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“It’s funny you should ask. Take a seat.” The old man wandered around to the machine and poured two cups. “My wife and I were on holiday recently, and we had a trip to Ulverston. Found a little shop specializing in different flavoured coffees: pecan nut pie flavour. Try it, I guarantee you’ll want another cup.”
Both men did. Even Gardener passed comment.
“Christ, you want to steady on, boss,” said Reilly. “You’ll be turning into me.”
“God help us,” said Fitz.
“I hope not,” said Gardener.
“There’s gratitude for you.”
Gardener addressed Fitz. “So, what do you have for us?”
Fitz consulted his files. “Nicola Stapleton. To be perfectly honest, she isn’t in too bad a shape. A bit undernourished. She was probably eating the right foods, but by the look of her, not enough. She was in her early twenties. No signs of childbirth. From what I could see, all the stab wounds bar one were definitely pre-mortem.”
“She was alive while it happened?” Reilly asked.
“Yes. They’d be no point tying her to a chair, otherwise. From the angle of the cut and the pattern of the bleeding – not to mention the spatter pattern – the killer had plenty of time to do what he wanted.”
“Any sign of sexual interference?” Gardener asked.
“No,” replied Fitz. “The fatal wound was definitely the bayonet. It went all the way through, severing an artery, before pinning her to the ground. Cause of death was a haemorrhage.”
“Would it have taken long for her to die?” Gardener asked. “What I mean is, are we looking for an expert in weaponry, someone who knows how to administer pain and keep someone alive long enough to really feel it?”
“I don’t think so, but you can never tell. On the whole the cuts don’t look like a professional job.”
“Did you recognize the bayonet?” Reilly asked.
“Afraid not. Not my area of expertise. My best guess is World War II, or pre-war but not by much.”
Gardener made a mental note. They had an expert back at the station examining it.
“No doubt that the bayonet killed her,” said Fitz. “But she has another very interesting problem.”
“Which is?”
“Her liver was abnormal, especially for a girl her age.”
“How abnormal?”
“There was some scarring. Not a lot, but enough for me to take notice. I’m not sure what’s caused it, so I’ve sent a biopsy for an antibody screen.”
“Best guess,” said Reilly.
Fitz leaned back, removed his half-lens spectacles, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Gardener felt guilty, because he realized the old man had probably been working the same amount of time he and Reilly had. That was no mean feat for someone his age.
“My first thought was haemochromatosis.”
Reilly threw his pad and pen on the desk. “I can’t even pronounce that fucking word, never mind spell it.” He glanced at Gardener. “Does he ever speak English?”
“Would you understand him if he did?”
Fitz laughed. “What the hell is with you two today? I’m gonna tell Briggs you’re picking on me.”
“Like that’s going to help.”
“Any more of that beautiful coffee, Fitz?”
