Chapter 17
Seventeen
‘Thanks for coming,’ Keats said as Penn entered the morgue.
Keats was already washing up. The fact he had watched him gown up without informing him he was done sent Penn a clear message.
‘Sorry I’m late. Got talking to a key witness,’ he said, still unsure how integral a witness Irene would prove to be.
‘I’m sure it was far more important than listening to the last words the victim will ever say,’ Keats huffed.
As Keats removed his gloves in the anteroom, Penn followed suit and realised that was probably the shortest amount of time he’d ever worn protective clothing.
He’d long ago learned not to take the man’s brusqueness personally.
It wasn’t directed at him. It was aimed at anyone who wasn’t the boss.
For some reason, it was as though he felt slighted if anyone other than the boss attended the post-mortem, like they weren’t giving the process the respect it deserved.
He knew Keats didn’t mind his attendance, even enjoyed the fact he asked lots of questions… but ultimately he wasn’t the boss.
‘You know, young man, this is the last message Ashley is ever going to send. Her final words will come through me, and I will listen carefully to everything she has to tell me. I am beyond annoyed—’
‘The boss was on her way here when she was summoned to the station by DCI Woodward.’
‘Ah, I see,’ Keats said, removing his cap.
Penn’s white lie seemed to have mollified him. He’d only lied because he could see the man’s point. Through his skill, they would get details they could learn nowhere else.
‘Your victim was one of the healthiest customers I’ve ever seen. All vital organs were in optimum condition. No evidence of smoking and no damage from alcohol. Heart, lungs, kidneys, liver would not have been out of place in a woman seven years younger.’
Penn said nothing.
‘There was a single stab wound that punctured the heart in the inferior vena cava area.’
Penn knew that the vena cava were two large veins in the body. The superior vena cava collected blood from the head, neck, arms and chest, and the inferior vena cava from the legs, feet and abdominal organs.
The woman had been struck in the largest vein in the human body.
‘The cause of death was blood loss, and she would have died two to five minutes after injury.’
‘That’s still a long time,’ Penn said.
Keats nodded. ‘Even with immediate medical attention, there would have been little chance of saving her.’
‘Weapon?’ Penn asked tentatively.
‘Obviously a knife, and I’d say judging by the depth of the wound we’re looking for a seven-to-nine-inch blade.’
‘Kitchen knife?’
‘Most likely,’ Keats said, totally aware it was the least traceable kind. Every kitchen had knives, and every family member had access to them.
‘Defensive wounds?’ Penn asked.
Keats nodded. ‘To the hands and forearms. Exactly as you would expect with this type of crime.’
‘Okay, Keats, thanks.’
‘Oh, my boy, I thought I’d taught you better than that.’
Shit, he was not getting himself back into favour any time soon.
‘Sorry, my mistake. Is there anything more I should know?’
‘Yes, my boy. When you find the person responsible, you should be charging them with two counts of murder.’
‘Why would—? Oh no,’ he said as the penny dropped.
Keats nodded as his face filled with sadness.
‘Yes, our girl was around two and a half months pregnant.’