Free Animal Instinct by James R. Vance

There were some traces on the shoulders.”
    “So, if she was raped, it's likely that she wasn't lying down in this stuff at that point?”
    “Taking account of the bruise on her head, I would imagine that she either fell down or was knocked down, landed in this caustic solution or whatever and was probably rendered unconscious. I'm basing my theory on the supposition that she was exposed to it at that point. Whether she was raped before or afterwards is a matter for conjecture at this stage.”
    “But you still maintain that the blow to the head wasn't the cause of death?”
    “I believe she was suffocated. There's no evidence to suggest otherwise.”
    Massey paced the room, trying to imagine a likely scenario. “She's obviously arrived somewhere shortly after leaving home where she's come into contact with her killer. As you say, it's probable that is where she picked up these strange substances. The annoying fact is that I know that smell, but I cannot recollect from where. Could it have been in someone's workshop?”
    Nuttall considered the inspector's remark. “You may not be far out. It could be a workshop or industrial premises. Is there anything of that ilk en route?”
    “Not as far as we know,” said Massey. “We have a young girl leaving home early one morning on her way to have an abortion. She catches a bus and ends up in a factory? It doesn't make sense.”
    “Maybe you're barking up the wrong tree. Perhaps she picked up the chemical traces from her assailant.”
    “We'll just have to check out all the premises along that route. Any news on the D.N.A.?”
    “Should have the results back tomorrow, Thursday at the latest. On the other hand, it could be next week. It takes time and there could be a back log because of Easter.”
    Massey was frustrated. Still no suspect, still no motive and the only forensic evidence indicated a most unlikely scenario. He decided to visit Chic-Chat. Maybe the boutique manager could throw some light on the situation.
    He despatched Turner and Jones to check which non-domestic premises were situated on Lara's probable route into town. He had asked Roker to interview the Davenports about their son's holiday arrangements and the rest of the team, together with a few spare uniformed officers, were assigned to conducting house-to-house enquiries.
    Before he left the office, the inspector asked one of the station clerks to contact the bus company to acquire a list of drivers who were on duty during the early hours of Thursday morning. With everyone committed to some aspect of the case, he set off to question Lara's boss at the boutique in a somewhat more buoyant mood than previously.
    *****
    Donald Kimberley, the manager of Chic-Chat was as obnoxious as the expression on his face. An apt description would include the words ‘slimy, smug and snobbish’ or, as Massey described him later, ‘full-of-his-own-shit’.
    The boutique was situated in the newly opened town centre development, which had been partly financed by reciprocal treasury funding from the overspill intakes. Wedged between an Iceland frozen food shop and Woolworths it also faced a new supermarket. Its ideal positioning boosted its potential and trade was usually quite brisk.
    The business belonged to a small regional chain and, though he was only the manager, Donald Kimberley boasted openly that he was the proprietor. Despite pushing almost fifty years of age, he only admitted to being in his early forties. He clad himself in outfits that ridiculed his image by their youthful style and attempted to speak the new wave of jargon currently in vogue by a generation, which was almost young enough to be a product of his own children.
    His ‘Just-for-Men’ dyed hair glistened with an unnatural auburn hue under the artificial lighting of the boutique. He reeked of cheap aftershave, which he purchased in bulk from a local cash-and-carry warehouse. Despite its clinging sickly sweet aroma, the powerful fumes failed to