commentary as he worked. ‘And remember, this thing is extremely sensitive.’
I hoped we wouldn’t have to ask him to edit the tape.
‘Since you’ve just joined us, Detective Superintendent Skinner,’ he continued… a little archly, I thought, ‘I’ll recap what I told DI Higgins following the examination of the body of Albert McCann. The young man was in excellent physical health, although somewhat intoxicated at the time of his demise; he had recently consumed at least four pints of beer, India Pale Ale from its colour and odour, none of which ever made the journey to Seafield. My assistant and I found that death was due to a single upward stab wound that skewered the heart, piercing both chambers. The indication is that the attacker was either male, or an exceptionally strong woman, and right- handed.’
‘We know that,’ Alison volunteered, ‘from a statement by a surviving witness. And he says it was a man.’
He glowered at her. Joe didn’t like to be interrupted while in full flow. ‘There were twelve other wounds in total,’ he continued, ‘but we believe that these were all inflicted post mortem, and that the massive wound I have described was the first, and almost instantly fatal. The attack on this man was of the sort that usually attracts the adjective “frenzied” in the popular press. At the very least anyone who continued to attack what would have been a fairly obviously dead body with such force can be described as “determined”. Regrettably, I have seen in my career many victims with injuries similar to those of Mr McCann. Similar…’ he repeated, and his eyes twinkled, telling me that he’d been leading up to a major moment
… ‘but not identical. There is a shape, a pattern, to these wounds that I haven’t seen too often before. The weapon that inflicted them was razor-sharp in its tip and on both sides of the blade, but what makes it different is its shape. It’s broader than the norm, although to be honest the range of objects that people stick into other people seems to be expanding all the time these days.’
He stopped and looked at me. ‘Alison tells me that you believe that McCann and Mr Weir here are both victims of the same man. A little patience on your part, and I may be able to advance that theory, or knock it down.’
‘We await your findings, Joe,’ I told him, ‘enthralled.’
He went to work, and I thought about something other than what I was going to have for dinner.
‘How are you getting on with Marlon?’ Alison asked, sotto voce, as we looked on.
‘We’ve got a suspect, probably two,’ I murmured.
‘Excellent.’
‘It will be when Northumbria CID manage to find them.’
‘Are you sure they’re your men?’
‘If we’re lucky we might have a witness to place them with Watson.’ Before I’d left, I’d told Mario McGuire to take the photos of Milburn and Shackleton that had been faxed from Newcastle and show them to his pub manager pal. An identification under those circumstances might not stand up to heavy cross-examination by a defence brief, but it would be enough to let us charge them and hold them on remand.
‘Good luck.’ She looked at me. ‘Bob, is something bothering you? Something you’re keeping from me?’
I found it difficult to return her gaze. ‘What makes you think that?’
‘I don’t know, exactly, but last night, when I arrived at your place, I thought you were preoccupied.’
If it hadn’t been for the mask, my sigh of relief might have been audible. ‘I was,’ I told her. ‘I didn’t want to ruin your night with it, that was all. It was my father-in-law’s visit.’ I led her across to the furthest corner of the room and told her why Thornton had come to see us.
When I was finished, she took my arm, and hugged it. ‘Oh Bob,’ she sighed, ‘that’s awful. The poor chap.’
‘There’s more,’ I said. ‘I’m in a real dilemma.’ I explained Thornie’s view about keeping it from Alex until it was all over. ‘I agreed,’ I added, ‘but now I’m not so sure.’
‘Nor should you be,’ she said, firmly. ‘You don’t have the right to do that. Neither does her grandfather.’
‘But Ali, love, she’s so young,’ I protested.
‘Jesus Christ, Bob,’ she spluttered behind her mask. ‘Emotionally, she’s older than you are. Do you think she isn’t ready to deal with death? Is that it? The girl lost her mother when she was barely school age. Yet now she’s one of the best adjusted, most mature thirteen-year-olds that I’ve ever met. She’s faced her tragedy and she’s come to terms with it… which, perhaps, is more than you have.’ Her forehead was wrinkled with concern as she spoke. She really was a good woman, better than I’d appreciated, and better than I deserved; suddenly a randy night with Mia Sparkles seemed less of an imperative. ‘You’re very close to him, aren’t you?’ she said.
‘Truthfully? Closer than I was to my own dad.’
‘Then this is going to affect you just as much as it does Alex, and probably more. You helped her to deal with her mother’s death. Now it’s her turn to help you.’
I smiled at her, but she probably didn’t realise because of the damn mask. ‘Thanks.’
‘Any time.’ She paused. ‘Have you got next weekend planned?’
‘Are you kidding?’ I replied. ‘I don’t have tonight’s dinner planned. Why?’
‘I was wondering; would you like to go crewing?’
‘Say that again?’
‘Crewing, Bob, crewing.’ She shook her head. ‘Bloody men! Have you ever done any sailing?’ she went on.
‘Cross-Channel ferries; that’s all. Boats are not my thing.’
‘In that case… the thing is, my brother Eden has a yacht. He keeps it at Inverkip Marina. It’s quite a big boat and sometimes I help him with it. He’s asked me if I’ll go out with him next weekend. Would you and Alex like to come?’
I wasn’t sure. My weekends usually involved golf unless the weather was too rough, and for a real golfer there is no such thing. Then there was the potential embarrassment of being seasick. The ferry to France had never bothered me, but there had been an occasion when I’d gone on a fairground waltzer with Alex, and come very close to chucking my cookies. Then there was the prospect of Gleneagles, with Mia.
The last of those swung me. ‘Okay,’ I agreed. ‘That would be good.’ Accepting Alison’s invitation was a means of chickening out of something that for some reason was making me far more nervous than an inshore yacht on the Firth of Clyde, but she wasn’t to know that. Besides, I might actually enjoy it, and I knew that Alex would. ‘When do we leave?’
‘Ideally,’ she said, ‘we’ll drive across on Friday evening and stay the night on board with Eden and Rory… my nephew… so that we’re ready to cast off early. It’ll be a two-day voyage, then back on Sunday.’
‘Sounds good,’ I agreed, ‘subject to…’
‘I know: the demands of the job. Try not thinking about things that might get in the way and maybe they won’t.’
‘What age is Rory?’ I asked, casually.
She laughed. ‘Back off, Dad. He’s only ten.’
‘Officers!’ The call was imperious. ‘If I might have your renewed attention,’ the wee professor continued.
We moved towards the table, where a once-functional human being lay, turned more or less inside out. For anyone present during an autopsy, it’s essential to remain completely detached. The worst thing you can do is allow your mind to personalise the situation, to imagine, for one second, a loved one of your own in the place of the thing under examination. As I’ve said before, I had mastered that by that stage of my career, but Alison had put in less mortuary time than I had. As we approached the body I felt her shudder, and put my arm around her waist to steady her.
Joe saw and understood. ‘Do you want to take a break before we carry on?’ he asked. ‘The atmosphere in this place can be rather overpowering.’
By that time she was over her lapse. ‘No,’ she said, brusquely. ‘Let’s get on with it.’
‘If you’re sure.’
‘I am,’ she snapped. I let my supporting arm fall to my side.
‘Very good.’ The pathologist looked up at me. Behind him his assistant was… doing something else with a piece of Archie Weir, and I didn’t need to know which piece or what he was up to. ‘This is a similarly forceful attack to that on Mr McCann. Seven wounds this time; attacker also right-handed. None of them was instantly
