by Tim Ellis
Finn glanced up at him. ‘No, completely different wood. The lock gates are made from oak.’ He tapped the end of the round piece of protruding wood with the tip of his gloved index finger. ‘This is hawthorn. I’d say you were looking at the murder weapon here, Dark. There’s evidence of a mallet, or something similar, being used to hammer the stake into the heart through the fourth and fifth left intercostal space. Also, I’d say he was still alive when it went in, but that wouldn’t have been for long though.’
‘Alive?’
‘Yes. I’m guessing he was either restrained or incapacitated while it was hammered in. I’ll be able to tell you more after the post-mortem.’
‘I assume the body isn’t that of a vampire?’
‘I think it’s safe to assume that’s the case, Dark. I’ve seen some strange things during my many years in the business, but never a vampire.’
‘Why a stake?’
‘I’ll leave that for you to ponder, Inspector. However, I can tell you that hawthorn is the preferred wood of vampire-killers.’
‘Do such people exist?’
‘You’d be surprised. There’s still a lot of superstition out here in the wilds of Cheshire. Not only that, there are also professional stake-makers, but I believe they prefer apple or cherry wood, both of which are exceptionally strong and don’t split under duress apparently. This stake appears to be home-made, but until I remove it during the post-mortem . . .’ The Professor shrugged.
‘Are all his other injuries due to the opening and closing of the lock gates?’
‘I know, if you had your way, you’d have me performing a post-mortem here by the canal in the freezing cold, Dark. Well, you’ll just have to learn some patience and wait until tomorrow afternoon – say three o’clock. It’s entirely possible that the injuries occurred during the time he was in the lock, but that’s simply an old man mumbling to himself.’
‘Any identification?’
‘Nothing in the pockets of his jeans.’
‘And no jacket?’
‘Forensics haven’t found one so far.’
‘Jewellery?’
‘No.’
‘Tattoos, piercings, or other distinguishing marks?’
‘Not that I can see without conducting a canal-side post-mortem.’
‘Any evidence of drug addiction?’
‘Doesn’t appear to be.’
‘You’ve conducted some of the post-mortems of the sixty-one bodies pulled from the canals around Manchester in the past four years, haven’t you?’
‘You want to know if there’s any similarities?’
‘And are there?’
‘My initial response is no, but I’ll give you a more evidence-based opinion . . .’
‘After the post-mortem?’
‘You’re catching on, Dark.’
‘Thanks for your time, Professor.’
‘Always happy to provide the police with my expert opinion.’
Dark exited the tent.
The night had closed in. Mist was beginning to form over the canal. The orange street lights were lit. And, after the previous cacophony, it was eerily quiet. The scene reminded him of the setting for an old Victorian murder mystery.
‘Burrows?’ he shouted into the darkness.
‘Here, Sir.’
‘I want you to organise a search around the lock.’
‘Already underway, Sir.’
‘Good. I’m assuming the victim wore a jacket, which might have a wallet in it.’
‘Sir.’
‘And there’s the missing trainer.’ He was doubtful that they’d find anything, but he had to follow procedure. If this was the primary crime scene, then it had been compromised many times over. It was also possible that it was a secondary crime scene, and the body had been brought to the canal by vehicle and dumped in the lock. Or, it could have been tipped overboard from a narrowboat during its passage through the lock. ‘Also, I’d like you to drain the lock and dredge the bottom.’
‘Not my specialist area, Sir. But I’ve contacted the Underwater Search and Marine Unit to assist us.’
He nodded. ‘Any CCTV?’
‘No, Sir.’
‘Keep warm, Burrows.’
‘I have my thermals on.’
‘That’s too much information.’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
A female Sergeant came hurrying up to him. ‘Sorry I’m late, Sir.’
‘Sergeant Rosen, I presume?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘This is hardly late, Rosen. More like the shit-cart following the Lord Mayor’s show.’
‘It’s not my fault.’
‘The guilty always say that.’
‘I was on the other side of Manchester when I received the call, and there were accidents on the M61, the M60 and the A560. And before you ask, “yes” I had my lights and siren on, but it made no difference – everywhere was gridlocked.’
‘Well, you’re here now.’ He told her what had happened since his arrival.
‘I’m really sorry, Sir.’
‘Just get the place organised, Sergeant. I don’t want my efforts laughed out of court because we couldn’t tie down a crime scene.’
‘Yes, Sir,’ she said, hurried off and began barking orders at anybody who crossed her path.
He stared into the black muddy water of the lock and wondered who the young man was. Whether he was a local inhabitant, or had come from somewhere else – by car, narrowboat, or train. Where had he met his end? And why had someone hammered a wooden stake through his heart? Did the killer believe the man was a vampire? Was the murder really anything to do with vampires? Or was it about something else entirely?
‘Did you miss me, Sir?’
He turned. If it hadn’t been for the splatter of dark freckles on her face and neck, the washed-out light-grey eyes and the shoulder-length brown hair that resembled rat’s tails, he thought Detective Constable Annie Lake might have passed as pretty, but she was also bordering on the ugly as well. ‘Not in the slightest, Lake. I thought you’d gone for good.’
‘You mean you were hoping I had?’
‘That as well.’
‘I told you before I left that you weren’t going to get rid of me that easily.’
‘Shame! So, how’s your mother?’
‘Dead. We buried her last Thursday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘It wasn’t unexpected – simply a matter of time. And we’ve had that time to come to terms with her passing. She was diagnosed with untreatable cancer six months ago and given three months to live, so we were fortunate to have had her for a little while longer than we anticipated.’
‘Still, losing someone close can be a traumatic experience. Are you sure you’re ready to return to work? I expect the Chief Super would give you another six months off if you asked him nicely.’
‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you? I’m ready to come back to work now. Keeping busy will take my mind off the loss. Do you want to bring me up to date?’
‘No, I’m busy thinking. Go and talk to Professor Finn and Avril Burrows the forensic officer. They’ll tell you what’s been happening. And when you’ve done that, come and find me and tell me how you think we should proceed.’
‘Santa didn’t bring you any personality then?’
‘It’s good of you to notice, Lake.’
***
He finger-brushed his silver hair. Depending on the light, people said he resembled a whole host of various male celebrities such as Clint Eastwood, Harrison Ford, George Clooney, or even Richard Gere. In all honesty, he didn’t look like any of them. The unruly shoulder-length hair gave people the impression of familiarity, but he thought he looked more like a gangster than a movie star. Yes, he was reasonably good-looking, but a terrible darkness hung over him like a shroud. He was forty-nine and had lived alone since Ellie had left him just over a year ago and taken their two daughters – eight-year-old Coco and nine-year-old Cleo – with her. Although
they were both a year older now. He’d come home from work one day, just over a year ago, and found them gone. No prior warning, and no reason for leaving that he could think of. The printed note stuck to the fridge door simply read:
DON’T TRY TO FIND US
Of course, he had tried to find them. But a private detective – he’d paid a couple of thousand pounds to – came back empty-handed. Then, during the case over Christmas just gone, Hendrik the hacker had discovered that his wife and daughters were living with a man called Samuel Henchel at 17 Underbarrow Road in Kendal, Cumbria. He’d travelled up there at the end of December with the intention of getting some answers, but instead he’d witnessed what appeared to be a happy family that he had no part of. Paralysed by unanswered questions and indecision, he travelled back to Manchester.
And then the reporter – Dixie Reyes from the Knutsford Hippogriff – had shown him an obituary that she’d found in a three-year-old Dartmouth Chronicle, that suggested Samuel Henchel was not the man’s real name, but that he was Commander Anthony Baker of the Metropolitan Police Service who had died three years ago following a short illness. So, he and Dixie were working together again to try and solve the conundrum of why his wife and daughters had left him and were now living with Henchel.
‘Okay,’ Lake’s voice came from behind him. ‘Why are we standing out here freezing our bollocks off, when we could be in that pub down the road?’
‘I don’t give a shit what they think of me, but I’m sure your arse-licker of a father – the Chief Constable of Hertfordshire – wouldn’t want you to feature on the front of the Marple Review entering a pub at the beginning of a murder inquiry. And for future reference, you don’t have any bollocks to freeze off. So, the Chief Superintendent tells me you’re here to learn – what have you learnt this evening, Lake?’
‘Mmmm! Well, I’ve learnt that you’re still the worst boss I’ve ever worked for . . .’
‘You’ve made an old man very happy. What else?’
‘The body of a man in his twenties was dumped into the lock around three o’clock yesterday morning, so he’s been dead about thirty-six hours. He has terrible injuries that are consistent with being trapped in the lock gates for at least a third of that time. The Professor also said that the cause of death was a wooden stake through his heart, which suggests that the killer might have believed the man was a vampire, but we know he’s not.’
‘You’re doing reasonably well, so far. Carry on.’
‘No identity documents, personal effects or distinguishing marks were found on the body, so we have no idea who the man is.’
‘So, what do you propose we do next?’
‘Get in out of the cold.’
‘You should have worn appropriate clothing. Well?’
‘Professor Finn isn’t doing the post-mortem until three o’clock tomorrow afternoon, so we should try to find out who the man is before then.’
‘And how do we do that?’
‘Missing persons?’
‘It’s unlikely that he would have been reported missing already. He might not have been missed, or there might be no one to miss him, but we’ll ask them anyway. What else?’
‘House-to-house enquiries?’
‘The purpose of house-to-house enquiries would be to determine whether anybody heard or saw anything at the time of the murder, which is unlikely at three in the morning, but I’ve already set things in motion anyway.’
‘Okay. What about running a fingerprint match through the database? Does fingerprinting still work if the body’s been in the water for so long?’
‘Yes. Fingerprints can survive for long periods in water as long as it’s cold, and I think we’re both agreed it’s cold.’
‘Bloody right.’
‘The Professor will take his fingerprints and run them through the database as a matter of course. What did Avril Burrows say about the crime-scene forensics?’
‘She isn’t very optimistic.’
‘Pessimism is part of their job description.’
‘She said they’re conducting a search, but it’s unlikely they’ll find any footprints, because the ground is too hard and there’s been a lot of people walking all over the crime scene in the past thirty-six hours.’
‘It was like a free-for-all when I arrived.’
‘I guess you’re unhappy about that, but as you’re always unhappy it’s difficult to tell from your miserable expression.’
‘Anything else?’
‘We could ask the public?’
‘Too early in the investigation.’
‘DNA?’
‘Professor Finn will run that through the DNA database as well.’
‘Medical and dental records?’
‘The Professor again.’
‘Because his face is such a mess, we can’t even take a photograph and show that around, can we?’
‘That’s true, but what else could we do instead?’
‘Arrange for a forensic anthropologist to reconstruct his face?’
‘That could take weeks.’
‘Then I don’t know.’
‘Go and tell Burrows to get a forensic artist here as soon as she can. I want a reconstructed sketch of our victim before they take the body away.’
‘Yes, that’s a good idea.’ Lake nodded and went to find Burrows.
He knew that a good forensic artist could reconstruct a two-dimensional face from a decomposing body. Based on their knowledge of human anatomy, and how soft tissue lies on the skull, they could make educated estimations on how the man would have appeared prior to death. A likeness would allow him and Lake to ask the local residents if they knew, or had seen, the man before. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best they had.
Lake returned. ‘There’s a forensic artist on the way, Sir.’
‘Good.’ He pointed to the narrowboat along the canal. ‘Hanna Saunders lives in that boat. She was the one who found the body. Go and talk to her. I can’t imagine that she’ll know anything about the murder, but ask her anyway.’
‘Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you keep trying to get rid of me.’
‘Very observant of you, Lake. I’m sure that sometime in the distant future you’ll make a half-decent detective. Also, finding a body, especially a disfigured one, can be a traumatic experience. Offer her support. If she accepts the offer, call Family Liaison and arrange for a Support Officer to come out to her.’
Lake wandered off in the direction of the narrowboat.
Chapter Two
The forensic artist – Todd Monroe – arrived within the hour and set to work. He was in his mid-fifties with a thin layer of grey hair above his ears, and a trimmed moustache and goatee beard. He was an experienced forensic artist who had learned his trade in mortuaries studying unknown dead bodies to improve his skills. He normally worked in clay and plaster, but he also created age-progression drawings from photographs of missing children. He’d brought his own fold-up chair, easel and materials, and resembled a painter who had settled down to paint a life model, except this particular model was dead.
Professor Finn came and found him. ‘I’m not waiting around, Dark. It’s far too cold for someone of my delicate disposition.’
‘You could ask to share Burrows’ thermals.’
‘It would probably be the death of me. Mrs Finn has just called me with her orders anyway. I’m to be home by eight-thirty for the evening meal. We have guests apparently, and I don’t possess an adequate enough vocabulary to describe what would happen to me if I flouted her orders.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Double your imagination and multiply it by a factor of ten. Anyway, your new forensic officer – Avril Burrows – seems competent enough and very nice, even with her thermals on. She’ll ensure the body is transported to the mortuary when Mister Monroe has finished his likeness of the deceased. And I’ve warned my assistant – Morbid Maud – to be ready to accept the corpse and secure it in the freezer until I can get to it tomorrow.’
‘Morbid Maud?’
‘Ah! You haven’t met Morbid, have you? Works mainly at nights, has skin like cracked porcelain and never smiles. In fact, she reminds me a touch of you in that respect, Dark. But unlike you, she’s a bit of a looker. God knows what she’s doing wasting her life away in a mortuary, but as Mrs Finn will tell you if you have the time on your hands to listen – there’s nowt so strange as folk. Of course, Morbid Maud isn’t her real name. So, enjoy the rest of your evening, and give my regards to Lake. I bet you’re glad to have her back, aren’t you?’
‘Like a hole in the head.’
‘I heard that,’ Lake said, walking towards them along the bank out of the dark.
‘You were meant to.’
‘Well, good night,’ the Professor said, wandering off in the direction of his silver Mercedes.
‘Did Hanna Saunders have anything to say?’ Dark asked Lake.
‘Nothing about the murder. I think she just needed someone to talk to.’
‘And you thought you’d pretend to be a counsellor?’
‘We’re dealing with human beings, Sir.’
‘I told you to refer her to Family Liaison.’
‘Which I’ve done, but a Support Officer couldn’t get here until about nine o’clock, so I sat with her and listened for a while. She can’t get the sight of the corpse out of her head.’
‘She will.’
He called Missing Persons.
‘Sergeant Becky Porter – Missing Persons.’
‘It’s Dark.’
‘I think it’s something to do with the time of day, Sir.’
‘You might be funny if you came up with some original material, Porter.’
‘Thanks, Sir. I hear on the grapevine that you’ve found a corpse in Marple.’
‘Which I’d like you to match to a missing person, if that’s not too much to ask?’
‘I’ll try my best.’
He provided her with as much description as he could. ‘Give me your number, Porter.’
‘I’m married with three teenage children, Sir. But I’m always open to new opportunities.’
