The Trophy Taker - Lee Weeks

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one of four drawers, slid a white body bag out onto the trolley and wheeled it over to the stand above a drain in the centre of the room.

      Saheed began dictating into the microphone clipped to his breast pocket:

      ‘The head of a Caucasian woman … late twenties … frozen after death. Bluish discoloration around the mouth … no obvious sign of injuries.’ Mann looked over his shoulder as Saheed shone a light inside her mouth.

      ‘She looks like she’s had a fair amount of work done, sir.’

      ‘Yes. She should have dental records somewhere.’

      ‘Cause of death, sir?’

      ‘Asphyxiation of some kind – we will have to wait for the x-rays to be sure. Let’s move on. There’s plenty more of Jane to get through. Wash her hair, please, Kin Tak. Sieve the contents and send them off for analysis.’

      Kin Tak unzipped the bag along its length and lifted out a woman’s thigh, dissected at the knee and hip. He weighed it in a set of scales suspended above the table, before placing it on the slab. Ng measured it and recorded its dimensions on his pad.

      Saheed turned the leg over twice, examining it closely before lifting his head to address the policemen. ‘Tell me what your observations are, Officer,’ he said to Li, who had managed to avoid getting too close to the table so far.

      Li stepped forward and stared nervously at the leg. ‘Uh …’ His eyes darted hopelessly around the room in search of an answer.

      ‘And yours, Inspector?’ Saheed turned to Mann.

      Mann pointed to the knee joint. ‘Pretty impressive, sir. Someone enjoys his work. Likes it to look neat.’

      The pathologist grunted his agreement before addressing Li again. ‘Do you cook, Officer? Ever had to joint or bone meat? No? Well, let me tell you, it’s a skill. You need to be at least a competent surgeon or at worst a good butcher. You need a very sharp knife and you need to know where to saw, chop and cut. Like here,’ he said, tapping the open knee joint with his scalpel. ‘Now, let’s see what else we have … Victim is approximately twenty-five years old, five foot five inches tall, and … what’s this?’ He paused to study a mark on the inside of the thigh.

      ‘We have us a biter,’ Kin Tak blurted out, unable to contain his excitement.

      The pathologist looked up, nodded and smiled at his assistant. He allowed Kin Tak his little eccentricities and his almost Tourette’s-like need to voice his observations. ‘Yes … There is a human bite mark here on the inside of the thigh, made after death occurred. Within twelve hours, I would say.’ Ng stepped forward to photograph the bite mark and measure dimensions in preparation for a cast to be made. ‘She had been dead at least a week before being dismembered.’

      ‘So, someone hung on to her after they killed her and before they froze her?’

      ‘Why would they do that?’ Li looked at Mann.

      ‘All sorts of reasons, Shrimp. None of them nice.’

       5

      Reasons? He shrugged. She had made him feel good – reason enough. He hadn’t wanted to let her go. He had a video of her death, which he watched often. He was watching it now – sat in his chair, remote in one hand, cock in the other. Ready to pause and rewind at his favourite bit. The look on her face when she knew this time was the last! He loved that bit.

      He watched himself turn and grin at the camera, a length of twine in his hand. The girl, frantic, trying to get away from him. But she couldn’t. She was tied tightly to the chair. Only her pretty little head moved in tiny shakes as she squealed into the gag. There was nothing she could do. Her fate was in his hands. Wait … It was coming to his favourite bit now. Tourniquet in place. Turn it once, twice … turn and tighten. Hold it for longer this time … Yes! She knows this is it! Her eyes bulged. Her body convulsed. The shaking stopped. Still he carried on watching. This was his favourite part of the film. She was dead but he wasn’t finished with her. Pause. Rewind. Pause. Rewind.

       6

      Saheed waited for Ng to finish photographing the bite mark before continuing:

      ‘The right arm of the victim has been cleanly dissected at the shoulder joint. Obvious signs of injury around the wrist: deep lacerations, residual debris.’ He picked out some fibres enmeshed in the flesh. ‘Rope fibres,’ he said, holding his tweezers aloft for Li to take the sample from him. ‘The hand is still attached, two fingers remain intact but lifted from the bone …’ Saheed scraped beneath the nails, and tapped the scrapings into a plastic dish, ‘which is common with bodies found in water.’ He cut the lifted skin from the woman’s finger.

      ‘Found in water, sir?’ Li spoke.

      ‘They had been frozen, hadn’t they? When they thawed they created a lot of liquid. Give me your hand,’ he said, at the same time reaching over and taking it. He wrapped the woman’s cut skin around Li’s index finger before passing his hand to Ng to take a print. Ng rolled Li’s finger, and the woman’s, in the ink several times. Pressing hard onto the pad, he held it there to ensure a good print. Li’s boiled face blanched.

      ‘You all right, Shrimp?’ It looked to Mann like he was about to throw up.

      ‘Totally.’ Li cleared his throat while managing a half-smile. ‘No problemo.’

      ‘Good lad.’ Mann and Ng exchanged grins.

      ‘Okay, gentlemen, let’s move on, shall we?’ Saheed peeled off his gloves and apron and pulled out a new set from the box above the sink. He indicated to Li to do the same and resumed his dictation:

      ‘The torso is showing greenish-black discoloration on the abdomen – a sign of decomposition. There is a deep cut which runs directly across from one hip bone to the other, measuring …?’

      Mann stepped forward. ‘Twenty-one centimetres,’ he announced, holding the ruler while Ng photographed.

      ‘A large-bladed knife with a sawing action made this wound, and it was made at least twelve hours after death.’

      Li shook his head with disbelief. ‘How do you know that? How do you know the size of the knife? Awesome!’

      Saheed paused, looked over his glasses at Li, then, with a small upward jerk of the head, he beckoned him nearer.

      He’ll learn … thought Mann, as Li hesitated. The hard way …

      ‘Come closer, young man. I want to show you something.’ Mr Saheed guided Li’s hands to the edge of the wound. ‘Put your fingers in there and gently pull back the surrounding flaps of skin … Now what do you see?’

      Li reached in gingerly.

      ‘A pattern of straight and jagged cuts, sir …’ he held his breath, ‘along the length of the wound.’ He stood up and turned his head away to breathe.

      ‘Stay there!’ Mr Saheed said as he held on to Li’s retreating hand. ‘Give him the ruler, Inspector.’ Mann handed it over. ‘Now … how long are the horizontal cuts?’

      ‘Four centimetres, sir.’ Li measured it with his free hand.

      ‘How far into the muscle and flesh has the knife travelled? Fingers in, young man, get on with it!’

      ‘Right through, sir. The cut goes past the fat and through the muscle.’

      ‘As far in as the length of your thumb, would you say?’

      ‘Yes, sir.’ ‘Okay. So the blade has to be at least that thick, doesn’t it? Does that answer your question, young man?’

      ‘Yes,

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