by BIBA PEARCE
“It was, judging by the state of her.”
The area had been cordoned off with police tape, and in the centre a white forensic tent had been erected to protect the body. It glowed eerily against the dripping green backdrop, thanks to the emergency lighting that had been set up inside. A police photographer was taking pictures of the scene. Rob could hear the continuous clicking of the lens as he changed into his protective oversuit. Mallory, who’d already been inside once, didn’t get changed.
“I’ll wait here.”
Rob lifted the flap and blinked against the glare from the fluorescent bulbs. When his eyes adjusted, he focused on the woman lying on the wet ground with her hands tied above her head. A pathologist was bending over her, systematically inspecting the body, while the photographer continued snapping away.
She was young, early twenties, with fine features obscured by bruising and discolouration. She had probably been very pretty, even though she didn’t look it now. Her nose was clogged with blood and her left eye had swollen shut. The right stared at the canopy above, glassy and unseeing. It was quite disconcerting. A strip of duct tape covered her mouth.
He exhaled as he took in her dishevelled state. Hair mussed and tangled, jacket wide open and dress twisted around her waist. No underwear. She was naked from the waist down.
Shit.
“Sexual assault?” he asked the pathologist.
“Almost certainly,” he acknowledged with a solemn dip of his head. “She was also strangled. See the bruising around her neck?”
Rob moved closer, watching where he put his feet. “That’s how she died?”
“It’s the most likely scenario, but with clots in her nose and that gag on, she probably couldn’t breathe anyway.”
Rob moved around the victim in order to get a better look at her neck. The grass was wet and dripping clumps of foliage made the tent seem even smaller. He bent over the body. The discolouration was substantial. “Big hands?”
“Bigger than mine at any rate.” The pathologist encircled her neck with his own hands in order to demonstrate. His fingers didn’t reach the myriad of bruised and broken veins on the sides.
Rob studied the pathologist. He was an average-sized man, maybe five foot ten or eleven, with average-sized hands.
“So, we’re looking for a big guy, then?”
The pathologist shrugged. “Theoretically, but then some big guys have small hands and vice versa. You can never tell for sure.”
“He punched her in the face?” Rob inspected her nose.
“Yes, a real bully, this one. It was probably to subdue her. Judging by the bruising on her wrists, she put up one hell of a fight. She’s also got cuts and scrapes on the back of her legs where she lashed out.”
“Hopefully, we can get some DNA off her.”
“There’s nothing under the fingernails. Sorry to disappoint you. He probably secured her hands before she had a chance to retaliate. Also, this rain isn’t going to make it easy for us. Any fibres on her skin or clothing may have been washed off.”
“What about internally?” Rob glanced at her naked skin. It was demeaning being exposed like that, for everyone to see. His voice tightened. “And can’t we cover her up now?”
“I can only tell you that after the post-mortem.” The pathologist glanced up at him. “I’m just finishing up, then we’ll get her decent again.”
Rob nodded and left the tent. He didn’t want to look at her any more, not in that state. The fresh air helped refocus him. “Do we know who she was?” he asked Mallory, who was waiting a few metres away.
Mallory handed him her driving licence. “This was in her wallet. Her handbag was found beside her body.”
He glanced at the driving licence. “Julie Andrews.”
“Like the actress,” said Mallory.
“She lives in Brentford,” noted Rob.
“We found this too.” He passed Rob a laminated access card.
“The National Archives,” he read. “That’s a short distance back along the path. She must have been walking home from work when she was attacked.”
“Silly girl to come this way,” remarked Mallory. “It’s pitch dark by six p.m. and there’s no lighting or CCTV down here.”
“Did she have any cash in her wallet?”
“Yeah, twenty pounds and some change. He wasn’t after her money.”
So, this wasn’t a robbery. It was a premeditated attack by a predator on an unsuspecting woman. Opportunistic, or had he been watching her, waiting for his chance?
“He could have been a work colleague,” Rob said, thinking out loud. “Someone who knew her and had it in for her. Perhaps a jilted lover?”
“I’ll talk to her colleagues tomorrow. See if they know anything.”
“That hers?” Rob nodded to a closed, black umbrella in a plastic evidence bag.
“Yup, we think so. It was found open on the path. She could have dropped it when she was attacked. We’ll have it tested once we get it to the lab. You never know, she may have whacked him with it.”
“Here’s hoping.”
“We also found her torn underwear beside the body.” He grimaced. “The killer must have ripped it off.”
Rob paced up and down, picturing the series of events. “She’s walking home along the river path from Kew to Brentford when this guy jumps out of the undergrowth and attacks her. The towpath was probably deserted on account of the weather, and it would have been high tide, which puts off the cyclists — too muddy. He pulls her into the bushes and subdues her somehow, maybe by punching her in the face, before gagging her and tying her up. Then he rapes and strangles her.”
“Fucking bastard.” Mallory was shaking his head. Rob had never heard him swear before, but then, they’d never had a case quite like this one.
“I wonder what came first—” Rob narrowed his eyes — “The rape or the strangulation?”
“You mean he could have raped her after he’d killed her?”
Rob gave a terse nod. “It’s been known to happen.”
“Christ.”
Mallory might be a good copper, but he was still relatively inexperienced. This was a big case for him too. Both their careers depended on finding the bastard who did this.
Chapter 3
Rob took family liaison officer Becca Townsend with him to notify the next of kin. She was a robust, matronly woman with sympathetic eyes and a compassionate nature. The type of woman you wanted beside you in a crisis. He hadn’t worked with her before, but she came highly recommended, particularly considering the violent nature of this attack. Apparently, she’d trained as a rape counsellor before she’d joined the force.
“Mr Justin King?” he asked when a man in his late twenties, possibly early thirties, opened the door.
The man nodded. He was wearing jeans and a Nike tracksuit top with the tick on it, but still managed to look dishevelled. Maybe it was his hair, which was sticking up all over the place, or his bare feet, or the confused expression on his face.
“I’m DI Rob Miller and this is DS Becca Townsend with the Major Investigation Team.” Rob showed him his warrant card. Becca did the same. “May we come in?”
He opened the door wordlessly, a haunted expression on his face.
“Thank you,” said Becca, offering a small smile. They followed him into a cosy lounge with the television showing reruns of Friends. The artificial laughter filled the air.
“Do you mind if we turn that off?” said Becca.
Justin nodded and reached for the control. “I wasn’t watching it anyway. Not really. I’m too worried about Julie.” He clicked off the TV and they all sat down. Justin gazed from one to the other. “I take it you’ve got some news?”
Rob nodded. This bit never got easier. He reminded himself that in some cases the boyfriend or husband was the perpetrator, and not only did they have to be compassionate but also alert for clues or additional information that might help them solve the case.
“We found a
young woman’s body this evening by the river towpath in Kew. The evidence suggests that it was Julie.”
The young man stared at him uncomprehendingly. Rob was beginning to wonder if he’d heard him. “You reported her missing earlier this evening?”
“Yes, yes . . .” Justin’s eyes filled with tears. “I knew something bad had happened to her. I could sense it. She’s never late, not without calling.” He dropped his head into his hands while Rob and Becca waited for the news to sink in. It always took a few moments, then the grief or the anger would come to the fore.
“Are you sure it’s her?” he asked, eventually. Denial. He couldn’t quite grasp that she was dead. Not yet, but that usually ended when they identified the body.
“We’re sure,” said Becca softly. “She had her purse with her.”
Justin let out a slow, shaky breath. It was sinking in.
“How did she die?” he croaked.
“She was strangled,” said Rob. He hesitated and glanced at Becca, who gave him a small nod. “There was also evidence of sexual assault.”
Justin’s head snapped up. “You mean she was raped?”
Rob nodded. “It looks that way. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Christ.” He hung his head as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “Poor Julie.”
Becca went to sit next to him. “Is there anyone we can call to be with you right now?”
He shook his head. “No, there’s no one. I’ll have to tell her parents.” He gulped. “God knows how I’m going to do that. Her mother will be devastated. They both will.”
“We can do that for you, if you like?” said Becca.
He shook his head. “I think it’ll be better coming from me.”
She nodded. “Okay, but we’re here for you if you need to talk.”
“Can I see her?” he asked.
“Yes, of course. We’d like you to give a formal identification, but it can wait until tomorrow.”
“No, I want to see her now. I want to be sure it’s . . . it’s her.”
“I understand,” said Becca. “If you’re certain you want to do it now, we can arrange that.”
He nodded and stood up. “I’ll get my coat.”
He walked into the hall and pulled on a navy blue jacket and picked up the house keys from the side table.
“You’d better put some shoes on.” Becca nodded to his bare feet.
“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I’m not thinking straight.”
He went upstairs. Rob didn’t speak. Neither did Becca. This was the very worst part of the job.
Justin came back down wearing trainers but no socks.
“You okay?” said Becca. “Perhaps it would be better to do this in the morning?”
“I want to do it now.” Justin jingled the keys in his pocket. “I have to know it’s her.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Rob led the way to the police car outside. They’d left the blue lights on, but no sound was coming from the sirens. A silent, tragic declaration. He could see the neighbours watching from their bedroom windows. Pale, questioning faces staring down into the street below. It was close to midnight.
They pulled away. Becca was driving. Rob sat beside her in the passenger seat. Justin was alone with his grief in the back. His voice punctured the silence. “Does this have anything to do with the stalker?”
“What stalker?” asked Rob, twisting in his seat.
“There was this creepy guy who used to follow her around,” Justin explained. “He first appeared about three weeks ago. He would follow her to work, appear in random places, always watching her. It freaked her out.”
“I’m sure it did.” Becca kept her eyes on the road. “Did she report him?”
“Yes,” said Justin. “I told her to. Stalking is a crime, right?”
“It certainly is,” Becca confirmed.
“Did she know him?” Rob asked.
“She said she’d never seen him before.” Justin looked down at his hands. “One day he just appeared, then she spotted him several times over the next few weeks, but after she reported it he backed off. We thought he’d given up.”
“It may not be connected,” said Rob carefully. Becca looked over and caught his eye. Neither of them believed it. It was too much of a coincidence. “But we’ll definitely look into it.”
Justin nodded but the look on his face said, Fat lot of good it’ll do her now.
Becca took Justin to the mortuary to identify Julie Andrews’s body, while Rob went back to the station. Despite it being after 1 a.m., the whole team was there, including Lawrence.
“Now you’re back we can have a briefing,” he barked. “Incident Room Two please, guys.”
They all filed in. The few chairs in the room were filled quickly, while everyone else stood in eager anticipation. Rob’s mobile phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen. Yvette. He ignored the message and went to stand beside Lawrence at the front of the room. Someone, probably Mallory, had pinned two photographs of Julie Andrews up on the whiteboard. One was a normal, happy shot, the “before” shot, while the other, the “after” shot, had been taken at the crime scene. Underneath was a map with red ink marking the route she would have taken home along the river, across Kew Bridge to Brentford.
“Right, thanks for coming in tonight,” began Lawrence. “I know it’s late, but this is an important case. DI Rob Miller will be heading up the investigation, so take your instruction from him. Twickenham Police have offered their assistance if we need more manpower, as well as surveillance teams from the Met’s Covert Intelligence branch, should they be required.”
Everybody’s eyes were on him, and Rob knew they were all thinking the same thing. Could he handle a case this size? He bloody well hoped so — this was his career break.
Lawrence nodded to him. “Over to you, Rob.”
This was the second time he’d been the senior investigating officer. The first was a drunken brawl that had turned fatal when the victim had died on the way to hospital, and the whole thing had been caught on the CCTV camera outside the pub. Apart from watching the grainy CCTV footage and charging the perpetrator, there hadn’t been a lot of investigating involved.
This was a whole different ball game.
He took a deep breath and composed his thoughts. “The victim is twenty-six-year-old Julie Andrews.” He pointed at the photograph of the victim behind him. He didn’t know where Mallory had found the “before” picture, but she looked beautiful in it. Her hair was loose, and the sun shone on her face as she smiled into the camera. She looked happy and full of life. Anger towards the man who had taken all that away from her surged through him. “She was walking home from work along the river towpath at Kew when she was attacked.”
He outlined everything they knew of the attack, watching the collective expressions of outrage and disgust when he got to the sexual assault. “We don’t know if it was pre- or post-mortem yet, but the pathologist will clarify tomorrow.”
There was a low murmur in the room. He held up a hand. “We’re going to do whatever it takes to catch this bastard.”
Nods all round.
“Now, I need a team on CCTV. I don’t know what there is around the National Archives or along the river but see what you can find. Her route home is up here on the board. Make sure you look at previous days as well as today, I want to know if anyone was following her.”
Three officers volunteered.
“Great, thanks guys.” Studying CCTV footage wasn’t the most glamorous of jobs. They’d be shut away in a dark room for hours on end, surveying footage from tens if not hundreds of different cameras, but it was arguably one of the most important tasks. In many cases he’d worked on, they’d managed to secure a conviction based solely on the video footage.
“Mallory is going to go to the victim’s place of work tomorrow to question her colleagues.” Mallory nodded. “The rest of you, I want you to look into a report the victim filed a week or two ago regarding a possible stalker. Look at similar cases and see if y
ou can find any similarities. This could be our first lead. I want to find something on this guy.” Heads nodded. “Thanks everyone.”
They filed out of the room talking among themselves. They’d do what they could tonight, then all be back first thing with renewed vigour.
“I’ve got the victim’s boyfriend coming in tomorrow to give a statement,” Rob told Lawrence. “He wasn’t in any state to do so tonight.”
“Has he IDed the body?” asked Sam in his deep, gravelly voice. He was a massive, barrel-chested man in his fifties, about six four with a no-nonsense attitude and craggy face that wouldn’t look amiss on a boxer, but it was his voice more than anything else that commanded respect. It was deep, loud and sounded like he’d smoked a million cigarettes then gargled with lighter fluid. If he hadn’t been a policeman, he would have made an excellent voiceover artist.
“Becca took him to the mortuary tonight. He didn’t want to wait.”
“Just as well . . .” Sam scratched his bristly chin. “I don’t have to tell you how big this is, Rob. The media are going to go berserk. A beautiful young girl like that, raped and strangled on the Thames Path.” He shook his head. “It’s going to be shambolic.”
“Will you give a statement?” asked Rob.
“No, but you will,” confirmed Sam, with a grimace. “This is your case. I’ll back you up if needs be.”
Rob nodded, hoping he looked more confident than he felt. He hadn’t dealt with the media before and had no idea what went into a press release. He’d seen it done, obviously, but hadn’t paid much attention. Perhaps he’d better start.
“Vicky Bainbridge will help you,” the DCI told him, as if reading his thoughts. “She’s our press liaison officer. You can meet with her tomorrow morning.”
“Okay, guv.” Along with talking to Justin King, going to view the post-mortem and following up with everyone in the team, it was going to be a long day.
He stifled a yawn.
“Get yourself home,” said Sam. “There’s not much else you can do tonight. Start fresh in the morning.”
“Yeah, okay.” He glanced at his watch. It was after two. Yvette would have turned in already. Shit, her message. He quickly read it.
