Free The Murder Wall by Mari Hannah Page A

of solid-gold cufflinks from the pocket on the left, and in
the right he found thirty-five pence in change and a gold cigarette lighter. He bagged the items ready to be sent off for forensic examination then entered them in his log.
    Turning her attention back to the body, Daniels’ eyes homed in on the gold Rolex watch Stanton was removing from Stephens’ left wrist, the receipt for which she had held in her hand
not three months ago while sifting through an old box of papers. The image was so strong, she was barely aware of the pathologist’s voice as he dictated his findings into an overhead
microphone.
    ‘There are massive cranial injuries caused by the gunshot wound,’ he said. ‘The facial features are distorted due to extensive fracturing of the facial skeleton on bullet
impact. There appears to be no other external evidence visible other than slight fresh bruising attributed to the victim having fallen . . .’
    Daniels’ eyes shifted to the plain gold wedding band on the ring finger of Stephens’ left hand, her mind contemplating the sequence of events that might have led to his death.
    ‘What is left of the brain shows no evidence of natural disease on dissection,’ Stanton continued to elaborate, the tone of his voice completely detached from the subject matter.
‘Left bony orbit is disrupted, nasal bone dislodged and there is extensive haemorrhaging to the left side of the skull.’
    Picking up his scalpel, Stanton began to make the Y incision. Daniels didn’t flinch as he cut into the flesh. Difficult though it had been to stomach in the early years of her career,
she’d learned to remain detached when observing post-mortems. In fact she found the process of body dissection fascinating, something other people didn’t seem to understand. Autopsies
could tell her things she could never find out by any other means, providing precise evidence that often proved crucial in a court of law.
    She wondered if anyone back at the station had heard from Jo Soulsby yet. Before the post-mortem, she’d asked DC Andy Brown to visit Jo’s home and left instructions for him to let
her know the outcome. She took out her mobile and saw that he’d sent a text. Still no joy. Jo hasn’t yet been in touch. Slipping the phone back into her pocket, Daniels thought
about the last investigation they had worked on together. Jo’s support had proved invaluable to the case, although Bright had insisted he’d have found the perpetrator without it.
    Daniels sighed.
    She’d walk over hot coals for her boss, but he was an argumentative prick when he wanted to be. Did he not think that she’d seen him sneaking into the observation gallery above her
head? His presence irritated her, but she knew he wouldn’t undermine her authority in front of everyone there.
    At least, she hoped he wouldn’t.
    ‘I can tell you conclusively that the victim was a healthy man with no evidence of any natural disease to accelerate his death or cause him to collapse . . .’ Stanton was about to
sum up. He took off his bloody gloves, went to a stainless-steel sink, turned on a tap and scrubbed up before helping himself to a glass of water. On his way back, he winked at her, letting her
know she was still in charge but also that he was aware Bright was listening via an audio link upstairs, a gesture she appreciated. ‘Death was simply and unequivocally due to multiple head
injuries caused by a single gunshot wound. One shot through the left frontal lobe. Good shot too, I should say. My guess is that he was standing. The weapon, a small but effective firearm, calibre
unknown ’til the labs do their stuff.’
    ‘You’re still of the opinion that he had little or no chance to defend himself?’
    Stanton nodded. ‘And certainly no chance of survival once hit with such accuracy. Shall we adjourn for tea?’
    ‘No can do, Tim,’ Daniels said apologetically. ‘I’ve got to get going.’
    Stanton was disappointed. ‘Some other time