Never Going Back Again: Chapter Ten.
The body of PFC Adam Stoddart was waiting for them at the City Mortuary, along with Sarah Macleod, who was doing her very best not to appear impatient. From the photographs in their file, it appeared that in life, Stoddart had been a tall man, with dark hair that had already started to recede, narrow lips and a barrel-chest. In death, the post-mortem images showed that he still looked an physically imposing character. He lay in an anonymous metal container, already sealed. It was a sobering and rather ignominious sight.
"Stoddart had a particularly violent death," the pathologist remarked. "One of the worst cases of torture I've ever seen. Your Marine had been "knee-capped", a procedure we in Great Britain used to associate with IRA punishments – usually doled out to informers. Contrary to popular belief, the knee-cap itself isn't involved: instead the victim has a gun barrel place on the side of the joint, which blows the ends of both bones off. Few people walk again after that and the pain must be excruciating. This man had the same injury to both legs."
Kensi could feel her gorge rise at this information. The smell of formalin was also affecting her, despite the air-conditioning. "That didn't kill him, though."
"No, it didn't. Knee-capping results in some loss of blood, but it's primarily used as a warning – to the victim and to others. But that wasn't all. Whoever killed this man didn't use a gun to torture him – they used a drill."
"A drill?" Sam wondered if he was hearing correctly.
"A drill. Probably a standard DIY tool, the sort you can pick up in any hardware store. It must have been excruciatingly painful. Each injury would have taken at least two minutes to inflict – possibly more, depending on the speed and power of the drill. Your man was tied up and subjected to a brutal and sustained attack. I'd almost say it was inhuman, except I've seen too much evidence to the contrary." The pathologist took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I would imagine that death must have been a welcome release to PFC Stoddart, when it eventually came. But that took some time. I estimate he lived for around two hours afterwards."
Kensi tried not to think too hard about what Stoddart must have gone through in those hours. It sounded like they had a madman – or woman – on their hands.
So why isn't this headline news? Why aren't the police involved? You've got a city full of tourists and some insane killer running around and nobody seems to be bothered. This is dirty, as dirty as it gets.
"What was the official cause of death?" Sam noticed that the British Agent showed no surprise about this information, which was clearly already known to her. He schooled himself not to react to the litany of hate PFC Stoddart had been subjected to, but his mind was working overtime.
The killer took their time over this – they didn't just want Stoddart dead, they wanted him to really suffer first. So they were confident, probably trained and had a secure location, where they weren't going to be disturbed, or overheard. And not one single word of this has leaked out to the media. Curious. Ms MacLeod must wield a very powerful axe. Or could Leon be wielding power all the way from California?
The pathologist didn't need to look at his notes. Every detail of this case was engrained on his memory. "Cause of death is a series of blows to the head – to the back of the head. Using a hammer. His skull was effectively smashed in like an eggshell. But they left his face unmarked, possibly to aid identification. They broke all his fingers and toes as well, by the way. It's impossible to say if those injuries occurred before or after the knee-capping, but in my opinion they were just gratuitous violence. I'd say whoever did this took their time, because they were enjoying themselves. But of course, that would just be speculation."
"Backed up by experience." Sam extended his hand. "Thanks for all your help."
"My pleasure." The pathologist handed across another folder of papers. "My report, the official death certificate and the report from the Procurator Fiscal. And the release papers for you to sign."
Sam scrawled his signature. "We've arranged for the body to be picked up later this morning and taken straight to the airport, for transport back home."
"One last thing. I found this metal pellet in his wrist. It had been surgically implanted. I've no idea what it is, but it might be important?"
Sam found himself holding a small plastic container, containing a cylindrical metal object, less than an inch long. "It's probably nothing," he said, and casually stuffed it into his pocket. Beside him, Kensi was doing a great job of looking bored out of her skull, examining her nails with great interest.
"We appreciate your assistance," Sarah said formally, before adding her signature to the release papers. She and Kensi walked out together, and Sam could hear Kensi disingenuously requesting details of the best nail bars in town.
"I appreciate the briefing, doctor. And all your work." He handed his card across. "Just in case you need to contact me."
"Nobody seemed particularly interested in that poor man. Or finding out who did this to him. To die like that – so far from home. And in my country." He sighed. "I just hope whoever did this is apprehended before they strike again."
"Me too." Sam shook his hand again and followed Kensi out to the car.
"That was unpleasant." Kensi was breathing deeply through her mouth. She thought she'd have another shower when she got back home, because the smell of the Mortuary seemed to cling to her clothes. "EJ's handiwork?"
"I'd bet my life on it. Those details of the knee-capping? That sort of detail isn't common knowledge outside a very small circle of people."
"Whoever did this was very confident. And they wanted to send a message."
"But to who? To us or to someone else?" The container with the metal pellet felt as if was burning a hole in his pocket. There were too many threads left hanging in the wind with this enquiry, and nobody seemed at all interested in tying them into bows. Everything about this case was setting Sam's nerves jangling. "And what exactly is the killer trying to say – apart from the fact that they will stop at nothing?"
"Good questions. Let's go and see what Marty's managed to find out."