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at him. Rebus could see a warm light in his deep eyes. ‘Well, Inspector, let us hope somebody spots whatever it is before too long. Four deaths in as many months. The man’s as constant as the moon.’
    Rebus smiled. ‘But we all know that werewolves are affected by the moon, don’t we?’
    Cousins laughed. It was deep and resonant and sounded extraordinarily out of place in this environment. Lamb wasn’t laughing, wasn’t even smiling. He was following little of this conversation, and the realisation pleased Rebus. But Lamb wasn’t going to be left out.
    ‘I reckon he’s barking mad. Hee, get it?’
    ‘Well,’ said Cousins, as though this joke was too well-worn even to merit acknowledgment, ‘must press on.’ He turned towards the slab. ‘If you’ve finished, gentlemen?’ The Forensics men nodded in unison. ‘Jewellery removed?’ They nodded again. ‘Good. Then if you are ready, I suggest we begin.’
    The beginning was never too awful. Measurements, a physical description – five feet and seven inches tall, brown hair, that sort of thing. Fingernail scrapings and clippings were deposited in yet more polythene bags. Rebus made a note to buy shares in whichever company manufactured these bags. He’d seen murder investigations go through hundreds of them.
    Slowly but determinedly, things got worse. Swabs were taken from Jean Cooper’s vagina, then Cousins got down to some serious work.
    ‘Large puncture wound to the throat. From size of wound, I’d say the knife itself had been twisted in the wound. A small knife. From the extent of the exit wound I would say the blade was about five inches long, perhaps a little less, and about an inch deep, ending in a very fine point. The skin surrounding the entry wound shows some bruising, perhaps caused by the hilt-guard or handle. This would seem to indicate that the knife was driven in with a certain amount of force.
    ‘The hands and arms show no signs of defence wounding, so the victim had no time in which to defend herself. The possibility exists that she was approached from behind. There is some colouring around the mouth and the victim’s lipstick had been slightly smeared across her right cheek. If she was approached from behind, a possible scenario would be that the attacker’s left hand closed over her mouth to stop her from screaming, thus smearing the lipstick while the attacker stabbed with the right hand. The wound to the throat shows a slight downward angle, which would indicate someone taller than the victim.’
    Cousins cleared his throat again. Well, thought Rebus, so far they could strike the mortuary attendant and one of the photographers off the possible list of suspects: everyone else in the room was five feet eight or over.
    The pause in proceedings gave the onlookers a chance to shuffle their feet, clear their own throats, and glance at each other, taking note of how pale this or that face was. Rebus was surprised at the pathologist’s ‘scenarios’: that was supposed to be their job, not his. All the pathologists Rebus had ever worked with had given the bare facts, leaving the deductions to Rebus himself. But Cousins obviously did not work that way. Perhaps he was a frustrated detective. Rebus still found it hard to believe that people came to pathology through choice.
    Tea appeared, carried in three beakers on a plastic tray by Inspector Flight. Cousins and Isobel Penny took a cup each, and Flight himself took the other. There were jealous stares from a few dry-mouthed officers. Rebus was among them.
    ‘Now,’ said Cousins between sips, ‘I’m going to examine the anal wound.’
    It just kept on getting worse. Rebus tried to concentrate on what Cousins was saying, but it wasn’t easy. The same knife had been used to make several stabs to the anus. There were friction marks on the thighs from where the tights had been roughly pulled down. Rebus looked over to Isobel Penny, but, apart from some slight heightening of the colour in