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“How lovely of you to join us, Bishop. I suppose you want me to delay the rest of my weekend further?”
“Yes. Please,” Adam asks, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
Ross gives him a condescending smile, then gestures for them all to move to the viewing gallery at the back of the room. In front of them, five bodies are laid out on stainless steel tables; some with sheets over the top, ready to be transferred into their body bags and fridges, others with the pathology technologists still sewing them back up, restoring their organs to their rightful places.
Ross points to the one closest. “So, from left to right: number sixteen has been dead the longest.” Ross looks over his shoulder to them with a raised eyebrow. “I’m assuming no more victim IDs, bar Stephen Carey?”
“We’re working on it.”
“Take your time,” he adds disparagingly. “So, for the moment, we’ve named them according to their number. Number sixteen was found mostly buried under the rubble. Exposed areas such as her arms and head have been completely skeletonized, some parts missing, probably taken away by scavengers. The torso was better protected, but even after my skilled colleagues have done their work, she is quite a mess.”
Adam looks at the body. Black heavy stitching bisects the chest, running down the side, turning her middle to mush. Gray bones have been laid out, a jawless skull staring skyward.
Ross continues: “Torso was completely eviscerated. Cause of death was hemorrhagic shock from multiple penetrating knife wounds.” He pauses, face grim. “And there were quite a few, over twenty in my estimation. Her heart and lungs were little more than mush.”
“How long would she have been alive through that?” Jamie gasps.
“Not long, DS Hoxton,” Ross replies. “Hypovolemic shock would have rendered her unconscious fast. Moving on.”
He takes a step to the right and gestures to the technician to remove the sheet. He pulls it back to show a man, younger this time. Black hair, larger build.
“Number fifteen had a better time of it,” Ross says, “but not much. Three penetrating injuries to the abdomen. Straight through, into the heart.”
Adam looks. Sure enough, three bloody gashes scatter across the man’s chest.
“But still a violent attack?” Adam asks.
Ross nods. “They would have needed a huge amount of force to kill like this. Your offender is determined.”
Adam catches Jamie’s glance. Eyebrows low; frown locked in place. An unspoken thought between them: nothing good here.
“Number fourteen, you know.” Ross says, pointing to the next. An altogether different body faces them. Adam remembers this one from the dump site, the woman wrapped in a blanket.
“This woman, and number thirteen here, male, were the same. Cause of death was exsanguination from wounds inflicted here.” Ross gestures to the technician; he lifts one of the dead man’s arms: it’s covered in a mass of slashes and cuts. Adam winces. “Same on both sides. Both victims.”
“They bled out from that?”
“Partly.” Ross frowns. “But from the perfusion of blood to the cuts, I estimate that some of these were inflicted postmortem.”
“For what aim?” Adam asks, surprised.
“Can’t tell. To cover something up?”
“A tattoo? Identifying mark?” Jamie suggests.
“And that’s not all,” Ross adds. “These two were restrained. Ligature marks clear on both wrists and ankles. And for around twenty-four hours, given the lack of stomach contents and dehydration. The blood loss would have been slow. They took a while to die. Maybe a few hours. I’ve sent the blankets they were wrapped in to the lab.”
“So the crime scene will be obvious,” Adam says to Jamie.
“Once we find it.”
Ross ignores them. “Finally. Number twelve. Stephen Carey. Not a lot left of this guy. You remember him?”
“How could I forget?”
“Left out to the elements. Considerable animal and insect activity. I’m waiting for the entomologist to confirm, but my educated guess is he’s been dead for about three days. Does that fit with your misper report?”
“Disappeared Thursday night. Cause of death?”
