Dream Chasers. Barbara Fradkin

They’ll bring her to the morgue for the ID when MacPhail gives us the word.”

      The two detectives watched in silence as MacPhail prowled around the body with his powerful flashlight, probing every inch and frequently signalling Cunningham to photograph a particular detail. Cunningham’s partner could be seen stalking through the trees on the island, marking every broken beer bottle, used condom and cigarette butt to be photographed and collected. On this picturesque little island a stone’s throw from Carleton University campus, there were sure to be plenty of all three.

      It felt like an eternity before MacPhail straightened up, nodded to Cunningham and headed back towards Green and Sullivan. He strode through the water, oblivious as it engulfed his hiking boots.

      “I came prepared for dirt and trees, not water,” he announced in his booming Scottish brogue. Dr. Alexander MacPhail hadn’t been near the Highlands in the last thirty of his sixtyodd years, but managed to sound more Scottish with each passing year. The joke in the police force was that he was drinking up Scotland shot by shot. It did not appear to diminish his acumen one bit, however.

      He snapped off his latex gloves and crushed Green’s hand in his powerful grip. “I thought you were on holidays, laddie.”

      Green stifled a grimace at the thought of where the hand had just been. “I am. Just dropping by.”

      “Oh, aye.” MacPhail shot him a knowing smile. “ HRH will be calling you back in, mark my words. Any time the press is going to shine a spotlight, she likes all her boys lined up neatly in a row. In their Sunday best as well,” he added, arching one eyebrow at Green’s T-shirt.

      Green was wondering himself when Superintendent Devine would call. No doubt when the news of the body reached her ears. God forbid she should actually oversee the case all by herself. After ten years as Ottawa’s chief forensic pathologist, MacPhail had her pegged to a T.

      “Before she calls, I’d like some facts to feed her,” Green replied. “What can you tell us?”

      “Well, from the degree of putrefaction and the absence of rigor, I’d say she’s been dead about two to three days, so she likely died sometime the night she disappeared. We know she only surfaced in the past twelve hours, since your lads searched this entire area yesterday evening, but with the water still so cold, it’s difficult to estimate how long she was under beforehand.”

      “Cause of death? Drowning?”

      MacPhail hesitated. “Impossible to tell at this point, till I get a peek inside. There are no signs of obvious trauma, such as a gunshot wound or crushed skull. There’s water in her lungs, but that is inconclusive after three days submerged. There is some water debris in her nasal and oral passages which could also be consistent with drowning, but the debris could have been washed in post mortem.”

      “Debris? Like sand?”

      “And algae. But I’ll need microscopic analysis of her blood and bone marrow in order to confirm whether she was still alive when she hit the water.”

      “Any other points? Sexual activity?”

      “I can’t see anything forced. No bruising or tearing around the genitals. But as for consensual sex, that’s impossible to tell, given the amount of edema. She was a sexually active girl, I can tell that, and with any luck the river won’t have washed away all the semen if she had intercourse before she died.”

      With any luck, Green thought. Semen would go a long way towards pinpointing who she’d been with the night she died, and perhaps unravelling the mystery of how she’d ended up in the water without any clothes. Even if her ultimate death proved to be drowning by misadventure, that mystery lover had a lot to answer for.

      “However,” MacPhail was saying, and the twinkle in his blue eyes stirred Green’s interest, “there is one thing, difficult to detect with the edema and the discoloration. I’ll know more when I can get her on the table this afternoon, so I may have a more definitive answer for you then.”

      Green’s eyes narrowed. “What thing?”

      “Ach, it’s naught but a wee tiny detail. Better lighting or a close look at the tissue will do the trick.”

      “What wee tiny detail?”

      MacPhail swept his hand in invitation towards the body, grinning. “Shall we take a look?”

      Green grimaced. He knew he should be taking a close look at the body, but the words edema and discoloration were deterrent enough. “Just tell me.”

      MacPhail laughed then lunged forward to grip Green by the upper arms. Green jumped back reflexively, thinking he meant to drag him over to the body, but in the next instant the doctor softened his grip and struck a didactic pose. “She’s got these very small dark spots on her arms that could be bruises. Just like someone’s thumbs were holding her very hard. Mind you, with the degree of putrefaction and the time in the water...”

      “So you’re saying it’s possible she didn’t drown accidentally?”

      “I’m not saying that. Odds are she did. All I’m saying is that you shouldn’t be packing away your interview forms and your evidence kits just yet.”

      Before Green could even digest the implications, a highpitched scream echoed down the river bank, and all three men spun around to see a commotion in the woods by the shoreline.