I changed the subject. “Shall we take fingerprints? I can get the nail clippings done while we wait, too.”
“Um, sure. Yes. Although I suspect the only damage this guy did was to himself. Especially if he was grabbed from behind, like I suspect.”
“You never know.”
Without speaking, we fingerprinted the man, and I collected nail samples before carefully transferring them into an evidence bag. Sealing it, I filled out the information tab and set it aside to be processed by the lab.
Akilina had yet to return, so I gave Kobe a breakdown of the external exam and what I’d found. Apart from the flower spike, cervical markings, petechiae, and self-injurious abrasions, I hadn’t found other injuries of note.
When Akilina returned, we began.
The internal exam lasted hours. Most detectives didn’t stick around for the whole thing. Once the elements that directly pertained to their investigation were completed, they usually took off.
Kobe kept audience for the entire three-and-a-half hours, never once flinching or excusing himself.
In the end, I confirmed that the victim had died of asphyxiation caused by ligature strangulation. We extracted a few fibers from the soft tissue around the neck, the color hard to determine with the naked eye. They would be sent to the lab for further analysis.
The patterning and distribution of the first-stage bruising suggested a scarf had been wrapped around the man’s throat. A knotted impression at his nape, along with indicators of pinched skin at the top of the spine, suggested the fabric had been twisted counterclockwise to maintain pressure.
“The spike entered the fifth intercostal space near the left midclavicular line, puncturing the apex of the heart,” I dictated.
Akilina took notes.
“Can I see?” Kobe stepped forward, angling his body to get a better view. “Was he dead when that happened?”
“Yes. The insertion was done postmortem.”
“How do you know?”
I rubbed my lips together and eyed Kobe. “There’s a lack of vital tissue reaction. Postmortem injuries do not actively bleed, as you pointed out at the scene. Because of that, they tend to have a dry, yellowish appearance instead of being red and bloody.”
I indicated the area, showing him what I meant.
Kobe looked on with curiosity. Giving him credit, he didn’t flinch, gag, squirm, or make a face. His rapt attention and intrigue were admirable. “Is there any indication our perp had to try several times to get the spike past the ribcage?”
My brows rose. I hadn’t expected such an astute question. “No. They managed to get it through in one shot.”
“Huh. So our guy was either super lucky or knew exactly where to stab him.”
“Or he took the time to locate the ribs so he wouldn’t miss,” Akilina said. “Remember, this man was dead at the time.”
“Oh, right, and his jacket was unzipped and pulled aside. Makes sense.” Kobe didn’t ask further questions and faded into the background as I continued the exam.
Akilina took over, offering to complete the closure on her own. I moved into the adjacent room and stripped from my soiled protective gear to scrub. The job was messier than most people realized.
Kobe followed like a persistent shadow. I wasn’t sure what more to say and had no clue why he’d stuck around so long, but his constant presence at my elbow spiked my blood pressure. I wanted to go home, forget about the man I’d dissected, about Kobe’s existence, and have a few stiff drinks so I didn’t have to think anymore. Maybe I could lose myself in a book.
I tugged a handful of brown paper towels from a dispenser as Kobe took a turn at the wash basin. Patting my hands dry, I studied him, trying to read the direction of his thoughts. For a fleeting moment, I considered how terrible it might be to entertain advances—assuming that was the direction he was attempting to take.
No. That was the last thing I needed.
“I’ll work on the report tomorrow morning and email you with the preliminary results once I’m finished compiling what I have. Toxicology will take at least a month, but you know the drill.”
“Yeah, I do.” Kobe shut off the water and shook droplets from his hands as he glanced around.
I offered him a few paper towels.
“Oh, um, thanks.” He dried off and deposited them in the garbage receptacle.
