by Marian Phair
Roger Green walked ahead of the officer’s, and stood holding the door open for them. Just as they were leaving, Claire called out from the front room.
“Officer Holmes, you’ve left your notepad on the arm of the settee.”
Tom Holmes made a big performance of patting his breast pockets.
“So I did,” he stated. “Excuse me, I won’t be a moment, I’ll just get my notepad.” He stepped back through the doorway before Roger could close the door, and behind Roger’s back signalled his partner to keep Roger talking, then turned, and went back to the living room.
Retrieving his note pad, he thanked her. “I’d have been in trouble if I’d mislaid this,” he told her, as he quickly flipped a few pages over, pretending to scan it. “Damn, I forgot to ask your husband a couple of questions. My boss will do his nut, if I don’t do my job properly.”
“Maybe I can answer your questions officer; what is it you wish to know?” she asked.
“That’s very good of you, Mrs Green, I won’t keep you long. I realise time is getting on, and you have a doctors appointment. I hope it’s nothing serious, by-the-way?”
“Oh no, I have regular check-ups every six weeks or so. Ever since the car accident that left me in a wheelchair. I have high blood pressure and one or two other minor complications, but nothing serious, or life threatening,” she smiled at him.
“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” he told her.
“When did the accident happen?”
“It’s more than three years ago now,” Claire replied.
“And your husband has always been your full time carer?”
“When I first got out of the hospital, Roger had to give up his job. I hated what he did, but he enjoyed it, and the money was good. Then as time went by, I wasn’t so dependant on him, and he was able to get part time work as a road sweeper with the council. Then, I had a fall and suffered a relapse, and he was forced to care for me full time. I don’t know how I would cope without him.”
“I’m sure you don’t, Mrs Green, it appears you have a very caring husband.”
“Yes, he is. It’s not much of a life for him really, he has very few friends and hardly any social life at all, but when you make your marriage vows, you take each other for richer or poorer, and in sickness and health. We none of us know what awaits us.”
“That’s true, but maybe that’s a good thing,” he said.
“So what was your husband’s job, before he became a road sweeper for the council?”
“He worked at Creswell’s Meat Packers.”
Before the officer could ask her any more questions, Roger’s voice called down the hall.
“How much longer are you going to take, officer, I’ve got to get my wife to the doctor?” They didn’t hear him approach, his slippers made no sound on the parquet floor, and when he spoke from the doorway, they both jumped.
“It’s taking you long enough to collect your notebook, officer. I’d like you to leave now,” he scowled at Tom Holmes.
“I’m just leaving,” Tom told the irate Roger. Turning to Claire, he thanked her, and wished her well at the doctors.
In the car, Pete Morgan asked his companion, “Well, what was that all about?”
“It would appear you’re not the only one with a silver tongue around here.” Tom grinned at him, and then he told him what Claire Green had revealed about her husband. Pete Morgan reached for the two way radio.
“One eight three to control.”
“Go ahead, one eight three.”
“We’re heading East to Creswell’s Meat Packers, acting on information received, over.”
“Roger that, one eight three, do you require back-up?“
“Answer no. That’s a negative, control.”
“Roger, one eight three, over and out.”
CHAPTER 35
In the mortuary, Lucas Bradley’s cold body lay on a gurney awaiting an autopsy.
The stainless steel dissection table, with the lip around the edge that would direct his bodily fluids to the drain at one end, stood in readiness to receive his corpse. Attached to this was a sink of the same material, with a large container on one end waiting to receive his organs. These would be examined and dissected after they had been weighed on the scales above the sink, and their weights recorded on the blackboard on the far wall. The stainless steel refrigerated cabinet in the corner, along with the rest of the steel furnishing, reflected the bodies of the men, as they went about their tasks.
When Dan Carter, entered, Tobias Smythe, the photographer, was busy taking pictures of Lucas’s corpse, as each item of Lucas’s bloody clothing was removed. Tobias clicked away with his camera, and he would remain there to make a photographic record of the entire procedure. An exhibits officer was standing by ready to take any samples of materials stuck to the skin before the body was washed, and the pathology technician, Eric Watts, was preparing the body.
The M.E watched as his assistant carefully combed through Lucas’s hair, and took a hair sample, before turning his attention to the hands, and taking scrapings from under the fingernails. Dan greeted the crew assisting with the autopsy.
“If you’re all ready, gentlemen, I’ll get started.” He turned to where Tobias Smythe stood waiting.
“Have you got all your shots from the front, Toby?” he asked him.
“Yeah, Dan, I’m done,” Tobias replied.
Eric stepped to the side to allow the Medical Examiner room to do his assessment of the body. “I’ve taken the x-rays, so we’re good to go if you want to take over now, I’ll assist you by logging and recording,” he said to the M.E.
“Okay, Eric, this will be case number one zero nine. Get ready to mark off on your diagram the order of findings.” They transferred the body to the dissection table.
Dan switched on his microphone and gave the body before him his full attention “The body is cold, and there’s no sign of rigor, which would be what I’d expect to find at this stage, considering the length of time we have had the body. There are no obvious external wounds,” he said, as he continued to examine the body under the bright lights.
“Okay, Eric,” he said to the technician. “Help me turn him.”
They turned Lucas’s corpse onto its stomach, and the camera clicked away. Using a magnifying lens, Dan examined the head. Lucas’s dark curly hair was clotted with blood. Carefully parting the hair, he discovered a head wound.
“The victim suffered a blow to the back of the head,” he said into the microphone. “There is a hole where something has entered the head, but there is no exit wound, and this doesn’t look like a bullet wound.” He took a scalpel, and carefully shaved away the hair around the wound. “Whatever caused this wound, it was certainly not a bullet,” he stated. “Since this is the only injury to be found, Eric, this is where I’ll start the autopsy.”
Dan made his incision at the back of the neck, easing the skin and muscles off the bone and with the help of his assistant, folded it forward over the face, out of the way.
“There is a hole in the suboccipital area at the base of the skull, and the area is fractured,” he told his assistant. “This is where whatever was used to kill him, entered the skull.” He selected a handsaw from the tools at his disposal, and carefully scored around the skull, cutting through the bone, nerves, and blood vessels. When this was done, he used the cranium chisel and gently completed the separation.
The surgical scissors looked small in his bloody gloved hand as he carefully cut through, and opened the dura mater, exposing the brain.
“Have we got his x-rays back yet?” he asked Eric. “We need to reconstruct what happened to him.” The x-rays arrived as Dan asked the question.
Eric went over to the light box and put the x-ray films on it, the damage to the skull and brain was plain to see.
“There’s a dark hole in the back of the head about two inches across,” he told Dan.
“Yes, I know that,” Dan said, as he left the body and came across
to where his assistant stood, looking at the inside of Lucas Bradley’s skull on the x-ray.
“You can see where whatever has been used to kill him has penetrated through the bony structure of the skull, into his brain. What the hell is that thing anyway?” the technician asked him.
“That, my friend, is a bolt from a Captive Bolt Gun. In fact, it’s from a Free Bolt Stunner, if I’m not mistaken.”
“What the heck is a Captive Bolt Pistol?” Eric asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a pistol used to stun cattle ready for slaughter. It uses a pointed bolt which is propelled by pressurised air or a blank cartridge. The bolt, when fired, penetrates the skull of the animal, and enters the cranium, causing catastrophic damage to the cerebrum and part of the cerebellum,” Dan explained, as he studied the x-rays.
“So it effectively causes the destruction of the brains vital centres.” Eric was impressed. “How come you know about these pistols?”
“My interest was piqued when I read in an American Forensic journal, that one of these pistols had been used as a weapon in two separate murder cases,” Dan said, as he continued to study the x-rays. “The fact that the bolt can clearly be seen here, would indicate that a Free Bolt Stunner was used to kill Lucas Bradley,” he pointed with a bloody, gloved finger.
“It’s normally used in an emergency in field euthanasia, on large farm animals such as bulls, that can’t be restrained,” Dan told his assistant.
“But how can you tell which pistol was used, what’s the difference?” Eric asked.
“The Free Bolt, differs from a true Captive Bolt Gun, in that the projectile is not retractable, it is similar in operation to a conventional firearm. But that gives us another problem to solve.” he said thoughtfully.
“What sort of problem?”
“How did the killer get close enough to use the pistol in the first place, and why are there no signs that Lucas Bradley put up a fight for his life?” Dan moved away from the light box and went back to the body lying on the cold, stainless steel dissection table.
“I’m afraid you’ve lost me on this one, doc,” Eric told the M.E.
“These guns, Eric, are only capable of firing when pressed up firmly against a surface. In this case, the back of Lucas Bradley’s head. The device, when used for its proper purpose, as you now know, fires a small projectile through the animals skull.
The animal can then either be left to die from the wound, or lethal drugs can be administered by a vet.”
“Yeah, and in the case of this poor soul, left to die from his wound in a freezer,”
Eric said, looking over to where Lucas lay.
With a sigh, Dan Carter turned back to the task of completing the autopsy.
The damaged brain was removed and weighed, its weight dutifully recorded on the blackboard, by Eric Watts, who then placed it in formalin to preserve it for later dissection. The formalin would give the brain greater firmness, which would allow the M.E to conduct a neater, and more accurate dissection, of this vital piece of evidence. The rest of the autopsy followed the normal procedure with the removal, weighing, slicing, and recording, of all major organs. The stomach contents, vitreous gel from the eye, blood, and other fluid samples, were sent to the various departments for analysis, as the autopsy went on. Then, the organs were put back into the body, minus the slices preserved. Dan had just replaced the breast bone and ribcage, and was sewing up the body, when Eric came over with a report from a lab technician.
“The bile from the gall bladder shows CHCl3, our colourless, sweet-smelling friend, Chloroform. So I guess we now know how the killer was able to overcome his victim.
Lucas Bradley was a big guy, so his killer would have to be taller and stronger to take him down without a struggle,” Eric said.
Dan removed his bloody gloves, and discarded them in the waste bin.
“You finish up here, Eric. Wash the body and get it ready for the funeral director, while I write the report. This has been one hell of a day!”
CHAPTER 36
Ruth could hardly contain her excitement as she prepared herself for a night of passion. If Scott Holden thought he was flying back to America at the end of the week on business, she would give him something else to think about while he was away, something that would bring him back to Abbeville, and back to her!
Everything had worked out in her favour since Scott invited her to dine with him at Molly’s. Molly would be away visiting a friend and wouldn’t be returning until the following day. Sally was staying over at the Taylor’s house, where her playmate, Julie, was holding a pyjama party, and Father Patrick had told her he was retiring early, having had another of his ‘headaches’and he didn’t wish to be disturbed.
She hummed to herself as she stood in front of the mirror, putting blusher around her nipples to make them look more defined. After her shower she had applied a slight film of baby oil to her lightly tanned skin, giving it a lovely sheen. She had brushed her hair until it shone, and had taken great pains with her make-up, outlining her lips before filling them in with crimson lipstick, then adding a touch of lipgloss, they looked full and inviting. She had planned her outfit carefully, opting for a black, lacy thong, that tied on the hips, and would be easily removed for what she had planned. She then eased her breasts into the matching bra. Putting on the stockings and suspender belt, she posed in front of the mirror, as she had seen many an actress do for a press photographer. She placed one leg in front of the other, and lifted her heel, noticing how the pose gave the illusion of longer and leaner legs and body.
‘Well, ladies, if it works for you, it’ll work for me,’ she said to her reflection, slipping her arms into the sleeves of the white, silk blouse, she had chosen to wear, leaving the top button undone to give him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. She pulled on a skirt, and its matching jacket, then as a final touch, added a bright red, silk scarf. She took one final look in the mirror, as she pushed her feet into her high-heeled court shoes. She looked like someone’s personal assistant, elegant and refined.
Downstairs, she checked her watch. It was twenty past seven, time to put her plan into action. Picking up the phone, she dialled Molly Flemmings number. After two rings she heard the receiver being picked up.
“Hi there, you’ve reached the Flemmings.” Scott’s sexy drawl came down the line. “Scott, I’m on my way over, don’t forget to put on the tape I gave you, at seven thirty.”
“Hi, babe, I can’t wait for you to get here. Dinner will be ready to eat at around eight, if that’s okay?”
“Eight o’clock will be fine, Scott. I missed lunch, so I’m looking forward to getting something hot and tasty inside me.”
“Honey, I’ve got something hot right here that can’t wait to get inside you,”
he whispered down the line, his voice low and husky. Ruth felt herself getting moist at the innuendo.
“I’m on my way, Scott. Don’t forget to put on the tape at seven thirty, okay?”
“What’s so important about this tape?” he asked.
“Scott, please. Will you do as I ask?” Ruth pleaded.
“Sure thing, honey, now get over here before I head over there to get you.” He was about to hang up when she remembered something else.
“Scott, have you still got that envelope I gave you along with the tape?”
“Sure, you told me I wasn’t to open it, and I haven’t.”
“Well, when you’ve put on the music, I want you to open the letter and read it, and follow the instructions. Got that?” she asked him.
“Yes, ma’am. You’re being very mysterious, what’s going on?”
“You’ll find out soon enough, just do as I ask.” Ruth hung up before he could answer.
Scott went over to the corner unit and inserted the tape into the recorder as Ruth had requested. He was mildly surprised when he heard the voice of Errol Brown come into the room singing ‘You Sexy Thing.’ He smiled, half listening to the lyrics as he opened and read
the letter Ruth had given him the day before.
When I come to you tonight, these are my rules. You’re not allowed to speak to me, or come near to me; you must just remain seated in your chair. I can touch you, and do anything I want to do. You will bend to my will.
YOU are not allowed to touch me, not with your hands, mouth, tongue, or penis. No part of your body will be allowed to touch mine.
Only your eyes and your imagination are allowed to roam.
Scott found his heart starting to beat a little faster, caught up in the moment, wondering what Ruth had planned. He went over and switched the tape on to replay. It was exactly seven thirty.
He was sitting quietly when she came in. Ignoring him, she walked around the room as if taking in the furnishings. Placing one high-heeled foot directly in front of the other as she moved, making her hips sway from side to side, strutting her stuff.
Scott went to get up from his seat; she saw this and went over to him. Placing a firm hand on his chest, pushed him back down in the chair. Ruth stood before him, her eyes locked with his. She removed her silk scarf and ran it seductively through her hands, then over her shoulders, pulling it from side to side. She arched her back, pushing her breasts forward. She left the scarf hanging around her neck as she slowly unbuttoned her jacket, taking her time undoing each button. She turned her back to him, and with a shrug of her shoulders, let her jacket slide down removing her arms one at a time, holding the jacket over her breasts with both hands, she turned around and faced him before letting it fall to the floor.
As Errol Brown belted out ‘where do you come from, baby?’ Ruth turned her back on him once more. Looking at him over her shoulder, she slowly unzipped her shirt, sticking out her rear and arching her back. In one quick movement it slid to the floor, and she stepped out of it. She raised her legs one at a time and slipped off her high-heels, thankful to be rid of them, as she had been practising these moves secretly all week. Still maintaining eye contact, she put one leg upon a chair right next to him, and unlocked her suspender belt. Slowly rolling down her stocking, using both of her hands to roll it down to her ankle, she slipped it over her heel, and removed it with her finger and thumb, and draped it around his neck. The other one followed, and he could smell her scent on the stockings. Ruth unclipped the suspender belt, twirled it and flung it across the room. That was the part she had been dreading as she’d practised getting it right in the privacy of her room, but ruined three pair of stockings in the process. Scott was now breathing heavily, she could see his arousal straining against his denim jeans. She used the scarf between her legs, pulling it back and forth, and then draped it around his neck, thrusting her breasts towards his face, her eyes locked on his.
