When a Killer Strikes, page 4
‘Well, perhaps the wrong words to use because she’s here, but she certainly looks like she was a very healthy girl young girl.’ Mary’s eyes flew up to look in the police officers’ direction. ‘A gymnast you say, Detective Inspector Dylan?’
‘Yes, and a very good one, from what we’re told.’ Recalling the circumstances of the discovery of Patti’s body to the pathologist was easy for Dylan. Having been to the scene, spoken to the family and listened to what fellow officers and the CSI experts told him, Dylan was about to find out how she had died.
Mary Morris took tapings from the body. She swabbed around the breast area and Patti’s mouth before moving on to take samples of head and pubic hair, both cut and pulled. She scrutinised the bruising around her shoulders.
Dylan took several sideways glances at Vicky. Her anxiety baited as her interest grew. With bated breath her eyes were now focused on the pathologist’s next move.
‘In relation to the bra I want to swab the inside of the knot after it is photographed.’ She stopped whilst the CSI took the images she required. ‘As I remove it,’ she continued, ‘I’ll swab beneath it,’ she said, carrying out the act. ‘If our attacker hasn’t worn gloves we may get bits of skin off the hands here.’
The item of clothing was passed very carefully to the exhibits officer and immediately bagged. At the conclusion of the examination the pathologist would sign the label on each article and sample she had taken.
Next came the detailed inspection of the body from head to toe. Mary took the vaginal and anal swabs as gently as if the young girl was still alive. Held with the precision of a surgeon’s knife the earbud-like sticks helped her in the collection of blood from her legs. She hovered, pausing for a moment or two periodically over bruises and marks on the shoulders and breasts.
‘Likely to have been caused by a firm grip,’ she said, pointing to the bruise at the top of her arm. She stepped to the side and moved her gloved hand above the vagina. ‘…And there’s bruising here too,’ she said, pointing a finger. ‘Everything I see appears to be consistent with her having had intercourse prior to this event. What is also evident is that she was a virgin. There is evidence of the presence of the hymen.’ Mary’s eyes turned upwards. Her attention turned to the head and neck. Patti’s eyes were heavily bloodshot with Petechiae present. Bruising around her neck was visible. ‘Here we have a thumb mark, which indicates that manual strangulation took place, as well as the use of her bra as a ligature. I suggest this caused the blood vessels in her eyes to pop. We may know more when we open her up and look at the carotid arteries.’
‘Is it true that a normal individual compressing a single carotid artery will have no effect?’ said Vicky. Her restlessness had now disappeared and she was enthralled.
‘Little,’ said Mary. ‘The two carotid arteries lie in the front of the neck on either side of the windpipe and carry blood from the heart to the brain.’ The pathologist’s gloved finger pointed to the position of the arteries in the neck. ‘They carry around ninety per cent of the brain’s blood, with the rest coming from two small vertebral arteries that travel along the spine to the back of the brain. Compressing both carotid arteries can cause the loss of consciousness within fifteen to twenty seconds, and death in around two to four minutes. The general rule of thumb is that if the heart stops, the victim will lose consciousness in about four seconds if standing, eight if sitting, and twelve if lying down.’
‘Reflecting the effects of gravity on the blood flow…’ said Vicky.
‘That’s correct. This is mostly true if both carotid arteries are suddenly pressed shut. But, that’s not so easy to do.’
‘To the brain, the complete interruption of blood flow through the carotids would look the same as it would if the heart had stopped.’ Vicky was thoughtful. ‘Either way, the brain wouldn’t receive a blood supply, and the brain needs a continuous blood supply of blood to function.’
‘Absolutely! Dizziness, loss of consciousness, and sudden death are simply graduations along the same scale. That is, what makes you dizzy can also make you lose consciousness, and the longer the loss of blood supply to the brain would eventually cause death. One of the things that can do this is a compression of the carotid arteries.’
‘So it depends on how much the arteries are compressed?’
‘Yes, brief compression can cause dizziness, longer compression can cause loss of consciousness, and even longer compression can cause death.’
‘If the carotid arteries are only partially compressed though, the victim may have no problems at all.’
‘A major significance here is most definitely how severely the arteries are compressed.’
‘Significant compression can cause death more quickly?’
‘Deadly compression can result from strangulation – either manual or ligature – hanging, or an aggressive choke hold.’
‘So, let me get this right: Depending upon the nature, force and duration of the compression to the carotid arteries, the victim could have no symptoms, become dizzy, lose consciousness, or die?’
Mary nodded emphatically. ‘And this action can progressively move very quickly from one stage to the next.’
‘If the victim struggled, the perpetrator could intermittently release the compression and this would prolong the ordeal, though?’
‘Yes, and by overpowering the victim, the killer could render them unconscious in twenty seconds, and kill them in two minutes…’
Dylan’s phone rang, making Vicky jump, such was her concentration. She turned to face him and her brow held a frown. Dylan turned away to listen to the caller. Permission was being sought to retrieve clothing from the scene for Elliot Black, and photographs were required by Patti’s family to give to the media. ‘I haven’t an issue with that,’ he said. ‘I’ve already spoken to the FLO and the family,’ his voice sounding muffled through is mask. ‘Liaise with the uniform duty inspector and remind them that I want the scene protecting overnight – from the outside.’ As he put his mobile phone back in his pocket and turned to face the team, preparations were being made to take off the plastic evidence bags from her hands, that had been placed over them at the scene to preserve any evidence they might hold.
‘I’ll do individual scrapings of each finger,’ Mary said, raising one finger of the right hand, ‘and take clippings from the nails.’
Dylan rummaged in his pocket for his mints a few minutes later and popped one in his mouth before offering them around. Vicky took a sip of her water. The body was about to be opened up. Nothing could prepare even a seasoned detective for this distasteful act, as necessary as it was.
The examination took two hours and on conclusion Mary Morris confirmed what they suspected.
‘One of the most common misconceptions in forensic science concerns the ability to specify an exact time of death,’ she said, sliding behind the desk in an adjoining office and offered the seats in front to the officers. Trevor, the mortuary attendant, hovered in the background. Trevor had been there as long as Dylan could remember. What made a person want to be a mortuary assistant he wondered? ‘Another revolves around the presumed ability of us, as forensic pathologists, to definitively differentiate between ante-mortem injuries and post-mortem changes in a body. Depending on the degree of decomposition and character of the post-mortem artefacts, such differentiation may not be possible. Wounds inflicted immediately before or immediately after death, the peri-mortem interval, are particularly problematic. However, in this case, I can confirm in simple terms that this poor young girl has been raped and strangled to death. Hopefully, the swabs I have taken will contain DNA sufficient to identify the offender. All relevant samples have now been taken and retained for further examination, so my job here is done.’ Mary laid her hands flat on the desk as she concluded. ‘The cause of death for the coroner is one of strangulation, confirmed to me by the condition of the carotid artery. The head wound she sustained, whilst it broke the skin, didn’t damage her skull. But I would suggest the blow was with such force to have likely rendered her unconscious or, at the very least, she’d be dazed. This being the case, I would suggest that the attacker would have had immediate control over her before she knew what was happening to her. There are no marks to assist me as to what instrument was used by the attacker, but it split the skin, and it caused external bleeding.’
‘The bruising to her nose?’ said Dylan.
‘Her nose isn’t broken. However, it is possible that she was hit in the face, or the injury could have been sustained whilst laid face down on the floor. If her head was pushed into the carpet, that would also account for some of the bruising to her shoulders. There is also reddening to her knees… We have to consider that she may have been raped from behind.’
The coroner’s officer Jim Duggan was stood in the corridor, his half smile flaccid. The atmosphere was sombre. Dylan and Vicky stepped out. ‘Liaise with Jaene, will you?’ said Dylan. ‘The family can view their daughter’s body as they wish now.’
‘The body is about to be taken to the viewing room,’ said Jim. ‘I’ll give Jaene a ring.’
The viewing room was dimly lit, perhaps in an attempt to hide the bruising and lesson the trauma. It was a similar size to a small bedroom, with an entry and an exit to enable loved ones to pass through. The room was minimalistic; it housed the trolley upon which Patti’s body lay, covered in a starched white sheet, her face and arms exposed, and the smell of potpourri wafting in the air.
Dylan stood alone by her side as he waited to hear from Vicky that Jaene and the family had arrived at the mortuary. It was quiet, peaceful, still. ‘I promise I’ll find out who did this to you,’ he said in a whisper.
The words went around and around in his head as he stared at her young face. She looked at peace. Patti’s eyes had been closed and a little make-up applied to conceal the bruising and the cut at the front of her head. Contrary to the pictures in her stage make up for gymnastic events, she looked as she was – a child. He turned his head to see that the curtains to the narrow outer corridor where the parents would be brought were closed. The family would see their daughter in the first instance through that window, before moving inside where they would be able to touch her.
‘Are you ready?’ said the assistant a few minutes later, his hand firmly on the pull cord that would pull back the curtains to allow them to see the body, much like the unveiling of a plaque. Sandra reluctantly nodded. Her chest rose and fell in quick time. Elliot’s face was impassive. His jawbone twitched, the only indication of his inner turmoil.
Dylan prepared himself, inhaling deeply, aware of what was to happen. The corridor was narrow and stuffy and the tension tangible. The coroner’s officer and Vicky exchanged a quick knowing look. Jaene’s attention was on Sandra and Elliot. The curtains were very slowly drawn back – but nothing could lessen the shock of what Patti’s parent were about to see.
‘Oh, my God!’ Sandra gasped, on the wave of a sharp intake of breath. The raised flat palm of her hand instantly flew out towards the glass window, stopped, and lingered mid-air before reaching its intended destination as a white knuckled fist on the wall. The scream that emanated from her lips was inhuman to Dylan’s ears. Jaene put her arm out and grasped Sandra’s hand in hers. Without further ado, she led Sandra gently to the viewing room door. As Elliot reached the entrance he hesitated and turned to look back at Dylan, who urged him to go on, with a nod of his head. Vicky moved to stand next to Dylan and they observed. She knew him well enough to know that his calm exterior masked his emotions as he watched Sandra wail uncontrollably, taking her daughter’s cold hand in hers. Instantly she fell to her knees.
‘I don’t want you to be frightened,’ she said to Patti in a whisper. ‘I’m here. You’re not alone.’ She started to sing a child’s lullaby, then stopped, because her tears wouldn’t allow her to go on. When she regained her composure, she repeated the Lord’s prayer over and over again, amongst telling Patti how much she loved her, until Elliot put his hands under her arms and helped her to her feet.
A few moments passed in silence. She didn’t turn to look at her partner but sniffed, wiped her eyes with the handkerchief he offered, kissed Patti’s hand and sobbed into his chest as if her heart would break.
‘Her hand was icy.’ Dylan heard her say to Jaene. Elliot’s body started to shake, his face buckled and he broke down. He wiped his tears away the moment they hit his cheeks with the back of his hand, corrected his posture and stood tall.
Dylan glanced across at Vicky; he could see pity in her watery eyes. He had to remain strong, stand back from what was happening, close his mind to the emotion and focus on the investigation. There was only one thing that he could do for Patti and her family now, and that was to find the killer. It wouldn’t give them closure as a lot of people hoped or thought. Their lives would never be the same from this day on. He also knew there was a high percentage of couples who broke up after the loss of a child to murder. What finding the killer would do was answer some of the many unanswered questions and stop them wondering if everyone they met in the future could potentially be Patti’s murderer. Dylan knew the statistics were high for the victim knowing their killer – hence the detectives’ mantra to ‘cover the ground beneath your feet’, but first impressions were that there was no indication of who was responsible for Patti’s murder.
Dylan’s mind was back on the family. There was no time limit placed on this but he knew it was time to leave…
‘But she might wake up!’ Sandra looked distressed. ‘Look! She’s fine! It’s just a scratch on her head. That can’t have killed her. Please, please don’t make me leave her here…’
Slowly but surely Jaene and Elliot shepherded Sandra out of the viewing room, and as the curtains closed to the corridor Sandra swayed, ‘Don’t put her back in the fridge, she’s cold…’ she said. Her voiced sounded as if she had been drugged. All hands went out to steady her as she collapsed in Dylan’s expectant arms. Swiftly, she was taken to Accident and Emergency. A doctor and nurse watched over her as she came to.
‘Tell me, do you have any pain?’ said the doctor. Her look of wonderment was a brief respite before the reality of her situation came to mind. Then she turned her head on the pillow, screwed up her eyes and cried, tears of pain, real pain that no one could take away.
‘We’ll get something that will help,’ said the doctor, laying a gentle hand upon her arm. He spoke quietly to the nurse who swiftly disappeared through the curtain was drawn around them.
Dylan walked out of the hospital with Vicky at his side. ‘I don’t know about you but I need a drink,’ she said.
‘Has the necessary staffing been arranged for tomorrow morning’s briefing?’
Vicky nodded.
‘Scene secure and protected. Incident room fired up.’
‘It has.’
‘After what we’ve witnessed today I think we deserve a bottle.’ Dylan looked at his watch, found his mobile in his pocket and rang Jen. The cool breeze that blew softly on his face was welcome as he stood waiting for her to pick up. He opened the car door and Vicky flopped into the passenger side. He saw her close her eyes and she lay her head back on the headrest. Her cheeks puffed out. She exhaled slowly.
‘Was Jen okay with it?’ she said, as Dylan slid into the driving seat a few minutes later.
‘Went to answering machine,’ he said as he started the engine. ‘She’s used to it.’
‘I guess she’s no choice.’ She took a sideways glance at Dylan who was pre-occupied manoeuvring the car out of the car park. ‘Some people haven’t the sense they were born with,’ Dylan said under his breath as a woman on her mobile phone let her children run around the parked cars. He sounded agitated.
Dylan stopped the car abruptly at the junction to the main road. He looked quickly right and left before he steered it out onto the busy road. They drove in silence for a while before becoming gridlocked in the tea-time traffic.
‘Patti’s mother and Elliot are going to be subjected to independent interviews tomorrow regarding Patti’s background and their own movements – it won’t be easy for them,’ said Vicky.
‘For now they need time to come to terms with their daughter’s death – as if a few sleepless hours are enough.’
Vicky didn’t answer him but turned to look out of her window and watch the cars pass by in the opposite direction.
‘Sadly we can’t afford them longer.’ Dylan’s jaw was set. He looked impatiently at his watch.
‘The Anchor, that’ll do,’ said Vicky, pointing to the pub entrance, two cars ahead.
The two detectives sat together in a quiet, dark corner of the snug. There was a rushing sound of vehicles outside giving the impression that the traffic had lessened. Vicky picked up the empty bottle. ‘Shall I get another?’ Dylan’s phone bleeped. ‘Jen sends her love,’ he said, ‘I’ll have a pint of Coke.’ He tossed his phone back on the table and handed her his empty glass.
‘It seems ages since I’ve seen Jen. How is she?’ she said as she stood. Her voice was cheerier, in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. Dylan tossed the mat his glass had been sat on around in his hand. His eyes found hers. They were bleak.
‘It’s not easy, but she’s coping, some days are better than others.’ He sat up and changed the subject quickly to the lesser painful of the two. ‘Am I right in thinking that Elliot Black said he thought no one was in the house when he went upstairs to get his phone charger?’
‘You’re thinking that he would have seen Patti’s bag at the bottom of the stairs, wouldn’t you? Which would suggest to him that she was home.’
‘But we didn’t see it immediately either,’ he said solemnly.
‘Crisps or nuts?’ she asked. ‘I haven’t eaten much today.’
‘Me neither. Tell you what, the steak house is open. Shall we head over there?’
‘Sounds good to me. I’ve no one waiting for me at home. You’re not worried we’ll get talked about?’
