‘Can’t complain.’ The pathologist’s voice was slow and deliberate, soft Welsh vowels that always seemed at odds with the cold scientific facts of his profession. ‘I’ve got some preliminary findings on your PM, Kathryn Clifton. Is now a good time?’
‘Of course.’
Gilbourne stepped back inside and headed for the lifts. He wedged the phone between his cheek and his shoulder and pulled his notepad from his jacket pocket, flipping it open to a clean page.
‘Right then,’ the pathologist said. ‘I’ve estimated time of death at between 4 p.m. and midnight on Tuesday.’
‘Don’t suppose you can be more specific than that?’ Gilbourne always asked, and the answer was almost always the same. ‘It would really help if we could narrow the window down a little.’
‘Afraid not, Stuart. The location of the body in the stream, plus various other factors related to the temperature gradient between body temperature and ambient temperature, make it impossible to give a more precise determination. She’s received three stab wounds to the back, injury depth consistent at around thirteen centimetres with some bruising around the entry wounds suggestive of a blade being pushed in right to the hilt. One weapon. Two of the wounds penetrated the heart – either one of them could have been the killing blow. Death would have been fairly rapid.’
Gilbourne reached the lifts, pressed the button. Both were on the ground floor. He considered the tightness of the belt around his stomach, another notch away from where it should be. He turned and pushed through the door into the stairwell instead.
‘Anything else you can tell me about the weapon?’
‘Wide blade, forty-six millimetres from side to side. Injuries inflicted with a fair degree of accuracy which might suggest some anatomical knowledge. The stab wounds are clinical, deliberate, between the second and third ribs. Not random. Certainly not a frenzied attack.’
‘So the blade – maybe a kitchen knife?’
‘Or some kind of fighting knife, perhaps.’
‘Injuries in the back,’ Gilbourne said, his voice echoing in the dimly-lit stairwell. ‘Victim taken by surprise?’
‘Possibly. There’s some bruising on the lower right arm but from the colouring I’d say it’s older than the stab wounds, maybe one or two days prior to death. And there are also a couple of superficial burn marks on the back of the left hand. Two identical marks fifty-one millimetres apart.’
‘Like cigarette burns?’
‘No, the skin’s not broken. I would think probably a taser, or a stun gun. Consistent with some kind of electroshock device.’
Gilbourne stopped on the stairs, remembering what Ellen Devlin had told him about the attacker she’d confronted in her house.
‘The victim might have been incapacitated first, before she was stabbed?’
‘Would explain the lack of defensive wounds.’
‘Killed at the scene, or somewhere else?’
‘From the small amount of blood at the scene, I’d say somewhere else. These were sizeable wounds but blood deposition was minimal where she was found.’
‘What else?’
‘No evidence of sexual assault.’
‘DNA from a possible perpetrator?’
‘None that we can find.’
‘None?’ Gilbourne repeated. He could feel the small hairs standing up on the back of his neck. A tick of something in his veins, not excitement.Recognition. ‘No blood, saliva, nothing?’
‘Lots of blood on the victim’s clothing. All of it belonging to the victim.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘We’ve not been able to recover any other traces.’
‘So, no contact DNA, no defensive wounds, nothing under her fingernails.’
‘Correct.’
