Page 95 of First Blood

His dead gaze stared straight ahead and fleshy jowls hung limply either side of flaccid lips.

Kim tore her gaze away and looked around the room.

There were few people present but the heat was stifling.

‘Fire was left on full,’ Keats explained. ‘But I’m thinking he was murdered some time last night.’

Kim was surprised by his words so soon into his examination.

‘That a guess, Keats?’ she asked. ‘Surely he wouldn’t smell this bad after twelve or so hours?’

‘As you well know decomposition begins the second the heart stops beating. There are some thirty trillion cells on the average human body not to mention more than double that in the intestinal tract and they all get very busy very quickly…’

‘But still,’ she said, wrinkling her nose.

‘The constant full heat of the fire added to the man’s body mass added to the fact that his sphincter loosened accounts for—’

‘Got it,’ she said, needing no further explanation of the aroma that was getting into the back of her throat.

She started looking around the sparsely furnished room for any letters or paperwork.

‘I can help you with that too, if you’d like,’ Keats offered, as though tuned right into her brain. Not a prospect she relished.

‘Go on,’ Kim said, testing his psychic powers.

‘I’m surprised you don’t recognise him,’ he teased.

‘Why would I?’ Kim asked, taking another look.

‘His name is Charles Lockwood, whose life as he knew it ended around eighteen months ago.’

Kim frowned, vaguely recognising the name but still not recognising the person.

‘He didn’t look like this then. He was much slimmer and while not exactly a stick he was not obese.’

Kim tried to imagine him with less weight. There was something pricking at her memory.

‘He had a short segment on a Friday evening magazine show, mainly reporting on entertainment around the local areas, restaurants, clubs, offering opinions and recommendations. Until it came out that he was accepting backhanders for favourable reviews.’

‘Aah, I think I remember. He disappeared from our screens very quickly.’

Keats nodded. ‘And that’s not all that happened. He lost everything. House, cars. His wife moved out, had no choice really. He was prosecuted and went to prison and looking around I’m guessing he’s not long been out.’

Kim frowned. There was nothing there that matched their victim profile.

‘Again, I know what you’re thinking and the answer is yes.’

‘Abuse scandal?’

Keats nodded. ‘A rumour. Hinted at in some online article and then retracted. His eldest daughter was around seven at the time.’

Kim’s concern about his direct line to her thoughts was pushed down by the disgust that rose within her. If he was guilty of what Keats said, she could find little sympathy inside herself for his death or the gruesome manner in which it had occurred. Her personal feelings for the murderer did not in any way diminish her need to find the killer. She believed in justice and the system.

‘Post-mortem will be at 9a.m. It’s already been a long day,’ Keats said.

She thanked him and headed for the door.

‘Bryant, clearly this has to be connected to our case. The genital mutilation is the same as two of our victims, but how exactly?…’