Thank you so much for your reviews! Glad you're already enjoying the mystery and the clues and I'm especially glad that you've already come up with your own theories, but let's see how things will unfold, shall we?

Chapter 7

"Are you blushing?"

John turned his head and noticed that Osgood had joined him in the corridor, but he still continued to look around in case Clara Oswald was anywhere to be seen. She wasn't. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. Then finally, the meaning of Osgood's words started to sink in.

"Blushing?" he asked in confusion. "Why would I be blushing?"

Osgood shrugged. "She's very pretty," the pathologist said nonchalantly. "And, of course, she looks like she could be our Jane Doe's identical twin, only more alive and with a healthier complexion and-"

"What did you just say?!" John half barked at her, cutting Osgood off before she could continue her rambling.

Osgood frowned at him. "That she's pretty?"

"No, after that!" she said and waved his hands impatiently. She had suggested something that hadn't even crossed his mind, but now that it came to think about it, it made sense.

The frown on the woman's face deepened. "That she looks like Jane Doe's identical twin?"

"Is that possible?" John wanted to know. Of course, it was unlikely when Clara had just told him she didn't know the dead woman, but what if they were related without her knowing about it? Some twins got separated at birth and he had heard of cousins who looked eerily alike.

Yet the pathologist didn't seem as excited about the prospect as he was. "Well, I suppose it could be, yeah. We'd have to do a DNA test, but then we'd know."

"Good," John concluded. "I'll talk to her about it, see if she's willing to do that. If they're actually related, it could make the hunt for her name easier."

Clara probably wouldn't like him showing up again today, but he could try it tomorrow once she had recovered from the shock of seeing her first dead body and he could ask her how she was feeling about it, make sure Clara was alright. Yes, that's what John would do.

"You're blushing again," Osgood said, giggling.

"I'm not," he lied. He probably was for some reason. "It's just warm in here."

"Well, you're lucky cause I just finished my report. Want to go back inside and talk about how our Jane Doe died?"

John followed Osgood back inside the morgue where the smell of embalming fluid instantly hit his nose once again and he knew that Clara's weren't the only clothes that would need a wash after today. It was the sort of smell that clung to fabric forever and he would carry it everywhere and probably upset the dog in the process.

Jane Doe was exactly where he had left her a couple of minutes ago and when Osgood pulled back the sheet, he once again couldn't believe his eyes. She and Clara had to be related in some way or another. There was no other explanation for it. She had the same funny nose, the same shape of lips, the same distinct eyebrows. It was too much to be a coincidence.

"Jane Doe has been through quite a bit," Osgood began to explain as she pointed towards the head. "But what killed her was the wound on the back of her head. My guess is that she fell or jumped down a cliff somewhere and hit a rock because I found fragments in her skull."

"Could someone have struck her?" John wanted to know.

"It would have to be someone exceptionally strong," she replied. "No, my theory is that she fell off a cliff and hit her head. She has fractures all over her body. Ribs. Thigh. Arms. Another person wouldn't have done that to her."

"Unless they killed her with the blow and then pushed her body off a cliff."

Osgood granted him just a hint of a smile as if she was impressed by such a simple theory. "Well, the only way you'll know is if you search the coast. If there was a struggle somewhere, if someone had pulled another person across the field, we'd see. You could also have a look at her clothes, but she must have been in the water for most of the night, so I doubt there'll be much evidence left."

John nodded. "There's a team out there combing the area right now," he explained and he wished that he was with them, not stuck here with the paperwork. But it was either going on an evidence hunt or seeing Clara Oswald again. The choice hadn't been a hard one.

"You could be right, of course. Someone could have struck her across the back of the head, knocked her out, thrown her off a cliff and the injuries she gained during the fall cover up what happened before. It's not impossible, but hard to tell from just her body."

"Has anyone examined her clothes and bag yet?"

"No bag, but the clothes haven't been examined," Osgood replied, then pointed towards a box. "They're in there if you want to have a look."

John exhaled sharply before he reached for the box and hoisted it on the nearest table. There was always something fascinating about going through a box of evidence for the first time, the magic of uncovering a secret, of discovering who a person was before they met an untimely end. People fascinated him even though, most of the time, John hated to deal with them, but they were more interesting like this. Until they uncovered more about them, until they broadened the bubble, a few items and the clothes on their body was all their world consisted of and John enjoyed the process of slowly figuring out who they were. Then Osgood spoke again, tearing him out of his thoughts before he had even lifted the first object.

"Is the woman a suspect?" she wanted to know. "The one who was just here?"

John shot around and merely looked at the young pathologist for a moment. "Clara?"

Osgood nodded. "I mean, she fled the room. That looks a little suspicious, doesn't it?"

"How did you react when you saw your first body?" John barked at her and quickly cleared his throat. There was no reason to be so harsh with her when she had asked a completely legitimate question.

However, to his surprise, Osgood giggled. "I thought their skin felt funny, but most people felt a bit sick," she admitted.

"Well, I suppose that's what Clara Oswald felt, too. Can't have been easy to see someone who looks just like yourself on this table."

"So you don't think she's a suspect?" Osgood pressed.

John shook his head. "You said it yourself, only a very strong person could have caused the blow. And I can't imagine Miss Oswald throwing a body of her own size and weight off a cliff."

"Pushing would work," the pathologist suggested. "And if you know someone well or you trust them, you wouldn't necessarily be wary about going on a walk with them, even next to a cliff."

"Clara Oswald said she doesn't know her," John repeatedly firmly. "So right now, she's not a suspect. Now, let me have a look at this box, okay?"

Osgood retreated and a few seconds later, John heard the door close behind him and he was locked in with Jane Doe and the ungodly morgue smell. Yet his curiosity was stronger than his need for fresh air, so he put on a pair of gloves and pulled the first object out of the box.

Her pager was a recent model, yet terribly scratched as if it had suffered from the fall just as badly as its owner. He wondered whether the tech department could still get anything useful out of it or whether the night in the ocean had done it in. The attempt to switch it on failed, so John put it aside and reached for the woman's coat. They had dried it before locking it away, but they seemed to have done the fabric a disservice with that. The leather sleeves of the dark mac had become brittle and started to crack in a couple of places. The rest was in an equally bad condition with tears and scratches all over. John checked the label and recognised the British brand as one he knew quite well. If someone were to turn the hoodie he was currently wearing inside out, they would find the exact same label inside. Whoever she was, she must have earned quite a bit of money because the brand of her coat was an expensive one. Out of curiosity, John reached into the pocket and was surprised when his fingers felt a damp piece of cloth. He pulled it out.

As soon as he was looking at it, John realised that he had found something very important, something that could possibly lead to finding out who their Jane Doe was. It wasn't a piece of cloth but a note that hadn't yet dried completely inside the pocket and his heartbeat instantly started to accelerate a little even before he knew what it said. It was as if he could feel it, the importance of this little note leaking out into his fingers before he had read it. Carefully, as if afraid he might damage it, John unfolded the piece of paper.

From one moment to the next, it seemed as if his heart had stopped because the name and the address on the note were very familiar to him by now and it made no sense to him whatsoever.