As Lottie was about to follow Grainne, she yelled, ‘Stop! She moved. Fuck, she moved.’
‘What do you mean?’ Grainne stared from Lottie to the body. ‘It’s just the breeze.’
‘Her arm moved. Look. Not the one around the neck, the arm that’s around the statue’s waist.’
‘It’s in the same position.’
Lottie squinted. ‘Now that I look at her, I think it might have been the strap of her dress that moved.’
‘Another dress too big for the wearer.’ Grainne continued her journey around the body. ‘Stay there, Inspector. It’s mucky over here; the plates are sinking.’
‘Can you see her face?’ Lottie resisted the urge to follow the SOCO; she didn’t want to be the one to contaminate a crime scene, even if the crime had occurred elsewhere.
Grainne shook her head. ‘She’s facing into the statue and will have to be moved in order for us to identify her. Can’t do that until the state pathologist arrives.’
‘I need her on site now.’
‘Why don’t you phone her then?’
Lottie bit her tongue before saying, ‘Any sign of a bullet wound?’
‘I can only see what you can.’ Grainne examined the body from a distance before making her way back to Lottie. ‘Sorry for being rude, but this job gets to me at times.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I know the feeling.’
‘Have you a photo of the missing woman? Any identifying marks or tattoos?’
‘Only head and shoulders. Hair looks similar. Why?’
‘There’s a small scar on the index finger of her right hand. It’s like she had a mole removed recently.’
‘I’ll check that out. Anything else?’
‘All her fingers are broken.’
‘Jesus Christ! What kind of a sick fuck are we dealing with?’
‘Initial guess, we’re dealing with the same sick fuck who killed Jennifer O’Loughlin.’
‘The minute you have anything for me to go on, I want to know.’
‘Sure thing. And please ring the pathologist. I need to move the body to see if her attacker left any evidence on her or the statue.’
The dress fluttered again and the strap fell further down the inert arm.
‘What’s that mark on her side?’ Lottie said. ‘Up under her arm.’
Grainne moved a little closer, careful of the sinking plates. ‘Looks like another scar. From an operation, maybe?’
‘Okay. Something else to go on. Thanks.’
Lottie returned to Boyd, who was talking to a flustered young woman with a child in a buggy.
‘I really have to leave,’ the woman said. ‘You have my number if you need to ask me anything else.’
‘That’s fine, thanks for all your help.’
As the woman scurried away towards the outer cordon, Lottie raised a quizzical eyebrow. ‘Witness?’