The Quick and the Dead by Cynric Temple-Camp

Author:Cynric Temple-Camp
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2020-05-21T00:00:00+00:00

* * *

His identity was no clearer when, early Sunday morning, we prepared to perform the autopsy. We undressed him carefully layer by layer, searching for any evidence and photographing the body as each item was removed. It was slow and tedious, but it did give me the opportunity to examine the entire surface of his body meticulously. There was nothing new to add to what I’d already discovered by the side of the chicken ranch driveway — until I came to pull his denims down.

Pat and I were standing at the foot of the gurney, tugging at a trouser leg each. They were a slim fit so it was quite hard work. It always surprises me how difficult undressing the dead is. It’s as though they’re trying to preserve their modesty as long as possible. Of course, they can’t help you much, and somehow their rigidity seems to make their clothing cling. The denims eventually came off in a rush. I had removed a handkerchief, lightly stained with dried blood, from the pocket, and was bundling them up to bag them to go to the ESR for blood and other testing when I felt something solid. I knew exactly what it was, right away.

I dug into his right back pocket and pulled out his wallet. The incredulous looks on the attendant police officers’ faces were priceless.

The wallet was emblazoned with a skull and crossbones.

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ I said to the body, in the presence of this emblem of death. I opened it. It was stuffed with dozens of cards — loyalty cards for tobacconists, business cards for family and criminal lawyers and, best of all, his driver’s licence, complete with photograph.

‘No ID, hey?’ I smiled at the police. That’s what they had told me the previous day at the roadside. I guessed that somebody was going to get a bollocking for this, but to be fair, the wallet was firmly tucked away and the victim was lying on top of it. These days, you’re not allowed to move or interfere with the body. Still, it wasn’t often I got to get one up on the CIB and see them so discomfited.

‘Glen Ronald Stinson,’ I read out. Despite his horrific injuries, the photograph was clearly that of the dead man. The police officers looked at each other and shrugged. The name clearly didn’t mean anything to them. One of them left the mortuary to make a phone call.

He was back in less than five minutes.

‘Glen Ronald Stinson. Convicted paedophile. Currently out on bail on three charges of indecent assault and one of the attempted rape of a girl under the age of 12.’

I looked up from my work. So did everyone. We stared at the officer and then at each other.

A paedophile. Currently active, too, by the sounds of it.

That certainly changed the dynamics quite a bit. You could see that, for the police, it opened a whole different world of possibilities. There would be the parents of his victims to consider, for a start.

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