Deadly Secrets (Detective Erika Foster #6)(44)

Isaac nodded. ‘She had a small amount of alcohol in her blood when she died, but this should be expected if she was out partying on Christmas Eve. There were no other drugs, illegal or legal, in her bloodstream.’

Erika looked back at the scar running along Marissa’s sternum, and then at her face, which, scrubbed of make-up, was so youthful. She didn’t look much more than a child herself. Erika took a deep breath and felt her headache come hammering to the front of her skull. She felt strange, as if she was being pressed down and lifted up at the same time.

‘She was healthy. All organs in good health.’ Isaac moved to her head. ‘The blade used was about eight inches. There are three long slits in the throat, one of which severed the main arteries. Which meant she bled out very quickly. The top of the knife had a serrated edge. Some older knives for paring fruit have this feature on the blade.’

‘So it could have been a knife that someone has owned for some time?’

He nodded. ‘We weren’t able to lift any DNA samples from the body.’

‘Nothing?’

‘No. No bodily fluids, hair samples. She wasn’t sexually assaulted.’

One of Isaac’s colleagues came in and went to one of the large stainless steel doors along the back wall. He opened it with a click and the drawer slid smoothly out. Erika did a double take. It was the body of Joseph Pitkin.

‘What is it?’ asked Isaac.

‘This young lad, he killed himself in custody on Boxing Day… May I?’

Isaac’s colleague nodded and Erika and Isaac moved over to the body. Joseph seemed smaller in death, and his body was so thin. Angry red wheals surrounded his neck, and a deep purple line showed where the noose had cut into the skin under his chin, crushing his Adam’s apple.

‘I wanted to check his body again,’ said the colleague, a small woman with soft grey eyes. ‘I wanted to run something by you, Isaac.’ He moved round and she lifted up Joseph’s hands. ‘He has this pigmentation on the skin, very white spots peppering the backs of his hands and moving up the wrists. I’ve been back over medical records and there is no mention of skin disorders such as vitiligo in the family.’

Isaac peered at it. ‘Yes. I don’t think this is disease-related. It looks to be chemical bleaching rather than natural pigmentation.’

‘He was an amateur photographer, and he had a darkroom,’ said Erika.

‘Right, that answers my question,’ said the woman.

‘Dark room chemicals used in processing photographs can often cause pigmentation of the skin, if gloves aren’t used. Was there any scarring in the lungs?’

‘No,’ said the woman. ‘Very healthy. Like his organs.’

The woman’s words began to echo arounds Erika’s head: ‘Very healthy. Like his organs.’ She saw the drawing of the gas mask, and then the video of Joseph, the disembodied hand reaching into the shot and gripping his throat. His face turning red, then purple; the tendons on his neck straining… Erika saw the note again in her mind; the blank eyeholes of the gas mask bored into her head.

The dull pain intensified, and blazed through her skull. The room began to spin, and she had to grip the edge of the post-mortem table.

‘Erika?’ asked Isaac, as she felt the room start to fade out, and her vision fill with stars. Then everything went black.





Twenty-Nine





When Erika opened her eyes, she was lying on a small sofa in an office. It was warm and filled with packing boxes. Isaac knelt beside her with a look of concern on his face.

‘Here, drink some water,’ he said. She took the cup from him and drank. It was deliciously cold, and it washed away the nasty dry taste in the back of her mouth. ‘Can I take your blood pressure?’ he asked, pulling out a blood pressure cuff. She nodded and he pulled up her sleeve, slipping it over her arm.

‘What’s in the boxes?’ she asked.

‘Books.’

She watched as he pumped the pressure cuff and it tightened around her arm.

‘Did you eat today?’

‘I had some cereal this morning.’

He let it go, and placed the end of a stethoscope on her wrist and counted on his watch, listening as she felt her pulse beat through her arm. Then he released the pressure. ‘Blood pressure is a little low: a hundred over sixty-five.’ He pulled out a tiny torch and shone the light in her eyes. She winced.

‘Since when do you have a little torch to do that? Surely all the patients you deal with can’t dilate their eyes?’

‘I got this in a Christmas cracker. I swapped a pink hair clip for it.’

Erika grinned. Her head was still banging, but the pain had eased a little.

‘You were out for several minutes. Can I take some blood?’

‘If you must,’ she said. Isaac left the room, and returned moments later with a syringe and sample tube wrapped in sterile plastic. He pulled on a fresh pair of latex gloves. Erika turned away whilst he took the blood from her arm, grimacing at the pricking sensation.

‘Okay, that’s one sample,’ he said, removing the little bottle and screwing another onto the end of the needle. ‘Have you had any other fainting episodes lately?’

‘No.’

‘Been to see a doctor?’