Michael Wood - The Murder House

A black-and-white X-ray filled the screen. Matilda had no idea what she was looking at. She didn’t know one artery from another. Fortunately, she didn’t have to.

‘As you know, the attack was frenzied. Now, it’s difficult to establish the trajectory of the stab wounds as there was a lot of haemorrhaging which is obscuring the soft tissue. However, air tracks through the soft tissue and we can follow the path of the air to the initial stab wound.’ She looked over at Matilda who had a blank expression on her face. ‘Do you follow?’

‘I think so.’

Claire turned to another computer screen where a more detailed image of Serena Mercer appeared. In glorious technicolour, Matilda could see every muscle and vein in the dead woman’s face, neck and chest.

‘From the outside, we can see that she was stabbed twenty-eight times. Eight in the face, six in the neck, five in the chest, and nine times in the stomach.’

‘Can you tell which one killed her?’

‘The ones to the neck did the most damage. They cut through the major nerves and arteries. Both the internal and external jugular veins were severed,’ she said, pointing to them on the screen.

‘I’d have thought you’d have said the ones that ripped out her intestines.’

‘She was most likely dead by then. Also, I think your killer was getting tired by that point too. You can see where the knife dragged along the stomach, almost tearing it open rather than stabbing. Either he was getting tired or his knife was getting blunt.’

‘So why do you think she was killed last?’

‘Ah, this is the clever part. Take a look here.’ She zoomed in close and pointed to the clavicle bone in the chest. ‘Do you see that white line?’

‘Yes,’ Matilda said, leaning in to look at the pure white, but incredibly small, line. ‘What is it?’

‘That is the tip of the knife.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes,’ she replied with a smile. ‘The knife hit the clavicle, the shoulder blade, and snapped the tip right off. Obviously, I don’t know how many knives your killer had but all three victims have similar size stab wounds. I’m guessing two different sized knives, but he could have had more than one with the same sized blade.’

‘Oh.’

Claire closed down the images of Serena and brought up the ones of her twenty-eight-year-old son.

‘Judging from where Jeremy Mercer was found, on the stairs, we can surmise he was the first victim. He also has the least amount of stab wounds – three. A fairly deep one to the trunk of the body but managed to miss the stomach. Another stab to the neck and one to the chest.’

Claire zoomed in on Jeremy’s stomach. ‘See this line, this is from a much larger knife compared to these two,’ she said, pointing to the stab wounds on his chest and neck. ‘Now, the tip from the large knife is what is embedded in Serena Mercer’s clavicle. The tip from the smaller knife is here,’ she pointed to a bright sliver of light in Jeremy Mercer’s chest. ‘It’s broken as the blade hit the sternum manubrium and it’s stuck here in the pectoral muscle.’

‘So, if he killed him first, damaged his knife, why haven’t we found it? Surely he would have thrown it to one side or something as his spree continued.’

‘In an attack this frenzied, knowing your killer had at least two knives, you’d imagine him to have one in each hand and be stabbing remorselessly. When one knife breaks you’d throw it away and keeping stabbing with the one you had left,’ Claire surmised.

‘That’s what I was thinking, too. He’s hardly going to stop, put the knife away, then continue.’

‘Unless he did throw it away then went back to collect it once he’d finished.’

‘Hmm,’ Matilda thought. ‘If he’s killed in the way he has done, with such ferocity, then gone back around the house to check he hasn’t left anything behind, that shows a man of such cold-blooded calculation. To walk around a house, having tied up one of his victims and leaving her alive, he is basically one disturbed and sick individual.’

Claire shuddered. ‘I am so glad I’m in here and not doing your job.’

‘Right now, I think I’d rather be doing your job too. This is one killer’s head I do not want to attempt to get into.’

Claire blew out her cheeks and unbuttoned her top button. It was getting stifling in the small room. ‘Do you want me to show you Clive Mercer or would you like to take a break?’

‘Let’s carry on,’ Matilda said. Her voice lowered and her eyes were wide. She was genuinely frightened by this killer.

‘Clive Mercer’s injuries were all to the neck. Thirty-seven stab wounds in total. His head was just hanging on with two tendons.’

‘Bloody hell,’ Matilda uttered.

‘He cut through the lot; the carotid artery, the auricular nerve, the supraclavicular nerve, the anterior jugular vein. He’s even managed to get through to the thyroid gland. This is taking frenzied to a whole other level.’

Matilda looked at the colourful image of Clive Mercer’s neck. The man was an anaesthetist. He was intelligent. He was on the board of two local charities. He was a regular churchgoer, and this was how his life ended.

‘Jesus Christ,’ she said under her breath. ‘Would the killer have been covered in blood?’

‘Absolutely. He would have been drenched in it. Unless …’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless he was wearing a forensic oversuit.’

‘Well, you can buy anything on Amazon these days,’ Matilda half-smiled.

‘Now, I’ve saved the best until last. Are you ready for this?’ There was a glint in Claire’s eye which Matilda found almost sinister.

‘Go on.’

‘Clive Mercer was dying.’

‘I’m sorry?’

More tapping on the keyboard and up came a close-up of Clive’s head. She zoomed in on a dark patch. ‘That is a rather aggressive-looking tumour on Clive’s frontal lobe.’

Matilda swallowed hard. She should have noticed the shading of a tumour as soon as she saw it. She’d seen enough of James’s in the early stages of his illness.

‘Is it cancerous?’

‘Adele will take samples and we’ll find out the severity.’

‘Would he have known about it?’

‘I would have thought so. It will be in his medical notes.’

‘I haven’t seen them yet. Poor bloke.’

‘I know. A double blow to his family.’

‘What’s left of them.’

The door opened and Adele Kean entered. She wasn’t scrubbed up yet for the post mortems and was wearing black trousers with a beige sweater.

‘We’re all set next door when you want to come and join us.’

‘I feel sick,’ Matilda said.

‘Have you eaten this morning?’ Adele asked.

‘I can’t remember.’

‘How about we all go for an early lunch?’ Claire said.

‘That’s a good idea. Mat?’

‘I don’t know. I’ve got a lot on at the moment,’ Matilda said, running her sweating hands through her hair.

‘You need to eat.’

‘Maybe just a sandwich.’

Adele and Claire were the first to leave the room while Matilda stood looking into the main scanning suite.

‘Did Matilda tell you she’s seeing someone?’ Adele asked Claire.

‘No. Who?’

‘The bloke who’s renovating her new house.’

‘I’m not seeing anyone,’ Matilda shouted as she followed them into the corridor. ‘He took me for a meal last week, that’s all.’ She rolled her eyes at Claire.

‘I don’t blame you,’ Claire said. ‘The only way I’ll get involved with a bloke again is if I’ve seen his bank balance and a cardiogram first.’

‘You’re a ghoul, Claire,’ Adele said with a smile.

Matilda found herself smiling. Sometimes you needed to take a break from the horror of the day job, even if it was a quick lunch with two women who spent their days surrounded by dead bodies.