Dead Alone by Gay Longworth

piece to camera outside the building. She could recall Kay Akosa’s fateful words: ‘You’re pretty, you’ll do.’ It wasn’t even a matter for the murder squad. Jessie had refused. She and Mrs Akosa had not shared a canteen experience since.
    ‘We’ve had every major paper in the country calling about unconfirmed reports that Verity Shore has drowned. What do I tell them?’
    ‘Nothing.’
    ‘And one paper knows you were at P. J. Dean’s house this morning.’
    ‘Shit!’
    ‘So?’
    ‘I have nothing to tell you.’
    ‘I can’t tell them nothing. Nothing won’t do.’
    ‘We don’t know who we have in the morgue. So no comment.’
    ‘They already know a body was found.’
    ‘Fine. So they know as much as we do.’
    ‘But –’
    ‘I’ll come to the press office as soon as I know more.’
    The woman leant back on her heels and crossed her arms. ‘Where’s Jones?’
    Jessie ignored her. She, Niaz and Burrows walked away.
    ‘Don’t think I’ve forgotten about the debacle with Jami Talbot,’ Kay called out after them. No one turned around.
    ‘Have you ever been to a postmortem, Niaz?’ asked Jessie when they reached the car park.
    ‘No.’
    ‘Well, you’re in luck. My first was a woman who’d been raped and then strangled and left in a ditch for two weeks. This will be a breeze. Sally said they’d been busy, so there will probably be bodies piled on top of each other on the surrounding tables. It’s cold in there, but I don’t think we’ll be long, so you should be okay. They’ll giveyou a mask, shoe covers and a green surgical coat.’ She turned to him. ‘You all right with this?’
    ‘Yes, ma’am.’
    ‘Right. Let’s go.’
    The bones lay on the convex stainless steel table, tilted slightly to where the feet should have been. It allowed the running water to drain away with all the excess mud and silt that the departing tide had left. It was the cleanest PM she had ever seen. The photographer clicked. The pathologist listed what was missing. A few small bones that had been found in the nearby mud were brought in from the evidence room. Most had been matched to the skeleton. One had not.
    ‘Cause of death, unknown. Hairline crack in cerebral vertebrae, recent, could have been caused by being hit over the head. Then again, the body could have been dropped after death. Impossible to say. Female, yes, age between thirty and forty. Early signs of osteoporosis and calcium deficiency. Childhood fracture on the upper arm, almost invisible, nearly missed it. The most interesting thing about this case is the acid test my colleague Sally Grimes did early this morning. She was on site with DI Driver, neither of whom would accept that this was some old drowning victim. The tests are very revealing. Sally, would you like to explain?’
    Sally stepped forward.
    ‘Good afternoon, everyone. The initial test showed that sulphuric acid dissolved the flesh andinternal organs, but secondary tests picked up traces of ammonia. Although ammonia could not have done the damage that the sulphuric acid did, it is the reason why the bones are so white. It bleached them.’
    ‘Like peroxide,’ said Jessie.
    ‘Peroxide is a much weaker form of ammonia, but yes, in principle they’re the same.’
    Jessie looked at the remains of the bottle-blonde with big tits. The implants were in a jar. If Niaz hadn’t found the other implant, they would have had a difficult job on their hands narrowing the field. Verity Shore was not alone. There were many like her. It didn’t need to have been her specifically. It could have been anyone.
    ‘Do you know who it is?’ asked the pathologist.
    DC Burrows’ pager bleeped. He looked at Jessie. ‘Those records are here.’
    ‘Go.’
    She looked back at the pathologist. ‘If the records show a childhood break, then that is Verity Shore. If no break, then someone wants us to think that it is Verity Shore. It could be either.’
    It suddenly dawned on the pathologist.