wider. “How can there be that much variation if the blade is just one size-one length and one width?”
“The force needed for the knife to perforate the skin depends on a number of other things, like the sharpness of the blade’s tip. The sharper that point, the easier it is to penetrate skin.”
To demonstrate, the pathologist poked his metal probe in one of the wounds. “Once the skin has been cut, the blade slides easily into the body, readily passing through organs.” Most of the metal probe disappeared beneath the skin. “Even a blade driven its entire length can have been inserted without a great degree of force.” He withdrew the probe. “However, if the blade hits bone, the distance it tracks can be much shorter than the length of the blade.”
“So how can you tell the size of the blade?” Wheeler seemed to have forgotten his queasiness.
“By examining all of the wounds,” Anya replied. “the blade length can be either less than, equal to or greater than the depth of the wound.”
“Hold on, how can it be deeper than the blade length?”
Liz clenched her fist and faced Wheeler. “Say this is a knife. If you are moving toward me and I use a fair amount of force…” She slowly pressed her fist into his upper abdomen until he flexed at the waist.
Anya continued, “Because your skin is being pushed backward. Once it recoils to its normal position, the end depth of the wound is going to be longer than the blade. It depends on the degree of force used.”
Wheeler’s face brightened. “That makes sense.”
“I always say you have to see these things to understand them.” Jeff Sales seemed to enjoy the demonstration. He preferred interaction with staff, or classical music if no one else was around, and reveled in any chance to educate police.
“Similarly, the length of the skin wound can be equal, less than or greater than the width of the knife.”
“I must be thick. You’ve got me again,” the younger detective mumbled.
“Always admit when you’re unsure or don’t understand. There’s no such thing as a stupid question.” Liz patted Wheeler on the back. “Mistakes come from not asking. And don’t care what anyone thinks of you. Chances are, if you want to ask it, so do others.”
Wheeler put the notebook in his back pocket and folded his arms. “Okay. How can the entrance wound be longer than the blade is wide?”
“Another good question.” Jeff was in his element. “If the blade has one cutting edge, it can slice through the skin, lengthening the incision. Skin is also elastic and that can make the wound shorter than the blade’s width.”
Liz frowned. “There’s something I don’t quite get. The pink top had a bloodied fingerprint in it. You think it might have been used to gag her, but before she was stabbed, given the amount of blood she lost.”
“Correct.”
“Then why does it have bloodstains on it?”
“Maybe she screamed at the first stab wound and that’s why it was put in,” Jeff suggested.
“Her hands were tied to the bed, she wasn’t going anywhere. So he stabs her, then stops, with bloodstains on his hands, to stuff her shirt down her throat. We know she’s still alive because of the swelling you mentioned. Then he goes back to stabbing her.”
“Or moves on to the sister. He could have immobilized Rachel, then attacked Sophie and cut her throat. Thinking she’s dead, he goes back to finish off his first victim,” Wheeler suggested.
Liz shook her head. “The sadistic bastard would have had blood all over him at that stage.”
Anya recalled that the house didn’t show signs of someone traipsing through back and forth, with blood on them.
“Maybe he’s organized,” Wheeler suggested.
“Or there was more than one killer,” Anya said.
The prospect of two people combining to commit that degree of violence was even more disturbing. She needed to know more about the pattern of genital injuries.
“Jeff, what do you notice about the vaginal area?”
“There’s marked purpuric bruising inside the thighs, as you can see.” He moved one knee to face outward and a series of large purplish bruises was apparent.
Anya moved closer. “There’s tearing of the fourchette and a large hematoma.”
The lab assistant arrived with a digital camera and without speaking began to photograph the injuries Jeff described.
“We’ll need closeups, thanks. I’ve taken some swabs,” the senior pathologist added, “but we’ll have to wait and see. There were a couple of darker pubic hairs, none with roots, I’m afraid.”
Jeff concluded the gross examination with photos of the probe through each incision. Then began the long process of internal examination.
Anya’s mind wandered to the scene. “Were any of the locks damaged?”
Liz shook her head. Whoever it was walked in the front door, or pushed their way in once it was open. The girls could have known their attacker or attackers.
“Do you have any suspects yet?”
The female detective frowned and waited for the stryker saw to stop.
“Still canvassing the neighbors, who don’t seem to have seen or heard anything. We’ve had only a few calls after a media appeal for witnesses to come forward, but nothing helpful as far as we know.”
Anya had once assumed that people would feel so disgusted by what had happened to victims like the Goodwin girls that they would willingly volunteer information. She had learned over the years that many people were too scared to get involved with the police, or too busy to be aware of what appeared on the news or in papers.
Jeff Sales looked up from his task. “What about an angry ex-boyfriend? Nothing like a disturbed lover who’s been spurned. The worst examples of violence against women are by men who claim to love them more than anyone else.”
One of Anya’s first pathology cases was the massacre of an ex-girlfriend and seven of her family members. The former boyfriend had gone to the home and blown off the mother and little brother’s faces with a shotgun, then casually driven to the family business and killed the remaining members, leaving his ex-girlfriend until last. Even in prison he still claimed that he loved her more than anyone else ever had.
“I can do without that sort of affection,” Kate Farrer said as she entered the suite. “Did I miss anything?”
“Just tracking the chest wounds internally,” Jeff replied. “One of them just missed the aorta by millimeters.” He probed more. “Aha. She’s had a tamponade. This wound nicked the pericardium.”
“Meaning?” Liz moved forward for a better look.
“The tip of the blade pierced the outside portion of the heart, where there is a potential space between the cardiac muscle and a lining we call the pericardial sac. It’s like the lungs being surrounded by the pleura. I doubt our victim would have felt any pain for long after this.”
Anya could see that with the volume of blood in the sac, death would have been within seconds to a minute after the knife entered her chest that time.
“When blood rushes into the sac around the heart, it can’t escape. It constricts the heart and stops it from beating effectively. Pretty quickly the heart can’t supply blood to the body.”
“So that was the official cause of death-stab wound to the heart.” Wheeler was scribbling notes as they spoke.
“Whoever did this wasn’t messing around,” Kate said. “Anya, can I have a quick word?”
Jeff Sales had removed the heart and was placing it on the scales as Anya and the detective excused themselves.
In the corridor Kate spoke quietly. “I’ve just come from Giverny’s PM. It’s why I’m late.”
“Please tell me they found evidence of homicide.”
Kate stood, hands in her trouser pockets, and scuffed one shoe on the lino floor. “Unless you can confirm whether those facial hemorrhages were there
Anya swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “What about the paint in the garage?”
“Without a pathologist being able to confirm homicide, we can’t investigate the death. The coroner’s likely to come back with an open finding and we’re all hamstrung.”
“The Harbourns had a reason to stop her testifying.”
