by Giles Ekins
‘Knitting?
‘Yeah, Jessica’s a ferocious knitter, when she’s not beating the shit out of her opponents, she’s represented the county in taekwondo, she knits. And knits and knits, we’ve all had Xmas jumpers she’s knitted. No doubt you’ll get one soon.’
‘Not if I can help it,’ thought Grace, ‘I’ve no intention of hanging around here any longer than necessary.’
‘The young lad, Danny Moss, I don’t know him.’ Terry said anxiously, not wanting any blame if the lad did not perform. ‘All I know is that the Office Manager told me he had been assigned to the team as part of his training and assessment.’
‘Well he seems keen enough, maybe we should get Fed Burbage to mentor him,’ Grace responded, not entirely seriously.
‘You know, that might not be a bad idea, despite his appearance he does know his way around down in the trenches.’
‘OK, set that up and monitor the pair of them.’
Grace made a note on her pad. ‘And you, Terry Horton? How do you rate in the scale of things?’
‘Me? I reckon I’m solid enough, would maybe like to get to DI, but probably not beyond, too much politics for my way of thinking. Then it’s all about budgets and targets. Strategies and man-management courses and who you know and arse-licking out on the golf course. I just don’t see that as proper coppering. Sorry,’ Terry, said, suddenly realising the big hole he’d dug for himself. ‘I mean present company excepted, of course.’
‘That’s OK, I know what you mean but personally, I have never licked anybody’s arse on a golf course. Or anywhere else for that matter.’
‘No, I’m sure not.’
‘OK, Terry, we’ll leave it there for now, but you make sure you ride hard on Fred Burbage if he gets out of hand again.’
‘Will do.’
‘I have to attend the autopsies on the Jarrett’s. If young Danny Moss wants to become a detective, he’d best come along with me, as Fred told him, it’s not all glamour, as he will find out soon enough.’
‘Aye, all that blood and guts is enough to put anybody off.’
‘OK, when I get back, we need to talk to David Jarrett. He was not forthcoming last night. Said he was too distressed.’
‘Me? I thought he was faking it,’ Terry said. ‘Crocodile tears, except he didn’t cry, you know what I mean?’
’My thoughts as well.’
Eighteen
The traffic was heavy on the A61 as Grace and Danny Moss made their way toward the Medico-Legal Centre on Watery Street in Sheffield.
The lead-grey sky was sullen and overcast, a heavy rainstorm was imminent, and Grace was anxious to get the centre before it broke.
‘Danny, she asked, ‘How long have you been on the force.’
‘Three years, and as I said in the meeting, it’s always been my goal to join CID. I do know it’s not glamorous, that there’s a lot of hard work involved and all that. I’ve sat the exam and applied to become a TI, trainee investigator, and this detachment will go towards that.’
‘Good, you seem to have the right attitude, just take no notice of Fred Burbage and I’m sure you’ll do fine.’
‘I’ve met his type before and I can tell you., he’ll not faze me.’
Grace looked hard at the young copper, there was a set determination to his demeanour. ‘No, I don’t think he will.’
Nineteen
The news of Donald Jarrett’s murder had arrived too late to go into that day’s edition, as a bi-weekly regional paper, the ‘Garside Gazette’ could not afford the luxury of a 24 hour news-desk and the paper had been put to bed and printed hours before the news came in.
Twenty
The ‘Special Edition’ of the ‘Garside Gazette’ was printed and in the shops early the next morning.
BEYOND THE GRAVE ACCUSER DEAD.
Prominent local citizen named as child abuser found murdered.
The ‘Gazette’ can exclusively reveal that Donald Jarrett, the father accused by his daughter of abusing her as a child, has been found dead, believed murdered. It is further understood that his wife, Janet Jarrett is believed to have hanged herself in an apparent murder/suicide tragedy…
The story continued, mostly rehashing previous aspects of the story concluding with: the ‘Gazette’ is committed to binging its readers full details of this appalling and will press the police to release further details of the tragedy…
Twenty-One
The bodies of Donald and Janet, still dressed in the clothes they were wearing when discovered, lay on two stainless steel mortuary tables. As Grace and Danny entered, Erika Berger was studying a Digital Autopsy scan on a laptop; Sheffield being the first autopsy suite in the world to have such technology. She was pointing out salient features to a tall, thin faced man whom Grace knew to be John Michaelson from the Coroner’s office.
Also attendant was Keith, Erika’s assistant and a SOCO photographer, everyone, Grace and Danny included, was dressed in green scrubs and white rubber boots.
‘Hi Grace, said Erika, ‘welcome to my humble abode where the real detective work is done. I think you know John from the Coroner’s office upstairs.’
‘Yes of course, hello John, Keith, this is Pc Danny Moss, soon to Dc Danny Moss, all being well.’
‘Danny,’ Erika acknowledged with a nod, ‘Grace, whilst I was waiting for you, I carried a preliminary Digital Autopsy on Donald Jarrett. It’s pretty much as expected, he was battered about the head with considerable force, but of course, the Coroner has ordered a full autopsy.’
Observing an autopsy was not something that Grace liked, far from it, but as the SIO, her attendance was mandatory. Danny’s presence was part of his learning curve, not obligatory but helpful to an understanding of forensic medicine procedures.
With the help of Keith, Erika carefully studied every inch of the clothed body, examining every piece of clothing as it was carefully removed and bagged. The clothes, including trouser pockets turned inside out, would be vacuumed for trace material, then examined with a magnifying glass, microscopically by gas chromatograph or spectrometer as necessary, the results forming part of the final autopsy report. Donald had been wearing a blue and white striped long- sleeved Gant shirt, a navy-blue V neck cashmere sweater, both of which were heavily blood-stained, black chino trousers, also bloody, red Paisley pattern M & S boxer shorts and black socks with an embroidered Pringle logo. No shoes.
Then she removed the polythene bags tied about Donald’s hands. These were also bagged, and along with the body bags in which the corpses had been transported to the mortuary, would be forensically examined for any trace material that might have come away. Erika then took scrapings from under the fingernails, cut them and put the scrapings and fingernail cuttings into another evidence bag. Erika then took samples of hair from Donald’s head and pubis, swabs from his nose, mouth, penis and anus, the body was closely examined for wounds, marks, scratches and bruising before she reached for the scalpels to begin the autopsy dissection.
Throughout the process of opening the body cavities and removing heart and lungs, examining the stomach contents, slicing the top of off Donald’s skull to remove his brain for weighing, Erika Berger was totally concentrated on her work
She had a tiny headset microphone and dictated her findings direct to a transcriber, she gave her instructions to Keith in a quiet voice, indicative that they had worked together for some time and that he knew exactly what was required of him.
Although the mortuary room was chill, with an overriding smell of antiseptic and bodily odours, Grace somehow found Erika’s approach to the autopsy as almost spiritual, she handled the body with something akin to reverence, cutting him open and extracting Donald’s organs was not butchery, but a sacred rite and Grace felt humbled, and surprising herself, muttered a silent prayer.
Danny however, found it extremely unpleasant, a cold-blooded necessary forensic procedure, which he fervently hoped would soon be over.
Finally, Erika unclipped her
microphone and leaving Keith to close the body, came across to where Grace and Danny were waiting.
‘Erika, thank you.’ Grace said, nodding towards the body, ‘what do you have for us?’
‘Ok, I’ll give it to you in layman’s terms, you can read the full medical terminology when you get the report. Not that I’m talking down to you, you understand,’ she said, looking at Danny to see if he felt offended, ‘but it’s quicker this way and we still have Janet to do. OK?’
They both nodded in agreement and Erika continued. ‘Donald Jarrett, aged 59, was severely battered about the head with considerable blunt force. He was struck at least 14 times to the top and left side of the skull. He was, as we saw, attacked from behind as he sat at the kitchen table. He was apparently reading a newspaper, the ‘Daily Mail,’
‘That’s probably what got him killed’ interjected Dany, ‘I mean, reading the ‘Hate Mail’, serves him right, Sorry, but I couldn’t help myself.’
‘As compelling as that theory is,’ Erika responded with a smile, ‘I can’t see even the most ardent Mail-hating Guardian reader resorting to this.’
‘Right,’ Erika continued, unfazed by the interruption, she knew from experience that some police needed the release of gallows humour to get through an autopsy, ‘post mortem lividity proves the he was killed where he sat, in the chair, not killed elsewhere and moved. There are defence wounds on his left hand, obviously from the hammer as he lifted his hands to protect himself, but to no avail
The attack must have been rapid, and savage and he would have been unconscious very quickly and death would have occurred shortly after. From the position of the blows to the head, mainly the left side, I would opine that the killer was left-handed.’
Grace looked up to the ceiling as she tried to envisage the scene, Donald Jarrett quietly reading his newspaper, a cup of coffee nearby, when an unknown assailant attacks him savagely from behind. There was a lot of hatred in those blows, she thought.
‘The assailant continued to rain blows to his head, even after death,’ Erika continued, ‘The hammer found at the scene is consistent with the injuries, the indents in the scalp and skull match the hammer head. I would say with certainty that the hammer was the murder weapon.’
‘Mrs White in the kitchen with the hammer, eh? Sorry, a bit of levity is the only way I can get through this.’
‘That’s OK, Danny I need a bit of a laugh myself sometimes.’ Erika responded with a smile. ‘The killer would have blood all over their sleeves and top, probably spattering up onto his face and head, such was the ferocity of the blows.’
‘Could Janet Jarrett be the killer, I mean she’s not big woman, she’s what 5.2’’, 5’3’?’ asked Grace.
‘Certainly, yes, Donald Jarrett was seated. So, an attack to the head is perfectly feasible for a woman of her size.’
‘I did not see any blood on her clothes last evening? Grace queried.
‘No, there is no blood on any of her clothing, not even spatters,’
‘If she was the killer, she could have changed clothes and disposed of the bloody ones,’ Danny said.
‘Yes, that is possible, but we cannot definitely confirm who died first. Obviously both Dr Phil and I took the temperature of the bodies, but the kitchen was very warm whilst the garage was much colder, factors which can affect the rate of heat loss from the body, a main determinant for time of death. Quite simply, we cannot give you an accurate time of death, any estimate could be a couple of hours out in either direction’
‘So, it just about possible for Janet to kill Donald, dispose of the bloody clothes and get back in time to go into the garage and hang herself,’ Grace said ‘But it just doesn’t sit right. Why go to all the trouble of disposing of the bloody clothes if you intend to kill yourself? Of the record, Erika, in your considered opinion, who died first?’
‘Of the record, and don’t quote me, Janet. Janet died first.’
‘If that’s right, then David Jarrett’s theory is shot into the bushes,’ exclaimed Danny, ‘Ma’am, do we now rate him as the killer. OK, even if there was no blood on his clothes when you saw him yesterday, there’s nothing to say he couldn’t have disposed of bloody clothes before calling it in.’
‘Yes, I think this puts David Jarrett very much on the top of a short list.’
‘It’s near lunchtime, do you two want to grab a bite’ Erika asked, ‘whilst I finish with Donald and prep Janet.’
Grace and Danny looked at each other. ‘Sounds like a plan to me,’ said Grace.
Danny said, ‘Could do with some fresh air, first, truth to be told.’
‘The canteen is up on the third floor, it’s not too bad and the coffee is at least drinkable.
Once outside in Watery Street, Danny stood for a moment or two. taking deep breaths. ‘I hated that,’ he said, ‘the mortuary, the smell, and all that. Where the dead get to be even deader.’
‘It’s not my idea of lunchtime fun, either.’
They made their way back into the centre and up to the small canteen,
‘Can’t say I really fancy meat,’ Danny said as he studied the menu, ‘I don’t think I could even look at a burger or sausage after what I’ve just seen, I’d be wondering what the meat was. Fish and chips’ll probably do for me.’
‘Sounds good to me, fish and chips twice it is.’
Twenty-Two
When they returned to the Post Mortem room, Erika Berger was once again studying am MRI scan on her laptop.
‘Grace,’ she called.,’ I’ve just this minute received Janet‘s Digital Autopsy. I’d previously removed the ligature from her neck and SOCO have couriered it down to a forensic knot expert at the MET. It’s surprising what you can learn from how a knot is tied.’
‘I got a badge for knot tying when I was in the Scouts, I know my bowline from a sheepshank.’ said Danny.
‘I’m sure that will come in very handy someday, Danny,’ Grace said sweetly.
Erika continued to scan the black and white images, scrolling them downwards from the crown of Janet’s head. If an image was of a side view of the head, Grace could make out the curvature of the spine at the base of the skull, see the line of the jaw-bone and teeth but other views, frontal and looking through the skull in section meant little to her. Erika scrolled down further, down to the throat. ‘Whoa,’ she suddenly exclaimed loudly, ‘Grace, look at this…’
Two minutes later, Grace excused herself to call DS Terry Horton.
‘Terry, Janet’s hyoid bone was broken which means…’
‘That she was strangled. She did not hang herself. She was murdered.’
Twenty-Three
They drove back to West Garside through glistening wet roads, the rains had moved on and the clouds were breaking up to allow thin shafts of sunlight through.
‘Danny, the fact that Janet Jarrett was strangled is something we keep to ourselves I want this tucked away in our back pockets. Nobody outside the team should know about it, if the killer thinks that we are still buying his murder/suicide script, he may relax, become less vigilant, thinking he’s got away with it.’
‘I wonder about that, ma’am, sorry, I just can’t break that habit. I mean he must have watched ‘CSI’ or ‘Silent Witness.’ Even I know that a broken hyoid bone is an unmistakeable sign of strangulation.’
Grace smiled, pleased that Danny was not afraid to express an opinion.
Twenty-Four
David Jarrett had been shown into the interview room. He was wearing jeans with frayed bottoms, grey trainers, plain black t-shirt and the ‘Manifest Skateboards’ hoodie. He was unshaven and had his hair tied in a tiny curled pig-tail.
Grace and Terry watched him through the two-way mirror from the adjacent observation room, studying his demeanour as he paced back and forth, sat down, leaned back with the chair on two legs and put his feet up on the desk.
‘That’s his ‘see if I give a shit’ pose,’ Terry said to Grace.
‘Watch his eyes, he’s not as
unconcerned as he wants us to think.’
‘Yeah, but he’ll know he’s being watched.’
They watch him another four minutes.
‘OK, he’s been stewing long enough, let’s get to it.’
‘Good cop, bad cop?’
‘Let’s see how it goes.’
As they enter the room, David, with a show of great reluctance takes his feet down and leans forward, elbows on the desk.
‘Good evening, David,’ Grace greeted him warmly. ‘Good cop’, Terry thinks,
Apart from a slight nod of the head, he did not respond.
‘Thank you for coming in David,’ Grace said, ‘As I said to you at the hospital, it is purely routine.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ David sat back in his chair, once again the only expression on his face was one of complete disinterest and boredom.
Terry switched on the recording equipment.
‘This is a digitally recorded interview with Mr David Jarrett,’ Terry said, ‘Present are DCI Grace Swan and DS Terence Horton.’ Terry checked with the clock on the wall. ‘The time is 5.25pm. David, you are not under arrest, your presence is entirely voluntary, and you are free to leave at any time. Do you understand?’
David yawned, or pretended to and then nodded.
‘David, would you please answer yes or no.’
‘Yes. Can we just get on with it?’
‘David, sorry for your loss,’ Grace said, ‘but you appreciate that we have to investigate the death of your parents.’
‘Adoptive parents,’ David said sharply.
‘You were adopted?’ Terry asks.
‘That’s what adoptive means, don’t it?’
