Tooth for a Tooth (Di Gilchrist 3)

skull’s deformed shape confirmed the cause of death as blunt trauma. ‘See here,’ said Mackie, pointing to a jagged hole in front of where the right ear would have been, the skull indented, networked with cracks. ‘Best guess would be a single blow to the temple. And to crush the skull like that, she was most likely dead when she hit the deck. Definitely unconscious. From the damage here,’ he said, and ran his finger over the bone, ‘to here, I’d say not a hammer. The impact dent would have been more circular. And not an axe. The skull’s been crushed, not cut.’
    ‘Blunt axe?’ offered Gilchrist.
    Mackie shook his head. ‘Something broader, more rounded. If she was killed at home, perhaps the base of a heavy table lamp. Now that would do it.’ Seemingly satisfied with his theory, Mackie offered the skull to Gilchrist.
    Gilchrist folded his arms. He had never been comfortable handling human remains. Not long after joining the Force, he had once held the skull of a man shot through the head, and found himself struggling to control his emotions as he visualized the bullet thudding into the forehead, ripping through the brain and exiting in an eruption of blood and gore. Had the man felt any pain? Or just a numbing thud, followed by blinded confusion then death? At what point in the bullet’s passing had the man died? Gilchrist had managed to hand back the skull before vomiting over the mortuary floor. From that point on, he made sure to keep a safe distance.
    ‘It’s a classic wound for someone murdered on the spur of the moment,’ said Mackie. ‘Face to face. A heavy blow that crushed her skull and sent her flying, either dead or dying.’ He gave a slow-motion demonstration, holding an imaginary weapon and striking at the skull.
    ‘Left-handed, I see,’ said Gilchrist. ‘Unless she was struck from behind, of course.’
    ‘Of course,’ said Mackie.
    Gilchrist stared at the battered skull. Had sex been the motive behind this young woman’s murder? Had she put up a fight that ended in her death? Regardless of how she was killed, her disappearance would not have gone unreported. Someone would have missed her – her parents, boyfriend, sister, brother. She could not have vanished without some stirring in the local press. But Stan had found nothing up to 1975. Maybe Nance would have better luck with the Police National Computer.
    Mackie handed the skull back to the SOCO.
    ‘Dr Mackie, sir?’ shouted the other SOCO, scraping around the exposed ribcage.
    Gilchrist found himself on hands and knees, leaning into the grave.
    ‘It looks like a metal case, sir.’
    ‘Camera,’ ordered Mackie, and flapped a hand to his side.
    The SOCO by the plastic bags obliged.
    The camera flashed as Mackie pried more soil loose and eased a rusted lump of metal from the rotted remains of clothing. ‘Ah-hah,’ he said, holding it to his face. ‘Looks like we’ve found ourselves a cigarette lighter.’ Mackie rubbed the lighter’s rusted surface with his thumb, holding it as if about to light up. ‘Don’t suppose it works,’ he said.
    ‘Shouldn’t think so.’
    Mackie reached for a metal box beside the moss-covered headstone and removed a magnifying glass. He turned his attention to the lighter. ‘Looks as if there’s some marks here,’ he mumbled, ‘scratched on the side. Difficult to say. Could be damage to the case, of course. Or just natural deterioration.’
    ‘May I?’ asked Gilchrist.
    The case was about three inches long by two wide, scarred black with rust. Gilchrist supposed it had been silver-coated at one time. He studied it through the magnifier, tried to make sense of the markings, but the metal was too rusted after all that time. ‘They could be anything,’ he said, and handed the magnifying glass and lighter back to Mackie. ‘Can you clean it up?’ he asked. ‘I’d like to know if they mean anything. You never know.’
    ‘Let me see what I can come up with.’
    Gilchrist thanked Mackie and stepped from the tent.
    Outside, the crisp air and bright sunlight failed to lift his spirits. Somehow, the discovery of the cigarette lighter troubled him. Seven years earlier, a child’s body had been discovered on a stretch of dunes, a pair of matching footprints stamped into the sand close by. Gilchrist’s suspicion that they had been set there to lead them away from the murderer had been proven correct in the end. And now he had that same feeling with the cigarette lighter.
    It