yourself?’
The sheet came back with a flourish. Ann Harris lay on her back. The rigor had left the body, which had a wax-like sheen and like wax appeared to be melting, bubbled and flaccid. Only the snarl remained, more horrifying than before. Novikov had examined like a butcher. The body incision, from neck to crotch, was carelessly jagged, the subsequent stitching uneven. Nothing had been swabbed clean, after being sealed.
‘You’ll have to help me turn her over.’
‘Cover her,’ said Danilov, tightly, not looking. When was the mutilation of Ann Harris going to stop?
‘I thought you wanted to see?’
‘Cover her.’ Strangely, Danilov’s stomach was settling, despite Novikov’s charade. When the pathologist didn’t move, Danilov himself pulled the sheet back over the disfigured corpse. Even-voiced he said: ‘So it was a tapered wound?’
Novikov’s disappointment was visibly obvious, a vein pumping in the man’s right temple. ‘It was a tapered wound,’ he agreed.
‘Width, at the point of entry?’
‘Five centimetres.’
‘Thickness?’
‘Five millimetres, at its thickest: the back of the knife.’
The other man shifted, with apparent impatience, and Danilov thought, your game, you bastard: now you stay and play it. ‘Any surface tearing of the skin at the point of entry?’
‘Why didn’t you look for yourself?’
‘Any surface tearing of the skin?’
‘I said it was clean!’
‘A sharp knife then?’
‘Yes.’
‘ Especially sharp?’
‘How can I answer that?’
‘By telling me if there was any fractional indentation of the skin immediately around the wound.’
‘There wasn’t.’
‘Which would indicate the knife being especially sharp?’
‘It’s a reasonable assumption.’
‘Any indication that the knife blade was serrated?’
‘Smooth-bladed. No serration.’
‘It could have been a kitchen knife?’
‘It could have been.’
‘Anything to show a struggle?’
‘I told your man last night.’
‘Tell me!’
‘There was bruising to the left thigh and buttock. It was postmortem lividity: that means it occurred after death.’
‘I know what it means. What about fingernail scrapings?’
‘Nothing. Death was practically instantaneous.’
‘Sexual assault?’
‘None.’ Novikov hesitated, then said: ‘But there had been recent sexual intercourse.’
Danilov sighed, exasperated. ‘Which you haven’t thought important enough to tell me until now?’
‘It would have been in my complete, written report.’
‘I don’t want to wait until your complete, written report!’ The obstructiveness was back-firing, making the man himself appear incompetent: Danilov wished there had been others to witness it, like before.
‘There was semen, in the vagina.’
‘Sufficient for blood grouping?’
Novikov nodded. ‘B. Rhesus Negative.’
The most common, Danilov reflected, bitterly. ‘What was her group?’
‘B again. But Rhesus Positive.’
‘Why are you sure it couldn’t have been rape?’
‘Rapists don’t replace tights and knickers. She was properly dressed. There was no vaginal bruising.’
‘Was there bruising around the wound?’
‘Very slight.’
‘Was it a stab? Or was the knife driven in?’
‘Driven in.’
Abruptly, again, Danilov realized a further important omission. He gestured to the covered body. ‘You didn’t say how tall she was.’
‘One point six five metres.’
‘And you didn’t tell me the direction of the wound. Was it upwards? Downwards? What?’ The pathologist swallowed and Danilov doubted the man had properly checked.
‘Across, from right to left: slightly upwards, perhaps.’
‘So the killer could be approximately the same height? Or slightly smaller. If he were taller it would have a downward direction, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘It didn’t come into any contact with bone?’
‘I already told you that.’
‘How difficult is it to thrust a knife into someone and get cleanly between the
The sheet came back with a flourish. Ann Harris lay on her back. The rigor had left the body, which had a wax-like sheen and like wax appeared to be melting, bubbled and flaccid. Only the snarl remained, more horrifying than before. Novikov had examined like a butcher. The body incision, from neck to crotch, was carelessly jagged, the subsequent stitching uneven. Nothing had been swabbed clean, after being sealed.
‘You’ll have to help me turn her over.’
‘Cover her,’ said Danilov, tightly, not looking. When was the mutilation of Ann Harris going to stop?
‘I thought you wanted to see?’
‘Cover her.’ Strangely, Danilov’s stomach was settling, despite Novikov’s charade. When the pathologist didn’t move, Danilov himself pulled the sheet back over the disfigured corpse. Even-voiced he said: ‘So it was a tapered wound?’
Novikov’s disappointment was visibly obvious, a vein pumping in the man’s right temple. ‘It was a tapered wound,’ he agreed.
‘Width, at the point of entry?’
‘Five centimetres.’
‘Thickness?’
‘Five millimetres, at its thickest: the back of the knife.’
The other man shifted, with apparent impatience, and Danilov thought, your game, you bastard: now you stay and play it. ‘Any surface tearing of the skin at the point of entry?’
‘Why didn’t you look for yourself?’
‘Any surface tearing of the skin?’
‘I said it was clean!’
‘A sharp knife then?’
‘Yes.’
‘ Especially sharp?’
‘How can I answer that?’
‘By telling me if there was any fractional indentation of the skin immediately around the wound.’
‘There wasn’t.’
‘Which would indicate the knife being especially sharp?’
‘It’s a reasonable assumption.’
‘Any indication that the knife blade was serrated?’
‘Smooth-bladed. No serration.’
‘It could have been a kitchen knife?’
‘It could have been.’
‘Anything to show a struggle?’
‘I told your man last night.’
‘Tell me!’
‘There was bruising to the left thigh and buttock. It was postmortem lividity: that means it occurred after death.’
‘I know what it means. What about fingernail scrapings?’
‘Nothing. Death was practically instantaneous.’
‘Sexual assault?’
‘None.’ Novikov hesitated, then said: ‘But there had been recent sexual intercourse.’
Danilov sighed, exasperated. ‘Which you haven’t thought important enough to tell me until now?’
‘It would have been in my complete, written report.’
‘I don’t want to wait until your complete, written report!’ The obstructiveness was back-firing, making the man himself appear incompetent: Danilov wished there had been others to witness it, like before.
‘There was semen, in the vagina.’
‘Sufficient for blood grouping?’
Novikov nodded. ‘B. Rhesus Negative.’
The most common, Danilov reflected, bitterly. ‘What was her group?’
‘B again. But Rhesus Positive.’
‘Why are you sure it couldn’t have been rape?’
‘Rapists don’t replace tights and knickers. She was properly dressed. There was no vaginal bruising.’
‘Was there bruising around the wound?’
‘Very slight.’
‘Was it a stab? Or was the knife driven in?’
‘Driven in.’
Abruptly, again, Danilov realized a further important omission. He gestured to the covered body. ‘You didn’t say how tall she was.’
‘One point six five metres.’
‘And you didn’t tell me the direction of the wound. Was it upwards? Downwards? What?’ The pathologist swallowed and Danilov doubted the man had properly checked.
‘Across, from right to left: slightly upwards, perhaps.’
‘So the killer could be approximately the same height? Or slightly smaller. If he were taller it would have a downward direction, wouldn’t it?’
‘Yes.’
‘It didn’t come into any contact with bone?’
‘I already told you that.’
‘How difficult is it to thrust a knife into someone and get cleanly between the
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