The one who spoke to me and asked me to take Florence home and surrender my clothes. He describes what he found in the house and what you said when he spoke to you. The same tale you told me. Mr Cromer asks him to describe you. ‘Mr Tennyson was wearing sweatpants, a lightweight sports top and black trainers. His clothing appeared to be clean.’ Then the pathologist is introduced. I feel the pulse jumping at the side of my neck, my stomach clenching as I steel myself for what’s to come. The man speaks quickly, in a monotonous style. He could be reciting the phone directory. No difference in the stress he puts on the words: ‘I arrived at eleven thirty p.m.’ is given the same flat delivery as ‘The trauma to the skull was so severe the cranial sack had been ruptured and brain matter displaced.’ Is it deliberate, so the drama of what he is telling us is stripped away? The jury are given diagrams, an outline of the body, back and front, with the injuries noted. No photographs of Lizzie, though.
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