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So Kirsty needed to make things happen – which was why she was here on her day off watching the post-mortem on the unknown woman found in a vermin-riddled lock-up in the King’s Cross area.
She had tracked down the owner of the garage. A certain Edward Morrison, a retired motor mechanic from Paddington. They had arrived at the address with enough blue lights to decorate Oxford Street. However, a startled Mr Shah and his young bride, the new occupants of the ground-floor flat, had informed them that Edward Morrison no longer lived there.
He had died of a heart attack some six months earlier. There were no living relatives and no one had been officially aware of the lock-up until the Met had traced its ownership. It was another dead end in a series of dead ends.
Doctor Harriet Walsh looked over at the detective. ‘Still no idea who she is?’
‘None at all. We’re going through the missing-persons register, obviously, but she could be from anywhere in the country. It’s going to take time.’
The doctor nodded thoughtfully. ‘Or from another country.’
‘Exactly. There anything you can tell me ahead of the post?’
‘Are you lead on this?’
‘No. Just conscientious.’
The doctor smiled. ‘Fair enough.’
‘We know about the finger being cut off. Are there other similarities?’
The doctor walked across to a cabinet and picked up some photographs.
‘There was extensive damage done to the soft tissue, as you know.’
‘The rats.’
‘Yes. I took some photos and then had them enlarged. If you look here on the third rib you can see a definite scratch.’
Kirsty took the photo and looked at it. ‘And this tells us what?’
‘It tells us that this didn’t come from a rat’s teeth but from a man-made item.’
‘What kind of item?’
Doctor Walsh walked over to her instrument tray. ‘One of these,’ she said – and picked up a scalpel.
Chapter 39
KIRSTY SHUDDERED AS
the doctor replaced the instrument.
‘How long ago?’ she asked.
‘I’ll know more when we have done the proper post-mortem.’
‘And the scratch?’
‘Most likely from an operation.’
Kirsty Webb nodded. It confirmed her worst fears. ‘And how long ago would that have taken place?’
‘Probably a number of days. Maybe up to a week. But no longer.’
‘Somebody killed her and then removed her organs.’
The doctor put the scalpel back on the tray and put a mask over her mouth. Then she turned back to the DI. ‘Let’s hope he killed her first!’ she said before picking up the hand-held, powered circular saw.
