'Fire away,' he said brusquely.
She winced at his pun. 'When a weapon is held against the skin the bullet usually produces a round hole. Not so in our victim. This time it's irregular in shape, more like a letter D, which means that instead of travelling in a tight spiral the bullet wobbled as it struck the victim's skin. The cause of that could be a gun that has malfunctioned or the ammunition is defective-'
'Ballistics are examining that and checking that the fragments Dr Clayton found in the body match the weapon you took from Thea Carlsson,' Cantelli interjected.
'And it was a hell of a job picking them out, I can tell you,' she added with feeling, running a hand through her spiky auburn hair.
Horton tried not to imagine those small, slender fingers probing the soft tissue of Carlsson's brains. He swallowed his coffee as she continued.
'But that isn't the only reason for an atypical-shaped wound. If I put that with the fact that there were no soot or powder deposits either, then it is my opinion that the gun was fired from some distance, certainly over two or maybe three feet, which rules out suicide.'
Horton said, 'Was he killed where the body was found?'
'No. He'd been moved.'
'Taylor couldn't find any evidence of it.'
'He'd been moved,' Dr Clayton repeated firmly.
Horton believed her. 'The killer covered his tracks very carefully-'
'And left the weather to do the rest,' she finished.
Horton thought back to Evelyn Mackie's evidence. 'As far as we know Owen Carlsson was last seen on Saturday morning on the chain ferry between West and East Cowes-'
'The super's giving a press conference.' Cantelli glanced at his watch. 'About now. He's appealing for anyone who saw Owen. And we've got a description of Carlsson's rucksack and walking stick from DCI Birch's interview with Thea. Uckfield's got duplicates. He's showing them on TV.'
And I bet DCI Birch is pissed off about that, thought Horton with some relish.
'There's more, if you want to hear it,' Gaye said.
Horton put her tetchiness down to fatigue. He guessed she'd had less sleep than him and that was precious little. 'Go on. Please.' He tried a smile but didn't get one in return this time.
'The fact that the shape of the entrance wound is atypical combined with the absence of soot and powder, not to mention the fragmenting of the bullet inside the body and the impact on the internal injuries, suggests to me that the gun was fired through a window or sheet of glass, which made it ricochet.'
Horton stared at her tired elfin features. This he hadn't expected.
'Are you sure?'
She eyed him disdainfully. He shouldn't have asked. It was what Uckfield must have said. He'd obviously gone down in Dr Clayton's estimation, which wasn't a very pleasant thought.
His mind went back to the scene. Was there anywhere near where Owen's body had been found that could have harboured a killer who had shot him as he walked past? There was a cafe — closed this time of year, a handful of very large houses — mostly divided up into holiday flats, some holiday caravans and beach huts, all facing the sea, again some distance away, and mostly empty. There was also the marina shop. If Owen had been killed as he'd walked past any of these, his body would then need to have been dragged over the nature reserve to the bunker where he'd been found. It was possible, he supposed, but that didn't answer the question why nobody had discovered him before yesterday, if he'd been killed on Saturday, and he didn't know that for sure. He was about to ask Gaye Clayton when she started talking again.
'I've sent his clothes to the forensic lab and I also took radiographs; they might reveal tiny fragments of glass, although at the distance from which he was shot I'm not hopeful.' She swallowed the remainder of her coffee and pulled a face as though not liking the taste. 'I've been living off this stuff all night. Doctor's curse. Takes me back to the old days on A and E. I'll probably have a thumping head tomorrow.'
Horton had difficulty seeing Gaye Clayton with living patients after having watched her cut into the flesh of dead people. 'How long had Carlsson been dead?' he asked.
'Ah, an intelligent question! You're redeemed, Inspector. There was a great deal of rigour in the body and lividity was extensive and permanent. The flies had laid their eggs in the soft tissue and they'd hatched. Sorry, Sergeant, is this making you queasy?'
Cantelli took a deep breath and said, 'After-effects of sea sickness.'
Horton smiled grimly and tried not to see the carcase of Owen Carlsson, or think about that smell.
'The eggs will usually hatch within eight to fourteen hours depending on the body temperature and the conditions outside. The maggots had gone through their first stage, which means that your victim had been dead two to three days, maybe four, but they hadn't reached the second stage so he certainly hadn't been dead as long as seven days.'
Cantelli swallowed hard.
Horton said, 'Which fits with his sister seeing him on Saturday morning and Mrs Mackie seeing him on the chain ferry later the same morning.'
'He was probably killed either late Saturday or some time during Sunday. Early Monday morning, at the latest, and that's the best I can do,' said Dr Clayton, almost apologetically.
Thea had said that she'd got no answer from her brother's mobile phone on Saturday evening, which suggested that Owen Carlsson was already dead. So where had he gone when he'd left the chain ferry in Cowes?
'Did you find anything in Owen's pockets?'
Gaye shook her head. 'Not even a handkerchief.'
Cantelli said, 'His wallet must have been in the rucksack. Could robbery have been the motive?'
'Has anyone used his debit or credit cards?'
'Not yet. But he could have had cash on him.'
'Villains don't usually go round shooting people on the Isle of Wight for cash,' Horton ventured. 'This is hardly an inner city.'
'No, but it is possible,' Cantelli insisted. 'They could have been high on drugs, or drunk, saw Owen out walking, alone, and thought him an easy target.'
Horton thought it unlikely. He reckoned this killer had known exactly where Owen Carlsson was every minute, probably every second of the day. And again he thought of Thea. What did she know that she wasn't saying?
Cantelli continued. 'Let's say they shot him through a car window, saw him fall, screeched to a halt, jumped out and stole his money. Then they tossed his rucksack in a ditch or hedge and bundled the body into the boot of the car.'
'I can tell you're feeling better; your creative juices are working well.'
'Must be this coffee.'
'Any views on that, Dr Clayton?' asked Horton.
'If he was kept in a car, he wasn't there for long. I didn't find any traces of oil on his clothes or skin, but there were fibres that looked as though he'd been covered with something: a rug, blanket, or similar. His clothes were wet, and there are salt residues, but given that he was found so close to the sea that's hardly surprising. The lab will give you a more accurate analysis.'
Cantelli resumed. 'The villains could have driven to the car park at the Duver, bundled Owen Carlsson out of the car late Tuesday night, carried him to the sand dune and then left him with the gun, which they wiped free of their prints, before pressing it into Carlsson's hand to make it look as though he'd shot himself.'
Gaye interjected. 'His prints were on the gun, but there was no gun residue on his hands.'
Horton looked thoughtful. 'I just can't see your average yobbo going to so much trouble. They'd have left the body where they shot him. And they certainly wouldn't have left their gun behind.'
'OK, not yobbos and not drunks,' Cantelli conceded, evidently reluctant to give up on his theory. 'But someone who set out to kill Owen Carlsson and make it look like suicide.'
But Dr Clayton was shaking her head. 'They failed.'
'Perhaps they're not very bright.' Cantelli added. 'After all, they got the wrong person first time round when they ran into Arina Sutton.'
