Giles Blunt - Forty Words for Sorrow

"Frenzy?" Cardinal asked. "Looks like overkill to me."

"Definitely a frenzy, judging by the ferocity of the attack. But there are aspects of control here, too, if I'm not mistaken. The wounds are fairly symmetrical, notice. Both cheekbones, both sides of the jaw, both temples. I don't think that symmetry is accidental. And then there's this." She pointed to the top of the head. "You've got a hole in the occipital crown approximately ten millimeters in diameter, a puncture wound, judging by the puckering at the edges. That'll be the blade we saw on the fluoroscope. You don't drive a screwdriver into someone's head in a frenzy."

"True."

"Any one of these injuries could be the cause of death, but we won't know for sure until we do a full autopsy, and we can't do that until he thaws out."

"Great," said Cardinal. "How long will that take?"

"At least twenty-four hours."

"I hope you're kidding me, Dr. Gant."

"Not at all. How long does it take to thaw out a twenty-pound turkey?"

"I don't know. Four or five hours."

"And this patient was in a surrounding temperature of what, minus forty? The inner organs are going to take at least twenty-four hours to thaw, possibly longer."

"There's something in here." Delorme was standing to one side, peering into the body bag.

Cardinal came over and looked into the bag, too. He put on a surgical glove and reached into the bag with both hands like an obstetrician. Moving slowly and holding it gingerly by the corners, he extricated the object- cracked, bloodstained, and covered with soot.

"An audiocassette," Delorme said. "It must have stuck to his clothes and it fell off when he started to thaw out."

"Well, don't get too excited. It's probably blank," Cardinal said, and dropped it into a paper evidence bag. "Let's just hope it has prints on it."

"I wanted to ask Dr. Gant what a nice girl like her was doing in a place like the morgue, but I thought she'd take it funny."

"Of course she would," said Delorme. "So would I."

"Young woman like that, she should be an internist- a cardiologist, maybe. Why's she want to spend her life working with corpses?"

"Same as you, Cardinal- fighting the bad guys. I don't see the mystery, me."

They were in the Forensic Sciences Center, just behind the coroner's building. They'd had the audiocassette dusted for prints, and now they were taking the elevator to Chemistry.

Setevic was bent over a microscope. He didn't even look up. "One hair, aside from the victim's. Three inches long, medium brown, Caucasian, probably male."

"And the fiber?"

"Red. Trilobal."

"That's our boy," said Cardinal.

"You don't know that."

"The likelihood of two separate killers- both with red carpet, no less- in a place the size of Algonquin Bay? Nonexistent."

Delorme stepped in. "Todd Curry spent some time in the same place as Katie Pine- for sure, you can say that much. The same car, right?"

Setevic smiled, shook his head. "You won't nail him with this. It's widely used in basements, patios- you name it- not just here, but in the States, too. I told you that when we found one on the Pine girl. Give me some credit here, okay? Assume I'm not stupid. You got something else for me? What's in the bag?"

"We need to hear what's on this." Cardinal handed him the evidence bag.

Setevic peered inside. "You already dusted it?"

"Lifted one partial next door. Computer's chewing it over, but we're not optimistic. You happen to have a tape player handy?"

"Not a good one."

"Doesn't matter. We just need to know if there's anything on here."

Setevic took them to a cramped office he shared with two other chemists. There were scientific journals stacked on every available surface. "Sorry about the mess. We only use the place for writing reports and making the odd phone call."

He reached into a drawer and pulled out a grimy little Aiwa. He pressed a button, and a middle-aged woman's voice was dictating a biology report. Sample showed proliferation of white cells, indicating advanced state of… The voice went woozy, then stopped.

"Mandy!" Setevic called toward the door. "Mandy! Do we have any double-A batteries?"

An assistant came in and handed him a package of four batteries. She watched him struggle to open the back of the machine, then held out a perfectly manicured hand. He handed it over and, expertly, she removed the housing, took out the old batteries and reloaded. She pressed a button, and the biology report resumed at the proper speed.

"I thank you. The forces of law and order thank you."

When Mandy closed the door behind her, he jerked his head toward it and, eyebrows raised, asked Delorme, "So, how you think I'm doing?"

"She hates you."

"I know. Call it my Slavic charm." He slipped in the audiotape and pressed the button. "Any idea what's on here?"

"None. Most likely Aerosmith Unplugged."

The tape started.

A series of clicks. Someone blows into the microphone and taps on it, testing it.

Delorme and Cardinal looked at each other, then immediately away. Mustn't get too excited, Cardinal told himself. It could be anything, anyone. It could be totally unrelated. He realized he was holding his breath.

More clicks, the rustle of cloth. Then a man's voice, angry, far from the microphone, says something indistinct.

A girl, impossibly close, her voice quivering: "I have to go. I have to be somewhere by eight o'clock. They'll kill me if I don't show up."

Heavy footsteps. Music starts up in the background- the end of a rock song. Barely audible: "… or you'll make me very angry."

"I can't. I want to go now."

Man's voice, now too distant to record properly: "[Unintelligible]… snapshots."

"Why do I have to wear this? I can't breathe."

"[garbled]… sooner you'll be on your way."

"I'm not taking my clothes off."

Heavy footsteps approach the microphone. Several slaps, loud as pistol shots. Screams. Then sobs. Then muffled sobs.

"Bastard," Cardinal said quietly.

Delorme was looking out the window, as if the apartment building across Grenville Street were of intense interest.

Background music switches to the Rolling Stones.

A series of distant clicks.

"That could be the camera, maybe," Delorme observed, still at the window.

The girl: "Please let me go now. I promise I won't tell anyone. Take your pictures and let me go. I swear to God I'll never tell anyone."

"… repeat myself…"

"You're not listening! I have to be somewhere. I have band practice. It's really important! We have a concert in Ottawa and if I don't show up they'll call the police! There'll be all kinds of trouble! I'm trying to help you!" [Inaudible.]

"Where? I live on the reserve. Chippewa. But my father's a policeman. He's with the OPP. I'm just warning you. He's gonna go crazy."

[Inaudible.]

"No. I don't want to do that. I won't."

Footsteps approach. Fierce sounds of rustling cloth. Then the girl, barely coherent, "Please! Please! Please! I have to be at practice before eight o'clock. If I don't-" Ripping sound, possibly duct tape. Her voice is a muffled whimper.

Clicks continue.

Music changes to a familiar female vocalist.

Muffled sobs.

More clicks.

More clicks.

A rustling sound.

A man coughs, close to the microphone.

More rustling sounds.

Ninety seconds of silence.

A final click as the recorder is switched off.

The rest of side one was blank. So was side two. They listened to the entire half hour of tape hiss to make sure, Cardinal, Delorme, and Setevic in utter silence. It was a long time before anyone spoke. Cardinal's voice sounded terribly loud, even to himself. "You got anybody in Documents who can tell us more about this?"