Free Thomas & Charlotte Pitt 29 - Death On Blackheath by Anne Perry Page B

correctly, Commander. Someone made an attempt to clean her up, then instead of disposing of her, kept her body somewhere very cold, but thoroughly sealed so no scavengers found her. Therefore it was not in an ordinary outhouse, even in this weather. Most of the damage we saw, particularly to her face, was indeed done with a very sharp blade of some sort, including the removal of the eyes … and the lips. It was not animal depredation occurring during the one night she lay exposed in the gravel pit. And don’t waste your time asking me for an explanation. I can only tell you the facts. Understanding them is your business, thank God!’
    ‘And the cause of death?’ Pitt felt cold again, in spite of the bright fire.
    ‘Extreme violence,’ Whistler replied. ‘Blows hard enough to break her bones, specifically her shoulder blade, four ribs, the humerus in her left arm, and her pelvis in three places. But that was some time before the mutilations to her face. That is my point!’ He glared at Pitt, his outrage aching for any other answer. ‘Ten days at the absolute minimum.’
    Pitt was appalled. It was one of the most savage beatings he could imagine. Whoever did it must have been completely insane. No wonder Whistler looked so wretched. If she were a prostitute it was no ordinary quarrel she had fallen victim to, it was an attack by a raving madman. If he could do that once, how long would it be before he did it again?
    Suddenly the room seemed not warm and comfortably protected from the elements. It was more like a suffocating, airless imprisonment from the clean, driving sleet outside, and he longed to escape into it.
    ‘What with?’ he asked, his voice wavering a little. ‘What did he use?’
    ‘Honestly?’ Whistler shook his head. ‘This side of a lunatic asylum, I would say he ran her down with a coach and four. Hard to tell after the passage of time, and I’d say it’s been three weeks or so by now. Some of the injuries could have been caused by horses’ hoofs or carriage wheels. Considerable impact, from several directions and it could have happened all at once, like horses panicking.’
    A momentary fury welled up inside Pitt. The man could have told him that in the first place. Hideous accidents happened. The damage and the pain were the same, but the horror was nothing like that of imagining a homicidal human being doing such a thing deliberately. He longed to actually hit Whistler, which was childish and he was ashamed of himself. Nevertheless it was true. He clenched his fists and kept his voice level, even if it was tight and grated between his teeth.
    ‘Are you saying that this woman’s death could have been a traffic accident, and not a crime at all, Dr Whistler?’
    ‘It could have been any number of things!’ Whistler’s answer rose to all but a shout. ‘But if it was a traffic accident, why in God’s name was it not reported to the police?’ He waved his arms wide, only just missing the bookcase. ‘Where the devil was she for two or three weeks? Why put her out in one of the Shooters Hill gravel pits for the foxes and badgers to eat her and maul her about, and that poor soul walking his dog to find?’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘And why the terrible mutilations so long afterwards? To tear her face, so she was unrecognisable?’
    This time it was Pitt who was silent.
    Whistler gave a shuddering sigh and fought to regain control of himself. He looked slightly embarrassed by his emotion and avoided meeting Pitt’s eyes. Perhaps he thought himself unprofessional, but Pitt liked him the more for it.
    ‘Anything further about who she was?’ Pitt asked at last. ‘Something not obliterated by this … lunatic?’
    ‘Probably in good health, as far as I could tell at this stage,’ Whistler answered. ‘No apparent disease. Organs all fine, apart from beginning to decay. If you find whoever did this to her, I hope you hang him! If you don’t, don’t come back to me for any help!’ His