“She was so upset, she didn’t remember. All she knew was that she didn’t want to have his child.”
Meira moved closer. “After the attack, did she stay in the house?”
“We went to her sister’s on the weekend. In the Blue Mountains.” He began to cry again. “Jesus, I haven’t told her yet. It’s all over the papers.”
“Local constables will have told her,” Anya said. She didn’t think it appropriate to push any more. Not now. “One last thing. Did the man who raped her take anything?”
“Some cash, credit cards, and a photo of her from the fridge.”
“Is this the one?” The female detective entered the room with a torn, blood-stained photo on a paper plate, careful not to touch it. “We just pulled it from the bin outside.”
Greg glanced at it, then ran to the sink and gagged.
Anya wondered why the perpetrator would take the photo as a trophy after the rape, then return to the scene and destroy it a week later. Moreover, if the same person had committed both the rape and murder, why hadn’t he killed Liz at the time of the rape?
She watched Greg for a moment, unsure what to think. He may not have been the rapist, but he was still the lead suspect in his girlfriend’s murder.
As they left the house, Meira Sorrenti offered her opinion. “If you ask me, Liz Dorman was having it off with someone, the boyfriend found out and she cried rape to cover herself. That’s why she needed the contraception and didn’t want to be examined. There were no injuries to find.”
“What about the photo?” Hayden sounded skeptical.
“She gave it to the new love interest, the boyfriend got it back and killed her. He has to know who she’s been sleeping with.”
Hayden cleared his throat. “That doesn’t explain why Elizabeth boarded up the windows yet stayed with the boyfriend.”
The only reason for doing that, Anya thought, was to prevent the windows from being opened, and to make sure no one ever looked in and watched her again.
23
Quentin Lagardia placed his silver briefcase on the floor in the foyer of the SA unit.
“I’ve brought the results of the PM report on Elizabeth Dorman. There are some things I’d like to ask you about, given your knowledge of the other assault victims.”
Hayden Richards hitched up his trousers. “Hope you don’t mind me eavesdropping. Thought I could learn something.”
“No problem.” Anya showed them into her office. The room was more the size of a large cupboard. Not wide enough to fit a bed, but adequate for paperwork. Besides that, no one wanted to spend time in there, so Anya managed to catch up on the endless stream of red tape with minimal distraction.
“Hope you’re not claustrophobic,” she half-joked.
“No problem. I know what it’s like. I had to write my doctoral thesis in a room this size with three other researchers.”
Quentin unzipped his jacket and sat in the only spare chair. Anya left to find another, which had to be positioned next to hers to allow room to close the door. Inside, the desk comprised a shallow shelf, wide enough for a computer screen and keyboard. Not exactly ergonomically sound, but the staff did their best with what they had. It wasn’t in anyone’s interest to complain or start making demands. Funds to stay operating were scarce enough.
“This is one of the few places we can talk in private. The examination room’s got to be empty in case anyone comes in.” She sat and crossed her legs. “What can I do for you?”
Quentin cleared his throat. “The police appear to be focusing on one offender, but I’m a little concerned that this homicide could be the work of two different people.”
He pulled a file from his case and placed it in front of Anya. It contained crime-scene photos of Liz Dorman’s body and pictures taken during the post-mortem. Once the blood had been cleaned off her naked skin, the number of stab wounds became evident. Anya scanned the PM report, which outlined forty-eight discrete incisions. Some penetrated organs, while others were superficial. A few wounds on the shoulders and upper arms were inflicted after death.
“That’s interesting. In addition to multiple deep wounds, there are some shallow, peripheral ones. Given that they appear to have been made post-mortem, it suggests the killer was experimenting, exploring what damage the knife could do, if you like.”
Quentin listened with the intensity of a student being taught by a master. Anya wasn’t sure she deserved the kudos. Maybe that’s why he was so good at profiling. His listening skills encouraged subjects to blabber on and give him everything he needed to make a judgment.
Anya continued. “The distribution and high number of stab wounds are usually associated with sex-type crimes. Like a jealous lover, or an ex-partner. You sometimes see this in homosexual murders. Stabbing the chest and neck is pretty angry and directed. The attacker hasn’t lunged indiscriminately, each wound is targeted.”
Quentin nodded. “So the perpetrator was filled with hate and anger. We might be dealing with a crime of passion.”
“Which would mean Liz Dorman possibly knew her killer,” Hayden said. “Like the doc here suggested. What about the wound in the back, the one we think got her first? There were blood splatters in the corridor.”
“That may well have been the first wound, but again, it’s shallow and didn’t hit any arteries. Enough to cause pain, but not be fatal. The blood splattering on the walls could have happened when blood was thrown off as she struggled or tried to get away. It also could have been flicked off the knife as it came out of her back.”
Anya double-checked the photos. “There isn’t one wound on the abdomen or legs.”
Quentin barely blinked. “Is it possible that the pre-mortem stabbings were done by someone angry, whereas the exploratory wounds, the ones inflicted after she had died, were actually done by someone else? Someone calmer?”
“It’s possible. The body had been there at least a couple of hours when the boyfriend found it, judging by the lividity.” She chose a picture of the body at the scene. “You see, she died flat on her back because the blood settled with gravity. That’s why you see the pattern on her back and down the backs of her legs.”
Hayden sat forward. “The boyfriend dragged her away then picked her up. She weighed about ninety kilograms, so he struggled. When the ambulance came he was cradling her semi-upright in his lap.”
Quentin added, “From what I read about the boyfriend’s statement, I have doubts that he is the actual killer.”
“Why?” Anya was curious.
“He described his girlfriend in the present tense. That’s unusual for a killer. Unless, of course, he’s in denial or was in a fugue state at the time and had no idea that he was stabbing her to death. But there was nothing to suggest that.”
“From the way he cried, he can’t have been in denial,” Anya said, surprising herself. She didn’t place much credence on profiling, given it was in no way an exact science, or even science at all. It was merely conjecture based on pattern recognition and subjective judgments. Even so, hearing new theories was always interesting.
“He could just be clever and manipulative,” Quentin said.
“What can the wounds tell us about the knife?” Hayden concentrated on the facts. “So far we haven’t found it.”
“The depth of the wounds doesn’t help much, because depth depends on a number of things like how much pressure was applied. A short knife can go in a long way if wielded with enough force. It also depends on movement of the victim. If the victim is running at the attacker who’s applying force, the impact is greater. And the sharpness of the knife plays a big part, too.” Anya hoped she wasn’t boring them, but they still appeared interested. “Just to make it more difficult, clothes, bone and cartilage offer more resistance than skin and can affect how deeply the weapon penetrates.”
“What about the size of the entry wounds?” Hayden tried. “Can you tell anything about the blade’s width?”
