to suck eggs, just a meticulous scientist who took nothing whatsoever for
granted.
‘The deceased wouldn’t have been able to move very much at all after being shot.’ Stanton continued taking careful measurements as he spoke. ‘There are no drag marks
indicating an attempt to pull himself along, no marks I can see on surrounding furniture.’
Daniels nodded. ‘No indication of a scuffle at all, do you agree?’
The pathologist glanced around, considering. ‘I would think it highly unlikely that the killer met any resistance or attempt at self-protection by the victim. I think this poor chap was
completely taken by surprise. Mercifully it would have been over in a flash.’ Moving round the corpse, he looked curiously at the bow tie that was spotted with blood and lying on a glass
coffee table. Carefully lifting it up with a pair of small tweezers, he pointed at the table top. ‘See here . . . I’d get your photographer to take a shot of this.’
‘I will . . .’ Daniels came closer. There was a perfect image of a bow tie on the blood-splashed glass. ‘If he’d had time and been relaxed enough to take off his tie
before the killer struck, that would suggest he wasn’t followed into the apartment and shot immediately, d’you agree?’
Stanton nodded. He was about done. Dictating the last details of environmental temperature and discoloration present in the body, he ended his recording and began to remove his rubber
gloves.
‘Someone from the forensic science laboratory will be along soon,’ he concluded. ‘Then we can bag him up and get him to the mortuary.’
13
O n reaching the VPU, Jo Soulsby was escorted to an interview room by a prison officer named Adams. She knew that Woodgate would be waiting and had made up her mind that the
interview would be brief. With any luck, the Governor would transfer the prisoner away from Acklington and she’d never have to set eyes on the despicable individual again.
Adams grasped the door handle. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
Jo took a deep breath and nodded.
Adams opened the door. Jo was shocked by the physical deterioration in Woodgate since she’d last seen him. Under the harsh tube lighting there was no hiding the fact that he’d been
in a fight. More likely he’d been bullied. He looked washed out, had a split lip, a scuff mark on his forehead and an enormous black eye. Now she understood why he was in ‘the
block’. Prisoners were only put here for one of two reasons: either they were being disciplined, or else they had requested solitary confinement for their own protection under Rule 43 of the
prison regulations.
Woodgate kept his head down, refusing to look her in the eye. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like this. Most sex offenders she’d ever worked with were in denial. This
one was practically squirming in his seat; obviously not ready to talk about his offence – not to a woman, and certainly not to her. He’d already told his personal officer that only a
bloke would understand. He didn’t want to see Soulsby because she made him feel uncomfortable.
Damn right too! Why should he be allowed to forget? His victim never would.
Jo pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the prisoner at the only table in the room. She wasn’t ready for what happened next. Without warning, Woodgate overturned the table and
everything on it, sending her crashing to the floor.
He began yelling like a man possessed.
Fearing a hostage situation, Jo was quick to act. She slammed her fist against a red button on the wall. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The alarm bell was deafening. Several prison officers
charged into the room as if World War Three had broken out. Two held Woodgate down, using their knees in the small of his back as leverage. Adams positioned his forearm across the back of
Woodgate’s neck, jamming his face hard against the tiled floor so they could get the cuffs on him.
Jo scrambled across the floor to the far wall,
granted.
‘The deceased wouldn’t have been able to move very much at all after being shot.’ Stanton continued taking careful measurements as he spoke. ‘There are no drag marks
indicating an attempt to pull himself along, no marks I can see on surrounding furniture.’
Daniels nodded. ‘No indication of a scuffle at all, do you agree?’
The pathologist glanced around, considering. ‘I would think it highly unlikely that the killer met any resistance or attempt at self-protection by the victim. I think this poor chap was
completely taken by surprise. Mercifully it would have been over in a flash.’ Moving round the corpse, he looked curiously at the bow tie that was spotted with blood and lying on a glass
coffee table. Carefully lifting it up with a pair of small tweezers, he pointed at the table top. ‘See here . . . I’d get your photographer to take a shot of this.’
‘I will . . .’ Daniels came closer. There was a perfect image of a bow tie on the blood-splashed glass. ‘If he’d had time and been relaxed enough to take off his tie
before the killer struck, that would suggest he wasn’t followed into the apartment and shot immediately, d’you agree?’
Stanton nodded. He was about done. Dictating the last details of environmental temperature and discoloration present in the body, he ended his recording and began to remove his rubber
gloves.
‘Someone from the forensic science laboratory will be along soon,’ he concluded. ‘Then we can bag him up and get him to the mortuary.’
13
O n reaching the VPU, Jo Soulsby was escorted to an interview room by a prison officer named Adams. She knew that Woodgate would be waiting and had made up her mind that the
interview would be brief. With any luck, the Governor would transfer the prisoner away from Acklington and she’d never have to set eyes on the despicable individual again.
Adams grasped the door handle. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
Jo took a deep breath and nodded.
Adams opened the door. Jo was shocked by the physical deterioration in Woodgate since she’d last seen him. Under the harsh tube lighting there was no hiding the fact that he’d been
in a fight. More likely he’d been bullied. He looked washed out, had a split lip, a scuff mark on his forehead and an enormous black eye. Now she understood why he was in ‘the
block’. Prisoners were only put here for one of two reasons: either they were being disciplined, or else they had requested solitary confinement for their own protection under Rule 43 of the
prison regulations.
Woodgate kept his head down, refusing to look her in the eye. It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him like this. Most sex offenders she’d ever worked with were in denial. This
one was practically squirming in his seat; obviously not ready to talk about his offence – not to a woman, and certainly not to her. He’d already told his personal officer that only a
bloke would understand. He didn’t want to see Soulsby because she made him feel uncomfortable.
Damn right too! Why should he be allowed to forget? His victim never would.
Jo pulled up a chair and sat down opposite the prisoner at the only table in the room. She wasn’t ready for what happened next. Without warning, Woodgate overturned the table and
everything on it, sending her crashing to the floor.
He began yelling like a man possessed.
Fearing a hostage situation, Jo was quick to act. She slammed her fist against a red button on the wall. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. The alarm bell was deafening. Several prison officers
charged into the room as if World War Three had broken out. Two held Woodgate down, using their knees in the small of his back as leverage. Adams positioned his forearm across the back of
Woodgate’s neck, jamming his face hard against the tiled floor so they could get the cuffs on him.
Jo scrambled across the floor to the far wall,
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