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‘So, what we got for Thursday night?’ he asked, taking a breather from his pastry.
‘We’ve got the name Catherine, with a house number and a postcode. Not a lot but it’s enough to make a start,’ she said, wondering what exactly this visit would tell them.
SIX
Despite the boss’s information that Sandra Deakin’s post-mortem was starting at nine, Keats appeared to be well underway when Penn arrived at one minute past the hour.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ he offered, not wanting to upset Keats so soon.
‘You’re not. I decided to forego any trip home and get an early start.’
Penn’s attention was instantly drawn to the woman’s face. He’d seen a photo of Sandy prior to her murder, and the cut across her mouth added a macabre element. He pulled his gaze away and focussed on the boss’s instructions. She had told him to get details of the unidentified homeless man.
‘Boss said you had a busy weekend,’ he said as Keats noted the weight of the liver.
‘If only folks would stop dying out of hours,’ Keats replied, placing the liver back carefully.
Penn had the sudden realisation that there was no need for that level of care and attention during this part of the process. The removable organs could be placed anywhere before sewing the body back up. Who would know? It was at times like this that he completely understood why people labelled him as weird and they weren’t aware of half the crap that went through his mind.
‘To summarise what we know so far,’ Keats said, ‘our victim was at a healthy weight for her height. She appears to have never smoked and there’s no evidence of heavy drinking. Her last meal was some kind of chicken and pasta dish, which was consumed approximately one hour before her demise.’
Penn nodded, falling into step with the dance they did every time. Keats would begin by offering information that was absolutely no use to the investigation. Next would come the details of the injuries. And finally, he would deliver any nugget he’d found along the way.
‘The wounds were counted correctly last night. A total of eleven, consisting of three that were primarily surface wounds, four that went deeper but didn’t touch any major organs, three that would have been potentially non-fatal individually and a final one to the heart that no degree of medical intervention could have healed. The twelfth wound to her mouth was delivered post-mortem as suspected.’
‘Mauling,’ Penn said without thinking.
‘Is that a CID technical term?’ Keats asked.
‘Sorry, just thinking aloud. It’s like a predator softening its prey before the kill. Clearly, he knew how to deliver the fatal wound but chose not to do so until he was ready.’
Keats said nothing but didn’t disagree.
‘Anything under the fingernails?’ Penn asked.
Keats shrugged. ‘Samples have been taken and sent to Mitch, but with the amount of blood in there from clutching her wounds it’s going to be hard to tell.’
Despite the brutality of the attack, it looked as though forensic evidence was going to be thin on the ground.
Keats appeared to wait to see if he had any further questions. Penn stepped from one foot to the other and said nothing. If there was a nugget to come, it’d be on its way right now.
‘I did find one interesting thing though.’
‘Oh, cool.’
‘Nothing that’s going to help your investigation.’
‘Oh.’
Interesting to who? he wondered, if it didn’t help them at all.
‘I found a hairline fracture right at the back of her skull,’ Keats said, pointing to the area on the back of his own head.
‘Okay.’
‘It’s an old one, most likely from before the age of ten.’
‘Not sure why I’m still listening,’ he said.
