There is no worse place on earth than a mortuary at dusk. The examination room stank of chemicals. Stephens’ naked body was laid out on a slab surrounded by people dressed in forensic suits. Tim Stanton was in green scrubs, a face mask hooked to either ear and hanging loose around his neck. A coroner’s officer was taking notes as samples of tissue and blood-soaked hair were removed from the surface of the body, labelled and dated. A Scenes of Crime Officer was taking photographs.
On a nearby bench, a forensic scientist was searching through Stephens’ formal dress trousers. Daniels watched him remove a pair of solid-gold cufflinks from the pocket on the left, and in the right he found thirty-five pence in change and a gold cigarette lighter. He bagged the items ready to be sent off for forensic examination then entered them in his log.
Turning her attention back to the body, Daniels’ eyes homed in on the gold Rolex watch Stanton was removing from Stephens’ left wrist, the receipt for which she had held in her hand not three months ago while sifting through an old box of papers. The image was so strong, she was barely aware of the pathologist’s voice as he dictated his findings into an overhead microphone.
‘There are massive cranial injuries caused by the gunshot wound,’ he said. ‘The facial features are distorted due to extensive fracturing of the facial skeleton on bullet impact. There appears to be no other external evidence visible other than slight fresh bruising attributed to the victim having fallen . . .’
Daniels’ eyes shifted to the plain gold wedding band on the ring finger of Stephens’ left hand, her mind contemplating the sequence of events that might have led to his death.
‘What is left of the brain shows no evidence of natural disease on dissection,’ Stanton continued to elaborate, the tone of his voice completely detached from the subject matter. ‘Left bony orbit is disrupted, nasal bone dislodged and there is extensive haemorrhaging to the left side of the skull.’
Picking up his scalpel, Stanton began to make the Y incision. Daniels didn’t flinch as he cut into the flesh. Difficult though it had been to stomach in the early years of her career, she’d learned to remain detached when observing post-mortems. In fact she found the process of body dissection fascinating, something other people didn’t seem to understand. Autopsies could tell her things she could never find out by any other means, providing precise evidence that often proved crucial in a court of law.
She wondered if anyone back at the station had heard from Jo Soulsby yet. Before the post-mortem, she’d asked DC Andy Brown to visit Jo’s home and left instructions for him to let her know the outcome. She took out her mobile and saw that he’d sent a text. Still no joy. Jo hasn’t yet been in touch. Slipping the phone back into her pocket, Daniels thought about the last investigation they had worked on together. Jo’s support had proved invaluable to the case, although Bright had insisted he’d have found the perpetrator without it.
Daniels sighed.
She’d walk over hot coals for her boss, but he was an argumentative prick when he wanted to be. Did he not think that she’d seen him sneaking into the observation gallery above her head? His presence irritated her, but she knew he wouldn’t undermine her authority in front of everyone there.
At least, she hoped he wouldn’t.
‘I can tell you conclusively that the victim was a healthy man with no evidence of any natural disease to accelerate his death or cause him to collapse . . .’ Stanton was about to sum up. He took off his bloody gloves, went to a stainless-steel sink, turned on a tap and scrubbed up before helping himself to a glass of water. On his way back, he winked at her, letting her know she was still in charge but also that he was aware Bright was listening via an audio link upstairs, a gesture she appreciated. ‘Death was simply and unequivocally due to multiple head injuries caused by a single gunshot wound. One shot through the left frontal lobe. Good shot too, I should say. My guess is that he was standing. The weapon, a small but effective firearm, calibre unknown ’til the labs do their stuff.’
‘You’re still of the opinion that he had little or no chance to defend himself?’
Stanton nodded. ‘And certainly no chance of survival once hit with such accuracy. Shall we adjourn for tea?’
‘No can do, Tim,’ Daniels said apologetically. ‘I’ve got to get going.’
Stanton was disappointed. ‘Some other time perhaps?’
‘Sure.’ Daniels thanked him and quickly made her way out of the building, practically breaking into a run down a flight of stairs. She caught up with Bright as he hurried to leave the morgue via the back door. ‘Guv? A quick word, if I may.’
Bright stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘The PM gave us nothing we didn’t know already?’
‘That about sums it up,’ Daniels said.
‘Professional hit?’
‘Possibly.’
‘Time of death?’
‘Between eleven and midnight, maybe a little after, just as we thought . . .’ Daniels paused. ‘Oh, and he’d recently had sex.’
‘Lucky bastard.’
Daniels didn’t react to his retort. She knew the poor bugger hadn’t shared intimacy with Stella since the crash. Their relationship would never again resemble married life. He was now Stella’s carer, not her husband, an insufferable situation for them both. Stepping to one side, they watched an undertaker’s van arriving at a speed in the car park with less respect for its occupant than seemed proper. It parked near the back door of the morgue. Two men got out, unloaded a body, then disappeared inside with it.
Bright’s car was nowhere to be seen.
‘Can I drop you anywhere, guv? We can talk on the way.’
Bright shook his head, pointing at a second car approaching. He acknowledged his driver with a wave as he pulled into a vacant space beside the undertaker’s van.
‘Anything on the house-to-house?’ he asked.
Daniels shook her head. ‘Don’t fret, guv. I have everything under control.’
‘As I knew you would,’ he said, a look of pride spreading over his face.
She wanted to ask him outright why he was shadowing her and tell him how his interference made her feel. Then a better question entered her head. ‘You going to tell me why the ACC wants me on this case when he can’t stand the sight of me?’
Bright moved towards his car, an avoidance tactic if ever there was one. Daniels followed him, hell-bent on getting an answer. As she arrived at the side of the car, he got in and wound down the window. She glanced at his driver, knowing she couldn’t backchat in front of him.
‘Then at least let me work both incidents, guv. Sarah’s killer is still out there. We both know he’ll kill again . . .’