‘Inside out,’ Jane added. One of her assistants bagged and labelled the clothes.
‘Bastard undressed her, shot her, then re-dressed her,’ Lottie said, banging one gloved hand into the other. ‘You’ll confirm if he washed the wound? And if there’s evidence of sexual assault?’
Jane nodded.
‘Anything yet on the analysis of the moss from the first victim?’
‘As soon as I have anything I’ll send it on. And before you ask, I will be checking this victim for it too.’
She turned the body on its side.
‘Bullet’s gone right through her. Entry through the back and exit through the stomach. Certainly looks as if it has been cleaned. If you find the crime scene you might find the bullet,’ Jane said, continuing to examine the blistered skin.
If that burst, Lottie thought, they would be swamped in putrid odours. She noticed she’d been holding her breath.
‘Is it possible she was shot at Weir’s yard?’ she asked from behind her mask. But they’d found no bullet there, she reminded herself, though the body was unearthed close by.
‘The blood taken from the yard will be checked against this girl’s DNA and you’ll be informed of results.’
‘Thanks.’ Lottie knew the process could take weeks.
Jane pointed to a scar trailing from the girl’s abdomen up over her left hip and around her back. ‘This is similar to the first victim. I’m sure that when I go in I’ll find she’s had a kidney removed.’
‘How long ago do you think it happened?’
‘It seems more recent than the other girl’s. Suturing is good, from what I can make out. Professional surgery.’
‘A doctor murdered her?’
‘In my opinion a doctor, or someone medically trained, carried out the surgery. Doesn’t mean that’s who murdered her.’ Jane was scrutinising the victim’s legs. ‘She was a cutter.’
‘A cutter?’
‘Self-harm,’ Jane explained. ‘Lacerations to her inner thighs. Despite the decomposition, I can just about make out old scars.’ An assistant took more photographs.
Lottie watched intently as Jane examined the entire body externally. As she lifted the victim’s left breast, she hesitated and called her assistant.
‘What is it?’ Lottie asked, craning her neck to see.
‘Looks like a deep scar on the outside of the breast. A knife wound maybe.’ Jane pointed to it, then checked the other breast. ‘Same here. Possibly self-inflicted.’
‘How could someone do this to themselves? God love her, she must have been going through such torment. Surely someone close to her would have known about this.’
‘It’s easy to hide,’ Jane said.
‘But wouldn’t her family notice?’
‘If she has any.’
Lottie shook her head in dismay.
Jane said, ‘Sometimes the only way people can handle emotional pain is to cause themselves physical pain. In some cases, it can lead to suicide. But as we know, this girl was murdered.’
Bile settled in Lottie’s throat. She needed to escape.
‘You okay?’ Jane asked, raising her head, scalpel in her hand.
‘Send me your report.’ Lottie pulled off her gown and gloves and stuffed them into the receptacle provided.
‘Of course. Mind yourself,’ Jane said.
Lottie had to mentally slow down to prevent herself running out of the door. She wasn’t afraid of visible scars; it was the invisible ones she couldn’t handle.
* * *
She heard the commotion before she opened the door to the station.
‘There you are!’ Tracy Phillips propelled herself from the counter towards Lottie. ‘Where’s my Maeve? Why haven’t you found her? I’m worried sick. She should be back by now…’
‘Mrs Phillips. Tracy,’ Lottie said, clutching the woman’s elbow and steering her to a bench. ‘Sit down for a minute.’
Tracy wrenched her arm free. Hands on hips, she said, ‘I’m not sitting down. I want my daughter.’
‘We’re doing all we can to find her.’ Lottie shook the rain from her hair, pulled her T-shirt free from her sopping jeans and wrung it out.
‘Are you? Where is she, then? Have you questioned that good-for-nothing husband of mine? Out in the Costa del Sun, mixing with every class of criminal. He deserves to be locked up.’
The smell of stale alcoholic breath threatened to overwhelm Lottie.
‘Come with me,’ she said. She keyed in the code to the internal door and entered Interview Room 1. ‘Sit down, Tracy. Please.’
‘I just want you to find my Maeve.’ Tracy plopped her wet cloth handbag on the table and seated herself. Lottie pulled round a chair and angled it beside her.
‘We’ve tried to make contact with your husband,’ she said, ‘without success. However, I’m sure he has nothing to do with Maeve going missing.’ She would have said anything to placate the woman, but she wondered what had brought about the sudden change. Tracy Phillips was a mother, who for five days hadn’t noticed her daughter was missing, and now here she was bordering on hysterical.
‘I know different,’ Tracy said.
‘What do you know?’
Tracy slumped back in the chair, hands shaking, lips trembling. ‘I had a visit last night.’
‘Your husband, Frank?’ A whiff of unwashed flesh caused Lottie to shift away slightly.
‘That bollocks wouldn’t leave his sunbed or his dolly birds for anything. Not even for his daughter. No.’ She pulled at her loose hair. ‘You ever hear of Jamie McNally?’
Lottie tried to keep her face impassive while her heart skipped a beat.
‘I’ve heard of him.’ She tried to be non-committal. ‘Did he call to your house?’
‘He did. There was I, ready for bed, and him outside banging on the window like a banshee.’
‘How do you know McNally?’ Lottie asked. ‘What did he want?’
Tracy hesitated. ‘I… I don’t know him, but that useless layabout in Spain does.’
‘Go on.’
‘I think he sent him over here asking about my Maeve.’
‘Frank sent Jamie McNally to talk to you about Maeve?’
‘Are you listening to me at all?’
Lottie mulled over this information. They’d known McNally was around town, but so far they’d had no luck finding him. And now Tracy was giving her a specific link between Jamie McNally and Frank Phillips, and her missing daughter.
‘Tracy, we know your husband is involved with criminal activity. And you know that too.’
‘Yes, I know he’s a criminal and I hate every bone in his body. But I want my girl back. She should’ve been back by now if…’
‘If what?’
‘Nothing. I just want her home.’
‘Could Frank’s activities be in any way connected to Maeve’s disappearance?’
Tracy shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know, to tell you the truth.’
‘What did McNally say?’ Lottie asked, now that Tracy had calmed down.
‘That prick. All high and mighty and important in a black suit and tie. Looking like a proper businessman. Except his hair was slicked with a ton of gel, and he even had a ponytail yoke at the back of his head. The gobshite. He said… he said Frank asked him to check up on Maeve.’ She grasped Lottie’s hand. ‘What’s happened to my girl?’