by D. S. Butler
“I hope it’s not as well, sir.”
“Now, about this case. The body of a young woman has been dumped behind a Chinese restaurant on Gravel Lane. Can you attend?”
Mackinnon stepped aside as two men in suits and fancy shirts with contrasting collars strode towards him. “Absolutely, sir. I’m with DC Brown. We’ll head there now.”
“Good. Thank you. And Jack…”
“Yes?”
“Prepare yourself. It sounds like a nasty one.”
Chapter Six
When they reached the crime scene, it was two p.m. The alleyway had already been cordoned off, and a screen had been erected to hide the body from passers-by walking along Gravel Lane. The narrow alley ran between the Supreme Chinese Takeaway and Linda’s Launderette. Litter dotted the ground. Yellowing leaflets, drink cans and empty crisp wrappers had been blown into a pile against the wall. A large graffiti mural, spray-painted in garish pink and fluorescent green, contrasted against the white rendered wall of the launderette. The vent just above Mackinnon’s head pumped out hot, steamy air.
The uniformed officer, standing beside the crime scene tape nodded when they approached. Looking a little green around the gills, he attempted a weak smile as Mackinnon and Charlotte held out their IDs.
“You’re the SIO?” he asked, looking up at Mackinnon and pushing his damp hair back from his sweaty forehead.
Mackinnon nodded. “Temporary SIO.”
“Poor kid. We were first on the scene, and it’s not a pretty sight. At first, I thought she’d overdosed. But the pathologist isn’t so sure. He got here before you because he was leaving another crime scene just around the corner when he got the call.”
Mackinnon and Charlotte donned protective coveralls, overshoes, and gloves to minimise contamination of the crime scene. As always, Mackinnon struggled to fit his large frame in the pale blue suit.
Cursing under his breath and tugging uncomfortably at the suit, he waited for the officer to detach the crime scene tape and allow them access to the scene.
“I hate these suits,” he grumbled.
Charlotte looked down at her own baggy suit. “It’s good to know there are some benefits to being short.”
They walked along the alley, and as they got closer, Mackinnon saw the corpse was propped up against a large communal bin. Her legs were positioned straight out in front of her, and her torso pressed back against the blue plastic side of the bin. At first glance, it did look like she could be an overdose victim. Maybe she’d only been intending to get high, but the strength of the drugs was too much for her. Had she sat down, intending to wait until the sickness passed only to find the hit had been too much for her system?
Her hair was dark blonde and hung around her face in lank clumps. She was tiny, almost childlike. It was hard to judge exactly from her position, but Mackinnon guessed she couldn’t be much taller than five foot and probably weighed about seven stone. She was thin, but not unhealthily so.
The pathologist, Dr Duncan Blair, was crouched over the young woman’s body. Although Mackinnon knew him by reputation, he hadn’t worked with him before. When he saw Mackinnon and Charlotte approach, he straightened his tall, lean frame and nodded. “The photographers are almost done, and I’m nearly finished here, but we didn’t want to move her until you’d attended the scene.”
Now standing directly in front of the young woman’s body, Mackinnon got a better look at her blotchy skin and noticed long scratch marks criss-crossing her arms.
“Thanks,” Mackinnon said. “I appreciate it.”
It helped to see the victim in situ. Of course, there were crime scene photographs, but that wasn’t the same as seeing the victim in real life. It got under your skin, but that was all part of the job. Photographs allowed too much detachment in Mackinnon’s opinion. The crime scene itself made death uncomfortably real, and when you were trying to get justice for the victims of crime, that was important.
Her clothes seemed odd. She was only wearing an oversized blue T-shirt. It swamped her small body, and there was no sign of her skirt or trousers nearby.
“So do you think it was an accidental death? Did she walk down the alleyway alone, or did someone dump her here?”
He crouched down, taking a closer look at the woman’s body. The strongest smell in the alleyway was that of fried food coming from the Chinese takeaway next to them, so Mackinnon guessed she hadn’t been here long. On a hot day like this, a body started to decompose quickly.
He noticed along with the scratch marks there were circular, red marks around the woman’s wrists. Had she been tied up?
He pointed them out to the pathologist. “Ligature marks?”
The pathologist nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, it appears that way to me.” He frowned. “It’s a strange one. At first glance, it does look like she overdosed, and I can’t immediately see another cause of death. There are no external injuries apart from these marks on her arms. But the ligature marks do suggest that something happened to this poor woman. She still has her underwear on, but the T-shirt looks far too big for her.”
“I wonder what caused those other marks on her arms?” Charlotte asked.
“The scratches?” Mackinnon asked. “They could be self-inflicted. Incredibly itchy skin can be a side-effect of some drugs can’t it, Dr Blair?”
Dr Blair nodded. “It can, but there are also these small bumps on her arms.” His hands were encased in blue nitrile gloves, and he pointed at some of the raised spots on the victim’s arm. Some of the marks were pink, and others were red with the hint of yellow, suggesting infection.
“Yes, I was wondering what caused them,” Charlotte said. “It looks like some kind of rash?”
“Perhaps,” Dr Blair said but didn’t seem convinced. “I should be able to tell you more after I’ve done the postmortem. We’ll be able to tell if she was on any drugs. She hasn’t been here long. My guess would be she died three hours ago at most.”
“Do you think she died here?”
“Possibly. I can’t say for certain.”
Mackinnon looked down at the woman and wondered what had happened to her. She looked so young. “Did you find any ID on the body?”
The pathologist shook his head. “As far as I know, no bag, phone, or wallet has been found in the vicinity.”
Mackinnon stepped back, narrowly avoiding a puddle. For the past week, it had been twenty-eight degrees or above and hadn’t rained. He didn’t even want to think about the contents of that puddle.
As the crime scene team moved about laying down markers and taking pictures, Mackinnon looked around for the crime scene manager. He felt hotter than ever and slightly claustrophobic standing in the narrow alleyway.
There was a high-pitched yelp that made everyone turn. The source of the noise was a small black cat yowling in displeasure as the officer standing guard beside the crime scene tape had tried to shoo it away.
With no regard for crime scene procedure, the cat promptly scampered up the alleyway before springing up to climb over a wire fence and disappearing among the weeds.
There were a few chuckles and bursts of nervous laughter as the sudden appearance of the interloper lightened the tension.
But Mackinnon didn’t laugh.
He wasn’t used to being the SIO, and it suddenly hit him that he was responsible for finding out what had happened to this poor young woman. Did she have a family? Had she been reported missing? Or was she an addict whose family had long since washed their hands of her?
He stretched his fingers, his hands sweaty beneath the blue nitrile gloves, and turned to Charlotte. “I think the first thing we need to do is to talk to the owners of the takeaway and the launderette. We want to know if anyone saw anything and also find out if they’ve got functioning security cameras.” He pointed at a white security camera fixed above the side door of the Chinese takeaway. “With any luck, that’s not just a deterrent but a working camera.”
Charlotte nodded. “I’ll do that no
w. I’ll talk to the owners of the restaurant and the launderette myself and organise a uniform door-to-door of the other businesses in the area.”
Mackinnon nodded at the rear of the alley towards the wire fence and the weeds growing through it, mostly made up of young buddleia plants. Buddleia seemed to sprout everywhere, even occasionally out of brickwork. “Good. I’m going to take a look around the back of the alleyway. I’m wondering if she came from the street or from back there.”
DC Charlotte Brown knocked on the front door of Supreme Chinese Takeaway. She’d had no luck at the launderette. The woman working the morning shift said she hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary and they had no security cameras. It was past lunchtime, and though she could hear noise coming from inside the takeaway as well as smell the spices and hot oil from the kitchens, the door was locked.
When there was no reply, she knocked again.
Finally a young Chinese woman opened the door. She had bobbed, shiny black hair, and her eyes narrowed in irritation as she unlocked the door.
“We’re closed. Don’t open again until five.”
Charlotte held up her ID. “Are you the manager?”
The woman shook her head. “I’ll get my father.”
She led Charlotte inside and pointed to the seats in front of the large window. Charlotte didn’t sit down but instead slowly paced the small waiting area in front of the counter while watching the people walking past on the street outside.
A moment later a man appeared behind the counter. He had an open, friendly face. He smiled. “I’m Chen Lin, the manager. How can I help?”
“The body of a young woman was found in the alleyway next to your premises this morning.” Charlotte paused to judge his reaction.
The smile slid from his face. “What happened to her?”
“That’s what we’d like to find out. I wondered if you or any of your staff heard or saw anything unusual this morning?”
“I didn’t hear anything. Sorry. It’s usually quite noisy in the kitchens when we are working. We start prepping for lunch about ten.”
“Do you have CCTV?” Charlotte asked. “We noticed the camera above your side entrance that leads out onto the alleyway.”
He nodded. “We do. I can show you now. You’re welcome to take it with you.”
“Thank you,” Charlotte said following Mr Lin as he led her behind the counter and through into the kitchens.
Inside the large kitchen, there were two people busily clearing up. One was Mr Lin’s daughter, who’d originally opened the door. The other was a young Chinese lad, who Charlotte guessed to be in his late teens. Acne scars peppered his skin.
They both watched Charlotte with curiosity, and she guessed they’d listened in to her conversation with their father.
“This is my daughter, Ran, and my son, Sung,” Mr Lin said. “They both work with me. It’s a family business.”
“I’m DC Brown,” Charlotte said. “Did either of you hear or see anything out of the ordinary this morning?”
Sung nodded and paused in his wiping down of the stainless steel worktop. “I did.”
Charlotte looked at him sharply. “What did you see?”
“I think I saw the man who killed her.”
“You did not!” His sister rolled her eyes.
“This is serious,” Charlotte said. “If you saw something, I need to know.”
“He’s been watching too much TV,” Ran said. “We didn’t see anything.”
“Quiet, Ran. Let your brother talk,” Mr Lin said, removing his apron.
“If he wasn’t the man who killed her, he was acting very suspiciously.” Sung shot his sister a superior glance. “It was about eleven a.m. I was standing outside, having a cigarette because Dad won’t let me smoke inside.”
“It’s against the law, Sung,” Mr Lin said, shooting Charlotte an apologetic smile.
“Well, I was outside smoking,” Sung continued, “and I saw a man with a big bag, like the type you’d take to the gym only bigger. He went down the alley. I wondered what he was doing because it’s a dead end. I said good morning and he ignored me. I did think about keeping an eye on him, but Dad had given me a long list of things to do in the kitchen this morning.” He gave his father an accusatory look.
“How big was this holdall?”
“Huge, and very heavy. He was quite a big guy, but he was struggling with the weight of it.
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
He shrugged. “Not really. I got the impression he didn’t want to be seen. He was white, and that’s about the only thing I can tell you. He was wearing a hoodie and tracksuit bottoms, I think, or maybe jeans.” His forehead crinkled as he tried to remember. “Sorry, that’s all I can recall.”
“That’s very helpful. Hopefully he’s been caught on your CCTV.”
“You’re welcome to take a look,” Mr Lin said. “It’s time-stamped, so we can start by looking at around eleven a.m.”
He ushered Charlotte into a small office area just off the kitchen and pulled out a wheeled computer chair so she could sit down. He perched on the table beside her and accessed the CCTV through his desktop computer.
Satisfied that it was very unlikely the victim could have come from the other end of the alleyway since there were no holes in the fence and the thick buddleia stems and long wild grass showed no signs of recent trampling, Mackinnon walked back to have a chat with the crime scene manager.
While he was talking to the crime scene manager, Dr Duncan Blair joined them to announce he had finished his preliminary examinations. “We’ll get her back to the morgue now, DS Mackinnon. If that’s all right with you?”
Mackinnon nodded. “When do you think you’ll be able to get to this postmortem?”
Dr Blair grimaced. “I’ve got them lined up, I’m afraid. Just before I got this call, I attended a scene at the Towers Estate. An elderly lady died in her flat, and her body had gone undiscovered for three days. So I’m sorry, DS Mackinnon, but she and three others are in the queue ahead of your case.”
“I don’t suppose you could prioritise this one? I have a bad feeling about it. It’s unlikely she caused the ligature marks on her wrists herself, which means we could be looking for a murderer.”
Dr Blair shrugged. “I don’t make the rules. If you need the PM to be prioritised, you’ll have to get your boss to bump it up the queue through official channels.”
Mackinnon felt a flash of impatience. Though most of the time he enjoyed his job, feeling he was making a difference, he didn’t enjoy the bureaucracy. Surely common sense dictated a suspected murder victim should get priority over an elderly lady who appeared to have died from natural causes. But he knew it wasn’t Duncan Blair’s fault. He was just following procedure, and Mackinnon would have to do the same. When he got back to the station, he’d ask Brookbank to prioritise this young woman’s postmortem.
Taking one last look at the victim, Mackinnon’s gaze fell again on the bumps in her forearms. “Do you think those marks could be injection sites?”
“Unlikely. Injection sites are usually hidden between fingers or toes, or at least on the underneath of the arm.” He chewed on his lip and then said, “You see how some of the bumps are yellowish? That indicates infection.”
“An infected rash? An allergy?” Mackinnon guessed.
Dr Blair shook his head as he looked down at the woman’s body. “I don’t think so. If I had to put money on it, I’d say they look like insect bites.”
Chapter Seven
Back at Wood Street Station, Mackinnon leaned back in his chair and looked glumly at the mounds of paperwork on his desk. He still had to file piles of the stuff for the Aleena case, but he’d have to get to that later. This new case was his priority.
He didn’t like putting off paperwork. He preferred to fill out forms and write statements while the details were still fresh in his mind. Not that he could ever be accused of enjoying paperwork. That was one of the downsides of the
job.
He’d already tried to see Brookbank, as he was eager to get the postmortem underway as soon as possible, but Brookbank’s new assistant, Janice, said he was having an important phone call with the Commissioner and couldn’t be disturbed. She promised to call him as soon as the DCI was free.
Mackinnon stared at the phone on his desk, which stubbornly remained silent.
The loud hum of the air conditioning, which never seemed to work properly, was annoying. It was still too hot. It was never quiet in the open-plan office. There were always phones ringing and the constant murmur of voices.
Mackinnon got up and opened a window. Well, he opened it as far as he could. Health and safety rules meant the windows were prevented from opening more than two inches.
It made no difference to the hot, stuffy air.
He took a drink from his water bottle and scrolled through the reports on his computer screen, searching the police database for recent reports of missing women aged between fifteen and thirty. Distressingly, there was a long list of them, and that was just in this area. If their victim came from outside London, they’d have to widen the net, and things would get even more complicated.
He was sure Brookbank would agree to prioritise the case, especially when Mackinnon told him they had a witness who’d seen a suspect carrying a large holdall into the alleyway.
Unfortunately, despite Charlotte’s best efforts, the CCTV had been a bust. The angle of the camera had been too high, and they’d only managed to get a glimpse of the top of their suspect’s navy-blue hood, but Brookbank wouldn’t ignore the witness report.
Mackinnon had given Charlotte and DC Collins the unenviable task of scouring through all CCTV from businesses along Gravel Lane. He was still waiting for the outcome from the door-to-door enquiries. Surely someone else had to have seen the man in the navy blue hoodie carrying the large holdall.
If the holdall had been as heavy as Sung Lin stated, chances were their suspect would have used a vehicle. If they could get the vehicle’s registration number, they may be able to get an ID.
