Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [29]
He then reached back to his instrument tray; his next job was to cut through ribs and cartilage and remove the heart and lungs.
Blood began making a metallic plink-plink-plink as drops hit the stainless steel drip trays.
The first waves of smell reached Goodhew’s nostrils and the food analogy wafted back, with an uninvited suggestion of uncooked pork casserole. Soon Sykes would be cutting deeper and unleashing the thick invasive odour of flesh, faeces and stomach contents, so it really wasn’t the time for planning dinner.
After a few seconds of deliberately thinking about nothing, Goodhew relaxed again; the scene wasn’t repulsing him. He felt the same as he always had: they needed to know who she was and the cause and time of death, and he was in just the right place to gather that kind of information.
THIRTEEN
From the corner of his eye, Goodhew caught sight of their reflections in the viewing-gallery window. He was in the centre, flanked by DI Marks and Anthony Sykes. Twice Goodhew glanced up, half-expecting to see three other people instead of the same three reflections staring in at the body. However, after an hour, he sensed someone really was watching, and looked up to find Kincaide peering in from the other side of the glass.
Kincaide mouthed something and pointed at Marks.
Goodhew touched his superior’s arm. ‘Sir, Kincaide’s arrived.’
‘Better see what he wants.’
Sykes looked up, too. ‘There’s an intercom button next to the window. Turn it on and we’ll be able to hear him.’
Goodhew clicked the plastic on-off switch and slid the volume control up to halfway. He guessed this had been considered modern technology, somewhere back in the eighties.
Kincaide cleared his throat and his short cough came out as a tinny crackle from the single speaker mounted above the booth. ‘Your phone’s off so I decided to come in and find you. We think her name may be Lorna Spence.’
It was funny how just having a name made a difference. All four of them turned their attention to the corpse’s face: it was an automatic reaction to hearing her name. Lorna Spence. Oval face. Wide mouth. Freckled skin. Hazel eyes. Feathered hair.
It was a bit like a dot-to-dot game, where the name joined them up. It was the missing feature, the thing they’d needed to complete the picture.
‘How do you know?’ Marks asked.
‘Lucky teeth.’ Kincaide half-smiled and Goodhew guessed he was enjoying his moment of keeping everyone hanging in an expectant pause.
‘Lucky what?’ Marks asked. ‘Teeth?’
Kincaide tapped his own. ‘A space between your two front teeth is supposed to be lucky, sir. I expect kids are told that to stop them picking on the gappy ones.’ He knew just how many seconds Marks would tolerate the suspense and waited until the inspector drew an irritated breath. ‘The station received a call from a consultant at the Excelsior Clinic on Magdalene Street. One of their staff, Lorna Spence, is missing from work. She’s twenty-three, five two with short highlighted hair and a gap between her teeth. The station couldn’t get hold of you, so they contacted me because I’d seen the body. I thought it sounded likely, so I came straight over.’
‘Have you found an address for her?’
‘21 Rolfe Street. It’s in the centre, about five minutes’ walk from the Excelsior.’
‘Yes, yes, I know where it is.’ Marks turned back to Sykes. ‘We’re almost done?’
‘Another half-hour at most.’
Then he turned to Goodhew. ‘Take that gown off and go along with Kincaide to the Excelsior.’ He gave a quick nod in the direction of the body. ‘If it still looks likely that she’s this Lorna Spence, call me and I’ll get someone over to the girl’s house as soon as possible. See if you can find out anyone who knows her, and if anyone lives with her. Don’t forget to keep it in the present tense as it still may be the wrong woman.’
Goodhew discarded his gown in the first laundry bin he found. He came across Kincaide waiting for him in the corridor leading to the main hospital exit. ‘Do you know this Excelsior Clinic?’ he asked.