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Edinburgh in which London police had laundered a victim’s shirt before examining it for bullet holes—a prime example of the lack of cooperation between the forensic and police departments. It would have been no surprise to hear that Lady Catherine’s hair had also been washed before examination.
    Pike’s gaze wavered for the first time since the meeting had begun and she wondered if he, too, was reflecting on similar police bungles.
    “I’m afraid I didn’t notice her hair. Like you, I had only a brief glimpse of the body before the sheet was replaced,” he said.
    Florence had turned quite pale, Dody noticed. Hearing Lady Catherine spoken about in this manner must be distressing. Perhaps it would have been best if she’d remained in the waiting room.
    “In any case,” Dody said, “the wounds themselves, not the dust, are what need the most careful observation, and inDr. Mangini’s report, they received only a cursory mention. It also surprises me that he makes no mention of the scalp being shaved—how else could the head wounds be thoroughly examined? I need to shave the hair, take measurements of the wounds, and then conduct some tests. A conclusion cannot be made instantaneously in the mortuary.” Dody flicked the document with her finger. “Furthermore, this illustrates to me that Dr. Mangini is one of those old-school medical practitioners who treat coroner’s inquests much too lightly. If he has not assessed the victim’s general state of health through adequate dissection, how can it be proved without a doubt that these blows were the cause of her death? She may have had a long-standing ailment of the brain that the blows merely hastened to conclusion. A defence barrister would make a meal out of Dr. Mangini if he were called upon as an expert witness.”
    Pike didn’t respond for a moment, and Dody looked around her as she waited. Her eyes settled on a file lying closed on his desk with the name
Hawley Crippen
inscribed on it. Had he been working the Crippen case with Dr. Spilsbury, too? The flamboyant Inspector Dew was the only member of the police department Dody had remembered the pathologist mentioning.
    Pike must have followed her gaze, for he picked up the file and placed it in a desk drawer. Finally he spoke. “I would be the first to agree that coronial enquiries are not infallible, but I will have to ask Superintendent Shepherd’s permission. I’m afraid I don’t like your chances at a second attempt, seeing as you turned down the initial opportunity. But I understand your argument and I will do my best on your behalf. Excuse me for a minute.”
    He lifted the telephone receiver, cranked the handle, andasked the operator to connect him to Shepherd’s office. The sisters listened intently as he stated the case to his superior. Upon replacing the receiver, he told them, grim faced, that the coroner had already released the body and that the funeral parlour would be picking it up first thing in the morning. Dody may have been mistaken, but she thought she saw a reflection of her own thoughts in Pike’s eyes: that he was as doubtful of Mangini’s work as she was, and disappointed that there would be no second autopsy. Perhaps there was a glimmer of hope after all.
    He took his watch from his pocket and let out a low sigh. “I’m afraid I’m running out of time, ladies. I have an engagement to attend. But before you go, I’d like to hear your personal opinions of Lady Catherine. Did she have any enemies that you are aware of? Anyone else who might benefit from her death other than Mr. Hugo Cartwright?”
    “She was loved by everyone who knew her. Her only enemies were in the government and the police force,” Florence said darkly.
    “Perhaps not so surprising, Miss McCleland; she was imprisoned for spitting at one police officer and physically assaulting another, and while in prison engaged in a hunger strike. The police and prison authorities have better things to do with their