Moray Ruskin had insisted that he wanted to attend Lucas Furber’s autopsy. Warren decided to go along with him; the death had hit the young probationer hard, and Warren was concerned about him. It was a decision he regretted almost the moment they arrived at the morgue. He’d completely forgotten that it was Granddad Jack’s birthday party that afternoon. Now he’d have to get changed again before he jumped in the car with Susan for the journey back to Coventry.
‘He was dead for some time, and the body has been disturbed by wildlife,’ warned Professor Jordan. Warren decided a second shower might also be in order before Susan picked him up.
The body on the gurney looked like a poor Hollywood prop. The skin was a dark, bloodless grey, slightly puffy from the early stages of decomposition that Warren’s nose told him was taking place. The body was nude, and it was clear to see that Furber had been malnourished. In addition to his prominent ribs, the man’s pelvis was clearly outlined, and his knees were the same width as his upper thighs.
Mercifully, the Y incision had been completed and the chest sewn back up before Warren and Ruskin had arrived.
Often the recently deceased looked peaceful. In the case of Furber, it was impossible to tell; Ryan’s warning about wildlife held true.
‘Poor bastard.’
Ruskin’s voice behind his mask was thick-tongued. Warren looked at him with concern, but the burly Scotsman showed no signs of being ill.
‘They go for the soft, exposed flesh first,’ said Jordan. ‘Fortunately he was wearing tight-fitting underwear and jeans. Rats can crawl through the smallest of gaps.’
‘They only go for dead bodies, right?’
‘Not always, if the person is deeply unconscious, they might take an exploratory nip. If they don’t get swatted away, then they might carry on.’
‘Jesus. He wasn’t …’
Jordan took pity on the young constable.
‘No, he was quite dead, when they started.’ He pointed at the hole where Furber’s nose had been. ‘No blood.’
Ruskin said nothing behind his mask, but his shoulders relaxed.
‘Any indication of cause of death?’ asked Warren.
‘Almost certainly an overdose of opiates. I’ll know more when I get the toxicology results back, but he was found with a needle and syringe still inserted in his left median cubital vein. The remains of the drug inside the syringe tested positive for opiates. Again, we’ll know more about the specifics of the drug when I get the results back.’
Jordan turned the inside of the man’s arm over. A small hole was visible at the crook of his elbow, surrounded by what appeared to be dark blood.
‘He passed out with the needle still in his arm, which caused the tearing you see.’
Jordan pointed to a discoloured band of skin around the bicep. ‘Marks from the tourniquet. It was still attached, although loosened when he was found.’
‘Was he a habitual user?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Certainly in the past. There are scars on the inside of both elbows, as well as dotted around his body.’
‘But nothing recent?’
‘Not that I could find.’
‘So why did he start using again?’ asked Ruskin.
It was a rhetorical question, and nobody answered.
‘What else have you found?’ asked Warren.
‘He was malnourished and in poor health, obviously. In addition, he had scrapes and bruises, but nothing that stands out. There was a significant volume of what appears to be super strength lager in his stomach, although I won’t know his blood alcohol levels until the results come back from the lab.’
‘Any indication that he had been restrained, or beaten?’
‘No. At this stage, it looks to me like an accidental overdose; not uncommon in recovering addicts, especially if they have drunk a lot.’
‘How long ago?’
‘That’s a bit more tricky. Some time ago, obviously, you can tell by the fact that he has started to decompose. Other than that, I can’t tell. The weather has been cold, but he was well sheltered in that garage and wrapped up warmly, with decent clothes and quite a thick sleeping bag.’
‘What about maggot larvae?’ asked Ruskin.
‘Eggs will have been laid pretty much as soon as he died. We could get a forensic entomologist in to have a look.’
It was a good suggestion, but Warren doubted DSI Grayson would be willing to authorise the expense for what appeared to be a simple overdose. Forensic entomology worked on the principle that flying insects such as blow flies laid their eggs on dead bodies, within hours of death. The eggs then developed over the course of the next few days, weeks or even months to hatch into juvenile flies.
The individual developmental stages of the larvae’s growth were well-characterised and the process was temperature-dependent. As long as the temperature of the area where the body had lain was known, a forensic entomologist could obtain a fairly accurate indication of when the deceased died.
The problem was the cost. Forensic entomologists were typically employed as freelance consultants who usually held a day job at a university or other research institute. Furthermore, there was always a backlog of cases.
However, if they could narrow down when Furber died it could potentially rule him out of Father Daugherty or even Father Nolan’s deaths and answer once and for all his role in recent events. But was the expense justified, when other methods might be just as accurate, at a fraction of the expense?
‘Can you preserve the samples in case we decide to pursue this at a later date?’ asked Warren.
‘Yes, I can freeze the eggs in liquid nitrogen.’
‘Do it.’