Climb a tree, get hung in the morgue. Oh yeah, things were definitely getting back to normal, he thought as he turned and felt Keats put the tape measure around his neck.
‘When I say drop, just lower yourself quickly by crouching down.’
‘Okay.’
‘Drop.’
Penn did as he’d been told. He felt the tape measure tighten, but he also felt it shift.
‘Ah, got it,’ Penn said, straightening up and moving back to the body.
‘The cause of death will either be due to strangulation or a broken neck. There is no doubt that our boy here was strangled but definitely before he was hoisted up onto the branch.’
There were two rings around his neck, Penn noted, pointing.
‘The lower one was the one that killed him, and the upper one was from him resting in that position until he was cut down,’ Keats said, waving him back to the periphery of the room.
Penn could only wonder at the physical strength of the person who had not only strangled Jamie Mills but also hoisted his dead-weight body up and into thin air.
He took out his notebook and scrawled.
One killer or two?
‘While you’ve got that out, I’m going to estimate his time of death between the hours of 1a.m. and 4a.m. in the early hours of Sunday morning.’
Penn wrote that down while his mind did a quick calculation. Hours since death – approximately eighty-one. Hours between death and Burns’s attendance – approximately six. Wasted hours – seventy-five. And that would have been more if the boss hadn’t got involved.
Penn put his book back in his pocket and waited patiently while Keats moved around the boy’s limbs, inspecting the feet and then the hands.
‘Hmm…’ Keats said, peering closely at the underside of the left wrist.
Penn knew better than to speak.
Keats moved to the right wrist and inspected the underside of that one. ‘Hmm…’ he repeated.
Penn said nothing.
‘Approach,’ Keats said.
He stood beside the man who was still holding Jamie’s right wrist.
‘See that faint white line there?’
Penn had to peer closely to see it, but sure enough there was a thin white line stretching across the wrist.
‘Same on the other wrist,’ Keats said.
‘Suicide attempts?’ Penn asked. Even though they knew his death wasn’t suicide didn’t mean he’d never tried in the past.
‘Don’t think so,’ Keats said, frowning. ‘Uncommon on both wrists and the line is too tidy. Pass me that razor.’
‘Keats, I’m not doing any re-enactments with—’
‘Calm down and pass me the razor.’
Penn looked around and located a Bic razor on the work surface. He placed it into Keats’s hand as though he was a nurse assisting a doctor with major surgery.
The pathologist placed the boy’s wrist back on the metal tray. He began to gently and carefully shave the wiry dark hair that travelled down Jamie’s arm. The process revealed pale skin beneath. Keats grabbed a magnifying glass and took a look. He handed the magnifier to Penn before taking his razor around to the other side of the tray. He repeated the process as Penn took a look. Sure enough, the faint white line was present on the top side of the wrist.