‘Bloody hell it’s cold out there. Sorry I’m late. Have I missed all the gory details?’
Matilda breezed into the autopsy suite to find it empty apart from Dr Adele Kean and one very pale-looking assistant who was scrubbing a stainless steel table into a shine.
‘You have, but don’t worry about it,’ Adele said, stepping out of her small ante-office. ‘Come on through. It’s warmer in here.’
Matilda followed her into the corner of the tiny office and held her hands above the heater, rubbing them together to get the circulation going. At her eye-line on the wall was a poster of a stab wound close-up.
‘Adele, why do you have a picture of a stab wound on your wall?’
‘Because it didn’t seem professional to have one of David Tennant.’
‘If you’re after a celebrity pin-up, I’ve got one to show you.’ Matilda rummaged in her bag for the Radio Times she’d found in Iain Kilbride’s flat. She flicked through to the photograph of him as a teenager sitting on a bale of hay, all moody brow, wavy hair and leather jacket. ‘What do you think of him?’
‘Not bad. A bit on the young side for me. I do like a man who can fill a leather jacket though,’ Adele said. ‘Who is he?’
‘You’ve just cut him open.’
‘What?’
‘This is Iain Kilbride in the eighties. He used to be in Emmerdale.’
‘Are you sure it’s the same man?’
‘As sure as we can be.’
‘Bloody hell. It’s lucky we can’t see what we end up like in the future isn’t it?’
‘So if David Tennant landed in his TARDIS you wouldn’t want him taking you to 2040 Sheffield to see what you were up to?’
‘God no! I’d like him to take me to Renaissance France; the artistic and cultural rebirth of Europe. Well, first I’d like him to do some very naughty things with that sonic screwdriver of his with me, and then show me around France.’
‘How romantically put. Shall we move swiftly on?’
‘What? Oh yes, of course. I was just starting my report when you arrived. I’ve sent his blood off for analysis but I wouldn’t be surprised if the results show he had all kinds of things wrong with him.’ She rummaged around her desk for her notes.
‘What do you mean?’
‘For a start his stomach contents reeked of alcohol. His liver is practically pickled. His lungs are black and there was something very suspicious on one of his kidneys. I’ve called up his medical records and he hasn’t been to see his GP in more than eighteen months. If there was something seriously wrong, he wouldn’t have known about it.’
‘What do you think was wrong with him?’
‘Take your pick – cirrhosis of the liver, lung and stomach cancer, the early stages of kidney failure. He had at least one of those if not more.’
‘With everything that’s wrong with him, would he have known he was ill?’
‘Yes. He might not have seen a GP but he would have been in great discomfort. We’ve found traces of blood in his mouth and there’s bruising on his lungs. I think he would have been coughing up blood for some time.’
‘Why wouldn’t you go to see your doctor though?’
‘Some people are like that, especially men. If he went from being a hunk in a soap to living in a sad little flat in Sheffield, maybe he was more than happy to drink himself to death.’
‘So what killed him?’
‘The head wound got to him before his body let him down. His skull was cracked and air was allowed to get into his brain causing a massive embolism. I dug out some grit from the wound on his head, which, as he was indoors, I’m guessing came from the weapon. I think you’re looking for a rock or brick of some kind.’
‘Any sign of sexual intercourse recently?’
‘Who? Me?’ Adele asked with a twinkle in her eye. ‘Chance would be a fine thing.’
‘I’m talking about Iain, you cheeky tart,’ Matilda laughed.
‘I don’t think so, no. Judging by what he’s got wrong with him, I’d add erectile dysfunction to the list too. Caused by heavy smoking, kidney, liver and breathing problems, and a lot of alcohol. I don’t think he would have been having much sex. Why do you ask?’
‘A neighbour said he thought Iain had visitors in the evenings. As he was on his own I wondered if they might have been women.’
‘Prostitutes?’
‘Maybe. Or regular friends.’
‘Well if he did they were probably just friends, no touching I’d have thought.’
‘Fair enough.’
‘Fancy a bite to eat tonight?’
‘Better not. I want to go and see what James has done to my home in the ten hours I’ve been out.’
‘Come round later in the week, both of you, and we’ll have a meal. I’ll cook.’
‘You’ll cook? Really?’ Matilda asked, pulling a face.
‘If you’re going to be like that I’ll serve you liver and onions, and I know just where to get a nice piece of liver from,’ she laughed.
‘You’re a ghoul, Adele.’