by OMJ Ryan
Finally, at 8.15 a.m., a sheepish, unshaven and dishevelled-looking Jones appeared at the door to the pathology office. Phillips frowned. He looked skinnier than normal.
‘Good of you to join us,’ said Phillips, her tone sarcastic.
‘Sorry, Guv. I hit some traffic,’ Jones replied in his South London drawl.
Phillips stood and handed him his peppermint tea, then Chakrabortty led them out of the office and towards the mortuary.
As they waited for Chakrabortty to scrub up, Phillips and Jones stood next to the metal table that supported Carpenter’s body, which was covered with a green sheet. Even with the strong smell of bleach and embalming fluid filling her nostrils, Phillips could detect Jones’s body odour. She was sure she picked up the scent of stale alcohol on his breath. She made a mental note to deal with it later. For now, her focus was on finding out what had happened to Victoria Carpenter.
Chakrabortty appeared a moment later and peeled back the sheet to expose Carpenter’s naked torso.
Phillips brought Jones up to speed on the previous evening. ‘Victoria Carpenter, aged thirty-nine. She was found by her husband at approximately 10.45 last night, hanging by her neck from a steel beam in her garage. There were no signs of forced entry or foul play, and Evans’s initial conclusion at the scene was that she likely committed suicide. However, Victoria’s husband believes she would never consider such action and, therefore, that someone else must have killed her.’
‘Based on what evidence?’ asked Jones.
‘That’s just it. He had nothing to back up his theory,’ said Phillips. ‘Just said that it wasn’t like her.’
Chakrabortty pulled back the green sheet that covered the body and prepared to start the examination. ‘Well, let’s find out for sure, shall we?’
Carpenter’s torso, arms, legs and feet looked like she had just stepped out of a hot bath. Chakrabortty narrated her findings as she worked quickly, but methodically, through the different parts of the body. Carpenter’s neck and throat bore the heavy bruising typical of ligature marks. Dark shadows surrounded her mouth and closed eyes, and, on closer inspection, the whites of her eyes were red from myriad burst blood vessels.
‘This is interesting,’ she said, sometime later, as she examined Carpenter’s fingers.
‘What is?’ asked Phillips.
Scraping under the nail of the little finger, Chakrabortty lifted the small tool in her right hand towards the light. ‘Looks like human tissue. That could suggest the victim might have scratched someone before she died.’
‘Maybe her husband was right and she tried to fight off an attacker?’ said Jones.
‘Maybe. Or it could be her own skin,’ said Chakrabortty. ‘What’s more interesting, though, is the fact that the rest of the hands have been thoroughly cleaned. I can’t tell if that was pre or post mortem, but it’s almost as if this little finger was missed.’ Chakrabortty continued her examination of the other fingernails, then placed the tissue sample in a small petri dish and set it to one side.
A few moments later, she removed the green sheet completely, exposing the whole body, as she turned her attention to Carpenter’s genitals. ‘Her vagina shows some signs of bruising,’ she said in a low voice.
‘Consistent with sexual assault?’
‘Or very rough sex, yes,’ said Chakrabortty. ‘And there are traces of semen inside too,’ she added, as she collected samples.
Phillips locked eyes with Jones, who appeared glad of the distraction. ‘Maybe Aaron Carpenter was right, then?’
Jones nodded. ‘Maybe, yeah.’
Finally, Chakrabortty shifted her focus to Carpenter’s neck.
‘Why didn’t you start there?’ Philips asked.
‘An old habit,’ Chakrabortty explained. ‘My old professor at medical school vehemently believed that any pathologist worth their salt should look at the most obvious injuries last. That way, their view wouldn’t be skewed by a significant find early on, meaning every part of the body receives the same attention. He often reminded us that many a killer had been identified by the most innocuous of injuries found about the victims’ bodies.’
Phillips nodded her approval, and watched on in silence as Chakrabortty spent the next fifteen minutes giving Carpenter’s neck a thorough examination, which included taking a number of X-rays. Chakrabortty was never one to offer a cause of death without all the facts, so Phillips knew to stay quiet until all the external examinations had been done. She also hoped that both she and Jones would be able to take their leave before the buzz saws came out.
One of the pathology assistants arrived with the developed X-rays and passed them to Chakrabortty, who attached them to the lightboard fixed to the wall. She scrutinised them for a minute before turning to face Phillips and Jones. ‘It’ll need final sign-off from the coroner, but from what I can see in these X-rays, I’m quite confident that someone else killed Victoria Carpenter.’
Phillips stepped around the steel table to stand next to the doctor.
‘See here,’ said Chakrabortty, as she pointed at the negative image with the index finger of her right hand. ‘This is the C2 vertebra. Essentially, one of the large bones at the top of the spine. If the victim had jumped from a chair in order to hang herself, the C2 vertebra would be displaced or fractured. As you can see here, it’s fully intact, but the hyoid bone is severely crushed at the point where the rope was attached. That would suggest to me that Victoria Carpenter was slowly strangled.’
‘Could she have strangled herself?’ asked Phillips. ‘You know, hung herself from the rope without her body actually dropping?’.
‘It’s certainly possible, but if that were the case, the bruising on her neck would be localised to a single contact line where the rope was attached.’ Chakrabortty directed Phillips back to the body. ‘As we can see, the bruising follows a gradient pattern, getting darker at the top, just under her jaw. That suggests to me that she was dragged upwards until she was hanging, when she finally died.’
‘Jesus,’ whispered Phillips, the terrifying last moments of Victoria Carpenter’s life running through her mind.
‘Like I said,’ Chakrabortty continued, ‘the coroner will make the final decision, but taking into account the evidence we’ve seen so far, I’d suggest you’re looking at a homicide or an assisted suicide. Based on that, I’ll pull some favours to run the tissue samples and semen through the DNA database as a priority, and see if we can find a match.’
‘Thanks, Tan. As ever, you’re a star.’ Phillips checked her watch. It was approaching 10.30 a.m. ‘We’d better get back to Ashton House and brief the team, then update Fox.’
Chakrabortty picked up the buzz saw, and a wicked grin appeared on her face. ‘What? You’re not staying to see the internal?’
‘I’m happy to leave that to you,’ said Phillips, returning the grin. ‘I think we’ve had enough fun for one day, don’t you, Jonesy?’
Jones nodded vigorously, and needed no encouragement to get moving as Phillips ushered him towards the door.
‘Suit yourself,’ said Chakrabortty from behind them, then activated the saw. The unmistakable sound of the high-speed ultra-sharp blades echoed around the examination room.
4
Phillips called ahead to let Bovalino and Entwistle know what time they could expect her and Jones back in the office. Considering Chakrabortty’s verdict, she was keen to get started on the background checks for Victoria and Aaron Carpenter, and there was no time like the present. As she walked into her office followed by Jones, Bovalino and Entwistle were already sat down and waiting. As ever, Entwistle was sharply dressed, his chiselled mixed-race features giving him the look of a model rather than a young Detective Constable. She hung her mid-length grey coat on the back of her chair, took a seat, and wasted no time in bringing them up to speed with the results of the post mortem.
‘So,’ Bovalino said once she was done, ‘what’s your take on it, Guv? Murder or assisted suicide?’
Phi
llips tapped her fingers on her desk for a moment as she considered. ‘We’ll need to do a lot more digging, but from what her husband says, suicide seems unlikely.’
‘Unless he was the one that helped her?’ said Jones.
‘It’s certainly possible, but he claims he was at the cricket all night.’ She pulled Aaron’s ticket from her pocket and laid it on the desk. ‘Let’s check the CCTV at the ground, as well as the trams from Old Trafford to Burton Road – see if we can find him.’
‘I can do that,’ said Bovalino.
‘So what did you find out about the Carpenters so far. Who are they?’ asked Phillips.
Entwistle shifted forwards in his chair. ‘Victoria Carpenter worked for the Council as the deputy leader of the Planning Department.’
‘Really?’ asked Phillips. ‘That’ll kick up a bit of a stink within the Town Hall.’
Entwistle continued, ‘Yeah. She was there six years and earned forty-five grand a year. Aaron is a chartered surveyor and works for Shotten Construction Ltd. He’s only been there just over a year, and is on 40K a year. They got married in Bali seven years ago, have no kids, a joint mortgage on the house in Withington which is worth £450,000…they also have combined savings of ten thousand pounds and a small amount of credit card debt. They’re pretty much unremarkable.’
‘So why the hell would someone want to kill her?’ asked Jones.
Phillips remained silent for a moment as she digested the information. ‘Why indeed. Anything else? Any health issues for Victoria, or large insurance policies?’
‘I’m still working on those, Guv,’ said Entwistle.
‘And what about problems in the home? Any reports of domestic incidents?’
‘I checked that,’ said Bovalino. ‘Both clean as a whistle.’
‘Right. Well, keep looking. There must be a good reason someone would go to all the trouble of killing her – or helping her commit suicide.’
Each of the team nodded. They knew the drill.
‘In the meantime, I need to get upstairs and brief Fox before she hears it from within the Town Hall,’ said Phillips.
‘Rather you than me, Guv,’ joked Bovalino.
Phillips forced a thin smile, ‘Well actually, Bov, as you were first on scene, I can take you with me if you like? You know, so you can share your thoughts on the case?’
Bovalino’s face fell and he jumped up from the chair in a hurry. ‘No, you’re all right, Guv. I’ve got plenty to do down here.’
Phillips stood, smiling wryly, ‘Funny. I thought you might say that.’
When Phillips was shown into the large office by Fox’s assistant, Ms Blair, she found Fox in her usual position behind her large smoked-glass desk.
‘What do you know about Chief Superintendent Broadhurst?’ Fox asked, even before Phillips had taken her seat.
Phillips raised her eyebrows. Usually Fox made her wait until she was squirming before engaging in conversation of any kind. She sat down. ‘Er, not much, other than people say he’s a good copper and a fair boss.’
Fox nodded in silence for a moment. ‘And what do they say about me?’ she asked – with no hint of irony.
Phillips swallowed hard. She didn’t like lying, but telling Fox the truth could be the end of her career in Major Crimes. ‘Well, er…they say…’ she stuttered as she attempted to find the right words.
Fox continued to glare at her.
‘…they say you’re tenacious, determined and ambitious,’ said Phillips, lying through her teeth. What she really wanted to say was ‘You’re a sociopathic narcissist who would sell your own children to get ahead.’
Fox seemed satisfied with Phillips’s verbal answer and nodded her approval. ‘I’ve just found out it’s between him and me for the Chief Super’s job.’
‘I had heard Morris was retiring,’ said Phillips, trying to play down the fact Chief Constable Morris was leaving. It was, in fact, all anyone was talking about within the halls of Ashton House. Pretty much every copper, to a man – or woman – wanted Broadhurst to get the top job because he was so well-liked and respected, whereas everyone feared what a future under Fox’s leadership would be like. Her ambition knew no bounds, and most people worried that could easily lead to drastic budget cuts and seriously jeopardise the safety of officers on the streets of Greater Manchester.
‘The final interview is at the end of the month,’ Fox said, without emotion.
‘I’m sure you’ll get it, Ma’am,’ said Phillips – with mixed emotions. She would really love to see the back of Fox, but there were no guarantees any successor would be an improvement. Fox was a bitch, but Phillips had learnt how to play her to get what she needed. Better the devil you know, she thought.
Seemingly tiring of the discussion around the soon-to-be-vacant Chief Constable position, Fox turned her full attention back to Phillips. ‘Ms Blair said you wanted to see me urgently?’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Phillips. ‘I landed a case last night that I thought you’d want a heads-up on.’
‘Really? Why so?’
‘Well, initially it looked like a suicide by hanging, but the victim’s husband – who found the body – claims there was no way she would kill herself. And in the PM this morning, Chakrabortty confirmed that it looks like she was either strangled or someone helped her commit suicide. We also found tissue under one of her fingernails, and there were signs she may have been sexually assaulted.’
‘I see,’ said Fox, her brow furrowed. ‘And why is this so urgent?’
‘Well, Ma’am, the thing is, she also worked quite high up in the Town Hall as part of the City Council.’
‘Really? What was her name?’
‘Victoria Carpenter. She was deputy leader of the Planning Department.’
‘Vicky? Good God, I know her,’ said Fox. ‘She’s on one of the committees I chair regarding the regeneration of the inner city suburbs. Or, should I say, was on one of the committees.’
‘I figured, based on her high profile within the business community, her death will make the news pretty quickly, so I wanted you to be aware of it.’
‘You did right, Jane. Well done.’
Fox must be pleased. She rarely called Phillips by her first name.
‘So, what’s your opinion on the case?’ Fox continued. ‘Did someone help her kill herself, or was she murdered?’
‘Well, it’s a bit too early to say, but I have a strong feeling in my gut she was killed. Call it a hunch, but the stats show that women rarely commit suicide by hanging. Plus, with the tissue under the fingernails and the potential sexual assault, it feels to me like a homicide.’
‘When will you know for sure?’ asked Fox, eagerly.
‘Well, Chakrabortty has fast-tracked the samples found on the body through the DNA database. We’ll know more once we can figure out who was with her in the last hours of her life.’
Fox’s eyes were fixed on a point behind Phillips in a trance-like gaze.
‘What’s on your mind, Ma’am?’
Fox’s trademark Cheshire Cat grin spread across her face. ‘If Victoria Carpenter was murdered, but it was made to look like suicide, this could be a supremely high-profile case for Major Crimes. If we can get a quick result on it, this is exactly the kind of investigation I need to get me ahead of Broadhurst and into the Chief Constable job.’
Phillips sat in silence. After working for Fox for so long, Fox’s self-serving approach to the investigation shouldn’t surprise her, but still, it amazed Phillips just how her boss viewed the world and everything in it: there to feed her insatiable ambition.
‘As soon as you get a result on the DNA, I want to know about it. And for the time being, treat it as murder. Even if it was assisted suicide, it amounts to the same thing in the eyes of the law.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ said Phillips.
‘I want no expense spared on this one, Jane. I need a result yesterday. So do whatever you need to do to close this case. I don’t care what it costs; I can worry ab
out that when I’m Chief Constable.’
Phillips nodded, then stood up from the chair and made to leave.
‘Oh, and Jane?’
Phillips turned back. ‘Yes, Ma’am?’
‘Tread carefully around the Council officials, will you? I don’t want to make any enemies at the Town Hall before I’ve even got the job.’
‘I’ll do my best, Ma’am,’ said Phillips, then walked out of the room.
As she made her way down the stairs to the MCU offices on the third floor, her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out. It was Chakrabortty.
‘Hi, Tan. What’s up?’
‘I’ve finished the PM and found something else I thought you should know.’
‘Oh?’
‘Carpenter was four weeks pregnant when she died.’
‘Jesus, Tan. Why didn’t her husband mention it?’
‘Maybe he didn’t know. There’s a good chance she might not have known yet, either.’
Phillips rolled the information around in her mind as she continued down the stairs. ‘Anything else?’
‘No. She was in good health, and sober, the night she died.’
‘And what about the DNA? Any matches yet?’
‘Too soon, I’m afraid. I’m hoping to get something back from the lab tomorrow.’
‘Ok. Call me the moment you hear anything.’
‘Of course.’
‘Thanks, Tan.’ Phillips ended the call and made her way to her office.
5
Later that evening, Phillips took a seat at a table in a quiet corner of the Bull’s Head pub just outside the leafy – and highly desirable – Cheshire village of Prestbury. It was almost 8 p.m. and she was waiting for the renowned Manchester investigative newspaper reporter, Don Townsend, to show up.
