Touch (13 page)

Savage went over to join him, hoping he wouldn’t need to lift the sheet, although she knew he would do so anyway.

‘Now, let’s see.’ Nesbit pulled back the cloth and revealed the girl’s naked body. He picked up a clipboard and read aloud. ‘Kelly Donal, eighteen. Height one hundred and–’

Savage winced, not at the doctor’s words, rather at the sight of the body. Kelly didn’t look so beautiful now, not with the rough, Y shaped scar running along her shoulders, down her chest and across her stomach. Nesbit’s assistant had sewn her up well enough, but the work wasn’t going to win any needlepoint prizes.

‘–point three kilograms. All in all a healthy young woman with no abnormalities and no worries.’ Nesbit cleared his throat. ‘Apart from being dead, of course.’

‘Time of death?’

‘Patience, Charlotte, patience.’ Nesbit scanned his clipboard again. ‘First, the cut we noted on the abdomen. Remember?’

‘I think you said the wound hadn’t bled.’

‘Yes. No blood because the incision happened post-mortem.’

‘You sure?’

‘Of course. The wound would have bled profusely had she been alive at the time. Even if the blood had been cleaned up externally, internally there would have been significant haemorrhaging.’

‘Your guess at the weapon?’

‘I deal in evidence not conjecture, as you well know, Charlotte.’ Nesbit bent his head and peered over the top of his glasses at Savage; a scolding glance, but a smile forming too. ‘However, I noted a small exit wound on the girl’s lower back meaning the instrument was pushed all the way through the girl’s body. Thus the evidence points to a thin, sharp blade approximately twenty centimetres long. ‘

‘Kitchen knife?’

‘Quite possibly, but I wouldn’t call the knife a weapon since the cut was made after she died.’ Nesbit flipped a page over on his clipboard and adjusted his glasses. ‘Now, you asked about the time of death?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, remember the core body temperature readings I took at the scene were not much use? The body was colder than the ambient air.’

‘Yes, I think we thought she might have been outside in the frosty weather.’

‘Right. Well I found some blowfly larvae up in the nasal cavity. I am no expert in the area, but I believe they are at the stage of development called first instars.’

‘I am guessing from my limited knowledge she hadn’t been dead long then.’

‘I don’t know. The maggots themselves are dead.’

‘You’ve lost me, Andrew.’ Savage was struggling to understand. ‘The
maggots
are dead?’

‘Yes, correct. It is possible the frost killed them, but I don’t think so. We will need to get some accurate weather data and I will contact a forensic entomologist to determine if my theory is possible.’

‘What theory?’ Savage was becoming exasperated and she wondered for a moment if Nesbit might be playing a game with her.

‘My hypothesis is Kelly Donal was frozen.’

‘
What?
’ Savage stared at Nesbit. ‘By the frosty nights?’

‘No, no. Not cold enough to kill the larvae. She was
deep
frozen. That would explain why they are dead and also the reason for the odd, puffy constituency and appearance to the skin, as well as the low core temperature I observed.’

‘Deep frozen? Like a pack of oven chips?’

‘Wouldn’t touch them myself, but yes.’

‘So we can’t know when she was killed?’

Nesbit seemed to ignore her and instead walked over to the lab bench at the side of the room. He pointed to a large glass jar and Savage tried to suppress a heave in her stomach at the sight of the grey lump within.

‘Kelly Donal’s brain,’ Nesbit said. ‘Before I return the brain to the skull cavity I will take some sections for analysis. I believe the cell structure will have been altered by the freezing process although I don’t think a method exists to tell us how long the body has been frozen. However, I have a couple of ideas that need a bit of work. I’ll get back to you on them.’

Nesbit returned to the body and bent forward and sniffed the torso, gesturing at Savage to do the same.

‘I found no other outward signs of insect infestation because the body has been washed at some point, you can smell the soap.’

Savage moved to the body and bent over. The girl’s left breast was a few inches away from her face and for a moment Savage found herself looking at the body through the killer’s eyes. Those curves, the flat, toned stomach leading to an enticing triangle of pubic hair, the smooth thighs and shapely calves. What man would pass up the opportunity to be close to such perfection? To kiss the body all over, to caress the skin, to wonder at the beauty and finally to penetrate it, afterwards holding the flesh close in the exhaustion of post-orgasmic bliss.

‘Charlotte?’

Savage snapped back into the awkwardness of reality, aware of Nesbit’s stare.

‘Yes, I think you are right. Soap.’

‘Now then, toxicology. I’ve dispatched some blood and hair to the lab to ascertain if there is any evidence of drugs or poisoning. There are some needle marks on her right and left arms, so she was a user, but my initial judgement is we won’t find anything in that arena responsible for her death. I believe she died of hypothermia.’

‘Exposure?’

‘Not in the sense of being outside. The freezing I talked about a moment ago? That was what killed her.’

‘She was
frozen
to death?’

‘I can’t say the manner of her death will bring any comfort to the family, but there are worse ways to go.’

‘But deep frozen...’

‘Yes, she would have been shut in a freezer. Alive. If you remember at the scene I showed you the lividity in the buttocks and thighs and concluded she had been in a sitting position.’

‘Oh God.’ Savage sometimes got claustrophobic in an aeroplane or if she was wedged under her sports car fixing something, but being shut in a small box and left to die was a horror of a different order of magnitude.

‘I am not finished yet, I’m afraid.’

She had hoped they were nearing the end, but Nesbit looked so pleased with himself she didn’t voice her feelings.

‘A few more interesting points. The last of which I don’t think you are going to like.’

‘Go on.’

‘First, I found a few black hairs, obviously not from the girl. They’ve gone for analysis. Second, the stomach and intestine contents are of interest. The girl liked fruit.’

‘Sorry?’

‘Here.’ Nesbit went to the bench again. Next to the jar containing Kelly’s brain was a smaller container. ‘Apples, pears, bananas, apricots, grapes. The girl ate nothing else for at least a couple of days before her death.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘I am not saying anything, Charlotte. Merely pointing out the facts.’

‘Anything else?’

‘Ah, yes,’ Nesbit paused and sighed. ‘This is the bit I don’t think that you are going to like.’

‘Go on.’

‘Now look at this.’ Nesbit took a fresh pair of forceps and pointed down between the girl’s thighs. He teased her pubic hairs apart. ‘There!’

‘Where?’

‘Labia majora. Can you spot the marks?’ He pointed with his forceps and now Savage could see some little pin pricks in the skin, a row on each side.

‘She was sewn up. Rather crudely I should say. I took some photos before I removed the thread and you will note the stitches are all different sizes, not a skilful job at all.’

‘Jesus,’ Savage muttered under her breath. ‘That’s pretty sick.’

‘Disturbing, certainly. As to whether the person who did this is sick, well, psychology is not my field of expertise.’

‘It’s not mine either, but let’s agree it is not something you or I would consider doing.’

‘No, probably not.’ Nesbit smiled before continuing. ‘There is also evidence of sexual activity, lubricant, and a large quantity of semen.’

‘More than one man?’

‘We will know after the lab have done their bit. She had intercourse multiple times though.’

‘Did the sex happen while she was alive or after she was dead?’

‘I can’t tell, although she was sewn up after she was dead.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised, I mean, we–’

‘Oh, there’s more I am afraid, Charlotte.’ Nesbit went over to a lab bench and picked up a polygrip bag. ‘I discovered this rolled up and inserted vaginally into the girl, after she was unconscious I would say. It was pushed up deep in the canal, possibly by the man’s penis.’

Savage moved closer to see what he had in his hand and Nesbit gave her the bag. It contained a piece of curled up paper. The outside was plain white and on the inside was a picture, but the ink had run forming a whirl of colour similar to a toddler’s drawing.

‘Yes, I couldn’t tell what it was at first either. Gently flatten the paper and you’ll understand.’

Savage did so and a chill spread from her stomach, seeping up through her chest and then running down her arms to her fingertips. Although the ink had discoloured the paper she could now make out an image. Her fingers began to tingle and a dizzy sensation washed over her.

‘Jesus Christ! It’s–’

‘Yes, it is.’ Nesbit spoke with a soft tone and took the bag from her shaking hand. ‘I’ve already had a few copies made so you can take one with you when you go.’

Nesbit’s voice disappeared behind a rumble and her ears filled with a noise like the sound the winter storm waves made when they crashed onto the beach below her house and turned the pebbles over and over on themselves. It was a roaring, hissing, grinding sound of pure power, of chaotic elemental forces trying to tear at the foundations of the earth and destroy the fragile fabric of life. Not a one-off assault that would destroy it in a day, but an ongoing war of attrition persisting over years and decades and centuries. Slowly, but oh-so-surely it succeeded. Every person who ever breathed turned into someone else’s memories, those memories into footnotes in a history book, the book itself into a crumbling artefact whose own decay told the whole story of human existence.

‘Charlotte?’ Nesbit handed her the autopsy papers and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. ‘I know this doesn’t seem to make any sense right now, but you’ll get him, I’m sure you will.’

Savage nodded an acceptance to Nesbit, muttered some words of thanks and turned and walked out of the lab, up the stairs and through the maze of corridors. She wandered, lost in her thoughts, everything else a blur: figures in long, white coats, nurses in blue uniforms, patients grey with despair, colour in a black and white world. Birth and illness and death. The story started here and for most the end came here too. For some, like Kelly, it ended on a slab of cold stainless steel with your organs in a jar, bodily fluids flushed down the drain and your name in a headline in a newspaper.

And then Savage thought of Clarissa, her daughter. A picnic on Dartmoor by a roadside stream and the twins playing on their bikes. The sound of a car coming fast, the
ding-ding
of the little bell on Clarissa’s bike and the nauseating crunch of the smash. Hit and run. Ambulance. Hospital. Her daughter’s blank face white, framed with the vivid, contrasting red of her hair, Savage’s hair. And Savage noticing Clarissa’s eyes, lids taped shut. In some odd way that had hurt the most, realising Clarissa would never see her again, never have the comfort of knowing her mother was at her bedside. But the doctors said even if her eyes had been open she wouldn’t have recognised anyone. She was gone, only the machines keeping her alive. Then it was decision time. The most difficult of Savage’s life. Once made, electrodes had been detached, tubes pulled out, a last rasp of air escaping from Clarissa’s lungs. The words from the nurse as delicate as an angel’s whisper.

‘We can leave you alone with her for a bit if you like?’

‘Yes, of course. Thank you.’

She sat with Pete for an hour and then Savage had walked out of the hospital with the same roaring in her ears, the same numbness spreading through her. But no headlines for her daughter, mercifully. Just a news story on page seven of the local paper and a crowd of people standing in the rain on a cold and damp morning. A priest reciting empty words over an empty hole in the ground, soon to be filled with earth and mud and nine years of memories.

The corridor blurred and she swallowed hard, staggering to a wall for support. She knew emotion got the better of her sometimes, but this was feeble. She guessed the shock of seeing the picture had triggered something inside her, something to do with loss. Not only the loss of her daughter, but of her husband as well. He was several thousand miles away if you measured the distance between them on a map, but if you measured it in relationship terms then the units became light years. He had never been the same since Clarissa’s death. None of them had, of course, but he was the one who had been able to escape. If only she could do likewise.

She found an exit and left the hospital buildings to walk the grounds, hoping the air would clear her head. People moved out of her way to let her pass, thinking that she was drunk or mad or both. Finding an empty bench in a quiet spot she sat down.

The roaring in her ears subsided and her heartbeat slowed. Gulping in lungfuls of air calmed her and focused her mind. The panic she had felt stopped and reality began to return. After a while she decided she might as well get it over with. She searched among the sheets of paper Nesbit had given her and found the picture from inside Kelly Donal. The picture linked the rapes and the Kelly killing and for a moment had made the whole case seem insurmountable. Life was like that sometimes, but you dealt with it the best you could and moved on. Savage looked down at the photograph. The face of a pretty girl smiled out from the copy of the stained and faded print. A dusky, cute-looking Spanish girl: Rosina Salgado Olivárez.

Harry remembered the first time he had met the Spanish girl who looked like Carmel. He’d blinked and shaken his head, not quite believing his eyes. The girl sat on the floor of the day nursery, bouncing a baby on her knee. Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, and when she raised her head and smiled at Harry he’d had to turn away and chew his tongue. The likeness was uncanny. She looked just like Carmel. After he had finished his work he rushed home to scrabble in the shoebox of photos he kept in the back of a cupboard and had found the faded picture of her along with the other girls. It
was
her. Thirty years on she had come back for him and she hadn’t changed one bit, hadn’t decayed at all. This time he swore there would be a happy ending. This time she would stay and love him. He was sure of it.