‘Of course.’ She regarded his hand with disdain. ‘I can tell you that we do post-mortem examinations in this city, rather than indulge in random guesswork.’
Helpful.
‘Isobel, you must’ve noticedsomething. Come on, we won’t hold you to it. Just...any idea on time of death?’
There was a long, imperious pause.
‘Youdoknow how we estimate time of death, don’t you?With a rectal thermometer and some complicated mathematics. Which we do back at the mortuary,notknee-deep in a river.’
Logan pinched his eyebrows in and up, in a sort of spanked-puppy-dog look.
Her mouth pinched. Then a breath hissed out. ‘But IsupposeI canspeculatethat the remains have been in the water for a number of hours – probably overnight, going by the lividity and level of predation by marine fauna. Cause of death is yet to be determined, but if he was alive when the trauma to the back of the head occurred, he wouldn’t be for long.’
Sheila Dalrymple struggled over the railings and staggered to a halt, joining the congregation. ‘Verily, ’twas a mighty blow he suffered. Near rent his skull in twain, it did.’
Everyone stared at her.
‘Don’t do that.’ Logan turned back to Isobel. ‘What about ID? When you went through the guy’s pockets: driver’s licence, credit card, library membership...?’ He got nothing back but a flat, dead stare. ‘Fine: how quickly can you get fingerprints and DNA?’
Her eyes narrowed, in a way that suggested she was about to tell them to fornicate somewhere far from here. Then: ‘DNA will depend on the lab. But don’t expect miracles – everyone’s got the flu, so they’re woefully understaffed. As for fingerprints? Wait until the body’s dried out, then we’ll see.’
‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a photo of his face? Pocket contents?’
A tut from Sheila. ‘I’ faith, some villain had plundered our fallen friend’s possessions long afore we lay our hands upon his damp apparel.’
‘What?’
Isobel sighed. ‘The victim’s pockets were all inside out. Are we to assume you weren’t responsible? It’s not uncommonfor police officers to conveniently “forget” the importance of crime-scene management.’
‘We didn’t touch him!’
‘Then ’twas truly a villain that performed the vile search –’ Sheila leaned in for a conspiratorial wink, ‘perhapseven the miscreant you and your stout fellows seek!’
Isobel massaged her temples. ‘Sheila, I need you to chase up the duty undertakers. Make sure they’re on their way to collect the remains, OK? Please.’
A nod. ‘Be of good cheer, my lady, for I shall stir theirsluggardlypot!’ And off she stalked, taking her crate with her.
Soon as she was gone, Isobel let loose a long-suffering breath. ‘Someone gave her a box-set of romantasy novels. That Diana Gabaldon has alotto answer for.’ She undid her SOC-suit zip, revealing a sweaty grey shirt and purple tie. ‘We took some reference shots before putting the remains in a body bag. Sheila will email them to you. But I doubt they’ll help with identification – going by the extensive edemata and ecchymosis, he was severely beaten for an extended period.’
Tufty binged upright. ‘Rapist!’
Eh?
Isobel peered at him. ‘Your constable appears to have Tourette’s.’
‘No, no, no, no.’ The wee loon shook his head. ‘We were playing “Who Dresses All In Black In The Dead Of Night?”’
‘I don’t think that’s a very funny game,Constable.’
Logan stepped in, before she eviscerated the daft sod. ‘It isn’t meant to be. And Constable Quirrel’s got a point; see if you can light a bonfire under the lab – I need to know if our victim’s DNA matches any rape kits.’
She stood there, frowning for a moment. Then pulled her shoulders back. ‘I require a favour.’
‘Do you now?’
‘I understand you’re having a gathering on Sunday. A barbecue. I want you to invite Colin.’
‘Ah...’ Logan grimaced. ‘I’m not sure that’s entirely appropriate, with—’
