Definitely Dead

by Kate Bendelow

  ‘And?’

  ‘She went straight upstairs to her bedroom as, again, it was quite common for her to find Celeste sleeping off the excess from the night before. It’s become part of her working routine to rouse her, clean her up and feed her.’

  ‘Sounds like she was extremely high maintenance.’

  ‘It would seem so. Anyway, she spotted the doors to the roof terrace were open and looked out to see if Celeste was in the garden. She spotted the body from up there, which is when she phoned us. As she was clearly dead, she didn’t even bother going outside, just sat on the front doorstep smoking a fag while she waited for the cops to arrive. Greg Owen said she was a bit shaken up, understandably, but had seen all sorts over the years she’s worked here so wasn’t as shocked as you might otherwise expect.’

  ‘It’s looking like Humpty jumped then,’ Maya said. ‘It’s a bit strange though,’ she mused as she recalled the suicide note.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The crossing out. On the note. She’s attempted to write repentant twice before she’s got it right. It’s as if somebody has corrected her, don’t you think?’

  ‘Not really, no,’ Jack said bluntly. ‘She was never known for being the academic type and she was off her tits.’

  Maya thought for a moment. The familiar nagging doubt she had felt at Gorman’s had returned. To all intents and purposes, Celeste appeared to have committed suicide, but instinctively, it seemed too… staged.

  ‘It’s just… to me it looks like someone has corrected her while she was writing it. She’s made two attempts to write it and spelt it wrong, then written it correctly on the third go.’

  ‘Maybe she looked it up?’ Jack shrugged.

  ‘Really? There’s more chance of finding Viagra in a convent than a dictionary in that house. From what we’ve seen I reckon the only book she ever read was the Kama Sutra. It’s just the word repentant too. It just seems to me like a strange word for someone like Celeste to use, do you not think?’

  ‘Not particularly. Personally, I reckon you’re overthinking things.’ Jack sounded terse.

  ‘There were two coasters on the table too. She must have had company.’

  ‘Maybe one was for the gin glass. She’d been mixing her drinks and snorting coke. Her brain must have been fried. She may well have had company earlier and they had the gin. Maybe when they left it caused her mood to drop. Who knows? There are no signs of a disturbance and nothing appears stolen. I’m calling suicide. Do you agree?’

  Maya paused. She needed more time to think but Jack’s insistence was domineering, bordering on impatience. She was also mindful that Kym would be expecting an update soon. The heat was oppressive, and the glaring sunlight ricocheting off the tiled patio was giving her a headache.

  ‘You’re right,’ she conceded. ‘I suppose I am overthinking it. I just don’t want to fuck up any more than I already have done. I’m going to fingerprint and swab that glass before we go anyway, just for my own peace of mind. Can you give me a hand bagging her up? I know the undertakers would normally do it, but it doesn’t seem fair leaving it to them the state she’s in.’

  ‘If you need me to.’ He looked wary at the thought and Maya was beginning to suspect he wasn’t comfortable around bodies. It took them a while to carefully package the shattered remains of Celeste Warren into the body sheet and bag, and they were both pouring with sweat by the time they’d finished. Panting with the exertion, Jack and Maya took a moment to sink onto a garden bench, enjoying the welcome relief of the shade.

  ‘I’ll ask Greg to contact the duty undertakers and get her shipped off to the morgue.’ Jack straightened up. ‘I’m going to head back to my car and phone the boss. Are you ready to go?’

  ‘Nearly,’ said Maya. ‘I’m just going to write my scene notes up and swab and fingerprint the gin glass. I’ll recover the suicide note too. I’ll come and see you before I go to see what the boss has said about Wainwright.’

  Maya headed back into the kitchen alone and proceeded to take a saliva swab from the rim of the gin glass. She wrote the swabs and the exhibit bag out carefully, while considering why she was doing it. Both she and Jack had agreed that Celeste had committed suicide.

  And yet… And yet…

  Maya still couldn’t shake off the peculiarity of the suicide note. She reasoned that swabbing and fingerprinting the glass was a precaution. It was easier to do it now rather than kicking herself later on. If Jack was right that Celeste had company before she killed herself, then maybe evidence from the glass could help identify that person. As the last person to have seen her alive, they could then provide an assessment of her state of mind. She would write up her rationale in her crime-scene report.

  After taking the saliva swab, she proceeded to fingerprint the glass, but as she had partly anticipated, the cut-glass pattern caused any ridge detail to become distorted. That, along with the overlapping and smudged marks, meant it was not possible to obtain any clear prints from the glass. ‘I’ve tried,’ she said through a sigh as she recovered the note then packed up her kit and left the kitchen, eager to peel off her sticky scene suit.

  Maya returned to the van, wishing, not for the first time that it had decent air conditioning. It was not always topped up in the police vehicles as it was not considered essential and therefore a waste of money. She sat sweltering as she wrote up her scene notes. Once she had finished, Maya signed herself out of the scene log and drove away from Field View. She was relieved to notice that Wainwright’s car had gone as she pulled out onto Mile Lane. Jack was sat in his car, engrossed in a conversation on his mobile phone. Spotting her, he gestured to Maya to join him in his vehicle.

  Maya was locking the van when she heard a familiar voice call her name.

  ‘SOCO Barton, what’s the verdict on Celeste Warren’s death? Is it suicide or is it suspicious?’ Wainwright had appeared out of nowhere and was extending a dictaphone in her direction. Maya was horrified to see he was accompanied by a younger man with a film camera propped on his shoulder, wielding it in her direction.

  ‘No comment. And I don’t want to be filmed.’ She shielded her face with her hands, willing herself to remain calm as the two men circled her like sharks.

  ‘Have you finished at the crime scene, Maya?’ Wainwright persisted. ‘Have you scraped her up and shipped her to the corpse-cooler like you said you were going to? Do you have respect for the bodies you deal with, Maya?’

  Wainwright was on a roll now, firing questions at Maya. His earlier avuncular manner was now replaced with the callousness of a predator on the hunt, digging for a story at any cost. ‘Do you think the last three sudden deaths of known criminals are suspicious, Maya? You said there was no such thing as coincidence in the police. Do the public need to be concerned that there could be a serial killer on the loose?’

  Maya couldn’t speak. She opened and closed her mouth, uncertain what to do or say. The sight of the camera was horrifying. All she could think about was how Kym was going to react. She was overwhelmed with relief to see Jack striding towards them.

  He pulled himself up to his full height and directed his comments towards the camera, asserting an air of authority and certainty. ‘We are not looking for anybody else following the unfortunate death of Ms Celeste Warren. An official police statement will be released later today,’ he stated calmly.

  ‘There have been no suspicious circumstances relating to any other sudden deaths that have recently been investigated. Any suggestion that there has been third-party involvement is pure supposition.’ He paused to let his comment sink in, brows creased to accentuate the solemnity of the situation. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse us, my colleague and I are now leaving the scene. We have no further comments to make to the press.’ He flashed a catwalk smile at the camera before giving an imperceptible nod in Wainwright’s direction.

  Guiding her by the elbow, Jack led Maya to his car where they both sank back into their seats with relief.

  ‘Bastards,’ Jack
said as he watched Wainwright and the camera man scuttle away. ‘I thought he’d gone.’

  ‘Me too.’ Maya shook her head. ‘I looked for his car as I pulled out. They must have parked up around the corner and waited for us. This situation is just getting worse. What did the boss say?’

  ‘He wasn’t particularly happy but sympathetic none the less. He knows Wainwright of old and doesn’t blame you for talking to him. I better let him know what’s just happened, though, and the press office can start preparing an official statement. You head back while the coast is clear. Try not to worry, eh?’

  Maya smiled weakly. That was certainly easier said than done. Her comments had been shared on camera and were no doubt going to cause a media frenzy. Although DI Redford may be appreciative of Maya’s predicament, she knew that there was little hope of Kym reacting in the same way. She had no choice but to head back to Beech Field as soon as she could and fill Kym in on what had happened before she heard it from another source. She was not looking forward to the inevitable bollocking that was headed her way.

  18

  Piotr Nowak was brooding. He’d been remanded in custody following his recent arrest, which pissed him off enough. What he hadn’t seen coming was a request by DI Redford to the prison intelligence unit to have him sent to a separate prison away from Aiden Donnelly. According to his solicitor, Redford had put across a compelling case, stating that if the two men were imprisoned together, it would allow them the opportunity to continue their criminal collusion.

  As a result, Nowak had been shipped out of the North West to HM Prison Nottingham. He was away from his best friend, Donnelly, and at a distance too inconvenient for his girlfriend, Markita Milani, to travel to see him. That’s what Markita had told him anyway. She had been acting very strange of late and he had decided he could no longer trust a word that came out of her overly lip-glossed mouth. He had sent one of his minions around to her address following his arrest, to make sure she was okay and to see if she needed anything, but the response had apparently been lukewarm at best.

  Nowak had access to a mobile phone and had contacted Markita on several occasions, but she remained stand-offish. When he had challenged her, she claimed it was the upset of him being arrested and that, of course, she still missed him and loved him. He had phoned her last night and made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was expecting her to visit him by the end of the week. Distance or no distance.

  Nowak was no fool. He wasn’t going to be played by anyone, least of all by Markita. It was time for her to step up and prove that she was his woman; otherwise, he would have to arrange for a little visit to be paid to her. He knew enough people who would be happy to remind her how difficult her life could get if she didn’t keep him happy. If Markita wanted to stay healthy and to continue living the life to which she was accustomed, then she needed to make more of an effort to keep him happy while he was inside.

  One saving grace was his cellmate, Marcus Naylor, who was decent enough company. He had originally been sentenced for the possession and supply of drugs, and a Section 18 assault. This sentence was further extended after Naylor had battered several inmates while serving his initial sentence at HM Prison Frankland in County Durham. He had also napalmed a prison officer. This is the term given to pouring boiling water and sugar over someone, which intensifies the burns.

  Naylor was evil. He had a sick mind and a love of violence. The prison guards had sighed with relief when they realised the two men were going to get on. The thought of the two man-mountains crossing swords would have been too much for the already overstretched staff to cope with. Nowak might be missing Donnelly, but his new cellmate was quickly becoming his new best friend.

  Naylor was one of the few people Nowak had ever met who was as big as him. The years he had spent in prison had been whiled away in the gym. As a result, he was a wall of sheer muscle. It wasn’t so much his shaved head which added to his appearance as a thug, but the map of old scars which ran across the back of his head and face. Naylor referred to them as his war wounds and had a tale to tell about each one. Each story usually ended with the violent comeuppance of whoever had administered the blows.

  The two men were lounging on their bunks, smoking and sharing a companionable silence, waiting for the lunchtime news bulletin to start. Nowak thought Naylor a funny sort, the way he insisted on watching the news, regardless of what else might be on. Still, he didn’t mind. Naylor was a decent bloke and if it kept the older man happy to stick to his daily ritual, then he wasn’t going to rock the boat. He’d been inside so long with no visitors that Nowak knew of, so the news was clearly his only link with the outside world.

  Nowak was only half listening as the television droned on. He was too preoccupied thinking about Markita and what was going on with her, when he became aware of a news bulletin coming from near home. He sat up so he could read the news banner announcing the death of an old madam called Celeste Warren. Nowak knew the name from years back, having had the pleasure of popping his cherry at one of Celeste’s brothels at the tender age of fourteen, back when he had first started running around with Donnelly.

  The news report quickly switched to an earlier live recording of a local journalist interviewing a crime-scene investigator who had attended the address. Nowak recognised her from being the SOCO who had examined him in the custody suite at Beech Field police station. The journalist was bombarding the startled-looking woman with a barrage of questions and Nowak laughed out loud as he asked her, ‘Have you scraped her up and shipped her to the corpse-cooler like you said you were going to?’

  ‘What a quote, stupid bitch.’

  ‘Shhhhh,’ hissed Naylor. He was perched like a meerkat, soaking up every detail of the news report.

  ‘All right, keep yer fucking hair on,’ Nowak grumbled. God forbid he should interrupt the precious news.

  They watched in silence until the report was over and Naylor deflated like a burst balloon. His attention was no longer fixed on the television and he seemed oblivious to the fact that his cigarette had burnt down to his fingers, a long stem of ash dangling precariously over his leg.

  ‘You okay, my friend?’ Nowak asked as he leaned over his bunk. His cellmate normally had the typical pale, unhealthy pallor of an inmate, but now, two bright-red pinpricks of colour were glowing on his cheeks. His expression frozen like a death mask.

  ‘Her. On the television. I think I know her.’

  ‘She’s a SOCO based near me at Beech Field nick. She’s called Maya… something.’

  ‘Maya…’ Naylor sighed. ‘What else do you know about her?’

  ‘Not much, wasn’t with her long and I wasn’t in the best of moods at the time. Think she said her mum was a typist or something and her dad was dead.’

  ‘What else?’ Naylor was stood up now, face to face with Nowak.

  ‘Fuckin’ hell, mate, I dunno. I’d just been nicked, hadn’t I? Has she given you a hard on or what? Tell you what, if it means that much to you, I’ll find out who she is. It won’t take one of my lot too long to find out.’

  ‘Do it. I want to know everything. Trust me, Piotr, I’ll owe you big time.’

  Naylor turned in his bunk, feigning sleep so he wouldn’t have to speak to Nowak again. He was consumed with thoughts of Maya. He lay shaking, feeling the walls close in tighter round him than ever before. He had grown used to being institutionalised, but the sight of her made him want to smash his way out of the prison with his bare hands. He took in a few steady, deliberate, calming breaths. He couldn’t afford to lose control. Not now. Not now he’d seen her. The only one consistent thing he had in this shithole was time, and he would bide his for as long as it took Nowak to find out the information he needed to know.

  She really was a beautiful young woman. But that wasn’t why he was interested. It was more than that. It was uncanny how much she looked like her mother. He would have recognised her anywhere. He was desperate to get to know more about her. And then? And then he would find a
way to be in her life, whether she wanted him there or not. It was his opportunity to settle a few scores. Marcus Naylor was looking forward to being reunited with his daughter.

  19

  Kym was waiting for Maya the moment she returned to Beech Field. ‘My office, NOW!’ she exploded before turning on her heel and storming into her office. Amanda smiled weakly at Maya, holding up her two crossed fingers and mouthing ‘good luck’.

  Maya’s face was burning, and she swallowed drily as she scuttled after Kym.

  ‘Shut the door,’ Kym hissed. Her arms were crossed on the desk in front of her and she didn’t speak for a moment as she watched Maya sink nervously into the chair opposite her. Eventually, she flung her glasses down on the desk and raked her hand through her hair.

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Maya, one minute you’re talking to corpses the next you’re sharing your half-baked conspiracy theories with the local gutter press. What’s next? Are you planning on conspiring with the local criminals?’

  ‘No! Of course not! I’d never do anything like that. It was a genuine mistake… I arrived at the scene and the way he called me over and spoke to me made me think it was DS Dwyer.’

  ‘Think,’ Kym bellowed. ‘THINK? You’ve made it abundantly clear, Maya, that the one thing you don’t bloody well do at a crime scene is think. Now thanks to you, I’ve got to go to a meeting at top office and explain to them why the press are circulating rumours that we have a serial killer in our midst.’

  Maya cringed. Top office was the term given to the forensic services headquarters. Although all the SOCOs, including Kym, were part of the police force, they were a civilian unit answerable to their own senior leadership team. Knowing her indiscretion was going to be made public knowledge to the powers that be made a bad situation even worse.