Seaweed Under Water by Stanley Evans

Author:Stanley Evans
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-1-926971-34-6
Publisher: Touchwood Editions
Published: 2011-01-17T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The forensic pathologist had grown old at his trade. Age and experience had carved deep grooves down his long, bony face. He led Bernie and me into a cold, antiseptic chamber that smelled of formaldehyde. A minute later, we were staring down at the naked remains of a thin, middle-aged alcoholic. We’d already inspected the white shirt, jeans and runners Jane Colby had been wearing when they plucked her out of the water. Five dollars in loose change, a VISA card and a B.C. driver’s licence had been recovered from the leather billfold found in her pockets. The pathologist was gazing intently at the corpse’s ghastly neck wound. She appeared to have been garroted, almost beheaded. The pathologist nodded to a female assistant. Between them, they flipped the body face down on its marble slab. The pathologist pointed wordlessly, so Bernie Tapp and I leaned forward for closer looks. The dead woman’s back, shoulders and legs were covered with numerous deep parallel bruises, contusions and cuts. Pebbles were deeply embedded in the white pulpy flesh of her body. When Bernie and I had seen enough, the pathologist and his assistant turned the body back over.

Bernie Tapp said, “It looks like a hit and drag, to me.”

“Indeed,” the pathologist said, “Those abrasions suggest that a vehicle knocked her down on an unpaved road. It appears that the driver then hooked a line around the woman’s neck and dragged her behind his vehicle.”

“Why road?” I asked.

The pathologist pursed his lips.

I went on, “She might have been knocked down in an unpaved parking lot. She might also have been knocked down on a glacial moraine, or in a gravel pit. Then she was towed. But not necessarily along a road.”

The pathologist stated, “She had sexual intercourse before death. It is an interesting case because, despite all appearances, her death was probably caused by drowning.”

Tapp’s brow knotted. “How long do you figure she’d been in the harbour?”

“I don’t know. Long enough for deposited spermatozoa to die in situ. Two, maybe three weeks, but that’s just a guess at present. We’ll narrow it down after more tests.”

Bernie cleared his throat. I looked at him. He raised his eyebrows and said skeptically, “Doctor. You just told us she’s been in water for weeks, yet you still found sperm in her vagina?”

The pathologist gave him a pinched smile. “You are surprised, Chief Inspector?”

“Acting Chief Inspector,” Tapp said, adding uncertainly, “Sperm is a liquid, right? You’d think it’d wash out.”

“Not at all,” the pathologist said. “We’d expect to find traces of ejaculated sperm in a woman’s vagina as much as 10 weeks after intercourse. We’ve sent a sample of the sperm to the DNA lab.”

Bernie and I took turns borrowing the pathologist’s magnifying glass and examining the dead woman’s neck injury. It looked as if a steel cable the diameter of a finger had been wrapped around her neck then tightened. Tiny flakes of rust were discernible in the wound. I said as much to Bernie, who had reached the same conclusion.

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