Page 118 of Worse Than Murder
Boyd is happy to see Adele when she breezes through the double doors to the post-mortem suite. They haven’t met for more than three years and they have both changed dramatically in their appearances.
‘You’re thin,’ she says, standing back and marvelling at the new, svelte Dr Hailstones.
‘I had to do something,’ he says in a thick Scottish burr, slapping a hand to his flat stomach. ‘I caught Covid during the first wave. It completely floored me. I’ve had a complete lifestyle change. I still drink like a fish, obviously, but no more red meat and processed foods for me.’
‘Good for you,’ she beams.
‘Look at you, though, you’re tanned.’
‘It’ll soon fade.’
‘I thought you were in Sierra Leone.’
‘Personal circumstances have brought me back.’
‘I read about DCI Darke in the news. How’s she coping?’
‘The jury’s still out.’
‘So, how come you’re involved in this Pemberton case?’
Adele rolls her eyes. ‘It’s a long story, Boyd.’
‘I’ve got all the time in the world. Come on through, I’ll put the kettle on.’
Over a mug of tea, they swap life stories. Adele tells Boyd about her boyfriend being a serial killer, and he tells her about his new post in Newcastle starting early next year. Then they get down to the reason for Adele’s visit.
Boyd opens a file on his computer and brings up the photographs of the skeletons of the two young girls side by side on the stainless-steel gurney. Their bones have been placed in order to form two full bodies. Having seen photographs of the girls when they were alive, it’s sad to see them like this and think of their lives cut so horribly short.
‘What can you tell me?’ Adele asks, not taking her eyes from the screen.
‘Very little.’
‘I thought as much.’
‘I can’t tell you if they were sexually abused. I can’t tell you if they were tied up or strangled or drowned or stabbed or shot. I can tell you they were healthy before they were killed and had excellent teeth. That’s how we identified them, by the way. Celia had a filling on an upper molar. What I can tell you is that Celia Pemberton suffered blunt force trauma to the back of her head,’ he says, selecting another file which shows a close-up image of her skull. There is a clear hole in the right parietal.
‘She was hit on the head with something?’
‘Possibly. Whatever was used was heavy enough to break the skull. A blow like this to a person who is alive would render them unconscious and in urgent need of medical assistance. Without that assistance, they wouldn’t be alive for much longer.’
‘What about Jennifer?’
‘No blow to the head at all. Her bones are all intact. We’re missing the phalanges of the toes on both, but that’s common from a body left to the elements for thirty years.’
‘Anything else you can tell me?’
‘Yes, actually. Jennifer suffered a broken arm that didn’t heal correctly,’ he says, pointing out a close-up of the right radius of her skeleton. ‘I requested the medical records which nobody could find, unfortunately, but the coroner’s office contacted the mother, and she said Jennifer never broke her arm. None of the girls did.’
‘How long before she died did she break it?’
‘A few months. Six at the most,’ he muses. ‘It’s healed, but like I said, not properly.’
‘She would have been in pain, though, surely?’
‘Not necessarily. I broke three ribs while skiing a few years ago. It was months before I was x-rayed. I just thought I was bruised.’
‘A girl with a broken bone and not taken to hospital sounds like evidence of a cover-up. How can a mother not notice?’ Adele asks, speaking aloud more than seeking an answer from the doctor.
