upright, so he could get a look at her back and the knotted end of the ligature on the nape of her neck. Martin pointed to a circular-shaped bruise in the middle of the victim’s back.
‘This is not uncommon when someone is on the floor being strangled from behind: the killer kneels on the victim to get a better grip on the rope and stop him or her getting up or struggling. However, if it happened like this, and she struggled, I’d expect friction abrasions on her forehead or nose from contact with the pavement — but as you can see, there are none, which is very unusual.’