‘I’m all ears. I’d never dream of rushing you.’
‘Correct answer, Inspector – any more room in that notebook of yours?’
‘Plenty.’
‘The tissue decomposition is important too. It wasn’t advanced. Therefore it was delayed in some way.’
‘How?’
‘Any number of reasons or conditions, but I’m talking about the time before burial.’
‘When it was probably kept somewhere else?’
‘Yes, Detective Inspector, and considering the rate of decomposition, it wasn’t kept anywhere warm.’
‘Do you mean it was kept outdoors?’
Morrison gave O’Connor one of his judgemental stares. ‘Unlikely, Detective Inspector, there are no traces of any protection being put on the body. In weather like this, a body exposed to the elements, even in cold temperatures, would have had more advanced decomposition. Most likely the body was kept indoors, but, as I said, somewhere cold.’
‘We’re not talking a fridge here?’
‘You’ve watched too many CSI programmes, O’Connor. If the body was in a damn fridge, I’d have told you.’
‘Okay, okay, just trying to get a handle on things – and, just for the record, I don’t watch that crap. Now, can we get back to the cause of death?’
‘As I said, asphyxia caused by strangulation. She has bruising to her face and body, possibly from a fall and/or as a result of the initial attack, but specifically there is acute bruising and injuries to the neck. There are external and internal signs of strangulation present – fracture of the hyoid bone and thyroid cartilage, the two structures making up the voice box, plus the haemorrhaging, spotting around the eyelids, meaning sufficient pressure and time had been applied to her neck. There is also major bruising to the side of the trachea.’
‘Trachea?’
‘Windpipe. There’s bruising on the back of the victim’s neck, meaning the assailant was facing the victim. She was still alive after the blows to the head, Detective, and no sign of anything else used on the neck, other than the killer’s own hands.’
‘Was she conscious?’
‘I doubt it. The markings are consistent with her being in a sedentary or lying down position, the killer leaning over her. If she’d been conscious, and despite the slightness of her frame, she would have attempted to fight back. There was nothing found under her nails, no skin deposits or any other indicators that she’d put up a struggle.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Why, is your notebook full?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Good. Well then, one last detail.’
‘Go on.’
‘There was blood pooling down the right side, consistent with how the body was found. The body’s position didn’t alter in any significant manner once the pooling occurred.’
‘What’s the story on the toxicology findings?’
‘You know how long they take, Detective Inspector.’
‘I’ll apply some pressure.’
‘I’m sure you will.’
‘You said steel implement, Morrison, any theories?’
‘A steel bar of some kind, Detective, round and narrow, might even be a household poker. Not my area of expertise, though, I’ll leave the CSI stuff to you.’
O’Connor left Morrison’s last comment unanswered, but it didn’t help his mood as he exited the revolving doors at the front of the hospital. Pulling the collar of his jacket up, he checked his phone for messages before crossing the main road to the station. As the beginning of another gale began to take hold, he stopped before entering the Incident Room to light up, standing on the exterior steel steps, wondering what kind of sick weirdo would break the bones of a young girl into place.
Crumlin village
HE SAT IN THE DRIVER’S SEAT, THE CAR RADIO TURNED down, not hearing the young teenagers’ conversation but watching everything. His head barely moved, fixated on the girl laughing with the others, tossing back her waist-length, strawberry-blonde hair that curled at the end, as if it kept the best bit till last. Her hair was darker now, the summer brightening almost faded. Out of nervous habit, she twirled the front strands around her right index finger; teasing. There were four of them huddled at the side of the shops, all girls, swapping their silly stories.
He followed her from the house, knowing her routine. She would spend some time here, while her friends sneaked their cigarettes, before moving on. Amelia was popular. She liked to spread herself around.
His eyes moved to the other side of the road and spotted a young guy in a black hoodie who started to run over. One of the local studs, strutting up to them, they laughed in unison, delighted for him to be part of their little group. Such is their girlish silliness, elevating the stupid asshole to something important.