“I mean,” she said, “clearly there’s something not quite right here, something’s missing.”
DI Jenkins sighed and bit down a sharp retort. Of course there was something missing. In fact, there were a few things – eyes, fingers, liver, lungs, kidneys, and, possibly most disturbingly, the victim’s trousers. His dentures had also been removed and were in the middle of a damp stain on the carpet.
He was just grateful that whoever had done this had stopped the mutilation there. After all, he already had one young constable throwing up in the back garden, and his sergeant was looking a bit queasy too.
The pathologist though, seemed to think that something was wrong beyond the obvious.
“Go on then,” he said. “What have you got for me?”
She glanced at the body before speaking.
“I’ll do a proper autopsy back at the lab, but I’d say that most of this happened post-mortem and that initial cause of death is a garrotting. When did you get the call?”
“Ten thirty-one this morning. Neighbour saw someone breaking in, called us and when we got here, he was like this. Poor old sod has seen so much of life, he didn’t deserve it to be ended prematurely like this.”
“Agreed. Still, there’s something though that’s niggling me about this. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”
“Pretty sure he can’t do that either,” Jenkins snorted, then sighed again as the constable, who had appeared at the door staggered off again retching.
The pathologist offered him a wan smile, and started reviewing her voice notes, eyes darting around the room, trying to dig the anomaly out of the environment.
Jenkins turned for the door as the sergeant asked “What about his wallet, Sir?”
“In the hall, along with his car keys, so robbery’s not a motive. Get the family liaison to ask if he had any known enemies… delicately, naturally.”
“Sir. One thought – could it just be random? Opportunistic? Accidental after a break in gone wrong and intended to put us off the scent? Speaking of scent, can I open a window, that smell of piss makes me want to heave as well.”
“No,” Jenkins, said. “Leave it to the forensics people and… wait, what did you say?”
“The smell, Sir. It makes me want to…” he tailed off as Jenkins raised his hand to silence him.
Striding over to the pathologist, he said: “The dentures.”
“Yes?”
“New or old ones?”
“Old. Very old, made of ivory – they’re on the floor over there in that puddle of what I assume is urine… what?”
“I know who did this.”
“What? Who?”
“The guys at the station have been calling him The Piano Killer.”
“Surely The Organist would be more appropriate? I don’t see any piano wire round his neck…”
“It’s not that.”
“Go on, enlighten me.”
Jenkins sighed again. “It’s because he targets people who have this specific kind of ivory false teeth and then he…”
“What?”
“Well, removes them and tinkles on them.”
