The Surrogate Read Free

aware of Anni looking at him, gauging his reaction, but couldn’t look at her or Clayton yet. His pulse began to quicken. He tried to ignore it.

    ‘You’ll see one of them wasn’t drinking,’ said a voice from the bedroom.

    The three of them turned. Nick Lines, the pathologist, was straightening up from the bed, peering over the tops of his glasses at Phil. He was a tall, shaven-head, hook-nosed, slightly cadaverous man, with graveyard looks and a gallows humour to match. He always looked excited at a crime scene, Phil thought. As much as he ever looked excited at anything. Lines took his glasses off, looked at Phil. ‘I’m guessing that’s because, as far as I can make out from an initial examination, she was pregnant.’

    Phil stared with renewed horror at the slit stomach. He didn’t dare voice the question that all three of them were thinking. ‘Shit,’ was all he could say.

    ‘Quite,’ said Lines, his voice like Nick Cave’s more miserable brother. ‘She was pregnant. And before you ask, the answer’s no. There’s no sign of it. Anywhere in the flat. Once we realised what condition she had been in, that was the first thing we did.’

    Phil felt his heart beating faster, his pulse racing; tried to calm it down. He would be no good to the investigation in that frame of mind. He turned to the pathologist, his voice urgent.

    ‘What have you got, Nick?’

    ‘Well, as I said, this is only preliminary; don’t hold me to any of it. The obvious stuff first. Broken nose, bruising. She was punched in the face. Hard. It looks like she’s been injected with something at the back of her neck. Then again at the base of her spine. Obviously I don’t know what it is yet but I’d hazard a guess that it was something to paralyse her.’

    ‘And the . . . the cutting?’

    Nick Lines shrugged. ‘Carried out with a modicum of skill, it would seem. The one in the hall, they knew which arteries to go for. Likewise here. They had a fair idea of what they were doing.’

    ‘Time of death?’

    ‘Hard to say at present. Late last night. Eleven-ish? Sometime round then. Between ten and two, I’d say.’

    ‘Any sign of sexual activity?’

    A faint smile played on Lines’ lips. Phil knew it was his way of displaying irritation at being asked so many initial questions. ‘As Chairman Mao said when asked how effective he thought the French Revolution had been, it’s just too early to tell.’

    ‘Any clues as to who could have done this?’ said Clayton.

    Lines sighed. ‘I just tell you how they died. It’s up to you to find out why.’

    ‘I meant what kind of person,’ Clayton said, clearly hurt by the response. ‘Build an’ that.’

    ‘Nothing yet.’

    ‘How far gone was she?’ asked Anni.

    ‘Very well advanced, I’d say.’

    ‘But how far?’

    He gave her a professionally contemptuous look, clearly getting irritated. ‘I’m a pathologist, not a clairvoyant.’

    ‘And we’ve got jobs to do as well,’ said Phil, matching Lines’ irritation with his own. ‘Would this baby be dead by now, or is there a chance it could still be alive?’

    Nick Lines looked back at the body on the bed rather than directly at Phil. ‘Judging from the condition of her womb, I’d say almost full term. Only weeks away.’

    ‘Meaning?’

    ‘Meaning yes. There’s every chance that this baby is still alive.’

3

    M arina Esposito stepped slowly into the room, looked around. She was nervous. Not because of what she was about to do particularly, but because of the public admission. Because once she had taken that step, her life would be changed, redefined for ever.

    The room was large, the walls painted in light pastels, the floor wood. It had that warm yet simultaneously cool feel that so many fitness centres had. She had tried to slip quietly into the changing room, not engage anyone with eye contact and certainly not in conversation, get changed as quickly as possible, hoping her body wouldn’t mark