Village of Ghosts by Ralph E. Vaughan

Author:Ralph E. Vaughan [Vaughan, Ralph E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dog in the Night Books
Published: 2016-10-25T04:00:00+00:00

* * *

The post mortem room smelled simultaneously fresh and foul. It reeked of disinfectant and cleaning solutions, but there was also a hint of corruption, something of the grave and the undying worm. Bright lights glinted off polished chrome and scrubbed porcelain, but they seemed dark compared to the arc lamp directly above the autopsy table. Steeling himself for what was to come, Stark lowered his protective plastic faceplate and approached.

“Ah, there you are, Sergeant,” Dr Penworthy said. “I thought for a moment you might share the chief inspector’s aversion.”

“Not my first time here, Doctor,” he said.

She smiled. “No, of course not.”

The body had been cleaned. A modesty towel had been draped across the lower torso, though Stark was unsure whose modesty was being protected. The skin was waxy. Creepy crawlies had left their marks upon the body, but those not collected for testing had been washed away. The eyes were whitish and sunken. To Stark, it did not look like a man at all; had he been raised in Little Wyvern, he might have thought the cadaver was that of a hobgoblin.

“You ready, Sergeant?”

“Yes.”

Penworthy reached up and pulled down an articulated metal arm on the end of which was a foam-padded microphone. She gave the case number, the date, and stated who was in attendance.

“Normally, I would begin with a Y-incision, but someone has rendered that impossible, hence I am modifying the procedures to adjust to the situation,” Penworthy said. “The individual is a well-nourished male in his mid-fifties. An examination of the body shows no tattoos, birthmarks or scars. The chest cavity was cut open post mortem and the heart removed by means of…”

For the next fifty-six minutes, Penworthy laid bare the secrets of the man found in Pooks Wood. The incisions to the chest cavity had been made with an extremely sharp blade about six inches long. The knife had likely been wielded by the same hand as in the Simon Jones case. As the doctor had surmised at the scene of the crime, the cause of death was spinal shock, received when the neck was violently torqued at the second and third vertebrae.

Stark watched and listened with all the impassivity he could manage. As he had told the doctor, it was hardly his first time, but he had never quite inured himself to the idea of a man being carved with the impersonal precision of a pig on a butcher’s block. Every time he watched some poor bloke under a pathologist’s blade, with all the intimate details of his death recorded in a passionless voice for posterity, he could not help but see himself in the same situation, as that day would come to all, sooner or later.

Suddenly, he realised the post mortem had concluded, that the doctor had said something to him. “I’m sorry, Doctor. What?”

“I asked if you had any questions.” She covered the body and moved specimens to an examination table at the side.

“No, Doctor,” he said. “Very thorough. When will the written report be ready?”

“Normally, I’d tell you tomorrow, about mid-morning.

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