‘Where was it?’
‘A house on Lloyd Road. It was a student party.’
‘Which students?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. There were hundreds of people coming and going. We only stayed an hour and then went onto another party. You know what it’s like.’
‘But you definitely saw Millie there?’ George persisted.
‘Yes.’ Lisa nodded. ‘She was standing with a couple of other girls. We didn’t talk; I just noticed her across the room.’
She didn’t pursue it, because Lisa was so upset. What she needed now was more information about how she died. Hopefully Claire would help.
After Lisa went next door to speak to the police, George called a taxi to take her to the mortuary. She had time as her next class wasn’t until one. She’d been to the mortuary several times and had once sat in on an autopsy. Before studying forensic psychology, she’d gone into medicine, intending to become a surgeon like her father. But it didn’t work out. With hindsight, she was pleased, because she’d found her true vocation.
The taxi dropped her off, and she walked into the new state-of-the-art mortuary which adjoined the local hospital. She headed down the wide, mildly antiseptic smelling corridor and pushed open the double door. Claire was seated at her desk in the office area. ‘Hello, how’s it going?’
‘Hectic,’ Claire replied, standing and walking over to greet her. ‘Did we have a meeting?’
‘No. I just popped in to ask you about Millie Carter. The girl found by the river this morning.’
‘You know I can’t discuss it with you.’
George had forgotten what a stickler for the rules she was. Much like herself. But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying. She wanted justice for Millie.
‘She was one of my students. I was the one who found her.’
‘I’m sorry. But I still can’t talk about the case with you. You know that,’ Claire said, shaking her head.
‘I understand. Can you confirm it was murder?’
‘What made you ask? Did you spend time looking over the body?’
‘Not really. But I noticed the way it was posed. It was unnatural, especially if the death was natural causes, suicide, or through a drug overdose.’
‘Yes. She was murdered,’ Claire confirmed. ‘And that’s all I can tell you.’
More than she officially knew before, which was a start.
She was just about to thank Claire when the door opened. They both turned to see who it was. Walker. Just the person she didn’t want to see at the moment.
‘Hello, Dr Dexter. Dr Cavendish, what are you doing here?’ Walker arched an eyebrow.
‘I called to see Dr Dexter.’
‘What about?’ Walker asked.
Should she tell her the truth? She expected it wouldn’t go down very well. ‘Dr Dexter guest lectures for me. I came in to discuss when we’ll next be seeing her.’
Claire stifled a snort by turning it into a cough. George shot a warning glance in her direction.
‘And you couldn’t do that on the phone? Or via email? Are you sure you weren’t here trying to find out about Millie Carter?’
George tensed. ‘I realise Dr Dexter can’t divulge any information.’
‘Good. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I have the case to discuss with Dr Dexter.’
‘I’ll call you later, Claire,’ George said, turning to leave and refusing to acknowledge Walker’s comments.
‘Do you feel better after that?’ Claire Dexter asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Whitney replied, trying not to smirk.
She didn’t appreciate Dr Cavendish attempting to muscle in on her case.
‘Yes, you do.’ Claire rolled her eyes upwards. ‘Right. You want to know about our victim. She’s over here.’
She followed Claire into the autopsy suite, the intense sterile hospital smell assaulting her nostrils. They headed over to one of the stainless-steel tables where the girl was lying. A big Y-shaped incision, which had been sewn up, covered her chest. Claire walked up close to the victim and turned on the directional light, illuminating her body.
‘See here?’ Claire pointed to purple marks on the victim’s neck. Four on the right and one on the left. ‘These bruises are from the strangulation. The killer was left-handed.’
‘Yes, I see them,’ she replied.
‘And these red dots on her eyelids. It’s what we call petechiae. Again, a symptom of strangulation.’
‘And that’s what killed her?’
‘Yes.’
Whitney shook her head in disgust. It made her sick what people could do. ‘Time of death?’
‘According to the rigor, I’d say between ten and two Sunday night. Also, the body had been moved. She wasn’t killed where she was found.’
Whitney wasn’t surprised. There had been no signs of struggle at the crime scene. Also, no signs of the body being dragged.
‘Any sexual assault?’
‘Bruising around the vaginal area is consistent with the victim being raped. No semen. He would’ve worn a condom. There was soap residue on the body, indicating she was washed down after, hence no other sign of trace evidence, like pubic hair, in that region.’
Whitney honed in on the marks around the victim’s wrists. ‘Anything on the ties? We know they tied her up from the photo left on the phone.’
‘If you look at the marks left on the wrists, they were from plastic cable ties, the sort you can buy in any DIY store.’
‘Any chance of being more specific? Can we identify the make of tie?’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I’ve examined under the nails for trace evidence. Skin. Fibre. Anything that might have accumulated under there, indicating signs of a struggle when she was taken. But there’s nothing. The ankles were also tied, only more loosely and leaving only slight abrasions. I’d say laces were used. The sort found in trainers.’
‘Make?’
‘Again, impossible to identify.’
She fought down the frustration. The lack of evidence. The positioning of the body. It all pointed to a cold and calculated attack. They were the worst crimes to solve.
‘If there are no signs of struggle, then it’s likely she knew her attacker,’ Whitney suggested.
‘It seems so, yes,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve looked at her stomach contents. Her last meal was strawberry jelly and vanilla ice cream. With chocolate sprinkles.’
‘The sort of food you give to children at parties.’ What sort of deranged mind would feed that to their captive?
‘I found traces of ice cream and several sprinkles an inch up her nasal passage, which leads me to conclude she’d been force fed and he cleaned her up, missing what wasn’t visible.’
‘How long before she died had she eaten?’
‘Judging by the breakdown of the food, I’d say about three hours.’
‘Is there anything else I need to know?’
‘I’m waiting for the results of the blood test, from toxicology. I’ll forward them once they’ve arrived.’
‘Thanks. Let me know if Dr Cavendish comes sniffing around again. I don’t want her interfering in my investigation.’