“Had dealings with the boy before,” Luke said. “Nothing serious – just chucking stones and being a nuisance, that’s all.” It was then, as I knelt beside Luke that I saw the injuries to Henry Blake’s throat – or what was left of it. From just beneath his chin, to his chest plate, the flesh was missing – ripped and torn away in jagged chunks.
Covering my mouth with my hands, I lurched to one side, desperate not to be sick on my first night and not in front of Luke. “Are you okay?” Luke asked, looking at me, and I could see the concern in his eyes. “Sure,” I said, swallowing hard to push away the bile that was burning the back of my throat. “If you need a moment…” Luke started and put his arm out to rub my back. Knocking it away, I stood up and tried to regain my composure. “I reckon he died about three days ago,” I said, trying to sound like a police officer instead of some emotional wreck.
“How do you know that?” Luke asked me. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded as if what he really wanted to say was, “How would you know anything? You’ve only been a cop five minutes!”
“See those blisters,’” I said, pointing to the yellowing bubbles on the boy’s arms and legs. “What about them?” Luke asked. “Notice how the body is swollen and bloated?” I asked him. “So?” Luke came back at me. “And that fluid which has leaked from his mouth, nose and ears?” “What you trying to say?” Luke asked. “They’re all the things that happen to the body about three days after death,” I told him. “Although I could be a day out, it all depends on how warm the weather has been.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Luke asked, looking at me. “The whole process of the body bloating like that can be sped up, depending on how hot the environment is,” I told him. Smiling at me he said, “Where did you learn all that stuff?” “My dad used to be a pathologist,” I told him. “ Used to be?” he asked.
“He died recently – cancer,” I said.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too,” I said looking down at the mutilated boy stretched out before us. “My dad was always telling me all kinds of weird stuff about bodies and things. It was kind of gruesome but it always fascinated me.”
“What else can you see, Sherlock?” Luke said, smiling. Taking the torch from him, I cast light over the scene. “The boy was brought or carried here,” I said. “How can you tell?” Luke asked with a frown. “Look at his trainers,” I told him. “There’s no mud. If he walked here, there’d have to be mud, right?” “I guess,” Luke said. “But wait a minute,” I whispered, kneeling down again and checking the ground around the boy’s body. I traced the tips of my fingers over the earth and dead leaves then inspected the boy. “That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“What doesn’t?” Luke asked, sounding confused. “The boy was murdered here – look, you can see the ground is spattered with his blood.” “So what’s the problem?” “Apart from the boy, there were three others,” I told him. “All of them were adults. Two were male, the third was female. The first male was about six-foot-two, the second shorter, about five-ten. He smoked Marlboro cigarettes – Lights in fact. But he came before the others. He had been waiting for them – I guess anywhere between one and two hours. The female was about five six and had black hair which was dyed blonde.”
“Are you making all this shit up?” Luke asked from behind me. “You know just because you’re new to the job – you don’t have to try and impress me.”
“Shhh,” I said, not taking my eyes off the ground. “But there’s something wrong.” “What?” He had started to sound impatient. “They can’t all have been carried here,” I said, more to myself than him. “I can understand them carrying the victim here, but…” “But what?” Luke hissed
Covering my mouth with my hands, I lurched to one side, desperate not to be sick on my first night and not in front of Luke. “Are you okay?” Luke asked, looking at me, and I could see the concern in his eyes. “Sure,” I said, swallowing hard to push away the bile that was burning the back of my throat. “If you need a moment…” Luke started and put his arm out to rub my back. Knocking it away, I stood up and tried to regain my composure. “I reckon he died about three days ago,” I said, trying to sound like a police officer instead of some emotional wreck.
“How do you know that?” Luke asked me. And by the tone of his voice, he sounded as if what he really wanted to say was, “How would you know anything? You’ve only been a cop five minutes!”
“See those blisters,’” I said, pointing to the yellowing bubbles on the boy’s arms and legs. “What about them?” Luke asked. “Notice how the body is swollen and bloated?” I asked him. “So?” Luke came back at me. “And that fluid which has leaked from his mouth, nose and ears?” “What you trying to say?” Luke asked. “They’re all the things that happen to the body about three days after death,” I told him. “Although I could be a day out, it all depends on how warm the weather has been.”
“What’s that got to do with anything?” Luke asked, looking at me. “The whole process of the body bloating like that can be sped up, depending on how hot the environment is,” I told him. Smiling at me he said, “Where did you learn all that stuff?” “My dad used to be a pathologist,” I told him. “ Used to be?” he asked.
“He died recently – cancer,” I said.
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Me too,” I said looking down at the mutilated boy stretched out before us. “My dad was always telling me all kinds of weird stuff about bodies and things. It was kind of gruesome but it always fascinated me.”
“What else can you see, Sherlock?” Luke said, smiling. Taking the torch from him, I cast light over the scene. “The boy was brought or carried here,” I said. “How can you tell?” Luke asked with a frown. “Look at his trainers,” I told him. “There’s no mud. If he walked here, there’d have to be mud, right?” “I guess,” Luke said. “But wait a minute,” I whispered, kneeling down again and checking the ground around the boy’s body. I traced the tips of my fingers over the earth and dead leaves then inspected the boy. “That doesn’t make sense,” I said.
“What doesn’t?” Luke asked, sounding confused. “The boy was murdered here – look, you can see the ground is spattered with his blood.” “So what’s the problem?” “Apart from the boy, there were three others,” I told him. “All of them were adults. Two were male, the third was female. The first male was about six-foot-two, the second shorter, about five-ten. He smoked Marlboro cigarettes – Lights in fact. But he came before the others. He had been waiting for them – I guess anywhere between one and two hours. The female was about five six and had black hair which was dyed blonde.”
“Are you making all this shit up?” Luke asked from behind me. “You know just because you’re new to the job – you don’t have to try and impress me.”
“Shhh,” I said, not taking my eyes off the ground. “But there’s something wrong.” “What?” He had started to sound impatient. “They can’t all have been carried here,” I said, more to myself than him. “I can understand them carrying the victim here, but…” “But what?” Luke hissed
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