The Surrogate by Tania Carver

ways. Julie Simpson, the first victim, was stabbed with a sharp slash to the throat. Death wouldn’t have been long in coming.’

    He paused for dramatic effect. The Triffids were singing about being blinder by the hour. That just reminded Phil that time was running out.

    ‘The second victim was dispatched in a completely different way. Physically restrained while a drug was administered.’

    ‘What drug?’ asked Phil.

    ‘Tests aren’t back yet, but my guess is introcostrin. It’s a neuro-muscular blocking drug. Controls spontaneous muscle movement during surgical procedures, usually given in very controlled doses.’ He sounded almost regretful. ‘However, this was administered in a much larger dose.’

    Phil frowned. ‘How big are we talking?’

    ‘Very big,’ said Nick. ‘Paralysis would have been almost instantaneous.’

    ‘So that was for . . . what? To stop her moving?’

    ‘Larger than that,’ the pathologist said. ‘It would have stopped her breathing.’

    ‘Shit,’ said Phil. ‘Can we trace the drug? How easy is it to get hold of?’

    ‘It’s worth a try. If it’s local, you may be able to find it. But it won’t be easy. If someone’s taken it from a hospital, they’ll have likely covered their tracks. And if they got it from the internet, a counterfeit . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows?’

    Phil made a note.

    ‘Was it accidental, d’you think? Giving her that much? Or did he mean to?’

    Nick smiled. Like he had set a secret test and Phil had passed it. ‘That, in the rather overused and clichéd words of the Bard, is the question. My guess, and it’s only that, is that he didn’t mean to. He wanted her compliant. He then tied her to the bed. It was clear the drug had kicked in by then because there was very little abrasion on the skin against the restraints. She didn’t - or rather couldn’t - struggle. Then he got to work cutting the baby out of her. For that he used the same knife he dispatched Julie Simpson with.’

    ‘Could he have drugged her to keep her silent? Block of flats, people home . . .’

    ‘Very possible. Not easy to keep that kind of thing quiet.’

    Phil thought for a moment. ‘How fast d’you think he worked?’ he asked.

    Nick frowned.

    ‘Would there have been time for the drug to have spread to the baby? Would it have been removed still breathing?’

    ‘Speculation only, I’m afraid. There was very little finesse about the incisions. They were made quickly, which would suggest he was working towards a purpose. I’d say there’s a chance that the drug hadn’t reached the baby by then.’

    ‘So we can assume it’s still alive?’

    Nick shrugged. ‘That would be my assumption.’

    ‘How skilled were they? I mean medically? Surgically trained?’

    The pathologist mulled over the question. ‘Trained . . . no. Skilled . . . perhaps. They might have had a rudimentary grasp of what they were doing. They knew where to cut. But not a professional. An enthusiastic amateur.’

    ‘And Lord preserve us from them,’ said Phil. ‘What about DNA? Anything back yet?’

    Nick shook his head. ‘Too early. Could be anything up to a week, even more.’

    ‘What about sex?’

    Nick gave a thin-lipped smile. ‘It’s a kind offer but I’m afraid you’re not my type.’

    Phil shook his head. ‘I’ll bet you’re a wow at the Christmas party.’

    Nick raised an eyebrow, gave a small smile. Phil didn’t want to think about it.

    ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘No evidence of sexual activity. Forced, consensual or otherwise. With either body.’

    ‘Thanks.’ Phil was digesting what he had heard. ‘Right. Well, if that’s it, I’ll be off.’ He moved to pick up the file.

    ‘Couple of things,’ said Nick. Phil stopped, waited. The pathologist slid another sheet of paper across the desk. ‘Took the liberty of speaking to a colleague in Ob/Gyn. She factored in the variables: traumatic delivery, premature by four weeks - I checked