‘So far, I’ve identified five knife wounds in the chest, all apparently from the same blade. Any one of them would have been fatal. Considerable force was used,’ she added. ‘One of the wounds was deep enough to nick the spinal cord.’
Gilchrist grimaced as a cold frisson coursed through him. ‘So… strong man, not woman?’
‘That would be my guess.’ Cooper looked away for a long moment, as if her mind were elsewhere. Then she faced him again. ‘Almost all of her internal organs have been removed.’
‘Almost?’ he heard himself say.
‘The kidneys have not been touched. They’re retroperitoneal, so would need to be taken out separately.’
Gilchrist felt his breath leave him. An unhealthy spasm gripped his chest. Head, skin, guts, fingernails, toenails, and now most of the internal organs. He sucked in air for all he was worth. What drove someone to kill another human being, then violate their corpse in such a cruel fashion? If the force used to kill Amy McCulloch had been sufficient for one of the knife blows to pierce her body all the way through to the spinal cord, the killer must have exhibited monumental fury.
‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ Cooper admitted.
‘No,’ was all Gilchrist could think to say.
‘You thought he might have done it before?’
‘I haven’t heard back from Jackie yet,’ he said, ‘so she’s likely found no other cases with a similar MO. Which means it’s new, and I’m wrong.’ He frowned. ‘What about surgical competence? Whoever removed the… the… must have had some idea what he was doing, don’t you think?’
She shook her head, blue eyes creasing at the edges – tiredness from next to no sleep last night or horror from the job today, he could not say. ‘If your purpose is simply to remove the internal organs for the hell of it,’ she said, ‘then no surgical skill is necessary. A saw to cut the ribcage, a rib spreader to hold it open while you cut through the oesophagus, trachea and rectum, then lift the whole lot out in one. Lungs, too.’
Gilchrist felt the bile rising. ‘And was a saw used?’
‘It was.’
‘And the ribcage clamped open?’
‘Yes.’
‘Any medical expertise evident at all?’ he asked.
‘The walls of the abdominal and pelvic cavities are scarred in places. So it was a bit ham-fisted. I’d say the killer has some postmortem experience, but no medical training.’
‘But if he is a medical professional, he might have scarred the cavities deliberately to make it look like an amateur job.’
‘True,’ she said. ‘So, what are you suggesting?’
Gilchrist rubbed his temples. His mind was buzzing. He had no idea what he was suggesting.
The phone on Cooper’s desk shattered the silence. They both stared at it for four rings, then she reached over and picked up the handset. ‘Yes?’
Gilchrist caught the metallic resonance of a man’s voice, but when Cooper’s gaze darted his way he took it as a silent request for privacy. He walked to the door and was turning the handle when he heard Cooper replacing the handset.
‘That was Mr Cooper,’ she said.
‘You didn’t have much to say to him.’
‘I ran out of things to say to him years ago.’
Silent, Gilchrist waited.
Cooper returned his gaze for what seemed like minutes, then said, ‘I’m sorry, Andy.’
Since her comment in Tentsmuir Forest that morning, he had been expecting her to bring their relationship to an end. After all, she was still married, and now her husband had returned from his overseas and out-of-town philandering to demand his conjugal rights, as she had so bluntly put it. Still, he’d hoped for one more evening, maybe another weekend, maybe even two.
‘I understand,’ he said.
She shook her head. ‘You don’t understand at all.’
He returned her hard look. He seemed to be good at saying nothing.
‘I’m sorry for getting you involved.’ She closed her eyes slowly and her lips tightened to warn him that she might be about to say something she would regret.
He stepped towards her, touched her arm.
She opened her eyes and he caught the faintest sparkle of tears. But two quick blinks and they were gone.
‘Do you love him?’ he asked.
She shook her head. ‘I used to think I did. But I see now that I was only in love with what I thought he could provide: security, companionship, intellectual compatibility. God, how wrong was I?’ She seemed to recover. ‘And I’m starting to find out just how spiteful he can be.’
‘Ah,’ said Gilchrist, worried about what was coming next.
He was not disappointed. ‘He knows about you,’ she said.
‘I’m sure he does. We talk on the phone-’
‘Don’t minimise me, for God’s sake. Christ, I hate it when you do that.’
He decided not to retaliate.
‘He knows about you and me. He knows about us.’
‘He suspects-’
‘No, Andy. He knows.’
Gilchrist waited a couple of beats. ‘Does that worry you?’
She looked stunned. ‘You’re missing the point.’
He most certainly was.
‘Mr Cooper has thrown down the gauntlet.’
‘Pistols at dawn?’
She cast him a nasty glance that warned him to be careful. ‘He phoned to remind me that he is an important man. And that an important man should be seen in the company of a professional woman – not one who is reputed to be putting it about town like the local slut. I think those were his exact words.’
‘Reputed?’
‘He’s had us followed, Andy.’
‘Ah,’ he said, sensing the manifestation of something unpleasant.
‘He has photographs of us together.’
‘Doing what, exactly?’ He smiled at her. ‘Unless he has an X-ray camera that can photograph through stone walls, then all he has are photographs of DCI Gilchrist of Fife Constabulary talking to Dr Cooper in her professional capacity as-’
‘Oh, come on, Andy. I stayed over at yours last night.’
‘Well, there is that, of course.’
Something seemed to shift within her, and she almost smiled. ‘Aren’t you worried about losing your job?’
‘Two consenting adults showing an interest in each other and developing a mutually respectful relationship that does not interfere in any shape or form with their professional responsibilities is hardly grounds for a sacking.’
‘Even with Chief Super Greaves in the sacking seat?’
‘You know about that, do you?’
‘That you’re not his favourite DCI?’
‘Ah, well, there you go.’
She shoved her hands through her hair, tilted her head back and shook it. If he did not know better, he would have said they were back on track.
‘Why don’t you just leave him?’ he asked.
Her blue eyes danced with his, then she said, ‘I’d better get on.’ She brushed past him and gripped the door handle. ‘I’ll try to get the PM report to you by this evening.’
He shook his head. ‘The day will be done by the time I debrief His Lordship Greaves. Tomorrow’s fine.’ Then, realising he had forgotten to ask earlier, ‘Any benzodiazepine in Brian McCulloch’s toxicology results?’
She nodded. ‘He had no intention of being saved.’
‘So you still think it’s suicide?’
‘I think you’re asking the wrong person. Isn’t that your job?’ She held his gaze for a long moment, then turned back to the door.
‘This might not be an appropriate time,’ he said.
She froze, her hand on the handle.
He hated himself for asking, hoped he did not sound desperate. ‘By the time Greaves is finished with me, I’ll be ready for a pint,’ he said. ‘Why don’t you come along? We can talk about Mr Cooper, if you like.’