Viper - Michael Morley [76]
As Jack finished his sentence he realized it was a long shot. Many serial killers didn’t have previous convictions. But if they did find DNA, at least it was a beginning, something to build on. A match waiting to be made.
Jack hung back while Pietro thanked the technician and passed on orders for the DNA testing. There was another thought that he kept to himself. One too alarming to share.
The killer had been disturbed.
He’d been forced to abandon his fire – and abandon his prize.
That meant he was dissatisfied.
Tense. Angry. Pent-up.
It also meant he’d need to kill again.
And he’d need to do it very soon.
58
Crime scene 2, Campeggio Castellani, Pompeii
Sylvia Tomms and Medical Examiner Boris Stern stood beside the burned corpse of the dead woman beneath a forensic tent in the centre of the pit. The sun, rarely spotted in Naples for the last week, had cruelly broken cover and was cooking the plastic ceiling above them, increasing the stench of burned flesh and decomposing rubbish.
Stern, a small, white-haired man with Einstein-like glasses and moustache, was Munich born and bred. At social gatherings Sylvia enjoyed speaking German with him and discussing places and events she’d shared with her father. Now, though, their common language was that of death and they spoke Italian for the benefit of those around them.
‘She’s been shot through the head.’ Stern pointed at the blackened, fleshless skull. ‘A very precise shot from the front, probably two metres away. The entry wound looks like a nine millimetre. That’s the most likely cause of death.’
‘Not the burning?’ asked Sylvia.
‘No, no. Absolutely not. Though she was burned – or, at least, partially burned – before she was shot.’
Sylvia grimaced. ‘You’re sure of that?’ She glanced at the corpse. It was charred beyond recognition. Skin around the skull was missing. All her clothing destroyed. Only the fatty tissue around her thighs seemed to remain.
‘No question about it. The burning is consistent with her being upright and fighting to get free from some wire around her wrists. You’ll notice, as in all burnings, that the thinnest parts go first – the joints, elbows, knees. The fatty parts – the muscles and biceps – they hold out longer.’
Sylvia had seen floaters and frenzied knife killings, bullet-riddled bodies and strangulations, but never anything like this. It was grotesque.
‘What chances of identification, Prof?’
‘Oh, good. Very good.’ He stretched out his foot in its rubber boot and carefully stepped on to a clear spot of earth. ‘Look at her fingers.’
‘You mean, what’s left of them?’ Sylvia gingerly followed his lead.
Stern put his double-gloved finger across the blackened remains of the woman’s right hand. ‘You can see that she’s made a fist, like she’s just about to punch someone. We call this Pugilistic Posture. It’s happened because the fire caused contractions in her arm. But bend a little closer and look.’
Sylvia stooped so her eyes were barely six inches from the blackened hand.
‘The skin around the inside of her middle two fingers on this hand is intact. The fire has blackened it and dried it considerably. We can rehydrate those areas and probably get prints. We’ve been lucky. The skin on the other hand is almost totally destroyed. The fire was probably hotter there.’
The Professore straightened up, put the back of his left hand against his spine and stretched. ‘A touch of rheumatism, I think. Besides the fingerprints, there’s plenty of bone left to get good DNA samples from. And there are enough teeth left for us to age her accurately, and maybe even identify her too.’
They stepped back and