Damned by Logic by Jeffrey Ashford Read Free Book Online Page A

to converse that morning before Ansell left to go and buy the paper from the local corner shop. On his return, she continued to read a magazine. Silence had become her weapon of attack and defence.
    â€˜Would you like a drink?’ he asked.
    She might not have heard. He asked again. She shook her head.
    As he went through to the larder, he wondered how long it would be before her present resentment dimmed. She still remembered he had laughed at one of the doubtful jokes his best man had made at the wedding party.
    He returned, sat. ‘Shall we watch?’ He indicated the TV in the corner of the room; any company was better than his present one.
    She shrugged her shoulders.
    He switched on the rolling news. It was a day for pessimists. Half the world was in turmoil. The news became more local. Politicians were praising and damning the latest government proposal. A crash had closed two westbound lanes on the M25. Talks between union officials and arbitrators in the chemical industry had failed to reach an agreement. The wife of a millionaire footballer had been caught shoplifting. A woman had been found dead in woods in Kent. To plump out the last report, Detective Chief Superintendent Abbotts was interviewed by a TV camera team. His answers to the questions were brief and uncommunicative.
    â€˜We do not yet know who the unfortunate woman was.’
    â€˜She had been mutilated, but I am not prepared to say more than that.’
    â€˜It is impossible at this stage of the investigation to judge whether the attacker was mentally unbalanced.’
    â€˜The motive has not yet been determined.’
    â€˜I am unable to confirm or deny that there is evidence of torture. That is all I can say.’
    The next item of news was shown.
    â€˜Poor woman,’ Ansell said. ‘Can you imagine her agonized shouts for the cavalry which never arrived?’
    Eileen carried on reading as if he wasn’t there.
    â€˜They haven’t identified her so there may be parents with missing daughters or husbands with missing wives, who’ll be in hell until the dead woman is identified. Murder does more than kill its victim; close relations and friends are caught up in the mental pain of death. Yet when the victim can’t be named, dozens of people may be affected.’ He was rambling now, but desperate to get a reaction out of his mute wife.
    She finally spoke. ‘Are you trying to be clever?’
    â€˜I hope not.’
    She resumed reading.
    The post-mortem began. Individual wounds and bruises on the body were verbally positioned by the pathologist and recorded, measured and photographed.
    Lengths of hair, scrapings from under the fingernails, were gathered; samples were taken from the genital area.
    Glover, the senior SOCO and forensic scientists were asked if there was anything more they wished to be done. The body was washed where its surfaces had been stained by dirt or blood.
    The internal examination began. Glover was not the only man present who, as far as possible, divorced his mind from what was happening. When concluded, the pathologist briefly spoke to Glover. ‘Age around twenty-four or five.’ He spoke in short, sharp words, as if rushed; a false impression since when working, he was never in a hurry. ‘Generally healthy despite being a heavy smoker. Sexually active, but no indication of sexual activity immediately before death.
    â€˜I think the best description of what she suffered is death by a thousand cuts. None caused death, all contributed to shock and a loss of blood which proved fatal.’
    â€˜Would you judge it to have been sadism or torture?’
    â€˜If there is a meaningful difference, torture. Whoever used the knife, chose parts of the body where injury would not be expected to cause a quick death.’
    â€˜Was she on drugs?’
    â€˜No obvious signs, but you’ll have to wait for the laboratory to confirm or deny.’
    â€˜Maybe she nicked a load