surprise was everything. He had left Robards at the crime scene to finish up the search while he dealt with other matters.
“What have you got for me Arnie?” Nelson said, close to the pathologist’s ear in a voice that reverberated through the quiet cavernous room.
Doctor Arnold – don’t call me Arnie - Agett, who had been bent over the corpse of Emilio Fogliani, nearly jumped out of his skin before realising a moment later who had sneaked up behind him. The protective cover suit that he was wearing was stained with blood and other body matter from the autopsy he had commenced an hour previously.
“Oh for Christ sake Nelson! I suppose you think that’s funny?” He growled through his mask, brandishing a scalpel in Nelson’s direction.
“Sorry Doc,” replied Nelson stepping back out of reach of the scalpel. “Couldn’t help myself.”
“I will remind you once again that the city mortuary is not the ideal place for practical jokes. If it was just your arse on the line with this case I’d put it on the backburner for a week.”
“It will never happen again, I promise,” replied Nelson with the barest of smiles.
On the stainless steel table before him Emilio Fogliani’s body lay in pieces. The top of his skull had been hinged open and his brain had been removed and now lay in pieces on a stone cutting board beside several other of his internal organs. His chest cavity had been cut down the centre and was butterflied open.
“Alright. I assume you’re not just here to scare the bejeezus out of me and you would like some preliminary autopsy results, so let’s get on with it.”
“Yes, ok.”
“Now, Mr. Fogliani here was shot three times at close range. I believe the first shot was to the upper left quadrant of his chest. It tore through his aorta and then bounced around his rib cage, fragmenting into several pieces along the way. The slug pieces are there,” he said pointing to a small stainless steel bowl which rested on a trolley beside his tools of trade.
“It was a fatal wound and he would have been dead in seconds. The second bullet entered through the upper right quadrant of his chest. It went through his right lung and exited fairly cleanly through his back in between the fifth and sixth ribs. It probably wouldn’t have been fatal on its own, not immediately anyway. The third and final bullet entered through this hole just above his right eye,” he said indicating a small blackened hole with his scalpel. “It would also have been a fatal wound. As you can see in the brain here, it has caused considerable damage to the frontal lobe, the temporal lobe and the cerebellum. This bullet is still in reasonable condition although it has a few dents in it.”
Nelson looked at the grey and gelatinous lump that had been sliced like a deli ham. He poked at it curiously with his pen.
“Please don’t touch, Nelson. And next time you come in here I want you to be wearing a full cover suit alright?”
“Sure, ok Doc, wouldn’t want the bodies to catch anything off me.”
“Your shoes are going to stink for a month if you don’t wash them off properly before you leave.”
Nelson checked his shoes and noticed that he was standing in a small pool of blood. For the hundredth time he made a mental note to put on the protective coveralls before entering the morgue examination rooms.
“What else is there?”
“The lividity present in his buttocks and legs indicate that he was probably sitting down at the time of his death.” Nelson bent down to look at the dark purple bruise-like patches that had formed under the skin as the blood had pooled in the lowest areas of the body post death. “Is that consistent with where he was found?”
“Yes, he was found in his car.”
“Makes sense.”
“Anything else Doc?”
“Not really. There were no other significant injuries to the body. The toxicology report indicates that Mr. Fogliani had been drinking on the night he died but not to any great excess. It’s also worth noting that Mr. Fogliani wasn’t in great shape medically. His lungs show the signs of heavy smoking for many years and were in such bad shape I’m surprised he didn’t carry an oxygen bottle around with him. Also his liver was well on the way to developing cirrhosis and I found what is more than likely the early stages of bowel cancer. In short, he probably had no more than five or ten years left in him anyway.”
“You gotta die of something I guess. Thanks for putting a rush on this Doc. I appreciate it.”
“No problems. As soon as I’m done here I’ll send you a copy of the official report. Then I’ll get someone to put him back together and clean him up so the family can make a positive identification.”
Nelson exited the City Mortuary, glad to leave the stark and sterile environs behind him. He breathed the outdoor air deeply into his lungs. The coolness of it seemed to cleanse and refresh him. Dawn had arrived while he was inside the morgue and brought with it clear skies and another day of cool winds from the south-east.
Fifteen minutes later Nelson hung up on a phone call from Robards who provided an update on the ongoing search for evidence. Nelson felt upbeat about the case as he bounced up the stairs to the third floor of the Sydney Police Centre, located on Goulburn Street in the city. It was where the Forensic Services group labs and offices were housed.
Nelson moved down the quiet corridor peering through the glass windows into each of the labs until he found one occupied by Mike Martinez and a young female Constable who Nelson had seen before but never met. Both of them wore long white lab coats and were bent over a work table illuminated by a bright desk light.
“Morning again Mike.” Nelson said upon entry, his eyes immediately drawn to the bloodstained clothes from the deceased which were spread out on the tables. “How’s it coming along?”
Martinez smiled. “I knew you’d be in a rush so I’ve processed the car and the clothes myself. Sabine here has been assisting me.”
“Hi Sabine,” said Nelson shaking her extended hand and nodding his head. “That’s music to my ears Mike. I’m briefing the Super at nine a.m. and he’s not big on slow moving cases. Tell me what you’ve got.” Nelson pulled out his notebook.
“Sure thing. Based on the level and spread of gunpowder residue and burn marks we found on Fogliani’s shirt, I’ve estimated that the shooter was standing approximately one metre away from Fogliani when he shot him.”
Martinez stepped over to a full sized dummy that was seated in a chair. The dummy had three long fluorescent green rods inserted into it, replicating the trajectory and entry of the wounds suffered by Emilio Fogliani.
“Allow me to introduce Howard,” Mike said indicating to the dummy. “He’s agreed to help us out today.”
“Morning Howard,” said Nelson.
“If my estimation that the shooter was standing one metre away is correct I can then deduce that the shooter is approximately five feet six inches to five feet ten inches tall.” Martinez, who stood five feet eight inches tall on a good day, took his position near the dummy and extended his arm towards it in line with the fluorescent rods to illustrate his point. Nelson studied the positioning of Martinez arm in relation to the dummy and scribbled a few notes in his pad. “There were no reflexive defensive wounds on the hands so I assume Fogliani didn’t see it coming.”
“You’re probably right. Anything of interest on the body? Any weapons?”
Martinez referred to a clipboard where he had made his notes.
“No, no weapons. However there was fifteen hundred dollars in cash and plenty of credit cards intact in his wallet.”
“Fifteen hundred dollars? That’s a lot of cash to be dragging around.”
“For you and I maybe, but maybe not for someone driving around in a brand new hundred grand car. I wouldn’t know about that.”
“Where is the car?”
“It’s down in the basement for now. There was nothing of particular interest in it. In fact, it was impressively clean, probably because it was so new. The rear and passenger side doors of the car were locked and there was nothing to indicate that anyone else had been inside the vehicle.”
Nelson grunted as he jotted.
