Scream Blue Murder

by Linda Coles

  There was little sense in moving the body to another venue across town; it was much easier for Douglas to go where he was needed. Faye had already sent specimen samples and photos across to him and given him a heads-up about what they were looking at. She could do no more at this stage apart from wait for Dr Douglas to arrive and try to steady her nerves. Everything was ready and waiting to be confirmed.

  Dr Kevin Douglas was a distinctive man to look at—tall and dark, though not particularly attractive. She’d heard colleagues politely refer to him as having a face for radio. Standing at around 6 ft 6 in height, he had dark hair that started from his temples and hung down to touch his collar. The dome of his head, however, was as shiny as a new coin. He reminded Faye of Herman Munster.

  He smiled directly at her as he entered the office, and once again, she was struck by how slim he was; he looked like he could snap at the waist at any moment. She stood and greeted him with her outstretched hand, which he took gently; his was almost twice the size of her own. His fingers were so long and thin they resembled the plastic skeleton’s that hung on a stand in the corner of her office. She wondered if he played the piano.

  “Dr Douglas, it's good to see you again,” she said, tilting her head back to connect her eyes to his. He stood nearly a foot taller than her.

  “Please, just call me Kevin,” he said, smiling. His eyes were an intense hazel and reminded Faye of the glass bead eyes on a teddy bear she’d had as a youngster. Clear and wonderfully warm.

  “And obviously I'm Faye Mitchell.”

  “It's good to see you again, too. How have you been keeping?”

  “Well, apart from being second-guessed in this case, I've been great, thank you. And you?” She wasn’t trying to sound smart, and instantly regretted voicing her nerves at Douglas.

  “The same here, thanks. And I wouldn't worry about being second-guessed, Faye, because from those photos and samples you’ve sent me already, I can see what the outcome will be. But I have been tasked with performing a second autopsy, so that's what I'm here to do, and it's good to have you alongside me.”

  You can tell so much about a man by the way he speaks, Faye thought, and Dr Kevin Douglas was a gentleman. He might not be a poster boy, but he was warm, friendly and well mannered. She felt herself relax; her shoulders settled back at their normal angle. Somehow, she felt reassured that the work she’d already completed and the conclusion she’d come to would not be disputed.

  “Shall we?”

  Faye couldn't help smiling; it felt like he was asking her to dance. He led her out into her own autopsy suite, where she grabbed disposable aprons and gloves and passed a set to him.

  For Faye, it was always a pleasant experience to see another pathologist at work, particularly someone as esteemed as Kevin Douglas. As the body of Callum Parker was examined once again from head to foot, all Faye could do was stand back and watch and answer any questions he had of her and her findings. When it came to the main areas of concern—the brain and the neck bones—he referred back to the photographs and the reports that she had already given him.

  “You've done a very thorough job, Faye, and from what I've seen so far I'm inclined to agree with your results. I see no congenital aneurysm that could have caused the haemorrhage, and when I look at the vertebral arteries, I can clearly see a rupture. Obviously, I'm going to have to write up a full report, but your summation is correct—that it wasn't the sudden braking but rather the forced turning of the steering wheel so frantically that dislocated his spine, which in turn ruptured the artery, resulting in the haemorrhage.” He turned and smiled at Faye reassuringly, knowing himself how unpleasant it was to be second-guessed.

  “Well, I am relieved that you agree. I was certain of my findings, of course, and it's unfortunate that the family wanted this, but I can understand why.”

  “Oh, me too. Like I say, I'll write up a report saying that I concur with what you have found, and add in the fact that all the smoking and arguing and fighting could well have accelerated it. We’ll never know for certain if it could have been avoided.”

  “I wonder what the family will do next. Will they let this go now?”

  “Faye, your guess is as good as mine,” Kevin said. “In my experience, many are satisfied, but others just won't let it lie. The Parkers may file a civil case against the officer involved, but the evidence is clear, Faye. You and I both arrived at the same conclusion; there would be little point in a third autopsy. It’s one of those freaky things that happened. The human body is a complex machine, and sometimes we have no control over what it can do. In this case, Callum Parker died from his own actions and nobody else was to blame.”

  “I agree.”

  “I think we’re done here,” he said, checking the clock on the wall and pulling his gloves and plastic apron off at the same time. “I don't know about you, Faye, but I'm rather peckish. Have you got time for coffee somewhere? I saw a small café not far away from here, on the way in.”

  “I know the one, and they bake the best muffins if you fancy one.” His smile told her he was interested. “And I also have something else for you to take a look at, if you don’t mind?”

  “Not at all. I am at your disposal,” he said, smiling down at her.

  Faye felt herself get a little warm around her face and neck.

  She was blushing.

  Chapter Sixty-Four

  While she'd been in with Kevin Douglas doing the second autopsy on Callum Parker, better copies of the files had landed. And because her PA knew she was waiting for them, she had printed them out and placed them on her desk ready. Faye eyed them as she and Kevin passed by.

  “Just give me a minute, would you Kevin? I'll be right with you.” Gathering up the photos, she glanced at them quickly, noting that they were in fact somewhat clearer. She stuffed them into a nearby folder to take with her. When being asked for a second opinion, or asking someone else for one, Faye liked to have her own already established first, but in this instance, there hadn't been time—she'd explain along the way.

  The two doctors walked the short distance to the café around the corner. The smell of freshly roasted coffee beans and warm muffins hung on the air.

  By way of conversation, Faye said, “This is my favourite café, so I'm very lucky it's so close to work.” Kevin held the door open for her and she slipped inside. It was modern in décor—glass, slate, concrete, tiled floors, bare walls—but filled with local artists’ depictions of trendy local scenes in various muted shades. She noticed Kevin glancing around the walls, looking at the various pieces.

  “They look quite good to me,” she commented. “I've often thought about buying one myself.” Kevin was gazing at one in particular, an impression of the old asylum that had been knocked down to make way for the prison. “It looks a bit creepy, don't you think?” said Faye. “It was knocked down only fairly recently. The local loony bin, as it would have been called years ago, though you wouldn't get away with calling it that these days. And not everybody that got locked up in there was officially loony.” Kevin raised his eyebrows in agreement. “Medicine has come a long way in a very short space of time, don't you think? And we’re much more open to discussing some illnesses. It’s okay to talk about mental health and depression, for instance, but certainly not back then. It was easier to medicate and hibernate. Except they didn't wake up again in the spring.”

  Kevin gave her his strange, sad smile again. “I often wonder what happened to all those people,” he mused. “Sad, really. I guess they are out in the community somewhere, struggling.”

  They placed their order and took seats at a small table by the window. It was always busy there, with mainly local workers buying food to go. It was a bit far out for local shoppers, so people tended to pop in grab what they needed and dash off again. It was good business for the café owners. No one sat lingering with laptops, making a single coffee last all day.

  Faye pulled the file out while they waited for their drinks to arrive. “
If I could impose on your brain a while longer?” she enquired.

  “Absolutely. What is it?”

  “I haven't seen these new photos myself yet, but I'd be interested in your opinion anyway. So I'm not going to say anything, but I’ll hand them over and let you peruse them, tell me what you think.” She nudged them towards him across the table and watched Kevin pull his reading glasses out of the top pocket of his jacket and slip them on the end of his nose. The brown tortoiseshell rims made the honey of his eyes look even richer. She felt herself blushing slightly again at the thought of what she just envisaged. While Kevin wasn't the most attractive oil painting in the world, she found herself drawn to him for some reason, and in particular his honey-coloured eyes. She pulled her gaze away quickly before he noticed—she hoped he hadn't done so already.

  Faye sat quietly while he looked over each photo in turn, picking them up and holding them closer to see. He didn't say anything. A waitress arrived at Faye’s shoulder with a tray carrying coffee and their muffins, and Faye could immediately see the girl's predicament—where should she put their order down? She also saw the young woman turning pale as she realised she was looking at autopsy pictures. Kevin perceptively became aware at the same time and hurriedly gathered all the photos together, placing the one he was most interested in on top, allowing the young woman to put the tray down. She scurried off like a mouse escaping a cat’s grasp. When she had gone, Kevin burst out laughing and Faye couldn't help joining in, their eyes meeting across the table.

  “Oops,” said Kevin. “That’ll put her off food for today.”

  Faye pushed Kevin's coffee across to him along with his muffin and took a sip of her own while he studied the photograph on the top of the stack. She broke the crunchy part off the top of the muffin and began to eat, giving the man time to gather his thoughts.

  “I'm guessing this is an old case, and I'm also guessing you have no samples?”

  “Correct.”

  “I'm also guessing you think this could be a similar case to what we’ve been working on this morning?”

  “Correct again,” she said, taking another bite. Icing sugar gathered on her chin and self-consciously she wiped it off with her napkin.

  “Well,” he said, “it's hard to be sure from this printout, but I'd say you could be looking at the same thing. Look,” he said, pointing to a particular area. “That could be dislocation. I wonder why the original pathologist who performed the autopsy didn’t spot it?”

  Faye had another idea come to her.

  “Or maybe it was the photographer who inadvertently did spot it, with the camera angle perhaps?”

  “That’s possible, I suppose, and perhaps the pathologist simply overlooked it or wasn’t aware of the photographic outcome, having already seen what he’d seen with his own eyes and made his decision. It’s possible. And maybe fifteen years ago it hadn’t been seen before? I’m guessing, of course. You’d have to do some research.”

  Faye sat back and chewed quietly, deep in thought. The implications were massive—life-changing, in this case.

  “This person is very likely to have experienced the same outcome: a ruptured artery, just like our friend Mr Parker. What's the situation with this case now?” Kevin asked.

  “He’s been in prison for murder ever since.”

  Kevin raised his eyebrows. “Murder?” He sounded incredulous.

  “Yes, apparently so. DC Jack Rutherford remembered the case from when we started working on the current one, and he had a look into it. It seems a bit over the top. Don't you think?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “So how can we prove otherwise with what we've got here? And what can we do to help the man?”

  “We find the original pathologist, first off. After that, there is only one way as far as I can see.”

  Faye felt she understood what he meant but needed to be sure. “Exhumation.”

  “Got it in one,” he said. “Let’s hope we don’t need to go that far.”

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  No one liked a dirty copper, and no one liked a dirty pathologist either. Faye’s head was swimming with reasons why the great Dr Charles Winstanley had made such a catastrophic error, one that had resulted in a man being imprisoned for nearly fifteen years. How she approached it was going to be awkward—he was her old tutor, no less—but meant that an innocent man had gone to prison. Someone had to help put it right. Winstanley was pretty much retired now, but fifteen years ago he would still have been extremely competent. Not that retirement meant you weren't competent, of course, but age sometimes dulled the mind; there was a reason why people retired from such a technical job.

  As Kevin and Faye left the café there was a comfortable silence between them and she assumed Kevin was thinking along the same lines—and feeling glad it wasn't him that had to do the deed in confronting the great doctor. Traffic whizzed by as though nothing traumatic was going on in the drivers’ heads, and in truth most of them probably hadn’t much to worry about, save for the usual—paying the mortgage, getting the kids to school on time or what to have for dinner. She doubted anybody was wondering about how to get an innocent man out of prison and how to approach a revered pathologist about the fact that he'd made a grave error.

  Kevin broke the silence and said, “I can help where I can, if you'd like me to, but I totally understand if you don't want me anywhere near it. It's your case, Faye.”

  “I appreciate that. Thank you,” she said, still facing forward as they walked. “The first thing I need to do is talk to Jack and see what’s what, and then someone needs to pay Mr Winstanley a visit. I'm not relishing the job, not only because he was my teacher, but because I work with his daughter here in the lab. This is not going to go down too well, is it?”

  “No. I see what you mean. I know that his son is a pathologist up in Manchester too. I've worked with him a couple of times, actually. He’s a decent bloke.”

  “The whole family are, which is why I wonder about this slipup. How could he have missed it?”

  “Well, maybe in his head, he already had the answer and didn’t need to see the images, what was really in the photographs, because he'd done the autopsy. He knew with his own eyes what he’d seen, but the angle that the photographer managed to capture inadvertently is all we have to go on. Luckily, we have that. It’s photographic evidence now over memory.”

  “But surely Winstanley looked at the photographs afterwards. You know, during the trial?

  “But if he didn't see it the first time in the lab, he wouldn't be looking for it when giving evidence. And the image printouts were not very clear because of the low-resolution copies. They are clear now, because we know what we’re looking at and we have the much bigger master. They didn’t email that size of file back then; the computers probably couldn’t cope with the sizes. I know it sounds like I'm making excuses, but it is quite feasible that that's what happened and it's just something that got missed by chance.”

  “I need to go and see Jack and Amanda urgently,” she said. “They'll know what to do, because now we have evidence of a wrongful imprisonment. Maybe one of them will go and see Winstanley. Getting the man out now could be quite a task, but this is new evidence, so hopefully they'll be able to use it. It doesn't matter why the pathologist missed it; it matters that it’s put right. Don't you think?”

  “I absolutely do. Yes, figure out Charles Winstanley later, but let the police know now.”

  They were back at the building now and as they entered the lift to go back upstairs, they let the subject drop and turned to small talk. Faye knew there was nothing more she could do until she’d spoken to Jack, though she thought maybe she should go through it again and try to find another possible explanation. She couldn't mention this to anybody within her office; she had to keep it to herself.

  The doors opened on Faye’s floor and they walked past the fish tank and headed back to her desk, where they said their formal goodbyes.

  “Do you want me t
o take a copy of this file away?” Kevin enquired.

  She couldn't immediately see why he’d want to copy, but he was offering; it could come in useful in the future, she surmised.

  “I’ll get a copy made if you can hang on for a moment,” she said, and took the file out to her PA to be copied. The two walked slowly back to reception together, just passing time while her PA did the necessary and caught them up. Once at the entrance door again, Faye thanked Kevin once more for coming in and for corroborating her results on the Parker case.

  “No corroborating needed, really, Faye,” he said. “You are correct in your summation, as I said. That's exactly what happened, and I found the same thing. The guy killed himself, in effect—an unfortunate, freaky accident that nobody could have seen coming and nobody but Callum Parker could have stopped.”

  The PA came over and handed over the copies Faye had requested. Faye passed them to Kevin.

  “It was nice meeting you, Kevin,” she said.

  “And you too, Faye. Maybe if I'm passing, we could sample another muffin together. What do you think?” His eyes twinkled like warm, clear honey again, and Faye couldn't help but smile. And agree.

  Walking away back to her office, she couldn't understand why she was smiling and then she realised—she quite liked Kevin.

  But she needed to motor on with this now and call Jack immediately. She dialled his number and he picked up right away.

  “I have some news for you, Jack. Are you able to come this way?”

  “What's up, Doc?” he said. He sounded like Bugs Bunny.

  “I’ve got something I'm sure you'll be interested in, and I don't want to leave it any longer, or say it over the phone. I've got stuff I’ve got to get on with here, but I’m hoping you're a little freer?”