Like Clockwork Read Online Free PDF Page B

A positive. Charnay’s blood. Traces of ink under the blood where she had written a number or a name. These were very faint andit was not possible for the pathologist to decipher anything. Some genital trauma, hard to say how recent, no sign of semen in the body. Does not rule out the use of an object. Traces of semen on her clothes. Possible that her killer had masturbated to celebrate his achievement. It had been wiped clean but traces remained on the skirt. Also possible that it had been there before. Signs too of bruising on the right cheek. A cut next to the corner of the eye. Most likely an open-handed blow by a man wearing a ring. The soles of her feet were dirty inside the high-heeled boots. As if she had been walking without shoes. Toenails painted, fingernails not. Stomach empty. Traces of vomit in her mouth. Cause of death: suffocation.
    Clare put the pages back into the envelope and slipped it into her bag.
    ‘I couldn’t bring the photos,’ said Riedwaan. ‘But I will let you know when we get the toxicology results. The ballistics tests are not conclusive about the scalpel or knife. Something very sharp, at any rate. She did struggle. Piet found some skin under her nails. But it looks like her efforts were feeble. Piet Mouton is sure that she was drugged when she was killed. Rohypnol or something like it.’
    ‘That’s typical, though,’ said Clare. ‘Rohypnol makes the victim confused and acquiescent. If they survive they won’t remember. The survival instinct kicks in if your life is threatened with death.’
    ‘Hence the bruising,’ said Riedwaan. ‘Piet says she was suffocated. The killer used his hands. There were tears on the lips. Her own teeth marked her lips too, so he used a fair amount of strength.’
    Clare looked at the picture of the slender girl. ‘Her throat was cut after she died? Why?’
    Riedwaan nodded. ‘That’s your department, Clare. Whywould he want to silence someone who was already dead? Try and find out what she knew. It might not have any relevance, but it’s something to start with.’ Riedwaan handed her a slip of paper. An address and phone number were written on it. ‘Her family,’ he said. ‘Call them. Talk to them. See what you can find out.’
    ‘Have they been interviewed?’ asked Clare.
    ‘Of course,’ said Riedwaan. ‘You can read the transcripts.’ He handed her another envelope.
    ‘All right,’ said Clare. ‘What are you looking for?’
    Riedwaan shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just a feeling. The interviews didn’t go that well.’ He did not need to explain. Clare knew how short the station was on everything – staff, vehicles, computers. Unless there was another murder, the case would not get any additional resources.
    ‘I’m doing an interview for my trafficking documentary tomorrow.’ Clare stopped short. Then she stood up, putting on her coat, suddenly clumsy.
    Riedwaan got up too. He put his hand on her arm, steadying her. ‘Let me give you a lift home,’ he said, his voice gentle despite himself.
    Clare leaned towards him, his warmth. ‘Yes, please.’
    He could smell her hair, warm and alive against his lips. Then she pulled away.
    ‘Actually, no, but thank you, it’s not quite dark yet. I’ll walk.’ She turned and was gone.
    Riedwaan watched, waiting for her to emerge on the street below. Her arms were hugged close around her body, as if she was carrying something heavy. He lit another cigarette, and when his eyes returned to the pavement below, she had disappeared.
    He spent much longer than he had intended at the bar next to New York Bagel. He drove past Clare’s flat on his wayback to his cold, empty house. Her lights were on. He was glad she was safely at home.
    Inside, Clare sat dead still. She held the familiar Tarot card, the envelope it had been sent in abandoned on the table with the autopsy report. She was looking at the card. The High Priestess. Or the Female Pope. The second card of the major arcana. The card that