Steel didn't look impressed as whatever it was rose slowly from the stinking depths. 'Tenner says it's another mouldy sheep. They chuck them in to get the bacteria going when ... oh bollocks.' It was a naked human forearm, complete with hand, covered in brown and grey sludge.
31
'Deceased is female, mid thirties. Approximately fifteen stone.' Dr Isobel McAllister picked her way around the post mortem table, voice raised over the howl of the extractor fan. 'You know what,' said DI Steel, tugging at the crotch of her white SOC coveralls,'I'm sick of wearing these bloody things. Who the hell were they designed to fit? Quasimodo? It's bunching right up my--' Isobel glared. 'Can we please have quiet for once!' Then went back to her external examination. Valerie Leith was laid out on the shiny cutting table like a broken Barbie doll: forearms, biceps, head, torso, thighs, legs, all separate. Still covered in a thin grey-brown film of stinking gloop. 'Can you no' hurry up and wash the damn bits off?' 'If you will insist on dragging me in here in the evening to perform a post mortem, the least you can do is not interrupt while I'm doing it.' Steel puffed out her cheeks, readjusted the breathing mask over her face, and hauled at the crotch of her suit again. She lasted a whole two minutes before leaning over and whispering to Logan,'You're a bloody jinx, do you know that? Anyone else finds a body it's usually pretty fresh. You: it's half rotten and marinated in shite.' 'It's not my fault - it was just a hunch, OK?' 'Blind bloody luck, more like.' 'A considerable portion of flesh has been excised from the left thigh. Edges of the wound are deteriorated after prolonged immersion in sewage--' 'I said there was something funny about the Leith crime scene.' Steel scowled at him. 'What d'you want, a parade?' '--dismemberment was caused by a knife: single-sided blade, approximately eight inches long--' 'I'm only saying.' 'You have any idea how much trouble this is going to cause?' '--angle of incisions implies a right-handed suspect--' 'What happened to 'good job, Logan, you're a credit to the force'?' 'Oh don't be such a drama queen, we --' 'Inspector, I will not tell you again! This is a post mortem, not a playground.' Steel actually blushed. 'Sorry, Doc.' And then, when no one was looking, she punched Logan in the arm. 'That was your fault!' The mortuary clock read eight fifteen before Isobel finally told her assistant to wash off the remains. Eight fifteen and Logan had been on duty since four in the morning. That was ... he was too tired to work out how long.
