Jack Knife by Steve Parker

Author:Steve Parker [PARKER, STEVE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Six

Had Gillian Lake still been able to, she would have complained bitterly about the cold metal pressing against her skin and died at the embarrassment of lying naked on a table for strangers to stare at her. Her pitifully thin corpse lay bare under the harsh lights. A long ugly line ran the length of her body from pelvis to collarbone that opened out into a Y shape toward her painfully thin shoulders. The pathologist, Dr Jeanne Armstrong, remarked to her assistant, Paul Carren, that Gillian’s skin was so thin as to be almost transparent. She almost added that they didn’t need to open her up because a bright light should let them see through her skin, but her humanity and professionalism suppressed her gallows humour. She was getting ready to end the post-mortem when something occurred to her that stopped her in her tracks.

‘You all right?’ said Paul Carren.

‘Just had a thought,’ said Jeanne.

From no other source than years of experience in looking for the cause of death in hundreds of corpses, she felt the sudden urge to turn Gillian over again and look a bit closer at her neck. She took hold of her shoulder and asked Paul to help get her over. Thankfully, the cadaver weighed so little that it was an easy task. With Gillian flat down on her face, Jeanne pulled down the halogen ring light that was attached to an extendable arm above her head.

* * *

‘What’s up, Doc?’ With a thick line of menthol vapour rub under his nose, DCI Harry Carter stood well back from the table. He’d been to more than his share of post mortems in his time, and even though this was a straightforward examination with no obvious sign of injury, he knew that Gillian Lake would be opened up and her insides exposed, hence the greasy moustache he was sporting. The smell of a human being’s insides was not one that could be easily forgotten.

Every PM he attended reminded him of a rough-and-ready copper he’d run across once, name of Johnny Clocks. The two had crossed paths on a murder case a few years back and both were in attendance at the victim’s post-mortem. An irreverent man, Clocks called the insides of people ‘giblets’, and that bit of humour broke the tension of the situation. It stuck with him. And now, whenever he attended a PM, he heard Johnny Clocks’s voice in his head. It always made him smile and made this whole job a bit more bearable — that and menthol vapour rub. Still, he’d expected he’d be in and out in about thirty minutes or so. Job done. Back to the nick. Cup of tea.

‘Just a hunch, Harry,’ said Dr Armstrong. ‘Gimme a minute, please.’

Pulling the light lower, she slipped on her magnifying glasses to help her examine the deceased more closely. Carter stood to one side to get a clearer view. The nasty stuff was over. Looking at the back of a corpse was easy.

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