Page 10 of Butterfly Assassin
Michael had used his Taser on numerous occasions. They worked surprisingly well in immobilising a shifter, but once deployed, the effects wore off quicker than with a human—you had to move quickly. Thankfully he’d never had to use his gun. Yet. He’d drawn it plenty of times, but so far the threat of a bullet had been enough to stop situations from escalating.
“What now, then?” Frank’s voice startled him, and Michael sat up straight.
Sighing, he stared at the photos covering his desk. He didn’t want to add any more photos to this file. “Wait and see what Peters finds at the post-mortem exam and wait for the results back on that blood-soaked tape.”
“In the meantime, we should be getting Miller’s photos from this morning any time soon.” He powered up his laptop. “Let’s go through them and see if anything stands out.”
HEADING IN to observe an autopsy was not how Michael had planned on spending his Sunday morning, but his plans rarely worked out these days. He picked up Frank at eight thirty, gratefully accepting the Starbucks coffee he handed over.
“Thanks.”
Frank grinned at him. “I assumed you’d need one this morning.”
Yawning, Michael took a long drink before placing it in his cup holder. “You assumed right.”
They reached the hospital in plenty of time, and Michael shook off the eerie feeling of the examination room as Dr Peters met them with a smile.
“Detectives.”
They kept their distance as he began the post-mortem examination, careful to keep out of his way.
Trying to keep a certain detachment was critical in a job like theirs, but the sight of a dead body, laid out ready to be sliced and diced, still unnerved him. Michael wasn’t sure it was something he wanted to get used to.
Peters pointed at the bruising on Crossford’s knuckles, then to the marks on his ribs and face. “All these injuries were received ante-mortem.”
“Did he fight back?” He’d be the first who had.
Peters shook his head. “No.” He lifted one of Crossford’s hands. “There’s no skin or hair under the fingernails. None of the nails are torn or broken. The injuries on his face had been cleaned. They weren’t caused at the time of death.” He pointed at the bruising on his body and the injuries to his hands. “All these are consistent with bare-knuckle fighting.”
They watched in silence as Peters performed the rest of the examination. When he got to extracting and weighing the organs, Michael was extremely glad he’d skipped breakfast.
As Peters examined the stomach, he paused and looked up. “Stomach’s still full.”
“He had a receipt for McDonald’s in his wallet,” Michael offered. “Timestamp was 12.35 a.m.”
“I’ll confirm in my final report, but I’d say, assuming he ate his food straightaway, that puts time of death approximately between 12.35 a.m. and 3.30 a.m.”
Michael glanced at his partner. “Say he was involved in one of Smith’s fights…”
Frank raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”
“So, the fight finishes, he goes to McDonald’s, eats—presumably at the restaurant—but how did he end up in that alley?”
“Phone records didn’t show any calls or texts around that exact time,” Frank said. Checking with Crossford’s mobile phone operator was one of the first things they’d done yesterday. “But there were a lot made to one number earlier on Friday. Maybe we should start there.”
Michael nodded. “Fine, let’s go.”
Peters glanced up and met his gaze. “I’ll get my report to the coroner as quick as I can.”
“Thanks.”
As soon as they were back in the fresh air, Michael took a deep breath in. “God, I could never do that job.”
Frank grunted and headed towards the car park. “It’s the smell.”
“And everything else.” The thought of handling someone’s internal organs made his stomach roil. At least he didn’t throw up at the sight any more. He glanced at Frank as they walked. “Back to the office or following up on Crossford’s frequent caller?”
Frank swung his keys on his finger, stopping when they reached the car. “We could stop by the office. Take a look at all the evidence Miller sent over.”
