Kay blinked, then set her shoulders.
She owed it to both victims to watch, to listen, to learn.
It would be the only way to find out what happened to them both on Friday, and why someone had left them to freeze to death.
‘I can confirm the lividity,’ said Lucas, using his little finger to point to the staining to the man’s skin. ‘When he died, he fell on to his left side but when he was moved and placed into the vehicle he was found in, he was put on his right-hand side. Now, to the discolouration you see on his fingers, toes and, ahem…’
Kay saw Barnes wince as Lucas waved his hands over the dead man’s genitals. ‘Is that frostbite?’
‘Exactly. Often the first sign of trouble when someone’s body temperature is dropping.’
‘How long does that take?’ said Barnes after clearing his throat.
‘Not as long as you’d think. Depending on the temperature setting, anything from eighty seconds to two minutes. That’s how our bodies start driving down the blood supply to our skin in order to preserve the vital organs. His fingers look worse because they froze more quickly – if he had been wearing gloves, you’d see a little less damage to the tissue, same as with his genitals.’
‘I used to work for an oil company in Alaska as a medic before working here,’ said Simon, lowering the clipboard in his hand. ‘The surgeon there used to do two or three finger amputations a week during a bad winter.’
‘Jesus,’ Kay murmured. ‘So even if someone had found them and rescued them, Carl might have lost his fingers due to frostbite anyway?’
‘Exactly.’ Lucas picked up a scalpel. ‘We found traces of some sort of material under his fingernails – perhaps a plastic residue. You can see where the nail bed was bleeding, too – that confirms to me you were right, and he was trying to claw his way out of the back of that truck. He wouldn’t have been able to keep that up for long though. The frostbite would’ve been setting in and, although shivering keeps you warm for a little while, it uses a lot of energy.’
‘He’d have been tiring quickly,’ said Kay. ‘And he’s not overweight, is he?’
‘Despite what people think, fat doesn’t help. He’d have still lost heat, and once his core body temperature dropped below thirty degrees Celsius, he’d have been unconscious.’
Kay’s eyes drifted to Taylor’s eyes, a milky-coloured glaze to the once bright irises. ‘His whole expression is one of terror, isn’t it?’
‘He would have been fighting for his life, detective, that much is certain.’ Lucas moved to the man’s chest, his scalpel poised ready. ‘Now, let’s see what else he can tell us.’
Kay looked away as Lucas and Simon settled into their work, and noticed Barnes flicking through text messages when a large saw whirred to life.
She wanted – needed – answers, but there were some aspects of a post mortem that she would never get used to.
A little over two hours later, it was over.
Simon sat on a stool to one side of the room beside a galvanised steel table, labelling various samples that had been taken while Lucas finished stitching Carl Taylor’s chest together.
‘All right,’ said the pathologist eventually, snapping off his gloves before tossing them into a biohazard bin and moving over to a sink. ‘I can confirm that cause of death was our man freezing in that refrigerated truck, so I’ll be noting hypothermia in my report. There are bruises around his arms, and one to his thigh as well, so he didn’t get in by choice.’
‘Was he conscious when he was put there?’ said Barnes, his features paler than when he’d entered the room.
‘Oh yes,’ Lucas said, raising his voice over the gush of water from the taps as he scrubbed his hands. He slopped more soap onto his fingers. ‘There’s no sign of a head injury.’
‘Someone wanted him to suffer,’ said Kay, and clenched her jaw. ‘Bastards.’
Chapter Twenty-One
Kay shifted through the pile of manila folders stacked in the tray on the corner of her desk and swore under her breath.
Her computer screen and keyboard were strewn with coloured sticky notes, urgent requests for returned phone calls, and messages from members of her team. The desk had suffered the most since she and Barnes left the incident room that morning, with a stack of reports balanced precariously on one side of it and two revised agendas placed in the middle for meetings she couldn’t remember agreeing to attend.
She scowled at the emails that had bred in the inbox while she had attended the post mortem.
None of the subject lines helped their enquiries.
By now, she hoped she would have heard more from Harriet Baker – some preliminary forensic results perhaps, or a breakthrough from the house-to-house enquiries that were continuing.
But there was nothing.
Nothing at all.
‘Bugger.’
She dropped the manila folders back into place and glared at the paperwork.
Gavin meandered past carrying a cardboard tray of takeout coffee. He paused, ran his eyes over the desk, then handed one of the cups to her. ‘Best hang on to that. I’m scared to put it down anywhere.’
‘Very funny. Have you seen a green folder? It’s got my monthly budget workings in it, and I need to email them to Sharp.’
He pointed to her keyboard. ‘That one, under there?’
Kay rolled her eyes and plucked it out. ‘Thanks, Gav.’
‘You can borrow these if you want,’ Barnes called over from his desk, waving his reading glasses at her.
‘Don’t start.’ Kay dropped into her chair, flipped open the folder and bit back a groan.
She needed more manpower for the investigation, someone to help her sift through all the information that was overwhelming her, but the funding allocation was earmarked for training existing staff and she couldn’t touch that.
It looked as if they would have to get by with the team she had available.
Disgusted, she tossed the folder into the tray and picked up her coffee before heading over to the whiteboard as the administration staff and officers started to congregate for the briefing.
‘Okay, let’s make a start.’ She waited while a couple of stragglers found seats. ‘Lucas Anderson has emailed through the results of this morning’s post mortem so you’ll be able to access that in HOLMES2. Briefly, he confirms Carl died as a result of freezing to death – there are no signs of a head injury or broken bones, despite the bruising to his skin. He confirms he’ll do Will Nivens’ post mortem tomorrow and let us have an update in the afternoon.’
She paused to check her notes, then continued. ‘Moving on to the other aspects of our enquiries, Barnes and I spoke with one of the buyers interested in Mike O’Connor’s business earlier this afternoon, Bernard Hastings. He owns a similar business near Canterbury. As O’Connor suspected, Bernard’s lost interest since Carl’s body turned up on Friday – he says his reputation as a family business would be at risk.’
Gavin grimaced. ‘You can see his point.’
‘Indeed. We left a message for the bloke who’s put in a lower offer – Steve Luxford. He phoned back half an hour ago to say he’d been in Margate all day looking at a couple of other used car garages for sale but he’s around in the morning so Barnes and I will head over to his house in Kings Hill to speak with him then.’ Kay ran her thumb down her notes. ‘Laura – have you heard back from East Division about those door-to-door enquiries they were running this morning?’
‘I did, guv.’ Laura took a couple of steps forward and faced her colleagues. ‘They’ve spoken to the owners of the businesses and residential flats around the solicitors’ offices. None of them report seeing anyone hanging around outside the building, although a woman in a betting shop said that street does get quite a lot of foot traffic, so Helen’s stalker might not have stood out. I’ve asked them to pass on any CCTV images of people they do see acting suspiciously so we can take a look. They’re also requesting CCTV recordings from the ATM at the far end of
the street in case we can get a clearer image of him or confirm whether he was acting alone.’
Kay thanked her colleague, then walked over to a spare desk and leaned against it. ‘To me, this sounds like something that was put together in haste. Unplanned, rather than a targeted attack on Carl given the shoddy surveillance of Helen’s workplace––’
‘Do you think someone panicked, guv?’ said Barnes.
‘I do, yes.’ She sighed and ran a hand through her hair, hooking a strand behind her ear. ‘Now we just have to work out what on earth Carl Taylor did to cause that panic.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
PC Aaron Stewart turned to the back page of the local newspaper and tried to feign interest in a report about a football team that were currently bottom of their league.
He perched on a kitchen bar stool beside a gleaming worktop that held the scent of fresh lemons, his right hand hovering beside a steaming mug of tea.
The last rays of sunlight stole through the kitchen window and cast a warm glow throughout the room. It lent a peaceful atmosphere to the place – one that was a stark contrast with the reason why he was here.
Helen Taylor’s voice carried through from the living room as she spoke to her brother for the second time that afternoon, her tone becoming impatient.
No, she didn’t want him and his family to come to Kent. He was too busy with his plastering business.
Yes, the police were here.
No, they didn’t have any news.
And on and on.
Aaron ran a hand over his cropped brown hair and sighed, eyeing the mobile phone on the worktop next to him. His wife had tried to phone him half an hour ago, the screen lighting up with her name while the phone vibrated in earnest.
It had vibrated again seconds later, this time with a text message.
Are you coming home tonight? x
He sighed, picked up the mug and blew across the hot tea before taking a tentative sip, then messaged her back.
Probably not x
Debbie West had arranged for another constable to stay at the house with Helen earlier that day – long enough that Aaron could go home and get his head down for a few hours until he had to return at four o’clock, the time too short to see his wife and daughter before leaving again.
He knew about the caller to Palmer and Twick now, knew that his role as Family Liaison Officer had shifted into something less tangible because of that caller, and felt an even greater obligation towards Helen.
He needed to know she was safe.
It was the least he could do for Carl Taylor.
‘That bloody man.’ Helen stalked into the kitchen, clutching her cardigan around her waist. She made a beeline for the kettle. ‘Would you like another cup of tea?’
Aaron held up the mug and smiled. ‘Still going strong with this one, thanks.’
He turned his attention back to the newspaper, folded it and then slid an abandoned gossip magazine closer.
‘Didn’t take you for a fan of those.’
Glancing over his shoulder to see Helen leaning against the kitchen sink, he smiled. ‘I’m not really. My daughter’s the one who’s always going on about this and that celebrity. I can’t keep up with her.’
‘What does she do?’
Aaron shuffled on the stool to face her. ‘She’s doing a hairdressing apprenticeship over at Tonbridge at the moment.’
‘Is she enjoying it?’
‘I think so, yes.’
Helen’s eyes turned wistful and she turned away, fussing with a line of mugs that had gathered in the sink before rinsing them under the hot tap. ‘Your wife must be annoyed you have to work.’
‘She’s a nurse – she understands.’ Aaron rose from the stool and placed his empty mug on the counter beside her. Plucking up a tea towel that was dangling from a nearby drawer handle, he began to wipe the crockery she was stacking on the draining board. ‘And she’s got me well trained.’
That elicited a chuckle, and he smiled at her response.
Christ, anything he could do to ease her grief for a few seconds was a result.
‘Oh, bugger.’
She dropped her hands into the suds and stared out through the window.
Aaron followed her gaze to see a drain set into the patio bubbling with soap, water pooling under the steel grille.
‘I knew I should’ve asked Carl for that bloody plumber’s phone number,’ she said, and then burst into tears.
Dropping the tea towel on the worktop, Aaron placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘I’ll take a look at it.’
‘God, sorry.’ She reached into her cardigan pocket and pulled out an already sodden paper handkerchief before blowing her nose. ‘I just…’
‘It’s all right. Where do you keep your toolkit?’
‘In the garage. It’s under… oh, I’ll show you. It’ll be quicker.’
Helen led the way through a connecting door out of the kitchen and into a single garage that was used for storage rather than parking.
A faint mustiness clung to the air, and someone – Carl, Aaron presumed – had fixed shelves along one wall. They were lined with cardboard boxes of various sizes, old jam jars brimming with nuts and bolts, and power tools.
‘It’s here.’ Helen was standing beside a tumble dryer, pointing to a large metal box under a workbench. ‘I don’t know if there’s anything in there you can use. That drain’s never done this before – not that I’ve seen, anyway.’
‘Is there a light out there, in case it gets dark while I’m doing this?’
‘No, sorry.’ Her features crumpled once more.
‘Not to worry.’ He crouched, pulled back the lid and selected a couple of tools. Spotting an iron crowbar propped against the wall, he took that as well. ‘Have you got a couple of bin liners? Or disposable gloves perhaps?’
‘There’s a roll of plastic sacks we use for garden waste here.’ She reached up to a shelf above the tumble dryer and tore off two bags before handing them over with a shy smile. ‘Hopefully you won’t have to stick your hand down there, though.’
‘I hope so, too.’ He gestured to the door that led into the garden. ‘Through there?’
‘Yes.’
‘Okay, won’t be long.’
‘Thank you. Really – I’m sure this isn’t in your job description.’
‘What job description?’ He winked, then stepped outside.
The air was cooler now, a purple tinge creeping into the sunset as twilight drew closer. Somewhere at the back of the garden, near the blackthorn hedgerow lining the perimeter, a blackbird sang. Another answered from a neighbouring garden, the soothing notes only broken by the occasional whoosh from traffic on the motorway in the distance as the breeze changed direction.
The patio pavers were made from cheap concrete, chipped and mottled in places with tufts of grass sticking up through the cracks.
‘Right…’ Aaron stopped next to the overflowing drain, wrinkling his nose.
There might be soap suds escaping through the grille but he could smell the stink from years of dirty washing water and run-off from the patio and surrounding flower borders.
Emitting a sigh, he leaned over and used the crowbar to jemmy the grille away from its housing.
To his surprise, it came away easily.
He peered into the hole.
Soapy water filled it to the brim but there was definitely something down there, blocking the water from entering the main sewer.
A dark grey object bobbed to the surface before a gurgling slurping sound belched from the hole and it disappeared from view.
Aaron frowned.
‘What the hell…?’
He knelt beside the drain, then shoved the crowbar down the side of the polymer lining that had been applied to the original stone pipework.
There was something down there, that much was certain.
Pausing to shove his hand into one of the plastic bin bags, he pulled it up over his arm and then picked up the crowbar once mo
re.
Turning it so the hook faced inwards, he latched on to whatever was stuck down the drain and dragged it up towards him, bending down to wrap his plastic-covered fingertips around the end as the brick-shaped object broke the soapy surface.
His heart missed a beat as he pulled it from the water and dropped it on the paver beside the drain.
‘Bloody hell.’
Aaron dropped the crowbar, pulled away the bin liner and ran back to the kitchen, ignoring the look of shock on Helen Taylor’s face as he passed.
He slid to a standstill next to the worktop and snatched up his phone, hitting the speed dial.
‘Guv? I’m at Helen Taylor’s house – I think you’d better get over here.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
When Kay arrived at Helen Taylor’s modest semi-detached house, two patrol cars and a van belonging to Harriet’s CSI team were choking every available parking space within the cul-de-sac.
After parking in the next street, she slung her bag over her shoulder and hurried across the road into the semi-circle of houses.
Lights were on in every home, a number of front doors were wide open, and an excitable atmosphere emanated from those who were standing at the end of their driveways as they tried to see what was going on.
A gaggle of neighbours hovered beside the front brick wall outside Helen Taylor’s house, necks craned towards the front door while they murmured theories and gossip between them, their faces a mixture of suspicion and barely suppressed excitement.
Kay slunk past, keeping her head down.
As she hurried up the driveway, the door opened and Tim Wallace stood to one side, the sergeant’s radio squawking from its clip on his stab vest.
‘Evening, guv,’ he said, shutting the door. ‘Mrs Taylor is in the living room. We’ve based ourselves in the kitchen at the moment – Charlie and Patrick are outside setting up a tent and some floodlights.’
‘Thanks, Tim.’ She turned at heavy footsteps to see Aaron Stewart walking towards her from the kitchen, a perplexed expression creasing his brow. ‘Quite the find out there, wasn’t it?’
A Darker Place Page 9
