Chameleon

by Michael K Foster

  Having served a two-year prison sentence for armed robbery, Kennedy had recently been released on licence and was subject to a string of conditions. Aware that Social Services were involved with the man’s son, Carlisle thought a moment.

  ‘What if Martin isn’t telling you the truth? What if he’s making this up after ruining his school uniform? Kids do that sort of thing, you know. It’s part of growing up.’

  Kennedy shook his head dismissively. ‘No. He’s telling me the truth all right, I can assure you of that. He’s not slept a wink all night and hasn’t eaten since breakfast time yesterday morning. I know he can fantasise at times, but something serious has happened and it’s scared the living daylights out of him.’

  Carlisle checked his appointments book.

  ‘Whereabouts in Chopwell Wood did you say this incident took place?’

  ‘Close to a footpath, down by the river! He’s built a bird hide there apparently. That’s where he was heading after he’d bunked off school lessons.’

  Carlisle raised his eyebrows a fraction. ‘It sounds like Martin has grown into a bit of a Jack-the-lad since I last met him. Apart from witnessing a possible suspicious suicide, is there anything else I should know?’

  Kennedy smiled bleakly. ‘I’ll admit he’s no angel, but Martin has been going through difficult times lately. But that’s the least of my worries, it seems.’

  ‘And where is Martin now?’

  ‘He’s stopping at my sister’s house. It’s over in Benwell.’

  Carlisle opened his laptop and studied the Google map for a moment. Concerned about reporting the incident to the police, his friend was desperately trying to keep a lid on things.

  ‘From what I can gather, Martin’s bird hide must be sited in the south of the woods. Somewhere around here. . . Lintzford.’ Carlisle ran an index finger along the River Derwent tracing its route before hovering over a small built-up area. ‘If he was chased for a good half mile, that would make it a lot more difficult, of course.’

  ‘Difficult?’

  ‘It’s a vast catchment area and knowing where to start’s the problem.’ Carlisle blew into his coffee as he stared down at the map. Tracks led to streams, streams led to the river, but nothing was cast in stone. There were dozens of footpaths fitting the boy’s description and choosing the right one seemed an impossible task. He turned to his friend, and said, ‘You can see the size of the problem we’re faced with. . . it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack.’

  ‘What about this black car that Martin spotted, could that have something to do with it?’

  ‘I’m more concerned about this woman than anything. If Martin is telling you the truth, then the police will want to get involved.’ Carlisle thought about it. ‘Unless she’s already been discovered, of course.’

  His friends head dropped. ‘So, it will involve the police?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘What will happen to Martin now? Will they want to question him over it?’

  ‘At some point they will, especially if this woman has died under suspicious circumstances.’

  ‘I knew it,’ Kennedy said, waving a hand in annoyance.

  ‘It’s never that simple, Phil.’

  ‘I know, but my supervising officer will obviously want to question me over it.’

  Carlisle ran the flat of his hand over the top of his head in thought.

  ‘We need to move quickly.’

  ‘I know, I know,’ Kennedy said angrily. ‘Ever since me and the missus split up, Martin’s been getting into all kinds of trouble. He can be a real handful at times, but he’s a good kid at heart and I know when he’s telling the truth.’

  Carlisle stared at his friend sympathetically. ‘The quicker we contact the police the better. After all, he’s only a ten-year-old child and they know how to handle these situations better than we do.’

  ‘You better get on with it then,’ Kennedy sighed resignedly.

  ‘The other issue we may need to consider is: what if this stranger decides to catch up with your son at some later stage?’

  ‘And do what exactly?’

  Carlisle stopped himself short, the expression on his friend’s face warning him against continuing. He stared at the map again and did a quick mental calculation. With fifty good men, the police could cover an awful lot of ground in an hour – especially with trained dog teams. No, he thought. Time to act now rather than the police go knocking on Kennedy’s door in the middle of the night.

  He picked up the phone as he turned to his friend. ‘I still have a few good contacts who will handle the case with utmost discretion.’

  ‘Case?’ Kennedy replied bleakly.

  ‘This isn’t an everyday occurrence, Phil, and your son’s account of what took place suggests this woman may have been strangled. Besides, the man who chased after your son needs to be brought in for questioning.’

  ‘What are you trying to say?’

  Carlisle looked hard at his friend. ‘The minute I contact the police they’ll be all over it like a rash.’

  Kennedy’s face dropped as if resigned to the fact.

  ‘I thought as much.’

  ‘Let me make a few phone calls first,’ Carlisle said, pressing the conference call button and waiting for the dialling tone to click in.

  ‘DCI Jack Mason, Northumbria Police.’ The speaker suddenly boomed out.

  ‘Good morning, Jack. It’s David Carlisle. How are things over at Gateshead nowadays?’

  ‘Cut out the crap. What’s on your mind, my friend?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The small knot of forensic officers gathered close to the clearing told Jack Mason where the woman’s body was. Dressed in a white forensic suit, overshoes and blue gloves, the Detective Chief Inspector signed the crime scene entry log sheet and ducked under the police cordon tape. One hundred metres east of the woodland cycle trail and four hundred metres north of the River Derwent the chances of being spotted here were slim. This was dense woodland, and well off the beaten track.

  He was met by Tom Hedley, the senior forensic scientist, and his colleague seemed surprised to see him. ‘I thought you were still on light duties.’ Hedley grinned. ‘The first sniff of a bloody body bag, and you can’t resist the temptation.’

  Mason brushed his friend’s comments aside as he moved to take a closer look.

  ‘What have we got, Tom?’

  ‘Slimly built woman, mid-forties, around five-foot-six. It initially looks like suicide, but I’m not convinced.’

  ‘Who found her?’

  ‘One of the search teams.’

  What Hedley didn’t know, or perhaps he did, is that it was the DCI who had initiated the search operation in the first place. The rest was a simple matter of legwork and elimination.

  ‘No other reports of someone spotting her?’ Mason asked.

  ‘None that I’m aware of.’

  Not a tall man, Jack Mason had recently been described by local news reporters as ‘short and stocky’. He would have preferred compact and muscular, if the truth were known. But beggars couldn’t be choosers especially where the media was concerned. He opened his notebook and studied his surroundings.

  ‘It’s well-hidden,’ Mason shrugged, ‘which means less contamination.’

  ‘It’s another way of looking on it,’ Hedley replied.

  In what was otherwise an isolated spot on the southern edge of Chopwell Wood, there was no easy access to the body. From what he could see the skin around the woman’s lips and ears had turned blue with cyanosis. On further inspection, what looked like a yellow clothes line wrapped taught around the woman’s neck had cut deep into the flesh. There were no visual signs of bruising, no signs that a struggle had taken place – nothing.

  As the two forensic officers stood next to him moved towards the base of the tree, he recognised one of them. Neither spoke, but he knew what they were thinking. Whether she’d been assisted to shuffle this mortal coil, or some other dark forces were
at work, it made no difference. This woman had died under suspicious circumstances as far as he was concerned, and all were agreed on that.

  The police doctor, an unhappy creature, ran a spatula under the woman’s bright orange fingernails before placing his findings into a small plastic forensic dish. How the woman had arrived on the scene had yet to be established, but the black vehicle the young boy had spotted not forty metres away, was nowhere to be seen.

  ‘How long has she been dead?’ Mason asked casually.

  ‘Best part of twenty-four hours, I’d say.’

  ‘Ligature asphyxiation?’

  ‘It would appear so. No doubt a post-mortem vitreous chemical analysis will tell us if any abnormalities are present in her body.’

  The sound of his voice had all the gaiety of an afternoon tea on the Somme, Mason thought. ‘What, you think she was drugged?’

  ‘We can’t rule it out.’ The doctor pointed to the woman’s legs. ‘Her feet never left the ground, and the position of her body suggests she leaned forward on the noose and her body weight did the rest. That aside, she died under suspicious circumstances in my opinion.’

  ‘What, made to look like suicide?’

  The police doctor gave him a cynical smile as he closed the lid of his medical bag. ‘The pathologists will give us a better indication of that. After years spent dealing with dozens of similar cases, I’ve learnt never to pre-judge a crime scene.’

  Mason stood for a moment in thought. He would have preferred to enter the investigation on more certain ground. Officially, nobody had been assigned to the case and he was hoping the Area Commander would look favourably towards him. And yes, he was the senior officer present, but that didn’t mean a thing. Not whilst he was stuck on light duties it didn’t. Best not get carried away, he thought. His first course of action would be to check the surrounding area, look for any CCTV footage and take it from there. Whoever had parked their vehicle close to the crime scene had obviously done so for a good reason. If nothing else, he would need to find it, and fast.

  He scanned the ground close to the dead woman’s feet. A woollen hat, an empty beer can, and a few discarded food wrappers haphazardly scattered about the place. It would all be bagged, tagged, and taken away for further examination in due course, once they’d established the cause of the woman’s death. The doctor was right, there was nothing to suggest her body had swung from the tree branch as the cord attached to her neck was too long.

  Mason crouched low as he turned to Hedley. ‘We need to carry out a thorough examination of the surrounding area, Tom. My gut-feeling tells me we could be looking at a murder enquiry here.’ He thought about what the doctor had said and corrected himself. ‘Let me rephrase that. Let’s see what the Home Office pathologist throws up before we go making any assumptions.’

  Hedley had caught the suffering in Mason’s voice and tried to mask it. ‘Once we establish who she is, it should answer a lot of our questions.’

  Mason nodded in agreement but said nothing.

  ‘Has the boy said anything to you?’ asked Hedley.

  ‘Young Martin Kennedy?’ Mason kicked the ground with the toe of his muddy shoe, annoyed with himself. ‘Not yet, he hasn’t. He’s obviously a vulnerable witness, so we’ll need to apply to the courts for “Special Measures”. The fewer people who know of his existence the better, in my opinion.’

  Hedley lowered his voice. ‘You need to take it easy yourself, Jack. There’s plenty of other good officers who can handle the case.’

  ‘Nah! Not now I’m on the mend.’

  Hedley was right, standing was his biggest problem nowadays. The Suitcase Man’s horrific knife attack had caused all kinds of additional complications and infections, and it wasn’t getting any easier. Had it not been for the life jacket he was wearing at the time, the serial killer’s knife would have penetrated his heart. He realised that and was eternally grateful to the surgeons who had saved his life. Even so, a few more weeks of intensive physiotherapy and he’d be back in the swing of things again – or that was the plan at least.

  His iPhone pinged.

  He checked the display. It was Superintendent Gregory asking for an update on the monthly overtime sheets. Now back from his six-month secondment with the Nottinghamshire Police Force, the Area Commander was obviously making his presence felt.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mason replied. ‘They’re just about complete.’

  ‘Good man!’ There was a pause on the other end of the phone. ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m over in Chopwell Wood. There’s been what looks a suspicious suicide.’

  ‘Who’s in charge?’

  ‘I’m the senior officer present if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘Umm.’ There was a short pause, a gathering of thoughts. ‘When you’ve finished your investigations, call by my office as there’s a few matters we need to discuss.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  The line went dead.

  The Chief Inspector slipped his iPhone back into his jacket pocket and stared at the activity close to the dead woman’s feet. After jotting down notes, he noticed one of the forensic officers had started to make plaster of Paris casts of freshly made footprints. A quiet, shy, unassuming man, Williams seemed too engrossed in his work to speak. Maybe he should check out young Martin Kennedy’s bird hide, Mason thought. Not that he was expecting to find much, but it was still worth a look.

  Following the long winding footpath towards the river, he tried to imagine what the young boy had encountered that Monday afternoon. Scared out of his wits at having witnessed a woman’s horrific strangulation, if that wasn’t bad enough, he’d been chased by a man intent on beating his brains out. No, Mason thought. This case was right up his street and he was keen to take charge of it. Perhaps that’s what the Area Commander was wanting to talk to him about – heading up the investigation team.

  Eager to get stuck back into real crime again, he still had the police medical board to face. But that was a forgone conclusion: how could he possibly fail?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Feeling on top of the world, Jack Mason slid onto the physiotherapist’s treatment table in a consulting room in Forest Hall and grinned. These past few weeks he’d felt a ton better. Getting in and out of a car was still a major issue, though, and he couldn’t walk fast without getting a sharp pain in his side. Other than that, he was more than pleased with the progress he was making and was ready for anything the Area Commander was about to throw at him. His consultant at the General Hospital wasn’t so encouraging, though, but he was a bit of a dour sod anyway. According to him, he still had concerns about post-trauma complications and thought it would be months before he was back to full fitness again.

  ‘Still keeping up with the exercises, Inspector?’ his physiotherapist Barbara Lockwood said tersely.

  ‘Twice a day,’ Mason replied.

  ‘Good. A couple more visits and that should be the end of it.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  As Mason slid from the treatment table, another searing pain shot through his side. Desperately trying to hide it from her, Lockwood shot him an inquisitive glance. ‘You’re obviously suffering some discomfort. We need to keep an eye on it, as you might need a few extra sessions.’

  ‘It’s probably something I ate.’

  Lockwood gave his side a gentle prod with the tip of her finger, and he nearly hit the roof. God, he thought. She knew where to hurt, and the pain had taken his breath away.

  ‘It seems you may have some scar tissue problems from the knife wounds.’

  Mason recovered his breath and slipped on his shirt feeling somewhat disappointed. He should have curbed his enthusiasm instead of running around like a headless chicken these past few weeks. There again, it wasn’t in his nature and the Chief Inspector knew it. He wasn’t out of the woods yet and Lockwood had been his saving grace these past few months. Without her physio and encouragement, he’d be sitting in a wheelchair, God forbid. Life in the
fast lane wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, and he had little choice but to trust her judgement.

  ‘Everything, okay?’ Mason asked warily.

  She gave him a puzzled look. ‘You can’t expect your body to recover in a couple of months, these things take time.’

  ‘Yeah, but I’m tired of staring at the four walls of my office. It’s enough to drive any man crazy.’

  ‘You’ll be missed when I do finally sign you off,’ Lockwood laughed.

  ‘Oh?’

  She blushed. ‘I actually look forward to seeing you here every week.’

  ‘Really!’

  ‘What you see is what you get with you.’ She smiled. ‘You’re not pretentious like some who come here on a regular basis.’

  Mason thought about it, but not for long.

  ‘How about you and I meeting up one night. . . go out for a meal together?’

  Lockwood looked at him confused. ‘What makes you think I’d want to do that?’

  ‘Just a thought.’

  ‘Really?’

  Realising he’d overstepped the mark, he slipped on his jacket. ‘It wasn’t a proposal. It was meant as a thank you for getting me back on my feet again.’

  ‘That’s my job, it’s what I’m paid to do.’

  ‘Whatever,’ Mason shrugged.

  She handed him a new appointment card and gave him an almost guilty smile. ‘Do you know what, I might just take you up on your offer one day?’

  ‘You have my number,’ Mason said approvingly.

  Stepping into the waiting room rejuvenated, he checked his iPhone for missed calls, but there weren’t any. It was time to give the Area Commander a call and update him with his progress. To be fair to his boss, a large consignment of drugs had recently hit the streets of Gateshead and he was under a lot of pressure. Crime figures were soaring, and the number of house break-ins had gone through the roof lately.

  Still, Mason thought, a bit of good news might cheer the grumpy sod up – or give him another problem to think about!