Night Realm (12 page)

The room smelled like a hospital. It was supposed to be a clean and sterile s
cent, but Marks always found it quite sickly. There was another smell in the air, one that would become more pungent as the autopsy got underway. The smell of death.

“You guys want
face masks?” the pathologist asked. He obviously wasn’t bothering with one. Used to the aroma, no doubt.

Both Marks and Richards decided a mask and lab coat would be a good idea. They also slipped visors over their heads. The visors had large, clear plastic face shields designed to protect them from any gore splatter. Their hands were then fed into gloves, just in case they needed to touch the deceased.

When they were just about to get underway a female mortuary technician came into the room. She was Asian, possibly Chinese, and was armed with a tray of implements to be used in the autopsy. On the tray were knives and scalpels, forceps for moving things around, a ladle for fluids and a bone saw. There was also an array of other objects spread out on the tray.

One of the SOCOs, a new guy that Marks didn’t really know, entered the room carrying a notebook and a small digital video camera. He would take notes throughout the procedure as well as record events on camera.

Dr Shultz adjusted his glasses, lowered the visor over his face and moved in close to the body. He pointed to Amanda’s throat. “What do you make of these lesions here?” He looked at Marks.

The detective shrugged. “I was hoping you could tell me.
I thought they may be insect bites of some kind.”

Shultz examined them with the magnifier and nodded to himself a few times.

“What?” Marks wanted to know. “Are they bites?”

“Well, they’re definitely puncture wounds of some kind. They are located directly on
the left common carotid artery.”

Marks said, “So what does that mean?”

“It means there is a good supply of blood flow through that artery coming from the aorta.”

“So you think something latched onto her vein and tried to suck her blood?” Marks
tried to play with his goatee again - as was his habit when contemplating - but with his gloved fingers and the face mask, he could barely feel the hairs.

“I didn’t say that,” Shultz replied in a firm tone.
He made notes of the lesions on a body chart, then proceeded to examine every inch of Amanda’s body, searching for any other wounds. He came up dry. There were no other injuries of any kind. All the while the SOCO filmed every aspect of the procedure, as well as jotting things down on his pad.

Shultz then went to work on the interior examination.
With the help of the technician he made various cuts around the body, peeling back the skin, removing the ribcage and placing it on a tray. Connecting tissues to organs were severed so the organs could be removed for dissecting and closer examination. Samples were placed on slides for close scrutiny under the microscope. Shultz took urine samples and collected samples from the stomach and intestines.

“That’s odd
,” the doctor said after a while.

“Wha
t is?” Marks quizzed.

“Was there any blood at the crime scene?” Shultz asked.

“Not where she was found, no,” said Marks. “The SOCOs also went over her bedroom where it’s presumed she was killed, and they came up with nothing there, either. Why?”

“Because there is very little blood in this cadaver.”
Dr Shultz shook his head in confusion and closely examined the puncture wounds again.

“Do you think the killer drained her blood somehow?” It was Richards who posed the question.

“Maybe we’re looking for a killer who works in pathology?” Marks mused. He asked Shultz, “Is that what killed her?”

“A lack of blood will lead to death, yes,” the doctor concurred, “but we can’t rule out another cause of death
just yet. The removal of the blood could have been posthumous. Although, judging by the appearance of the deceased’s skin, it would had to have been very soon after the girl’s expiration.” He was probing the lesions with his fingers, eyes bulging behind those glasses as he studied them. “I don’t think this is the work of anyone who works in the pathology or medical field. These wounds were not made by any instrument I’ve ever used to take blood.”

“Why would someone want to take her blood
anyway?” Richards sounded bemused.

“Maybe she was a forced donor?” Marks
speculated.

Still looking at the wounds, Shultz added, “
They kind of look like the puncture wounds you see from a dog bite, from its canine teeth.”

Marks was taken aback. “Are you saying a dog bit her?”

Shultz shook his head. “No, merely stating a similarity to that kind of a bite, only a dog bite would produce puncture wounds from both its upper and lower jaw, so there would be at least four lesions. As would be the case with most bites, human included. They do very much resemble puncture wounds from two very sharp teeth, though.”

The autopsy continued for some time. When the gruesome procedure was finally over, everyone stripped out of their protective clothing and gloves and washed up in the sinks.
Marks was feeling more confused than ever. He needed to locate this suspect and get some definitive answers.

Shultz said to him,
“We’ll get toxicology reports done and tests on the little amount of blood I managed to collect. Even though all tests have yet to be concluded, so far I’ve discovered nothing else to indicate the deceased’s cause of death.”

“So it could be the blood loss after all,” Marks stated, a hunch telling him that’s what the final conclusion would be in the end.

Shultz nodded and dried his hands. “It could be. But let’s just wait for all the test results to come back first, Detective. By the way, I don’t want to release the body to the family until the results are in, in case we need to run further tests on the organs.”

Marks nodded his understanding and immediately wasn’t looking forward to the call he’d have to make to Amanda’s parents. They wanted their daughter released sooner rather than later, and in one piece.

Marks left the morgue a few minutes later and stepped out into a downpour.

The storm had arrived.

Night had come early with the thunderstorm.

Ryan was sitting out on his balcony in the gloom with a beer. Chelsea hadn’t come home yet. The wind was howling from the opposite direction, blowing the rain away from the balcony rather than towards it. Every now and then sheets of hail would fall from the heavens and hammer to the ground below. Lightning flashed every few seconds, followed by booming claps of thunder. Ryan quite enjoyed storms so he was relishing sitting out there watching the light show.

He
wanted to call Selena and talk to her about his experiences with Gordon Wells today, but he was waiting for the worst of the storm to pass first.

Lightning shot down from the black sky and struck the ocean just offshore. More hail swept through on the wind, peppering cars parked down on the street and those that crawled slowly along the highway. Thankfully they were only small stones and wouldn’t cause any real damage.

Half an hour later things started to settle down. The wind had died off, the rain had eased to a steady drizzle and the thunder and lightning were moving out to sea. Ryan figured it was time to give Selena a call, so he pressed her name in the
Contacts
list on his iPhone and waited for her to answer. She never did. Instead, he got some impersonalized voicemail message, after which he left a brief message asking her to call him back when she had a chance.

Chelsea arrived home not long after the rain had all but stopped. Ryan went inside when he heard the front door open and cornered his sister in the kitchen. When she saw him she raised her eyebrows in some semblance of a greeting gesture.

“Work again today, I see,” Ryan said and put the kettle on to make a coffee.

“Yep.”

“Have you thought any more about school?”

“Yep.”

“And?”

“And, nothing. I told you the other day I was quitting and taking on this job fulltime.”

“What does Emma think about you quitting?”

“Same as you, that I’m crazy.”

“Has she tried to talk you out of it and finishing your HSC?”

“Not recently. I haven’t even seen her since Monday night.”

He considered pushing the issue, but refrained. He’d give Emma a chance to talk sense to her. Obviously she hadn’t had an opportunity yet. Or maybe she wouldn’t bother because he’d rejected her yesterday? Time would tell.

His mobile phone rang just when the kettle reached its boil. Chelsea took a container of chicken and a Coke from the fridge and
disappeared to her room. To avoid further awkward conversation, no doubt. Ryan stepped out on the balcony and answered the call. It was Selena.

“Any developments?” Selena quizzed once the mandatory pleasantries had been taken care of.

“I’m not sure yet, but I have a hunch about something. I should know more by the end of tomorrow. He’s definitely up to something in my opinion. Just his body language today, the way he kept telling me how he likes to work alone. And, he sent me home an hour early, insisted I leave at four.”

“That does sound odd,” Selena agreed.

“What does Gordon do with the invoices when they come in from deliveries?” Ryan asked. “Does he pass them onto you? Do you pay them, or do you have an accounts manager that takes care of that?”

“I pay them. Why?”

“Say an invoiced delivery came in today. When would you see it?”

“He brings them up to my office at the end of the day - his day - on Mondays and Thursdays.”

“Okay. So today’s would be in your office at the end of tomorrow. I might not have to wait that long. I should be able to get a look at them tomorrow.”

“Ryan? What exactly are you thinking here
? What’s with all the interest in the invoicing?”

“I think he might be pulling a scam there somewhere, but I need another day to confirm it,” Ryan said, feeling quite upbeat about the assignment now. “As soon as I know anything for sure
, I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. I’d appreciate that. Just note, though, that I won’t be contactable tomorrow before six in the evening
. Call me then.”

The conversation ended on that note and Ryan went back into the kitchen to make that coffee.

*  *  *

The very first thing Gordon Wells did when Ryan arrived for work the next morning was offer him a cigarette, which Ryan refused. The pair stood out in the morning sun while Wells chugged on his smoke. Ryan was content just to
inhale passively.

In the aftermath of the storm last night the temperature had cooled a little and today was a lot less humid. The sky was clear and blue with just a few white fluffy clouds to break up the monotony.

“We’ve got a busy day today,” Wells commented as he puffed. “There’s a few deliveries comin’ in this morning and around lunch time, then this arvo we have a lot of stocking up to do upstairs. Thursday nights get quite a crowd, or so I’ve heard. Not into clubbin’ myself. Too old for that shit.” He flicked a stem of ash onto the pavement. “How bout you?”

Ryan nodded. “Yeah, I like clubs.”

“You’re young, see. All those big-titted bimbos go for guys like you. Doubt they’d look twice at me.” He grinned a little wickedly. “Not unless I pulled out a big wad of cash. That seems to change their minds some.” His expression went serious again. “Not that I have big wads of cash...Not yet, anyways.”

Ryan was itching to get
into the office and see if his theory was correct. Finally Wells finished his cigarette, and just when Ryan thought they were about to go in, the man lit another one.

“I’m going in,” Ryan said and took a step towards the storage room.

“Can’t. Door’s locked.”

Ryan tugged at his ear. “Well, can you open it for me?”

“When I’m done smokin’ this.” He held up his cigarette and shot Ryan a look filled with obstinance. “What’s ya hurry, anyway? Nothing’ much to do in there just yet.” Wells fished a twenty from his pocket and nodded across the mall at
McDonald’s
. “Why don’t you go grab us a couple of coffees from McCafe. My shout. I’ll have a flat white with two sugars.”

Feeling like an apprentice, Ryan went to
McDonald’s
and bought coffee. He decided he might as well go a flat white himself. When he got back Wells was inside, stuffing papers into the filing cabinet. He locked it and slipped the key into the pocket of his shorts.

They sat on alcohol boxes with the roller door up, drinking coffee while awaiting the first of the day’s deliveries.
Ryan had just drained the last of his coffee when they heard, rather than saw, a truck pull up in the loading bay.

“Can you drive a forklift?” Wells asked Ryan.

“No.”

Wells reluctantly put down his unfinished coffee and climbed aboard the little Toyota
. He fired it up, adjusted the tines, then zipped out through the open doorway and disappeared to the right.