by Linda Coles
“I don’t see how, but I don’t see any other explanation either. And nobody has reported anybody else missing; we have everybody. I believe the police interviews with family are all done now.” It was perplexing. “No, we have no option but to go through everybody again. But the first thing we should do is just do a total count because if we are one body short, that saves the whole process of ID again. There are thirty-five people on this list. Let’s hope we’ve got thirty-five bodies.”
It made sense and was the easiest way to look, but the news at the end of the exercise was even more perplexing. There were only thirty-four bodies in the mortuary. One body was missing.
“So let’s assume that Tabitha Child is the body that is missing,” Dean said. “First off, I’ve no idea where she could be unless she was walking wounded, and this is simply a clerical error. That would be the obvious answer so let’s try that route first.”
“Agreed,” said Liz. In times of crisis errors could be made. “I’ll get on and make some calls.” Liz started towards the phone to ring the hospitals and find out if anybody had seen or admitted their mystery woman. But, as she reached for the handset, it dawned on her that the mystery woman was actually the one that was lying there in the mortuary there with them. It was Susan Smith that was missing. The dental results had come back negative so it seemed likely that the DNA test would also be the same.
The woman they were searching for was Susan Smith.
She voiced her thoughts to Dean who nodded his agreement. Once she got through to the hospital she enquired about Susan Smith, but no, nobody had been in and nobody had treated anyone named Susan Smith.
“It simply doesn’t make any sense,” she said to Dean again after the phone call. “That’s just stupid. How can a woman simply vanish? She obviously got on the train because she went through passport control. Why wouldn’t she actually then get on?”
“Maybe she changed her mind at the last minute. That would explain the absence of her, but what it doesn’t explain is who this body is here.”
Liz mulled it over and came to the same conclusion about the same time as Dean. “Then this woman has to be the body of Tabitha Child surely? Susan Smith’s the anomaly here, not that I would like to tell her husband our discovery.”
“I agree. Let’s work on the assumption, for the time being, that this victim is Tabitha Child. Yet no one has reported her missing and we’ve got no ID. So all we can do is go for dental and DNA and fingerprints and see if there is anything already in the system. And she’s given birth more than once – so where are her children? And this tattoo looks like a custom job, rather intricate, wouldn’t you say? Even for a small one, it’s a work of genius,” he said, pointing to the photograph of the woman’s thigh. It looked like the centre of some kind of flower yet to fully unfurl as it bloomed. “We know nothing about her. And you know what, Liz? She could be Susan Smith’s older sister when you look at her. Even in death there is an acute resemblance though just a bit older. Do you think they could be related?”
“Well, they could be of course. Just because she is called Child doesn’t mean to say they don’t have the same parents. Could be married. And DNA will tell us if there is a familial match since we have samples of Susan’s DNA already. We will know if they are from the same family but, again, no one has reported her missing.”
“Well, I’ll get started on the tests. And I’ll send this tattoo through to the detectives involved. They may have an idea, be able to trace it somehow. The sooner we can find out what’s going on here the better because I don’t fancy Susan Smith’s husband coming down here shouting the odds. In all my years of being a pathologist, I’ve got to know the type that will kick up a fuss and he’s that type. We don’t need the headache or distraction.”
“I’d better report in with the commander what we’ve discovered with our mystery woman. He should be able to help find out more about our victim, assuming of course Tabitha Child is her real name.”
“What makes you say that?” Dean asked.
“Because I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s more to this discovery than we know currently. A disappearing woman who looks uncannily like our deceased? It’s not your everyday bread-and-butter case is it?”
Dean didn’t need to respond to that one. Indeed, it wasn’t. But then no two disaster identification situations were ever the same.
Chapter Twenty-Two
When Tabby had finished her meal, she’d spotted a small booth at the back of the diner. A sign above the glass door said ‘l’Internet’. French was often easy to decipher even if you were a little rusty. She slipped inside, sat down at a terminal and fed coins into the slot. Then waited for the screen to come to life. The speed was more like the old dial-up, and it took a few moments to bring up the Google homepage. If she was going to be Tabby for a while longer, maybe an internet search could tell her more about the woman she’d now chosen to be. She entered ‘Tabitha Child’ into the search box and results filled her screen. All twenty-one million of them. The first results were from Bewitched, the TV series that ran back in the sixties, since the young actress played a character called Tabitha and she herself was a child.
“Useful. Not,” Tabby said sarcastically under her breath. Scrolling down quickly through the next four pages, she didn’t see anything else of interest. She clicked on the images tab at the top and waited for the page to load with photos of Tabitha Child, but it was more about the young actress, from all corners of the globe.
She tried ‘Child, Tabitha’. Nothing. Zip. There were no images of any other Tabitha Child, not on Google anyway. She tried another search engine and this time the results were not quite so one-sided towards the young actress. But even scanning the few images that were posted, there was no one that looked like she did, or anywhere near.
“That’s strange,” she said, mumbling. “I can’t be the only one, can I?” She was aware of the door opening and closing, someone entering and sitting at the adjacent terminal. She looked up from her screen. He looked like another lorry driver, probably getting his email. Or looking for a chat room.
“Facebook,” she said, a tad louder than she’d intended, causing the man to glance up at her. She mouthed “Sorry,” then remembered she wasn’t in England any more, the soundless word not making sense in French. The search results were a little better, showing seven Tabitha Child profiles, all of which, going by their images, looked nothing like her or the real Tabitha. Everyone had some online presence but not, it seemed, Tabitha Child. It didn’t ring true. Having no social media accounts she could understand, but, if you googled a name, generally there’d be something online, a local news story, perhaps, or a business profile of some kind. It appeared that either she was an extremely private individual and didn’t want the world to know her, or… what exactly?
Maybe she wasn’t really Tabitha Child.
“Really? You’re a fake?”
The man glanced over his screen again. This time she didn’t try and apologise, but took the hint, closed the terminal down and left the tiny room. Her brain chugged into gear slowly, sorting through what little she’d learned and quite how little existed of ‘herself’. But the woman whose life she’d taken over had credit cards, a passport, a life somewhere and, she guessed, someone who looked out for her. Maybe that someone was Dominic, he’d said she was worrying him. He’d be due to call again soon. He’d want an update on her whereabouts and plans – like when she was heading back. Where did he fit in exactly? It was something to mull on as she travelled. It was time to get moving, find another lift. It didn’t take her long. A woman travelling alone was not much of a threat to anyone.
An older man, a local, perhaps, who spoke perfect English had room in his van and Susan thanked him heartily. So far, travelling on her own had not been an issue. She hoped it stayed that way. Paris city centre was about an hour away and ‘Albert’ proved to be an enjoyable travelling companion. It was a shame their journey was only short.
“Wel
l, if you’re looking for a little peace as well as warmth, there’s plenty of tiny villages dotted through the south of France. You could lose yourself quite easily if that’s what you wish.” He glanced across at her, a knowing smile on his mouth. She sensed he knew something. Susan turned to him, her eyes questioning. How could he possibly know anything about her? He pointed to her now yellowish-purple eye.
“Well, you’ve hardly any belongings with you either. A simple deduction. But that’s none of my business. Personally? I’d head to somewhere like Albi first, then if that’s too busy for you, head down to the mountains, the Pyrenees. At this time of year there’ll be a café or two that might need your help. But Albi could be your best bet.”
“Why Albi?”
“Medieval city. It’s a tourist attraction. Lots of history but lots of summer work too.” His smile filled his face and showed off his lack of good dentistry. He needed to have a chat to John about that. But Albert was right, she had to get a job soon, the little money she had left wouldn’t keep her for long and life living on the actual street held no appeal whatsoever.
“How far is Albi?”
“About seven hours. But you got a lift just fine all this way and it’s a fairly straight road down. You’ll be there before dark. There’ll be backpackers’ places, plenty of cheap accommodation.” He made it sound perfect, the best place to try for. Or should she spend some time in Paris? She was almost there after all. Her phone vibrated in her bag and she absentmindedly looked down at it, willing it to stop. Albert glanced again at her and she dipped her chin, not wanting to explain.
“It’s none of my business,” he said, his smile still in place. “But somebody’s keen.” The phone finally stopped, and Susan felt a message hit voicemail. Something else she still had to deal with. Ignoring it for now, she opted for silence and took in the sights as they entered the city centre. The architecture looked exquisite.
“I’ll drop you here if I can,” he said, turning to face her when he came to a stop. “It’s been a real pleasure. Now, you look after yourself, won’t you?” Bright blue eyes twinkled at her, the white-grey hairs covering his chin made him look older than he perhaps was. Whatever his age, his natural perception was finely tuned. Susan had enjoyed chatting with him and was sorry they’d have to go their separate ways. Once out of the little van, she bent her head in through the passenger window and said “Thanks again!” before he pulled away. A withered arm waved from the driver’s side in the distance. Albert was gone from her life, a fleeting visitor.
She took out the phone and asked Siri to read her last message and voicemail.
“You’d better be on your way back after your reckless jaunt. Or have I to come and get you?”
Tabby’s stomach curdled at the venom lacing his words as he spat each one from his mouth. Whoever Dominic was, she certainly didn’t fancy meeting him in person. Glancing up into the distance again, she watched the last of Albert’s van disappear around a corner. Dominic’s words still rang in her ears and put a dampener on her own spirit – it didn’t feel much like an adventure any longer.
She was completely on her own again.
Chapter Twenty-Three
As the working day ended for pathologists Dean and Liz, they were both glad to be going home for rest and a meal. When a disaster such as the train crash happened it was all hands to the pump, every resource called in to help, and everyone simply got on with their task at hand. The first forty-eight hours were always the hardest – for both the team and the anxiously waiting relatives desperate for information about their loved ones. The longer they went without hearing anything, the more their minds told them to expect the worst. Upset was replaced by resignation, then anger, then upset invariably took over once again. It was a vicious emotional ride for anyone awaiting news that wouldn’t come soon enough. But members of the DVI team couldn’t survive or be of much use when sleep deprivation took over and the only answer was for them to rest. As Dean escorted Liz out to her waiting car, he rubbed his chin again absentmindedly.
“Maybe it will look clearer in the morning. There’ll be some perfectly normal explanation, you’ll see. We had it right all along, and Susan Smith is among our victims.”
Her car beeped as the alarm deactivated and she stood with the driver’s side open. “I hope you’re right, Dean, but that still means we are a body short, remember? Tabitha Child’s name is on that list and we only have thirty-four bodies accounted for.”
“Body parts?” He was clutching at straws.
“Not enough.”
“Then let’s sleep on it. I’ll be lucky to stay awake long enough to get through my front door.”
“Are you okay to drive, Dean? Maybe get a taxi.”
He slipped inside his own car and brushed the idea off with a flick of his hand. “Nah, I’m all good. See you in the morning.” And, slowly, he pulled away, leaving Liz to stand watching until his rear lights disappeared in the distance. Slipping inside her own car, Liz made her way towards her hotel and, like her colleague Dean, hoped the next day would bring them some positive explanation. She didn’t fancy giving the news they had a missing person to the senior identification manager, who would have more questions than answers. Maybe a good night’s sleep would indeed bring some clarity to the unusual situation. She could only hope.
But the following day was to be a day much as the previous one. While both Dean and Liz worked tirelessly on identifying all but five of the remaining bodies, it was nearly 3 pm when they finally received a telephone call from the lab with DNA results for several of their remaining victims. Liz had taken the call and listened as result after result was read out. Dean stood by waiting, a mug of coffee in his hand.
“I see,” she said, “and they are all a one hundred per cent positive match? Yes. Okay, yes please, email them over. You’re sure about that last one? I know. Okay, thanks again.”
Dean was just about able to follow the one-sided conversation and could only wait patiently until Liz filled him in properly. As she hung up, her face told him all was not well.
“And?” he said, a tone of enquiry on each letter stretching the word out.
“And it seems the plot thickens.”
“Then I’m guessing nine of the ten are confirmation, but our mystery woman is still a mystery.”
“Correct. There is nothing in the system, which is not unusual if she’s never been arrested before. And we have no personal items to match DNA against so still no positive ID for our mystery woman. And she’s definitely not related to Susan Smith, not a familial DNA match.”
“Never a dull day, eh?”
“It would appear so.” Liz put her mug down on her desk. “Let’s try her driver’s licence photo and compare that. We have her name, at least a partial visual would help us confirm or deny and go on from there. But who do we inform with that even?”
Dean shrugged. “I’ll organise it.”
“We’ve still got a lot of work to do here on our remaining bodies and I’d like to get them all ID’d before the weekend.”
Dean nodded, something niggling the back of his mind. Dean strummed his fingers against his mug. He knew plenty of detectives involved in investigating the accident; he’d ask one of them about the unclaimed woman. Maybe the tattoo could lead them somewhere? And her driver’s licence photo. And the fact she looked so alike their now missing Susan Smith, which there had to be an explanation for. His naturally inquisitive mind was working overtime on the possibilities but, catching the time on the wall clock, Liz’s desire to complete IDs for the weekend dragged him back to the urgent job at hand.
She’d have to wait a while longer.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Constable Jamie Miller, the Family Liaison Officer, or FLO for short, was the young woman tasked with informing Marcus that his wife, Susan, was confirmed not present at the mortuary. It was a delicate situation to handle but she would be joined by her colleague Detective Alan Davies, who would be the one to break the news. Al
an had met Marcus the previous day. Her role after the official briefing was that of support. An appointment had been set up for both Constable Jamie Miller and DS Alan Davies to deliver the news, not a welcome task but a necessary one and all part of the job. The young Constable knocked on the front door. A moment later, Marcus’s presence was felt before he’d even opened it. Jamie glanced at her colleague. Judging by the slight wince on his lips he’d felt it too. The door flew open and Marcus Smith stood glowering at the two of them. Alan was about to introduce the FLO but there was no interest from Marcus who was already disappearing back down the hallway, expecting them to follow. The man’s body language spoke volumes. He headed into the kitchen and picked up his glass of wine. It was four o’clock and judging by the almost-empty bottle, he’d started early. Even dressed casually in his own home, the man screamed formality and order. The sharp crease in the front of his trousers couldn’t have been any sharper, his double-cuff shirt any more starched. Alan doubted the man owned a sweatshirt.
“Can I get you something to drink?” he offered, almost toasting with his glass and probably knowing full well that the two wouldn’t be drinking on duty. He did it as more of a tease, a ‘look what I’ve got a you haven’t’ kind of mentality, and he seemed a little wobbly in his voice. Maybe it wasn’t his first bottle of the day.
“No, thank you, not while we’re both on duty, but a glass of water would be welcome,” said Alan, asserting his male authority in what already appeared to be a hostile environment. Marcus looked into his own glass before taking a large mouthful and swallowing it down, half the contents now gone.
“Take a chair each,” Marcus instructed, waving his hand at the two bar stools near where he’d been seated. There was no move from him to get their glasses of water. DS Alan Davies did introductions just to be sure that Marcus knew who they were and the roles they had to play in the investigation of Susan Smith. But it was Marcus that tried to run the show, as per usual, and was anxious to get on with it, not feeling particularly sociable.
