Under The Woods: a heart-stopping police thriller (The Forensic Files Book 4)
Page 4
She wouldn’t even notice they were missing until she next went to use them, he was sure.
Now, he could leave.
She would suspect a burglary – would presume she’d left the front door unlocked. He was confident he’d left no trace of himself. The thick winter gloves hid his fingerprints. Well – what was left of them, anyway.
Smiling to himself, he left her house, leaving the door closed but not locked.
Now, he could go and see his treasures – they’d have missed him, he knew.
* * *
11th December, 0840 hours – Rainbow Riding Stables
TJ was out of breath by the time she got to the back door. She dumped the rugs she’d carried to the house to wash on the floor at the rear and pushed the door open, bending and dragging the rugs inside to the utility room.
She knew she wouldn’t have time to wash them – she had to jump in the car and head to her appointment at the bank, so she rushed through to the living room to grab her bag and froze as she saw the upturned drawers. For half a second, she wondered if she’d left it in such a state, then realised it had happened whilst she’d been out. Panic crept inside her – someone had been in the house. Her house.
Her breathing rate increased, and she felt her teeth clench together hard.
Damn jaw injury, shit. Breathe, just breathe. It will pass.
TJ stumbled, her vision blurry as she fought the wave of dizziness. She deliberately slowed her breathing, trying her best to control her body’s reaction. Stress was always a trigger, the biggest in fact. A side-effect of the jaw injury she’d sustained when she’d been attacked. The doctors couldn’t say whether it would heal with time, or whether it was a permanent issue.
Then, the pain arrived – pounding in her temples and sending sparks of light to her eyes. Almost as instantly, she was hit with the nausea and stumbled back out of the living room to the kitchen. The route she took was clear of obstruction – she’d done that on purpose, knowing she needed to get to the kitchen or bathroom quickly or risk throwing up all over.
Just as she reached the sink, she heaved. She held on to the sides of the sink as she threw up. Once she’d finished retching, she blinked, trying to refocus her eyes. TJ suffered from Temporomandibular Disorder – her jaw was misaligned from the attack she’d suffered, and the effects included severe and sudden onset migraines, and dizziness.
TJ tried to breathe through it – pain radiated around her face and down the back of her neck, but she knew if she could get her breathing under control, it would help the other symptoms ease off.
After a few more minutes of controlled breathing, the pain exploding from her temples eased a little, and she slowly opened her eyes.
I hate this. Why does this always have to happen? It’s not fair.
TJ knew her thoughts resembled those of a petulant teenager, but she couldn’t help it. She wanted to forget the whole attack; then every time this happened, it was like a glaring neon sign shoving her back in time. She knew if she let her mind go, she’d still be able to feel the tarmac under her cheek, and the blood flowing into her eyes. Her initial reaction was always to clench her jaw, trying to force the images back. Knowing this would result in the attack lasting even longer, she breathed deeply, exhaling as she stared at the picture of her niece on the window sill. Grace was Ben’s daughter, Ben being her brother’s girlfriend. So not technically her niece, but TJ felt like she was. Grace was full of life and light, and her smile brightened the dullest day. That was why TJ kept photos of her all around the house.
The pain eased further, and her vision returned to normal. She knew her head would ache for some time – the slightest thing could set it off again.
What caused it this time?
TJ remembered the living room – it had been ransacked, and someone had been inside her home. Still focussing on Grace’s face, she pulled her mobile phone from her pocket and rang the police.
* * *
11th December, 1005 hours – Rainbow Riding Stables
Jackson had already lost his way twice by the time he finally saw the driveway that led to the stables. He was knackered and frustrated. All he wanted now was to get the job done and go home to his bed. He turned the corner and paused at the first entrance to a farm. He couldn’t see any signs, but it didn’t look like a riding stables. He was about to continue further up the drive when he noticed an angry looking man approaching his passenger window.
‘What’re you doing on my land? You better not be selling.’
‘No, I’m looking for the riding stables?’
‘Further up the drive,’ said the man, nodding his head in the general direction. ‘Sure you’ll have fun dealing with the cow that lives there. Feisty one, she is. Now piss off.’
Jackson stared after the old man as he made his way round the van and into the farmhouse that stood by the gate. He shook his head, still surprised. Some people!
The car park at the top of the drive was compact, but it held a horse trailer and several cars. This looks more like it.
He killed the engine, grabbed his case and camera kit from the back of the van and made his way up the path.
His loud knock on the door resulted in some scuffling from inside, and then, the door opened a crack, with the safety chain in place. He understood that – the woman had been burgled. It was natural to be nervous.
‘ID,’ said a female voice from behind the door.
He hardly ever got asked for his ID and had to fumble in his pocket to pull out the card with his photo on it. He saw eyes that were familiar to him first – like Jacob’s from work – grey with flecks of green speckled through. He remained silent as she scanned his ID quickly then glanced up at his face.
The door shut with a click and then reopened fully, revealing the woman behind. Recognition flickered– he knew he’d seen her before but couldn’t place her.
‘Are you Teresa?’ he asked. If it was some other random person, they might not know what – if anything – had been taken, or where the offender had been.
TJ nodded, the soft curls of her dark brown hair bouncing with the motion. Her grey eyes had darkened, and she looked troubled. Jackson had to force himself not to visibly acknowledge the tight curve of her hips inside her jodhpurs, or the swell of her breasts as she breathed. She wasn’t too slim – her curves were all in the right places. Jackson caught himself staring and averted his gaze, putting his cases on the floor in the hall.
‘How do you think they got in?’
‘I don’t know, to be honest. I was sure I’d locked the front door, but when I got back, it was unlocked. No one except my brother has a key. You’ll know Jacob – he works in digital forensics? Actually, didn’t we meet at the Christmas do the other day?’
‘Yeah, course we did! That’s where I knew you from. It was bugging me. Are you going to the afternoon tea later this week?’
TJ nodded with a smile. ‘Yeah, afternoon tea is actually more my scene than the night out. Too much noise for me. Much prefer something a little quieter and more intimate.’
‘Me too,’ said Jackson. He nodded towards the front door and added, ‘They couldn’t have got in through the back door, then?’
‘No, I don’t think so. That was still locked when I got back from the yard. They’ve been all through the living room, but I don’t think they’ve been anywhere else in the house ’cos nothing else has been moved.’
‘Okay. Would you mind going into say the kitchen while I work? I need to take some photos, and they’ll be better without you in them. Not that I’m saying you wouldn’t photograph well ’cos you would, but… you know what I mean?’ Jackson felt his cheeks burn – foot-in-mouth syndrome. Happened all the time.
TJ smiled again and nodded. ‘Coffee?’
He hardly ever accepted hot drinks in a victim’s house, none of the CSIs did – you never knew what a person’s cleanliness was like until you had a look. But he found himself copying her nod. ‘White with two, please.’
‘Grow up, get a grip and stop being such a… bloke,’ he quietly ordered himself.
Within minutes, he’d done his visual examination and photographs. He paid particular attention to the front door lock, noting the barely visible scratches around the lock mechanism. They weren’t deep enough for him to take a tool cast, but he used close-up shots to show the marks. Whoever had been in knew how to pick a lock. That, in itself, was unusual, he knew.
The living room had been ransacked. That much was evident by TJ’s belongings strewn everywhere. Nothing appeared to have been left behind by the offender. The floor in the hall and living room was carpeted, so no chance of footwear impressions. Locard’s principle of ‘every contact leaves a trace’ was always true, but sometimes not very beneficial to an examination.
Moving on to the forensic aspect of the examination, he used the oblique lighting from his torch to see if there was any trace evidence – fibres, blood, etc. Nothing came to light, so he moved onto the fingerprint examination. He used aluminium powder on the painted front door – a few smudged prints showed here and there, but none had sufficient ridge detail to make them worth recovering.
The living room held several decent surfaces for the retention of fingerprints, but when he powdered them, he found most had glove prints on them. The offender either knew to wear gloves to disguise his prints or had gloves on incidentally because of the cold weather. Either way, it wasn’t much help to Jackson. He recovered a few visible prints here and there, filled out the lift acetates and put them in his pocket. He knew they’d likely belong to Teresa, though it was possible whoever had broken in had removed his gloves part way through his search. Overall, though, there wasn’t much for him to recover or go on. This knowledge annoyed Jackson. He hated not finding much evidence at the scene. He knew he’d done everything he could, but he felt the sting of annoyance.
He closed his cases and put the memory card from the camera secure in his pocket with the acetates. He pulled an elimination sheet and ink sheet from his folder and made his way into the kitchen.
TJ was standing at the sink, staring intently at a photograph of a young girl. After thinking for a moment, he realised it was Ben’s daughter. TJ was lost in thought – she didn’t even look up. Instinctively, he knew she hadn’t heard him come into the room.
Whatever he did now would make her jump – he knew that and didn’t want it to happen. So, he stepped back towards the door and opened it again, this time purposefully stumbling as though he had fallen as he entered. The ruse worked, and TJ glanced round, without appearing startled.
‘Coffee’s on the table. Did you find anything?’
‘Got a few prints. Looks like whoever it was picked your front door lock. It’s quite an old lock, to be honest, might be worth investing in a newer one. I’ll notify the cop dealing when he’s allocated to put you down for a call from the crime prevention officer, if you like. Truthfully, I’m thinking the prints I got are probably yours ’cos I found glove marks around too. Unless you wear gloves in the house?’
TJ shook her head. ‘So, nothing really, then?’
Jackson could hear how disappointed she was. He really wanted there to be more evidence, but sometimes, it just wasn’t there.
Shaking his head, he added, ‘I’ll still need to take some elimination prints off you, if you don’t mind. We can do it on the table, if that’s easier?’
TJ moved to his side, and he set the paper out on the table, folding the lower half and aligning the folded side with the edge of the table.
‘Just let me guide your fingers, okay? It’s easier if I do the work for you.’
Jackson could hear his heart thudding in his ear as he took hold of her hand. He tried his best not to notice how silky soft her hand was and swore to himself he hadn’t registered the dirt around her thumbnail as he slowly rolled the pad over the ink sheet. He rolled it over the paper in the slot allotted on the form. Her fingers were next, and one by one, he rolled them onto the ink then onto the paper. He repeated the action for the other hand then turned the sheet over.
‘Sorry, I need to do your palms, too. Is that okay?’
TJ handed him her hand, not moving as he dabbed the ink sheet over her palms until her hand was covered in black ink. He pressed it down hard onto one side of the sheet and followed the process with the other hand.
‘It can be a nightmare to get off. I’ll put some Fairy Liquid on your hands and run the tap, so you don’t get ink everywhere.’ He didn’t realise he still had hold of her wrist until he got to the sink. He knew his cheeks were stained red again as he let her go. What the heck is wrong with me? – I feel like I’m thirteen years old with my first crush!
He poured a good amount of soap onto her outstretched hands, then turned both the hot and cold tap on so the water wouldn’t be too hot.
He left her to wash her hands and busied himself packing up his kit. He was standing by the front door when she came through to him, still rubbing her hands on a tea towel.
‘Bloody awful stuff, this ink. I thought horse manure was bad for getting out from under your nails.’
‘Yeah, Fairy Liquid’s the best thing for getting it off, but it’s still hard getting it all off. Sorry – I needed the eliminations so we can rule you out with the prints I recovered. Does anyone else have regular access to the house?’
‘Only Jacob, Ben and Grace, but none of them would have touched the stuff you printed. How do I get the silver powder off the stuff in the living room?’
‘Baby wipes – they take it off in no time. Do you have some? I’ve got some in the van, if you need any?’
‘I’ve got some. Grace is a muck monster – need them in pretty much every room.’ TJ grinned at him widely. ‘Well, I suppose I’d better let you get on – you’ve probably got tons of jobs on.’
‘Actually, you’re my last one today. I got called in last night so have done…’ he paused and checked his watch, ‘about eighteen hours now, if you discount the couple I had at home before being called in. I’m heading back to put this through the system, then I’m off home to bed. If you find anything you think might be linked to the offender once you clear up, just give the office a ring. I doubt I’ve missed anything, but you can’t be too careful.’
‘Sure, that’s great, thanks. And I’ll see you at the Marriott for afternoon tea, all being well.’
Jackson smiled back at her over his shoulder as he made his way back to his van.
3
11th December, 1025 hours – abandoned school, near Durham
Cheryl fought the wave of nausea that spread over her as she tried to open her eyes. That was also the moment she realised just how cold she was. Her teeth started chattering with such force, she almost believed someone had a pneumatic drill somewhere in her vicinity. She groaned. Her whole body felt as though she’d been through the mill. She ached in places she didn’t even know she had.
Forcing her eye lids open, she tried to focus on something, anything that would give her over-sensitised mind something to cling to. She saw the brick walls covered in graffiti, the dim light cases high up on the walls near the ceiling, and eventually, the red blinking light of a video camera that was mounted high in the corner and enclosed in a small cage.
Her mouth felt thick with cotton wool as she mumbled to herself. ‘Where am I? Where’s my sleeping bag. I’m c… c… cold.’
Get off your stinking arse and move, you pathetic bitch. You’ll regret it, if you don’t.
‘I can’t. It hurts,’ she whimpered, hoping for once that the voice would go away just because she wanted them to.
You’re worse than pathetic. It’s your own fault you’re in this mess. He can do whatever he wants to you, and you won’t even fight back, will you? Find a set of fucking balls and grow up. You’re a worthless piece of shit.
‘Who’s he? I’m not. I just…’
You just, what? Need someone to help you? Like he helped you all those years ago? Not once did you ever say no to that bastard. Not once did you fight. Where do you think I came from? I’m from him – the result of you needing somewhere to hide your stupid little brain while he fucked you again and again. You need me. I’m the only one who’s strong enough to get you through this. Whatever the hell this is.
‘No – you’re wrong. I did tell. I told, but no one believed me.’
’Cos you’re nothing but a pitiful waste of space. Who would believe you anyway?
‘Just go away. Leave me alone. Why are you always shouting at me?’
Cheryl moved her hands and covered her eyes, desperately trying to hide from the voice. Tears fell down her cheeks, and she started sobbing. ‘It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault.’
Her knees tucked up under her chin, she rocked herself back and forth, repeating the mantra again and again.
* * *
11th December, 1050 hours – Sunderland City Police Station
‘Please, I need to speak to Sergeant Donaghue.’ Sally was worried – she’d found no sign of Cheryl in the park where she lived. She could have wandered off, but it wasn’t likely. Sally knew more than anyone how much Cheryl liked routine.
‘I’m sorry, but he’s not working today and the duty sergeant is out dealing with an incident. You’re welcome to wait, if you like?’ The lady smiled at her from behind the glass. Actually looking at her and not past her, like most people did when they encountered a homeless person.
‘Thanks, Liz, but I can’t wait today, I’ll pop back tomorrow, if I need to.’
Sally was there that often that she knew all the front office staff. Sometimes, if it was really cold, they’d let her stay in the warmth of the front office for the night. Most of the cops were nice too – they’d bring her a cuppa or a sandwich when she stayed over. They knew she was no bother. She always left before the doors opened on a morning.