Midnight Murders by Katherine John Page B

that of the surroundings when I examined her in the pit, so that puts death at least eighteen to twenty-four hours before, taking into account that asphyxiation causes body temperature to rise, not fall, immediately after death. No rigor mortis, little deterioration – that means your guess would be as good as mine.’
    â€˜I hate it when you say that.’
    Patrick tore off his rubber gloves and threw them in the bin at the head of the table. He switched off the water that was rippling around the corpse, folded his arms, and leaned against the tiled wall. ‘But there is something that might interest you. The stomach was completely empty, and the body dehydrated.’
    â€˜Which means?’
    â€˜She’d been starved before death. No food or water.’
    â€˜For how long?’
    â€˜After examining the small intestines, I’d say at least forty-eight hours – possibly longer.’
    â€˜Then she could have been taken and kept somewhere.’
    â€˜That’s for you to find out.’ Patrick looked at her face. ‘Pretty girl.’
    Bill looked at the corpse, really looked at it, for the first time. O’Kelly’s assistant had combed the shoulder-length curls away from the face and brushed off the dirt. He had to agree, whoever she was, she had been a pretty girl.
    â€˜Have you taken new photographs?’ Bill asked.
    â€˜Digital print outs are in the office.’
    â€˜Anything on her?’
    â€˜No identification. Rings, one gold, set with a red onyx stone, one silver in the shape of a wishbone, a gold chain, crucifix and Saint Nicholas, all nine-carat, and a lot of good they did her. The patron saint of travellers must have been on tea break when she was being buried.’ Patrick nodded towards two piles; a small one of jewellery and a larger one of clothes heaped on a side table. ‘We found a key ring with two Yale keys in the pocket of her skirt. Everything has been dusted for prints, so they’re safe to handle.’
    Bill picked up the key ring and fingered the tab, a miniature rubber troll with his thumbs in his ears and fingers extended.
    â€˜The clothes have chain store labels, no name tags, no markings, and nothing except the keys in the pockets,’ Patrick continued, ‘I’ve taken dental X-rays. There are fourteen fillings, so she should be on someone’s records. No foreign fibres on the skin or clothes. The dirt, as you see, is still being sifted.’
    â€˜Sexual assault?’
    â€˜No signs of it. Clothes are soiled but appear undisturbed. Vaginal swabs tested negative for semen. There’s a tattoo.’ He took a small rubber sheet, wrapped it around the right leg and rolled the corpse on to its side. The back, thighs and calves were dark with stagnant blood. ‘Butterfly high on right thigh. Nice work.’
    â€˜Age?’
    â€˜Early twenties. Blue eyes, dyed blonde hair; the rest you can see for yourself. I’ve told you just about everything, but if you want to listen to the tape in my office you’re welcome. Word processing facilities being what they are in this place, it won’t be in print until tomorrow.’
    â€˜I can wait.’
    â€˜Coffee?’
    â€˜No, thanks,’ Bill refused, as Patrick’s assistant left the office with three specimen jars filled with murky beige liquid.
    â€˜Bring the chocolate biscuits, Alan,’ Patrick called out.
    Alan dumped the jars on an empty slab, opened one of the refrigerated body drawers, and removed a packet of chocolate wafers.
    Bill had met O’Kelly the man after hearing about O’Kelly the legend. The first time he’d visited the mortuary he had walked in on Patrick, his assistant, and the senior surgeon from the staff of the General, sitting in a row on one of the slabs, facing an opened corpse while eating pasties and drinking cans of lager.
    Patrick called it a “working lunch”. They were trying to determine