by Helen Phifer
Someone exited the tent just as she was approaching and, despite being dressed from head to toe in protective clothing, she knew it was Josh from the way he stooped on the way out. He lifted his hand in greeting.
‘Is Dr Corkill there?’
Josh nodded. ‘He is, with one of his archaeology students. I think we should be good to move the second body in the next hour.’
Beth felt relieved that Corkill was on the case. He was good: one of the best. She would poke her head inside and see how he was getting on. If he needed her assistance, then she’d suit up and dive right in. If not, she’d go to the mortuary to wait for the body to arrive. She had two assistants who were more than capable of booking the body in, but she felt as if she needed to be there for this one. This girl deserved more than the end she’d been given, and it would make Beth feel a little better knowing she’d been the one to take care of her every need from now on.
The tent opening pushed aside once more, and Beth smiled as she locked eyes with the doctor.
‘Chris, it’s good to see you.’
He pulled back the hood of the white paper suit he was wearing, grinning at her with the smile of a guy half his age.
‘Beth, you too. It’s just a shame we only ever meet under such tragic circumstances. You’ll be pleased to know the body is intact. Apart from the usual decomposition, she’s pretty well preserved. I won’t have an awful lot of input once we’ve removed her and sieved the soil for trace evidence. She’ll be all yours unless you need help with identification. There are signs of some dental work and a couple of older scars – one on her forearm, another on her right shoulder – that suggests it will be straightforward.’
‘Ever the optimist, Chris.’ Beth smiled.
‘Someone has to be, Beth, there are enough pessimists in this world.’
She couldn’t disagree with him. She’d been full of optimism at one point in her life, before fear and regret took over.
‘Do you want to oversee her removal? Or are you happy for us to crack on?’
She nodded. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust anyone else to do it: she felt as if she had to.
‘No, you take the lead. I’ll be here, but I won’t get in the way.’
He nodded, then turned and ducked back inside the tent. Josh gently took hold of her elbow, leading her away so they couldn’t be overheard.
‘Is everything okay?’
She glared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Just that, you seem a little edgy this morning.’
‘Yes, everything’s fine. Well, apart from the fact that some sicko hid a girl’s body in someone else’s grave, I’m good.’
He arched one eyebrow at her. ‘Really?’
She blew out her cheeks. ‘I’m just a little stressed. Two of my cameras went down last night.’
‘I knew something was wrong. Do you think someone tampered with them?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t think so. It’s just unnerved me a little.’
She was aware she’d lowered her voice. She didn’t mind Josh knowing what a mess she was, but there was no way she’d let anyone else hear about it.
‘Want me to come over when we’ve finished here? We can have a beer and you can cook me some of those burritos you’re so very good at?’
Beth laughed. ‘If you want to, but I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you and Jodie might have.’
‘Jodie’s gone to visit her sister – again.’
‘Ouch, that bad?’
‘You can’t even imagine.’
Beth smiled; the things she could imagine would give anyone nightmares for the rest of their lives.
Nine
Beth, Josh, Chris and his student, Amber, bowed their heads respectfully as the undertakers wheeled the trolley past them. Until they identified her and found her family, the girl was their responsibility and Beth took some light relief in knowing that she had such a talented team fighting her corner. It was a shame no one had been around to fight for her when she was alive. Beth gulped, hoping to God that the girl was dead before she was buried. The thought made her squirm as all sorts of scenarios played out in her head; in each the face she saw on the body was her own.
The van doors slammed shut behind her and she jumped so high Josh grabbed her.
Beth knew she was acting strangely; he could tell she didn’t want him to think she was losing it and not fit to work this case, because he knew she was more than capable.
‘Right, I’ll go to the mortuary and get her booked in. Josh, I’ll see you later,’ Beth said, as calmly and matter-of-factly as she could.
Josh’s phone began to ring, and he fumbled in his pocket for it, sticking his thumb up at Beth as he headed back towards his car, his voice hushed and urgent. She watched him for a moment as he stripped off his protective clothing and ducked inside his car, his phone still glued to his ear. He looked tired and stressed.
The undertakers were waiting for her to leave first, to open the mortuary doors at the other end, so she hurried over to her car and got in. Despite the warmth of the sun, she was chilled beyond belief. She turned on the heater and waited for the blast of warm air to hit her face and warm her bones. Something about this case was really unsettling her, but she didn’t know what.
The drive to the hospital was a long one; the mortuary at Westmorland General in Kendal was being refurbished, so the body was taken to Furness General Hospital in the small industrial town of Barrow-in-Furness. The road from Bowness was a nightmare: all twists and turns, traffic lights every couple of miles while the water mains were being replaced and the slowest moving cars she’d ever known. When she finally turned onto Abbey Road she breathed a sigh of relief. She’d phoned ahead so the mortuary staff knew they were on their way. Turning right onto Dalton Lane as she crested the brow of the hill, she saw the hospital and her heart did a little jump, just like it always did whenever she had cause to work from here. It was the hospital they’d rushed her to that night, where the busy accident and emergency department staff had worked so hard on her. She’d forever be in their debt.
Blowing out her cheeks, she turned into the huge grounds and drove around to the staff car park at the rear of the hospital, where the mortuary entrance was situated, and where a familiar face was waiting for her. Abandoning her car on a gravelled area with a huge wooden sign that said ‘No Parking’, she got out and jogged over to Abe. They smacked hands in a high five.
‘Ouch, Doc. I swear you hit harder every time.’
She smiled. ‘I’ve been practising.’
They then hit knuckles together and both laughed. ‘You know out of all the doctors, nurses, coppers and undertakers who come through here you’re the only one who knows how to greet me with a bit of respect.’
‘That’s because they don’t have the same street cred as me.’ She looked around to see the undertakers’ silver van turning the corner to drive towards them.
‘This is a bad one, Abe.’
‘Most of them are.’
‘No, this is—’ She hesitated, not quite sure how she could describe the situation to the young man standing in front of her, his dreadlocks tied in a neat ponytail and his tattoos covered by his hospital scrubs. He probably wasn’t much older than the girl inside the body bag and she often wondered why he’d ended up working as an anatomical pathology technician. One of these days she would get around to asking about his career choice, but, then again, it was probably the same reason she ended up becoming a forensic pathologist: she trusted the dead more than the living. He seemed like a confident young man though, not an edgy recluse like her. ‘This one is dark,’ she finished, lamely.
He nodded. ‘I heard you found her in someone else’s grave. That’s bad. The old lady they exhumed got brought in last night. The coffin is all set up, ready to go for the morning.’
‘Thank you, I’m going to book the Jane Doe in. I’ll be here first thing to do the PM on the exhumation. I want it done and everything clea
red for the afternoon.’
‘You’ll figure it out, Doc, you always do.’
‘I hope so, Abe, I really do.’
He smiled at her, opening the doors wide for the trolley carrying the body to be carried through.
Ten
He knew that the mortuary nearest to the crime scene was off the cards, of course he did. When he’d read in the local newspaper about it closing temporarily, he knew it was now or never: the perfect time to make his move. He’d been watching her and biding his time for more than seven years, and he could wait no longer. The physical pain inside his chest every time he saw her had become unbearable.
Everything changed the day he’d gone into the attic to fix a leak in the roof and found the box he’d stashed away under the eaves in a blind panic all those years ago. Sitting on the floor, he’d carefully slit the tape with the penknife he always kept in his pocket and pulled out the book he’d wrapped lovingly in brown paper and tied with string, a disguise so as not to arouse suspicion should the police ever have a reason to search his property. Slowly unwrapping it and revealing the well-worn cover, he felt the familiar stirrings in his loins as keenly as he had the first time he’d ever read it. The Collector by John Fowles had a cult following, it appealed to a select few, the elite as he liked to think of them. He wondered if the author had ever expected what he wrote to inspire killers around the globe. Somehow he didn’t think so, but the book had unleashed in him an insatiable need to be in control of others, and now it was time to act.
As he drove along the deserted road he wondered how safe Beth really felt living out here on her own. Did the seclusion give her a false sense of security, or did it heighten it? Did she sleep at night, maybe she self-medicated? He could imagine her more likely to pour herself a couple of glasses of wine to wind down and relax than taking prescription medication.
He wanted to keep her busy, busier than she’d been in a long time. He wanted her to lie in bed at night awake wondering how the girl had got into that grave, why she’d been put there and who had put her down there. Who had killed her. It was going to be fun watching her pull her hair out trying to figure it out all by herself. She wouldn’t give in because that wasn’t her style. She would take it personally; of this he had no doubt.
At first he’d thought of her as Doctor Adams, then Elizabeth. Now, well, he felt as if he knew her well enough to call her Beth, just like her very few close friends did. He drove past the nondescript gates that guarded the entrance to her property: she’d chosen them so that they didn’t stand out or draw attention to the house behind them. The house he’d studied carefully from afar; he knew the layout like his own. He’d got access to the plans through the local council planning portal and spent many hours imagining what she did in each room when she was home alone. He knew she hadn’t scrimped on the security: there were cameras and a fancy alarm system. He also knew there were blind spots to the cameras because he’d been and inspected the exact same alarm system at the showroom and the salesman had admitted there wasn’t a hundred per cent full coverage. She didn’t have cameras on the whole grounds to the house, just the front and back doors. The drone he flew overhead whilst she was out at work had filmed everything for him. He’d then downloaded it all so he could study it for hours on end. Occasionally, when she was home he’d fly it overhead to get images of her. He didn’t dare fly it too low when she was there; a couple of times he’d filmed her pottering around in the garden in a pair of cut-off shorts. She had good legs: nice, long and toned with a light, golden suntan. He wouldn’t like to get caught between those legs; he knew she was pretty good at self-defence because he also watched her going into the community hall to attend the weekly classes.
He parked his car on the grass verge further down from her house than he’d have liked and put his hazard lights on. He could see a group of hillwalkers in the distance, adding to the risk, adding to the thrill. If anyone stopped or wondered what the car was doing on this normally deserted stretch of road he could pretend it had broken down. It had been risky pulling the cables out of her camera yesterday, but worth it. He’d found a blind spot, or what he hoped was one, when he’d squeezed through the tight gap in the hedging. She’d just left for the cemetery and he knew she’d be tied up for a couple of hours giving him free rein of the gardens.
Grabbing the carrier bag from the boot of the car he crossed the road, walking around to the narrow gap he’d found. If she knew about it then he had no doubt she’d have had a six-foot-six brick wall built around the entire perimeter. As he slipped through he muttered under his breath as a sharp hawthorn branch scratched at his arm and snagged his T-shirt. He looked down to see a thin line of blood appear. He swore; the last thing he needed was to leave traces of his blood around. It stopped before it got going: it was only a surface wound. Standing against the hedge, he stared at the house. It was nice. Very impressive. He could have lived in a house like this. He almost did for a short spell of time, but it hadn’t worked out and he’d had to leave.
Walking over to the front door, he reached inside the bag and pulled out the gift he had brought for her, left it at her door and pushed his way back out. The road was still deserted; no nosy tourist or Good Samaritan had stopped to see if he needed a hand with his car. He laid the bunch of red roses a short distance away from the entrance gates to her house: a non-threatening gift from an admirer that wouldn’t be ignored. Briskly crossing the road, he strode back towards it, tugging off the thick leather gloves he’d been wearing. He opened the boot and threw them inside. His hands slick with sweat, he wiped them on his trouser leg.
Eleven
Josh arrived back at the station a hot, sweaty mess. He could have gone home to shower and change, but that would have meant having to face Jodie. He was in no mood to face her, or another argument. He felt a little bad for lying to Beth, though, as he’d much rather spend time with her. They would’ve been able to discuss the case. He kept a spare set of clothes and a shower bag in his locker. Grabbing everything, he went to the men’s toilets where there were two shower cubicles.
Hanging up his clean trousers and shirt, he took the shower gel and a towel with him, locking the door. If anyone needed the toilet they could go and use the gents further down the hall. What he needed was ten minutes alone to scrub his skin clean and process everything he’d just witnessed. Stripping off, he stepped out his clothes and kicked them to one side. The water wasn’t as hot as he liked, but it would do. He stepped under the spray, squeezing a huge dollop of lime shower gel into his hands and lathering his entire body and hair. He had to squeeze his eyes tight to stop the scented gel from making them sting. People thought being a copper made you hard as nails. It did, to a certain degree: there were things you dealt with on autopilot, you didn’t think about it. He’d been to car crashes where there had been multiple fatalities, attended suicides, murders and domestic abuse cases that had stayed with him long after the offenders had been jailed. Most of the time he was okay with it, sad for the family and friends left behind, no doubt, but this case had got under his skin more than he cared to admit. The horror of seeing the girl’s pale flesh peeking through the soil had given him a fitful night’s sleep. He’d kept waking up a few times gasping for air, convinced he’d been buried alive. He could still feel the imaginary weight of a coffin pressing on his chest.
He turned the shower off and stepped out into the now-steamy bathroom. The mirrors were fogged up. Drying himself as briskly as he could he then dressed and unlocked the door, propping it open to let some air in. The extractor fan wasn’t working, so he rubbed his arm against one of the windows to see his reflection, comb his hair and check he looked presentable.
The clock was ticking, but thankfully, Florence Wright, the woman in the process of being exhumed yesterday, wasn’t anything to do with him until Beth had conducted the post-mortem. If the PM indicated that foul play had led to her death then he’d become involved: a murder investigation would be opened. But if not, he’d b
egin on the second investigation: first, he’d identify the girl in the grave, and then he’d find her killer. He sent up a silent prayer that he’d only have the girl in the grave to look after, because he didn’t know if he had the energy to run two murder investigations at the same time with such a small team.
He strolled through the warren of dark corridors until he reached the rear staircase which would take him straight up to the too-small office which housed CID. Kendal police station had seen better days; it was old-fashioned, with lots of small offices, unlike the fancy new glass one that had been built down in Barrow. On the odd occasion when he’d had to travel down there to work, he’d decided that they could keep their new station with its open-plan offices and hot desks; he much preferred the privacy here. If he needed space to think he could disappear into one of the many smaller offices and shut the door. Even the higher-ranking officers down in Barrow didn’t have anywhere to hide.
He turned the corner into his office to see his team fighting over the box of biscuits he’d brought in to bribe them to stay late. He grinned; they were easily bought. It was a small price to pay for such dedication.
Twelve
Beth finished the paperwork for her Jane Doe: she had full responsibility for her now. The body bag containing the crushed, rotting corpse wouldn’t be opened until she began the full PM tomorrow. What had happened to her? Beth doubted she was out of her teen years yet, so why the hell wasn’t anyone looking for her? Josh would have said if there was a chance she might be a match for any high-risk missing persons. She didn’t understand it; surely someone had to have wondered where the girl was. It struck her suddenly that maybe she had more in common with this girl than she thought. Beth was a loner, like her; what if she disappeared off the face of the earth one day? She knew that Josh would be the first one to question where she was, then there was her team of staff if she didn’t turn up to work. But who else, Beth? Maybe she’s just like you, with a tiny circle of friends and no family to care for her? The thought made her heart ache; imagine something this terrible happening to you and no one even caring?
