‘What’s up with the white tone to the skin around the gouges?’ I asked.
The ME peered closely at the wounds. ‘Frostbite,’ she said after a beat. ‘It appears that the weapon was extremely cold.’
‘Same MO as Marlow, right? Same weapon?’ And byweapon, we both meant a dismembered ogre’s head.
‘Yes, I’d say so. But this body didn’t have magic-cancelling cuffs on, and no taser marks that I can see on a quick visual inspection, but I’ll double-check the same during autopsy. It appears he was attacked hard and fast and had no time to access his magic. The Connection’s system tells us he’s a low-level piper – level 2 only – so he’d have needed to touch his attacker to control him. And it looks like the killer knew it.’ She turned to face me and Robbie. ‘I’ve got news about Marlow’s case. I got a positive result last night. The sample you gave is the same as the DNA I swabbed from Marlow.’
I grimaced. ‘So someone used Thrain Olofsson’s head to kill.’ I looked at Drummond. ‘And probably not just once, but twice.’
‘Yes, indeed. And I’d say they kept the poor ogre’s head in the freezer in the interim. No doubt I’ll find some of Mr Olofsson’s DNA in Mr Drummond’s injuries, and the cell structure will show it’s been frozen, but I’ll check and confirm for completeness.’
‘If you can, then we can prove a living ogre didn’t do this,’ I said with satisfaction. ‘Put those accusations to bed.’
‘Exactly. I have to say, this is a first for me.’
‘And me. But in their haste to frame an ogre for the deaths, they gave us more to work with and screwed themselves over even more. With the body’s position on the bed, it would have been incredibly difficult – almost impossible – for a real ogre to have killed Drummond with their tusks.’
‘I agree,’ Kate hummed. ‘The angle is extremely awkward. I’ll make sure the same is noted in the report.’
‘Thanks Kate.’ I turned to Robbie. ‘I know you said Thrain was killed at a black tourney, but where in the country was he when the head was taken from the body?’
‘At an abandoned club in Berkshire. A place called Cupid’s.’
‘Okay,’ I said, jotting a note in my PNB, which, despite my superiors’ best efforts, had not been replaced by the SPEL app. ‘And how was the security there?’
‘No ogres are to accept any further contracts with the black tourneys, if that’s what you’re getting at.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘No,’ I said mildly. ‘I meant CCTV-wise.’
‘Ah.’ He gave me a sheepish glance. ‘Sorry. No CCTV footage was found.’
‘Sorry I’m late,’ McCaffrey said as she strode into the bedroom. Her warm red hair was tied back in an austere bun, and as usual, she wore just a brush of mascara. ‘Had a problem with Miss Marple.’
‘The show?’ Kate asked, glancing up from the bed where the victim lay, her gloved hands hovering uncertainly over a bloodstained sheet.
‘Her cat,’ I explained, stepping aside so McCaffrey could get a look at the body.
‘I moved house yesterday,’ McCaffrey explained to Kate, wrinkling her nose at the metallic tang of blood and the stench of excrement, ‘and Miss Marple escaped. You’re supposed to keep them in their new house for a couple of weeks so they realise their current locale is their new home.’
‘Oh,’ said Kate, pushing her glasses back up her nose. ‘I didn’t know that. I’m a dog person.’
McCaffrey winked. ‘I won’t hold it against you.’
Kate grinned faintly. ‘Cheers. Did you find Miss Marple?’
‘Oh yes,’ McCaffrey said, bending to examine the cavity in the body. ‘That wasn’t the problem.’
‘What was the problem?’ I asked half-heartedly, jotting down a few of my own notes while she examined the body.
‘She returned … with a squirrel.’
Kate froze, half-bent over the evidence kit. ‘A dead one?’
‘No,’ McCaffrey said darkly. ‘A very much alive one, which she proceeded to drop in my brand-new home office.’
Kate’s eyes widened behind her clear-framed glasses. ‘What did you do?’
‘Screamed like a girl and ran out,’ McCaffrey admitted, straightening up and brushing imaginary fur from her trousers. ‘Anyway, I found some extra courage and snuck back in to open the window so it could climb out. But now it’s eating at me … what if it doesn’t go? What if it builds a nest in my office and has many squirrel babies? What if my office becomes a squirrel nursery? I haven’t even used it once myself yet,’ she complained. ‘Bloody cats.’
