“I’ve sent samples to Ms. Singh in the lab, so DNA analysis might tell us something. At a guess, though, from experience, I’d say he’s probably from Syria, Iraq or Saudi Arabia. Those would be the most obvious choices. But as for how long he’s been over here, I can’t tell you. There might be some indications from the samples at the lab. Certain chemicals or elements found in the teeth, bones and hair, that sort of thing.”

“What about his age?”

“Again, it’s an estimate, but I’d say no younger than twelve and no older than fourteen. He’s definitely in early adolescence. There’s pubic hair, hints of facial hair, and you can see the testicles have grown already. I’ll know better when I’ve had a good look around inside. Shall I get started?”

“I’ll robe up,” said Banks.

“Vicks?”

“For sissies.”

Dr. Galway laughed as she applied a little of the vapor rub under her nostrils. “Call me a sissy then, but you can give me Vicks over a perforated bowel any day.”

“You know it’s not good for you to do that?” Banks said. “Rub it right under your nostrils.”

“I know. Camphor’s toxic and shouldn’t be swallowed or absorbed.”

“So?”

Dr. Galway made a face. “So bite me.”

“You’re the doctor.” Banks put on his gown and cap and took his position far enough away from the slab so Dr. Galway and her two assistants had room to maneuver. First the doctor carried out a close examination of the body’s exterior and spoke her comments to the microphone that hung above the table. There wasn’t really anything new. Not that Banks had expected much. The boy had no tattoos or piercings, only the mysterious scar; his pale brown skin was otherwise smooth and unblemished, apart from the stab marks.

“One thing I can tell you before going any further,” said Dr. Galway, “is that there are no signs of sexual activity or abuse, and no recent physical abuse, other than the stab wounds, of course.”

“That’s good to know,” said Banks.

When Dr. Galway began making the Y incision and removing the boy’s inner organs, Banks noticed that she worked slowly and methodically, pausing occasionally to share a thought with her assistants, who looked fresh out of medical school, or to make a comment for the audio record. Dr. Glendenning, her predecessor, had been far more cavalier. Brilliant, certainly, but his post-mortems had taken place at a faster pace, a flurry of organs flying here and there—or so it seemed—and, in the early days at least, surrounded by a fug of cigarette smoke. But Dr. Glendenning, despite his speed and impatience, had also been thorough.