“What about DNA?” Callie asked Billy. “Can’t you get more detail on where they came from?”
“Sure. We can narrow it down to the main regions they are likely to have originated from, like North Africa or Eastern Mediterranean. But people move around, and more detailed analysis of where they have lived using minerals and such-like, is harder and time-consuming.”
“Not to mention expensive,” Parton added.
Callie knew he was right and that they might not get funding to do more tests, at least not any time soon. It would be an option held back until all other avenues had been explored.
Parton left, having extracted promises from Billy that he would complete the post-mortems on the two remaining bodies and have preliminary reports ready for the coroner by Monday.
“Well, that pretty much puts the kibosh on any plans we might have had for the weekend,” Callie said morosely.
“Sorry,” Billy said with a smile. He knew Callie understood, she was as much of a workaholic as he was.
Jim, the mortuary technician approached the door. Jim was slim to the point of skinny and was big on tattoos, short on teeth. He was also one of the best technicians around.
“Hi, Doc.” He nodded at Callie before turning to Billy. “Next one’s ready for you. Body number nine.”
Callie stood up, recognising her signal to leave.
“Unless?” Billy asked.
“Unless what?” she asked.
“You could stay and watch,” he suggested.
“That’s quite an unusual suggestion for date night,” Callie replied, with a smile on her face.
“I’m an unusual kind of guy.” He waggled his eyebrows in a bad Groucho Marx impersonation.
Callie didn’t need to be asked twice. She had felt an almost personal connection with this body since pronouncing death, and she wasn’t really sure why. She hurriedly donned scrubs in the changing room, and went through to the autopsy suite where Billy and Jim were ready and waiting for her.
Callie’s godfather had once been pathologist at Hastings Hospital, and she had watched him perform hundreds of post-mortems as he tried, in vain, to persuade her to follow in his footsteps. She had never been tempted, but she always felt a slight pang when she thought of him and how he had died so horribly in the autopsy room she was now in.
All thoughts of the past were quickly dispelled once Billy started speaking for the dictation machine, first giving a general description of the exterior of the body.
“The body of a well-nourished male. Skin tone slightly darker than IC1.” It was notoriously hard to be definite about ethnicity by colour of skin alone; even alive, it was hard to distinguish someone of mixed ethnicity from say a Mediterranean, North African or West Asian background. After death, it was even harder, so pathologists would rarely say anything definite on the subject.
In the bright lights of the autopsy suite, and with his cuts cleaned, Callie took a good look at the face which she could finally see more clearly. He was a good-looking boy, she thought, or rather, he had been once.
“Age” – Billy paused to look closely at the body – “approximately eighteen to thirty years old by appearance.”
Callie knew he might be able to narrow it down more when he looked at bone development and other markers visible on X-ray. All he could really say for now was that this was an adult male.
Billy continued his exterior examination and then paused while Jim measured the length of the body and read out the finding.
“One metre seventy-five.”
Callie mentally converted that to five feet nine inches.
Billy went round the body checking for any external signs and describing the various cuts and bruises. He noted the tattoo of the heart, and Jim photographed it as it might help with identifying this particular body.
Billy signalled to Jim to help him turn the body over.
As soon as they had done that, they both stopped and stared at the man’s left calf. Callie leant forward so that she could see what they were both staring at, as Jim reached for his camera again.
There was a tattoo on the back of the young man’s leg. It depicted a cockerel standing on top of a ball and had the letters THFC below it.
* * *
After she had left him to finish up the two post-mortems, it was very late by the time Billy arrived at Callie’s flat. He had called to let her know he was on his way, and the takeaway arrived at almost the same time. He was ravenous and it wasn’t until he’d had two beers and his fill of the food that he sat back and relaxed.
Callie desperately wanted to ask him about the post-mortems, but didn’t, thinking that he probably wanted to forget all about work. But he knew her too well, knew she would be itching to hear his news.
“So, no further surprises. I am sure that both of them drowned. As you saw, body nine had a lot of bruising and damage consistent with him having been bashed against the rocks for a tide or two.”
“But the tattoo?” Callie asked hopefully.
“Yes, that really was the only surprising finding.”
“It can’t be usual for someone from Syria or wherever to have a tattoo of the crest of Tottenham Hotspur Football Club on their leg.”
“I don’t know. A lot of people support Premier League clubs around the world.”
“I thought that was mainly Manchester United.”
“Yes, that’s probably quite true, they are probably the most widely followed, but other clubs are, as well, and it may be why he chose to come here.”
Callie wasn’t going to be put off that easily.
“It seems a bit of a coincidence. I mean, it’s got to be a possibility, hasn’t it?”
“Of course.
