Devil in the Detail by A.J. Cross (love letters to the dead .TXT) 📗

he had been the day he was born. Wexler reached up to a vacant screen suspended above the post-mortem table. It filled immediately with a partial image of Mike Lawrence’s body, a portion of Wexler’s enormous girth, Watts’ head and shoulders, the camera poised in Haynes’ hands, and very little of Judd. Watts took a slow, deep breath, and watched Wexler get to work.

The clock’s hands moved steadily onwards. Forty-five minutes later, having found no evidence of injury to Mike Lawrence’s body, Wexler was now giving his full attention to the head, his voice rolling steadily on.

‘The first shot to Mr Lawrence grazed his left cheek. More of that later.’ He manipulated Mike Lawrence’s head. ‘See? This second shot was the cause of death. It inflicted a particularly devastating injury to Mr Lawrence’s brain as you saw from the X-rays. Let’s have a look at it, shall we?’

They watched Wexler deftly apply the scalpel, starting from behind Mike Lawrence’s left ear, continuing upwards, across his scalp, down the other side and behind his right ear. Watts kept his eyes on what was happening, his thinking on hold.

‘You’re in luck, Detective Inspector. There’s only minor bullet fragmentation and, right here’ – he pointed – ‘is the tissue disruption and destruction caused as it progressed through his skull, do you see?’

Watts nodded, wishing he didn’t. The camera whirred and clicked. Wexler continued, his eyes on the screen. ‘Now, here we have the cavitation in detail: the effect of the bullet’s passage through the soft tissue.’

Watts and Judd stood, mute, as Wexler continued his verbal description, pointing a gloved finger at destruction beneath one side of the jaw.

‘One entrance point here … and also stippling which indicates that whoever fired this shot was probably within say a metre of the victim. Which may be of no surprise, given media reports suggesting that he was shot inside his car …’ His facial expression focused, he applied the scalpel to the exit wound. ‘Not that the press has any idea what it’s talking about most of the time.’

Watts made brief notes, looked up to see Wexler grinning widely, the slim metal tool in his massive hand gripping a small object. ‘This is it, Detective Inspector! The object what done it.’ He shook his head. ‘Which is not accurate, is it? The individual who set it on its course did it and I’m more than happy to leave that with you.’ He moved the bullet towards a small metal dish, let it fall. It landed with a tinny sound.

‘That minor abrasion you can see to Mr Lawrence’s left cheek was caused by the first bullet, possibly a practice shot, which skimmed his cheek then travelled onwards and struck a sun visor. I understand that bullet is already in the possession of the police.’

He stepped away from the table. ‘You’ll have my report, plus the bullet I’ve recovered, within the next twenty-four hours. Give my regards to Dr Connie Chong, if you would, please and also to another of your colleagues, Adam … now, what is his surname?’

Despite his experience of post-mortems over the years, Watts still felt the effects of them and, right now, looking at what was in front of him, his mind was a desert. For the life of him, he couldn’t supply it. He glanced at Judd. Her face told a similar story.

They left the hospital, Watts on his phone to Traynor. ‘What’s the soonest you can be in? Right. See you then.’ He ended the call. ‘He’ll be with us early Monday morning.’

They drove the rest of the way to headquarters in silence, broken by Watts as they entered the car park. ‘How many shots were fired at the Lawrences, Judd?’

‘Two to Mike Lawrence and …’ She stared at him. ‘Three.’

‘Looks like we can’t rely on the locals when it comes to identifying gunfire.’

Back in his office, Watts photocopied his and Judd’s notes. ‘Unless you’ve got anything you want to add, I’ll email these to Adam’s team.’ Not getting a response, he gave her a close look. ‘You all right?’

She looked up at him. ‘No, I’m not. I’m furious. Whoever did that to Mike Lawrence, then turned the gun on his wife, should be forced to watch what we’ve just seen.’

He thought she had a point.

8.10 p.m.

During the dinner he had made, Watts told Chong all he knew of the Lawrence case. It didn’t take long. Aware of the opportunistic cat circling his ankles, he looked across the table at her, thinking how empty this house had felt during the last ten days or so. Ditto, his life, despite all that had been happening at headquarters.

‘The good news – well, two pieces of good news: SOCOs have found a gun which you probably know about already, and Will Traynor is on board.’ He gave her a quick glance, thinking that she must be tired after her flight, hoping that she wasn’t.

‘Glad to hear about Will. Yes, Adam told me about the gun.’ She sat back. ‘That was a really lovely dinner.’

‘So are you. Lovely, I mean.’

She grinned. ‘I was at headquarters this afternoon, getting my brain moving. Sorry I didn’t have time to come and say “Hello”. How is Will?’

‘He’s looking good and there’s none of that edginess he had back in the summer. He’s sold his house and he’s living about three miles from here with his daughter, although she’s dividing her time between his place and the university.’ He stood, reached for their plates. ‘I attended the Lawrence post-mortem at the hospital this afternoon.’

Carrying other items from the table, she followed him to the kitchen. ‘What did you learn?’

‘Stripping away the technicalities, basically what we already knew: Mike Lawrence shot at fairly close range, the first shot skimming his cheek, the second entering to the side of his chin and making a right mess of the inside of his skull.’ He shook his head. ‘I was surprised at how I felt, watching the post.’

She raised her brows. ‘Hearing that, so