Page 15 of The Dark Hiss of Magic
I smiled disarmingly. ‘I’d rather not.’
‘It’s procedure.’
‘I bribed your receptionist to get in here,’ I said. ‘I don’t think we need to worry too much about your procedure.’
Dr Singh stood his ground. ‘Sign it,’ he said. ‘Please.’
I didn’t want any official record of my visit, but complaining wouldn’t endear me to the pathologist and I needed him on my side. As I scanned the sheet, I realised it was the form for John Doe; there was a different page for each body. It appeared that even the dead couldn’t escape mindless bureaucracy.
Pursing my lips, I scrawled my name, making sure that my writing was virtually illegible.
‘Thank you,’ Dr Singh said and returned the clipboard to its place. He glanced at the troll who was still shrouded on the gurney, then at the lockers, then at me. ‘Have you seen a dead body up close before, Ms McCafferty?’
There was only one answer to that. ‘Yes.’ Dozens upon dozens. And I had been responsible for most of them.
‘Because, if you’re going to faint or vomit or do anything that will cause problems…’
‘I’ll be fine, Dr Singh.’ I smiled faintly. ‘I promise.’
Apparently he believed me. ‘Very well.’ He pulled on a pair of gloves then opened the fourth locker along; annoyingly, it was the one I’d been about to open before I’d been interrupted.
The pathologist slid out the long tray until John Doe’s body was fully displayed. His eyes were still wide open but his clothing had been removed and I could see the marks where the netting had snagged his legs. I grimaced at the red welts on his pale, dead skin although Dr Singh barely looked at them. His focus was on the wounds closer to John Doe’s head, around his neckline, his torso and on his cheek.
‘The last time we had a body pulled from the Tweed, it was virtually unrecognisable,’ he said. ‘This is quite extraordinary. In comparison, this man is in pristine condition.’
‘There were lots of witches present who used spells to keep the monsters at bay while they tried to rescue the other man,’ I said.
‘They did a good job. There are only a few bite marks thatseem to come from those creatures.’ He pointed them out. ‘Here. And here. But this wound,’ he motioned towards a smaller and neater mark, ‘is not from any river beast.’
It was only a few inches wide, on the edge of John Doe’s ribs. It hadn’t been visible when he’d still been clothed in his wet shirt, but it was clear enough now.
‘A straight-edged sword did this,’ I breathed. I shook my head. ‘The blade was thin but it must be very long because it’s been angled upwards. Some sort of rapier, perhaps.’
I stepped to the side to get a better view. ‘It could well have reached far enough through his ribcage to pierce his heart. There aren’t many places in Coldstream where you can get something like that. They’re not for self-defence – they’re purely for murder.’ I continued gazing at the wound then realised abruptly that Dr Singh was staring at me. I coughed and stepped back.
‘Who are you really, Ms McCafferty?’ he asked. He tilted his head. ‘Actually, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.’
He returned the body to the locker and closed the door. ‘I think we both know that John Doe didn’t accidentally fall into the river and drown. He was murdered. His killer probably imagined that the river creatures would make short work of his body but hadn’t reckoned on a bunch of witches casting spells to hold the hungry monsters back. I think John Doe’s post-mortem has just been brought forward.’
‘Today?’
‘Hopefully.’ He looked at the shrouded troll. ‘Tomorrow morning at the latest.’
‘What about his personal effects?’ I asked.
Dr Singh hesitated. The confirmation that John Doe had been murdered rather than killed in a freak accident meant that my presence and my questions should be treated with greater caution. ‘They’ll be locked away in the room opposite,’ he saidquietly. ‘I have no objection to showing them to you, but this is now a murder investigation. I have to consider the chain of evidence and inform the MET and the witches’ council, who might want to take over the matter.’
The witches’ council would care if this was Quentin Hightower’s body, but I wasn’t convinced they’d care about John Doe even if he was a witch. I nodded anyway; perhaps we’d get lucky and somebody with more resources and ability than me would take up his cause. I certainly hoped so.
‘Will you be here tomorrow morning?’ I asked. ‘I can come back when you’ve found out who is looking into his murder. If the MET or the witches’ council are investigating, then John Doe doesn’t need me.’
Dr Singh nodded sombrely.
‘Meanwhile,’ I continued, ‘perhaps I can try to find out more about the druid who broke in and stole your lab coat. Quid pro quo.’ I wanted to find out who he was because he was linked somehow to my John Doe. He had to be. Find the druid and there was a very good chance I’d learn John Doe’s identity.
The pathologist looked sceptical. ‘You really don’t know who he is?’
‘No.’ I met his eyes. ‘I haven’t lied to you, Dr Singh. Not once.’
