tan-coloured tights shrouding her legs, the toes stained blue with dye from her shoes. All the clothes over her stomach had been ripped apart as the knife ploughed its indecent path through skin and soft tissue.The leather of the thin belt had held, dragged upward, framing the dark epicentre of the gaping wound. A fine dark line ran down from her sternum, opening out where the viscera nestled in the gentle arc of her hipbone. McAlpine couldn’t help looking, trying not to breathe in the heavy mineral stench of blood.
The SOCO with the video camera stopped filming as Professor O’Hare stepped forward. He sideshifted his grey fringe with the back of his forearm, a dark smear of blood visible on his protective gloves, before he spoke. ‘That’s part of her intestine, DCI McAlpine. Little trick of Jack the Ripper, that one. Except he used to put them over the victim’s right shoulder.’
‘Thanks. I really needed to know that, Professor.’ McAlpine glanced at the dead woman’s left hand. The fingers were bare.
‘In this case, I’m not sure it was intentional. I think he just cut the mesentery.’ O’Hare tutted. ‘I’ll let you know ASAP. I heard last night you’d been put in charge; glad to have you on board.’ O’Hare smiled slightly as he recoiled from the body, pulled the gloves from his hands, turned them inside out and placed them in a plastic bag. ‘Don’t drip on anything. Here.’ He handed McAlpine a paper towel. ‘How is DCI Duncan?’
‘The bronchitis turned out to be chronic heart failure. He’s stable, but that’s all they’re saying. At least he’s not suffering the stress of this any more. I guess that’s my job now.’
‘He looked dreadful last time I saw him. When did you get the call to take over?’ asked O’Hare.
‘Thursday night. Duncan wasn’t going to let go until they dragged him away in an ambulance… and in the end that’s exactly what happened.’
‘That’s what the job does to you. Pass on my regards if you see him.’
‘Will do.’ McAlpine mopped the water from his hair, looking directly at Elizabeth Jane’s open wound. ‘Oh, the mess of her. Fucking bastard.’
They stood in silence, hands on hips, listening to the drumming of the rain on the window, and staring at Elizabeth Jane, who lay on the floor between them like some recalcitrant child exhausted at the end of a tantrum.
‘Can we move her now?’ the SOCO asked.
The pathologist and McAlpine stood back as the body was lifted, ready to be turned on to the white plastic sheet. A gloved hand steadied the loose intestine as the body moved. The camera clicked, catching everything, the bloodstained underskirt slipping over Elizabeth Jane’s thigh to reveal fresh carpet underneath. The smell intensified as the body rolled, and McAlpine turned away, holding the paper towel to his nose, grimacing and cursing like a trooper.
The SOCOs held her, half turned, one leg balanced on the other, their plastic slippers crunching on plastic sheeting as they moved closer. Elizabeth Jane answered them with a slow exhalation, like a deflating tyre. Nobody spoke.
O’Hare bent to check her back, looking at the bruising. Then he nodded, the bodybag was zipped, and Elizabeth Jane disappeared.
‘Same as Lynzi Traill?’ McAlpine knew the answer before he asked.
‘The pose, the cutting, the chloroform burns on the face? The wound’s a bit deeper, but apart from that it’s a carbon copy.’
McAlpine sighed. ‘I’m only twelve hours into the Traill case, and this happens. What about chloroform – how easy is that to get hold of?’
‘DCI Duncan asked the same question. It’s a controlled substance. I know he had a check done, and none had been reported stolen recently; that was the last I heard. But I’ll say to you exactly what I said to DCI Duncan about the Traill murder: efficient and confident use of a knife. This guy knows what he’s doing.’
‘Wish I did,’ McAlpine sighed, looking at the exposed
The SOCO with the video camera stopped filming as Professor O’Hare stepped forward. He sideshifted his grey fringe with the back of his forearm, a dark smear of blood visible on his protective gloves, before he spoke. ‘That’s part of her intestine, DCI McAlpine. Little trick of Jack the Ripper, that one. Except he used to put them over the victim’s right shoulder.’
‘Thanks. I really needed to know that, Professor.’ McAlpine glanced at the dead woman’s left hand. The fingers were bare.
‘In this case, I’m not sure it was intentional. I think he just cut the mesentery.’ O’Hare tutted. ‘I’ll let you know ASAP. I heard last night you’d been put in charge; glad to have you on board.’ O’Hare smiled slightly as he recoiled from the body, pulled the gloves from his hands, turned them inside out and placed them in a plastic bag. ‘Don’t drip on anything. Here.’ He handed McAlpine a paper towel. ‘How is DCI Duncan?’
‘The bronchitis turned out to be chronic heart failure. He’s stable, but that’s all they’re saying. At least he’s not suffering the stress of this any more. I guess that’s my job now.’
‘He looked dreadful last time I saw him. When did you get the call to take over?’ asked O’Hare.
‘Thursday night. Duncan wasn’t going to let go until they dragged him away in an ambulance… and in the end that’s exactly what happened.’
‘That’s what the job does to you. Pass on my regards if you see him.’
‘Will do.’ McAlpine mopped the water from his hair, looking directly at Elizabeth Jane’s open wound. ‘Oh, the mess of her. Fucking bastard.’
They stood in silence, hands on hips, listening to the drumming of the rain on the window, and staring at Elizabeth Jane, who lay on the floor between them like some recalcitrant child exhausted at the end of a tantrum.
‘Can we move her now?’ the SOCO asked.
The pathologist and McAlpine stood back as the body was lifted, ready to be turned on to the white plastic sheet. A gloved hand steadied the loose intestine as the body moved. The camera clicked, catching everything, the bloodstained underskirt slipping over Elizabeth Jane’s thigh to reveal fresh carpet underneath. The smell intensified as the body rolled, and McAlpine turned away, holding the paper towel to his nose, grimacing and cursing like a trooper.
The SOCOs held her, half turned, one leg balanced on the other, their plastic slippers crunching on plastic sheeting as they moved closer. Elizabeth Jane answered them with a slow exhalation, like a deflating tyre. Nobody spoke.
O’Hare bent to check her back, looking at the bruising. Then he nodded, the bodybag was zipped, and Elizabeth Jane disappeared.
‘Same as Lynzi Traill?’ McAlpine knew the answer before he asked.
‘The pose, the cutting, the chloroform burns on the face? The wound’s a bit deeper, but apart from that it’s a carbon copy.’
McAlpine sighed. ‘I’m only twelve hours into the Traill case, and this happens. What about chloroform – how easy is that to get hold of?’
‘DCI Duncan asked the same question. It’s a controlled substance. I know he had a check done, and none had been reported stolen recently; that was the last I heard. But I’ll say to you exactly what I said to DCI Duncan about the Traill murder: efficient and confident use of a knife. This guy knows what he’s doing.’
‘Wish I did,’ McAlpine sighed, looking at the exposed
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