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Nico arranged to meet the Forensic Pathologist in the Government Mortuary. The smell of industrial strength disinfectant hung in the air. The mortuary was kept clean and sterile judging by how the surfaces seemed to sparkle. The sparkling almost belied the fact that the only thing to be found in this basement was a bunch of dead people. He thought it was strange that it was cleaner here, where they kept these dead bodies than many hospitals where people were fighting to stay alive.
The Forensic Pathologist, Dr Michael Keartland, was standing over Theresa van Wyk’s corpse with Dr Pete Papenfuss when Nico walked into the mortuary. Her clothes had been peeled off her flesh slowly and carefully to limit the damage, but despite this, some of her skin was stuck to her jeans and jersey, leaving behind bloody meat and bone. What was left of her body had been cleaned and was in the process of being autopsied. The case had been bumped to the front of the queue.
A Y-incision had been made in Theresa van Wyk's chest, and her ribcage had been removed using garden pruning shears. He was relieved he would miss the rest of the autopsy. He saw enough blood and guts every day – he didn’t need to see an entire post-mortem as well.
“Have you two discovered anything interesting?” Nico asked from the door. They looked up from the body.
“Well, I’ve found out what kind of wire your Bathroom Strangler’s been using,” said a very proud Pete.
“That’s good news. What kind of wire is it?”
“I know how you hate all the technical information, so I called the forensic guys for you.”
“Thanks, you get brownie points for that. Now tell me what kind of wire it is?”
“Patience is a virtue, but it’s piano wire: E sharp to be exact, also commonly referred to as F natural. The old codger in the lab is insisting that in his day it was referred to as E sharp and that it should stay that way.”
“Okay ... interesting. But how the hell did they figure that out?”
“They’ve been experimenting with different wires up until now, and they found a microscopic piece still stuck inside Michelle Venter’s throat, the first victim. It’s a miracle that it was still there, considering how long she was in the water. Anyway, the bit they found in this lady over here,” he said pointing down at Theresa van Wyk's naked body on the metal slab, “just confirmed their suspicions.”
“Okay Doc, I get the picture. Why are you so sure that it’s piano wire? Couldn’t it just be any old kind of wire?”
“It’s possible, but the flake they found has the same consistency as piano wire. Besides which, piano wire is the best type of wire for garrotting, especially E sharp. It’s thin and sharp and cuts through clay very nicely, apparently. Plus the way the wire slit all the victims’ throats is almost an exact match to the way the E sharp wire cut through the mounds of clay they used in the lab.”
“So that’s how they experiment with different types of wire?” Nico asked him.
“That's right. They used clay as a substitute for the human body.
“Thanks again, Doc. Is there anything else?” Nico asked Pete.
“Yes, I have a little something for you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a piece of coiled wire. “I thought you might want to see an example of what the wire looks like and put it up on your wall of horror.”
“Thanks, Doc. Is that everything?”
“I think so, but I’ll let you know if I find anything else.”
“Good.” And then turning to the Forensic Pathologist, “Please tell me you also have something and that you’re going to make my life considerably easier.”
“Nothing quite as exciting as Dr Papenfuss here,” said the Pathologist. “But judging by the angle of the cut he was quite tall approximately six feet and, like the other victims, she wasn’t raped. No signs of vaginal tearing or subcutaneous bruising that would indicate rape or any other kind of sexual activity. That’s about all I can tell you. The time she spent in the water destroyed any other evidence as well as messing with the time frame. So I can’t give you an estimate as to the time of death. I’ll have the results from the blood work in a few days if we're lucky and I’ll be able to tell you more then.”
“I guess I'll just have to work on my patience and wait for the lab,” he said while shaking his head. “Well, thank you, doctors, for your help. Now I just have to do some old-fashioned detective work.”
*
NATALIE SAT AT THE kitchen table chewing her nails. She watched the front door from her perch, expecting it to open with every second that ticked past.
She hated Sundays.
At least the day had started off well in spite of the dead body interrupting their lunch. She glanced at the yellow kitchen clock. Eight o’clock: he should be back any moment now. She drummed her fingertips on the chipped wooden surface and then combed her fingers through her hair, noticed split ends and bit them off. The minutes carried on ticking by.
She was still staring at the clock half an hour later when the keys rattled in the lock. She bolted from her seat and stood in the kitchen doorway nibbling on her fingers, waiting for him. She recognised the look on his face the moment he walked through the doorway. It was the same look he had almost every Sunday night. He closed the door behind him and pushed past her into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a beer and slammed the door shut. Natalie stayed planted in the doorway. Louis downed the beer and then exhaled.
“So how’s your mother?” Natalie asked, leaning against the doorframe.
“The same as she always is. Cruel and mean,” he said, grabbing another beer out of the fridge. Again he slammed the door shut and pushed past Natalie on his way out of the kitchen.
“Then why do you go every Sunday, especially after everything she’s done to us?” she asked, following him out of the kitchen.
“She’s still my mother, and if you had ever had a mother, you would know that blood is thicker than water. Now please, Nat, not now. I’m not in the mood for one of your little tantrums.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“What is what supposed to mean?”
“The whole blood-is-thicker-than-water crap and I’m not throwing a tantrum.”
“Just shut up. I’m not in the mood for this. I might as well have stayed at my mother’s if this is how you’re going to be.”
“No. I will not shut up. Why do you always have to shove not having parents in my face?” Tears started to fall down her cheeks.
“For fuck's sake, Natalie, just stop with the waterworks. I get enough of that crap from my mother. I sure as hell don’t need it from you, especially not tonight.”
“You wish I’d done it properly, don’t you?”
“What the fuck are you talking about now?”
“The night I slit my wrists. You wanted me to die, didn’t you? You wanted me gone so you could be with Janet.”
“Just stop right there. You don’t know what you’re talking about. I don't want to be with Janet. I never have.”
“Liar!” She screamed at him, pushing him, but she couldn’t stop herself. She knew which buttons to press. She was alive when she felt pain – any pain, be it mental, emotional or physical. Pain was her friend. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t die. I’m sorry you have to deal with having me in your pathetic little life.”
She knew she was on the verge of being hysterical and felt the back of his hand slam into her cheek. The familiar stinging sensation brought her back from the edge. Her tears ran down over the red welt developing on her pale cheek. He struggled to maintain control and clenched and unclenched his fists. She stood rooted to the floor. Sobs racked her body.
“Don't ever say that again. I never want to hear you utter those words ever again. Do you hear me?” he shouted and shoved his index finger in her face.
She had nothing left to say. Her only response was a gut-wrenching sob. He pushed her out of his way, forcing her to fall to the floor, and stepped over her. The front door slammed behind him. She heard him rev the engine of his battered Toyota Tazz followed by the squeal of tyres as he drove out of the parking lot below.
Lying on the cold kitchen floor, memories of the night not so long ago flooded over her. Louis's mother had paid her an unexpected and unwelcome visit. The evil cow had taken great relish in telling her all the sordid details about Louis's sexual escapades with Janet and with one other person. Oh god, she groaned. It was just too horrible to think about: the betrayal was too much to bear.
How could they pretend to love her when they were doing that behind her back? She didn't remember how the knife had appeared in her hand. She didn't remember what else his mother said. All she knew was when she sliced into her wrists, and the blood seeped out of her veins, the agony stopped. The noise in her head was silenced. It was the most peaceful she'd ever felt. Even that evil woman’s cruel laughter didn't bother her.
She'd woken up in the hospital with Louis standing over her. He'd promised that things would change. Empty promises. Nothing had changed.
Ginger slinked out of whatever hiding place she'd been in and rubbed herself against Natalie and purred.