Down to Sleep

by Clare Revell

  “His choice,” Zander said bitterly. “He told me if I left that was it. I was no longer his son. I tried writing, but the letters got returned to sender, emails bounced. So, I gave up. Figured what was the point of trying when they didn’t want to know. Gramps suggested I try contacting Mum through Carrie or one of the others. So, I did. Finally.”

  “Gramps must be your maternal grandfather, then,” Isabel said.

  “Yeah.” The car halted at a red light. He glanced at her. “Mum’s got my phone number now. I’m not losing touch again.”

  “Good. And if we hurry, we shouldn’t be too late back.”

  “I’ll blame the traffic if we are, because really, it’s true.” Zander winked, nodded at the other cars jamming the intersection, and pulled away from the lights.

  The afternoon passed quickly in paperwork. Isabel barely had a chance to breathe, never mind anything else. She forgot all about the mysterious postcard until she opened her desk drawer to get her bag out. By that point Zander had already left. She’d have to show him first thing, and if she was making something out of nothing, so be it.

  ~*~

  The following morning, Isabel sat at her desk studying the card again. Why would anyone send her something like this? What did it mean? How did the first commandment relate to the photograph on the front? She turned it over in her hands, before she laid it on the desk. The postmark on the envelope was local, dated over the weekend. Why put a postcard in an envelope in the first place? Way more questions than she had answers to right now.

  DI Holmes appeared by Zander’s desk. “They’ve found a body by the River Wheble. I want you two to get down there now.”

  Both Isabel and Zander leapt to their feet. “Yes, Guv.”

  “You drive,” Isabel said, shoving the card and envelope into her bag.

  “I was expecting to. Do you have an allergy to driving, or something?”

  She shuddered. “Something like that.”

  The scene on the bridge was like that on a TV cop show. Four marked cars, lights still flashing blocked the road in all directions. Two SOCO vans were parked on the pavement. Forensic officers in their trademark white suits milled everywhere. Crime scene tape fluttered in the breeze.

  Zander parked as close as he could. “OK. Don’t touch anything. Be careful where you step. They’ll most likely have put slabs or something down for us to walk on. We’ll need to check in before we go down there. Remember we’re not first responders, we’re the second unit.”

  “OK.”

  He shot her a slight smile. “You can do this. The Guv wouldn’t have assigned us if he didn’t think you were capable.” He slid out of the car and Isabel scrambled to keep up as he strode to the officer with a clipboard. He pulled out his ID. “DC Ellery and DC York.”

  The officer marked them down as on site.

  Zander strode down the embankment path to where a figure in white stood beside the tented off area. “Hey, doc.”

  The Home Office Pathologist glanced up from the clipboard. “Zander, they gave you this one, huh?”

  “The DI loves me. What can I say? This is Isabel York, my new partner. Isabel, this is Professor Arend Van Houten, pathologist. He’s Dutch, but don’t hold that against him. What have we got?”

  “Take a look. Dog walker found her just after eight. She’s been here a while. Can’t give you a time of death just yet, until I get her back to the morgue. I left her in situ for you to see. Just suit up before you go in.”

  Zander handed Isabel a white forensics body suit. He pulled one over his clothes and hauled the hat over his head.

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Keeps the crime scene as clean as possible. They don’t want our DNA contaminating anything.”

  She nodded and clambered into her own suit. She tugged, feeling as ashen as the outfit.

  Zander frowned. “You OK?”

  “First one of these.”

  “Two years on the street and never a death?” His eyes widened and he sounded amazed.

  “No.”

  The uniformed officer pulled the flap of the white tent aside for them.

  Isabel inhaled a deep breath and followed Zander and the pathologist inside. She had no idea what to expect. Her chest constricted in nervous anticipation.

  The outline of a body knelt as if in prayer at the edge of the river, partly buried in the long reeds. Grey duct tape bound her tightly at the wrists, ankles, and knees. Her hands were folded together. Duct tape also covered her mouth.

  “As you can see,” Arend Van Houten said, “she was carefully placed.”

  Isabel gagged and swallowed hard.

  “If you throw up, please don’t do it on my crime scene,” Arend told her, his tone gruff.

  “Sorry.” Isabel sucked in several deep breaths, looking everywhere but at the body. “I’m fine.”

  “First death,” Zander explained.

  The pathologist grunted in reply.

  Isabel walked carefully around the body, keeping to the path made by someone. The girl had long, black hair, flowing over her shoulders. She wore a full-length white towelling robe. It was just like the ones the church she’d grown up in used for baptisms. The word “Guilty” was written on her forehead.

  “It looks like permanent marker,” Arend said. “Again, can’t tell for sure yet.”

  “What’s that?” Zander squatted beside her and turned over a piece of canvas stretched board. Oil paint covered the other side.

  “It’s one of the missing paintings,” Isabel said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s the first commandment…” She tailed off, acid rising quicker than she could swallow. She clamped a hand over her mouth and ran.

  ~*~

  Isabel leaned against the wall, her stomach still rebelling even though there was nothing left in it. She wasn’t cut out for this. Perhaps she should go back on the beat or transfer to a desk somewhere. The Guv didn’t need a cop who couldn’t cope with death on his investigation unit.

  Zander appeared by her side. Was he in stealth mode? Because suddenly he was there. “Are you all right?”

  She wiped her mouth with a tissue. “Think so.”

  He glanced around. “You know what strikes me about this place? It isn’t hidden. It’s right off the main road, smack in between the pub and a ten-screen cinema.”

  “I need to show you something. Back at the car.” She took a step towards where he’d parked.

  Zander caught her arm. “We need to finish here first.”

  “It’s really important.”

  “So’s this. Whatever it is can wait. I need you to take notes and photos. Come on. Assuming you’re up to it?”

  She hesitated. How did she tell him she wasn’t able to do this without making even more of an idiot of herself than she already had?

  He held her gaze. “Look, I already told you that the DI wouldn’t have given us this case if he didn’t think you were up to it. Right? So deep breath, best foot forward, and get back in there. This won’t be the last murder you come across in your career. And you’re not the first cop who’s thrown up at a murder scene either. It’s way more common than anyone wants to admit.”

  “OK.” Resolved to try, Isabel sucked in a shuddering, deep breath and nodded.

  Zander held the tent door open for her and followed her inside. “Sorry, Arend. Any obvious sign of death?”

  “No. None that I can determine. And the ground is so dry; there are no prints or anything we can see so far. Uniformed officers are conducting a grid and fingertip search and my team are pretty thorough, so hopefully something will turn up.”

  “Fingertip?” Isabel glanced at the victim’s hands. Nope. Nothing was missing.

  Zander rolled his eyes. “How can you be a cop and not know that one?” he asked. “A fingertip search means examining the ground thoroughly. Blade of grass by blade of grass. Arend, can we take the painting?”

  Arend frowned. “You know how it goes, Zand
er. It’ll need dusting for prints first.”

  “I’ll put it in an evidence bag, keep the chain of custody, and so on. But it ties directly into another case. The painting was one of ten stolen a week ago. When are you doing the post-mortem?”

  “I’m assuming you want it fast?” The coroner studied him.

  “That would be good.”

  “Then I’ll do the autopsy this afternoon. But you still won’t get the full report and tox screen information for a day or two. Even if I rush them.”

  “That’s fine. Do we know who she is yet?”

  Arend handed over an evidence bag. “Driving licence says she’s Iona Kevane, twenty-six, lives locally.”

  Isabel shivered. Twenty-six was no age at all. Not much older than her.

  Zander glanced at it. “I assume someone is doing the notification?”

  “Not yet.”

  Zander rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose they’ve even done a basic check yet? No, of course they haven’t.” He pulled out his phone, and speed-dialled the nick. “This is DC Ellery. I need a vehicle check for Iona Kevane. Sure, I’ll hold.” He put a hand over the phone and stared at the uniformed officer. “Get someone around to her place now before her next of kin find out about this on the news. According to her driver’s licence, her address is One hundred seventy nine London Road.” He turned his attention back to the phone. “Yeah, I’m here…great. Put an APB on it. Let me know as soon as you find it.” He put the phone away and told them the model and the licence plate number.

  “That’s assuming it’s not parked here or in the cinema car park,” Isabel said as he hung up the phone. She needed to show him the postcard. “Can I show you—?”

  “Later. First, we need to check she didn’t leave her car here. Also, we need to requisition the CCTV from both pub and cinema since about seven last night. I need to ring the Guv. Then we’re going to the morgue.”

  Arend glanced at him. “I’ll be ready to start at three.”

  Zander nodded. “We’ll be there.”

  6

  Zander stood at the window of the observation room over the morgue and glanced sideways at Isabel. She still looked pale—if possible, she had even less colour in her cheeks than she did at the crime scene. “Don’t tell me. First post-mortem.”

  “Yeah.” She gulped hard.

  The door behind them opened. Zander turned to see DI Holmes enter. He didn’t ever remember the Guv coming to one of his autopsies before. Either he was checking up on them, or something about this case had rattled him as well.

  “Zander, Isabel, what have we got?” DI Holmes stood next to him.

  “As I said on the phone, Guv. One of the missing paintings turned up next to the body. She was posed as if praying, bound in a kneeling position with the word guilty written in ink on her forehead.”

  Below them, Arend Van Houten began the autopsy. “The body is that of a white female aged twenty-six. Her wrists, ankles, and knees are bound with grey duct tape.”

  Zander turned his attention to the window, looking down at the table. He always found the post-mortem exam fascinating, but never enough to change jobs and go into forensics. Besides the fact he’d need to retrain as a doctor first. He caught a glimpse of Isabel’s reflection running from the room. He glanced at DI Holmes. “She’s thrown up about five times so far,” he offered by way of explanation.

  “Everyone does at first.” The DI nodded to the table below them. “They must be having a slow day to be doing the PM this fast.”

  “I said we needed it done pronto and he offered. I didn’t argue.”

  Below, Arend’s assistant snapped photographs as Arend gently cut off the duct tape and the gown. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he said.

  “Expecting what?” Zander asked.

  Arend glanced up. “She’s wearing matching underwear. Red, lacy, and very expensive by the look of it. The way she’d been posed and dressed, I assumed otherwise.”

  Isabel crept back into the room. “Sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you’d rather go wait in the car, I don’t mind.” Zander fished in his pocket for the keys.

  “I have to do this at some point.”

  He assessed her condition. Concern twisted his gut and he pulled a chair across. “Then sit down. Just in case you do a Robert and pass out.”

  She sank into the chair. “On his first one?”

  “Oh, he still does.” Zander lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “Every. Single. Time. Just don’t tell the boss.”

  “Heard that,” DI Holmes said.

  “Oops…” Zander rolled his eyes, trying and failing to look contrite. It had the desired effect as Isabel giggled a little. He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Trust me, we’ve all been there and done that. Several times.”

  “No sign of bruising,” Arend said, dragging Zander’s attention back to the window. “Lividity would suggest she’d been there no more than a couple of hours before she was discovered.”

  Zander made notes. “Can you give me a time of death?”

  “About the same time—two hours or so before she was found.”

  “So, she died by the river?”

  “Looks that way.” He picked up a scalpel. “OK. Let’s see what else she can tell us about whoever did this to her.”

  Isabel moaned at the first cut and stood. “I’ll go wait in the—” She crumpled to the floor with a thud, catching the table with the side of her head on the way down.

  ~*~

  The next morning, Isabel hunched at her desk, head buried in her hands. Her stomach still knotted and turned, threatening to eject the small sip of water she’d had half an hour ago. She also felt like a prize idiot. Not only had she passed out during the post-mortem, but she’d also hit her head on something as she fell, and now had a huge lump and massive headache to boot. She wasn’t sure which was more embarrassing, waking to find the DI kneeling over her, or him and Zander dragging her to the ED to get checked out.

  Zander had then driven her home and told her to stay there.

  Reluctantly, she’d obeyed. She’d come in early this morning, to make up the time and try to get a head start on her note taking. But she wasn’t fooling her partner for a moment. As evidenced by his fussing ever since he’d moseyed in an hour ago.

  A soft clink caused her to raise her gaze slightly.

  “Doc says to take two of these now. She wants to see you if you’re not feeling any better by lunch.”

  “I’m fine.” She swallowed the pills with difficulty, willing them to stay down.

  Zander sat beside her. “Are you sure you don’t want to go home?”

  She nodded. Such concern for her well-being was unusual. But she could get used to it. She pulled across her notebook. “I’m sure. Right, her name was Iona Kevane, twenty-six. She lives in London Road and works as a cleaner for Music Box—the new office block they built by the station. She didn’t turn up for work two nights ago, which was out of character for her. She’s single, but has a boyfriend, according to her boss.”

  “Family?” Zander asked.

  “None that I’ve found, so far. Just a roommate who made a positive ID. I said we’d be over to see her later today.” She massaged her temples. “Did you get the PM report?”

  Zander twisted and grabbed a file from his desk. “I did. No fluids on the body so she wasn’t raped or assaulted. No cuts or bruises, so not beaten. There is no obvious cause of death at all. A few blue fibres of undetermined origin.”

  “Well, it wasn’t suicide,” Isabel muttered.

  “Oh?” He angled his head and widened his eyes. “And how’d you work that one out?”

  Was he toying with her? “You can’t duct tape yourself like that and not leave the rest of the roll there. In fact, you probably can’t do it at all.”

  “Wow. Look at you, a proper detective after all, figuring out stuff like that.”

  She shook her head and chucked a pen at him. “Don’t tease.”

&nbs
p; Zander dodged the pen. “Rubbish shot. You missed me.” He reached down, scooped up the pen, and threw it back in one movement.

  Isabel caught it and shoved it back into her pen pot.

  “Nice reflexes.” He drummed his fingers on his thigh. “I wonder what she did. She was guilty of something, at least according to our murderer.”

  “Breaking the first command—Oh!” She yanked open her desk drawer. “I have something you need to see.”

  “What?”

  She rummaged in her bag and pulled out the envelope. “This came the day before yesterday. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to make something out of nothing.”

  “What is it?”

  Isabel shoved it at him. “Look at it.”

  Zander turned the envelope over and pulled the postcard free. “A postcard of our crime scene.” He glanced up.

  “Turn it over.”

  His eyes widened. “I am the Lord your God. You shall have no other gods before Me,” he read. “The first commandment. Ties in with the painting.”

  “Yeah.” She rubbed the lump on her head, wishing the headache would go away.

  “Why aren’t they in evidence bags?”

  “I didn’t think. It arrived two days ago addressed to me, and I didn’t see the relevance. Then when the body turned up, I wanted to show you and you said later. Then we got busy and I hit my head and forgot until now. Sorry.”

  “So, it’s my fault.” Zander pulled two evidence bags from the desk and labelled them 1a and 1b.

  “I didn’t say that. I should have insisted on telling you at the time or at the crime scene, but I didn’t. Blame the bump on the head if you have to blame something.”

  “It’s fine. You’ve said something now, that’s what counts.” Zander carefully slid the envelope into one bag and the card into the other. “We need to show the Guv and get them dusted for prints. We also need to find out where this was taken.” He examined the envelope. “Posted locally.”

  DI Holmes came over with a file. “I’m linking the theft of the paintings with your murder, so you get both cases.” He dropped the folder onto Zander’s desk.