The Death of Jessica Ripley

by Andrew Barrett

  “Because I have friends who’ll say it is.”

  Chapter Eight

  It struck Kenny that when the time came to remove the pickaxe, there was every chance he would destroy any potential evidence along the bottom edge of the shattered window. And so he got out his torch and used oblique light across the panel to see if there was anything that needed attention right now; something like stray fibres that had clung to the paintwork, perhaps.

  There were none, but he thought it prudent to carry out a fingerprint examination too. The car was silver, almost the same colour as the aluminium fingerprint powder, so he opted for a black granular powder that would give much better contrast.

  He treated himself to a brand-new squirrel hair brush, and liberally coated it in powder. He worked in smooth straight lines along the door, keeping a keen eye for any fingerprint ridge detail.

  With aluminium powder, you used a circular motion, and when ridge detail began to appear, you’d concentrate the powdering in that area, developing the mark, enhancing it until it was sharp and clear. And then you might even use a clean brush along the ridge detail to clean it, to remove any excess powder.

  You couldn’t do that with a globular powder. If the brush showed any marks, they were very fragile. Over-brushing simply broke them up and erased them, and no amount of swearing would bring them back again.

  In any case, all he got in return were weather marks, dried-on water droplets. Not a single fingerprint. Sad, but to be expected. The important thing was that he could now work against the side of the door without compromising any potential evidence.

  He stood back and observed his scene, thinking through the things Eddie had requested, before satisfying himself there was nothing further he could do with things as they were. Now it really was time to withdraw the axe from the guy’s throat while preserving it as best as he could for chemical enhancement of any latent fingermarks.

  He laid out a sheet of brown paper and stacked up the packaging materials he’d need. And then he put on fresh gloves, two pairs, and leaned into the car. He knew the killer had held the axe at the lower half of the handle – certainly during the fatal blow – because the risk of his hands colliding with the car’s window or frame would be minimised.

  So that meant he had to extract the pickaxe using points of contact along the upper half only, preferably the upper third. Of course, the killer might have held the pickaxe anywhere along its handle, and indeed anywhere along its head, but Kenny had to take hold of it somewhere. But that didn’t mean he didn’t take care, and so he thought hard about how best to remove the stupid thing.

  He hoped that if he applied gentle pressure, like pulling lightly on an oar, the axe would slide out of the throat easily. He took hold and pulled gently, and it was easy to imagine the movement of an oar in the rowlock of a boat on Lake Coniston… but this was nothing like pulling on an oar.

  “Fuck.”

  He pulled again, and the dead man’s head rocked as though it were listening to some private funky tune. But that was all. The pickaxe didn’t move.

  Kenny reasserted his grip, ignored the sweat collecting on his brow, and yanked harder on the handle. The head nodded again, this time as though it had awoken with a start, but the axe was stubbornly anchored in place.

  The dead man’s throat opened slightly and a clot of blood fell out onto his shirt like a slug taking a dive. Kenny closed his eyes. And then it struck him: he needed to open the car door so he wouldn’t need to lean in at such an awkward angle. He’d be able to get more purchase too. But the door would only open eight inches before the frame collided with the axe handle.

  By now the sweat was running down his face, and he’d started looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching this comedy.

  He slammed the door, and stood with his hands on his hips, staring at it. There had to be a simple solution; after all, the fucking thing went in, didn’t it? Surely it should come back out again!

  He needed more pulling power. He needed to be able to brace himself somehow so he could exert more force; as it was, he was just pulling himself along the edge of the door. The smudges of black powder across the abdomen of his white scene suit were evidence of that.

  Kenny took one last look around, raised his left leg, jammed his knee into the window opening, took hold of the axe, and pulled.

  * * *

  Eddie had told Troy to take the afternoon off, with good reason. The kid was high on speed or something.

  After Troy had left, he wondered why he’d been so lenient. He sighed; was it a sign of weakness? The kid deserved a second chance. Everyone deserved a second chance.

  Getting soft in my old age.

  He stepped out into the office.

  Nicki looked up from a desk that had been transformed from a simple wooden slab with two monitors and a keyboard into a Walt Disney shop display.

  “What the fuck is that?”

  Sid coughed. “I helped her. Good, eh?”

  “Good? No. Not good.”

  “You always said we should be free to express ourselves.” Sid marched over from his own desk, and Eddie inspected the furry critters surrounding the monitors, and the Seven Dwarves lurking behind the keyboard. “You always said we weren’t just a number to you, that we were people. Come on, Eddie, be reasonable. What’s wrong with Sneezy and Doc?”

  “Reasonable? Me?”

  Nicki folded her arms. “Bit much to ask, isn’t it, when you’re more of a headlock kind of man?”

  Eddie winked at her. “I didn’t have him in a headlock; I just had my knee on the back of his neck.”

  “You did not!” Sid’s hand was over his mouth.

  “But I was tempted.”

  Nicki said, “That was disgraceful behaviour.”

  “I know, but I think he’s learned his lesson. He won’t do it again.”

  “Not him – you! I so should have reported you.”

  Eddie leaned in and whispered, “You do what you think is right, love, and leave me to run my office how I see fit. Okay?”

  Sid smiled at him. “You’re Grumpy.”

  “And you’re an arsehole.”

  “No,” Sid pointed at the figures, “you look like Grumpy.”

  “Flattery will get you nowhere.” He was staring at Nicki. “I suppose you’re Happy, Sid?”

  “I like to think so.” Sid was beaming. “And which one is Nicki?”

  “I’m Bashful,” she said, “because I’m actually quite a shy person.”

  Eddie raised his eyebrows. “Well, I sent Dopey home, so that leaves Kenny as Sleepy, I suppose.”

  “So can I keep them?” Nicki looked up at him.

  Eddie strolled off down the office. “Get your stuff together, Nicki, you’re going to a PM.”

  Nicki gasped. “Shouldn’t I have an orientation day first?” She licked her lips. “I mean, there’s so much to know.” She turned to Sid, hoping for some backup.

  “Told you he was a nice fella really. Once you get to know him. And if you’re good at your job. And if he’s in a good mood.”

  Chapter Nine

  Eddie and Nicki parked behind Kenny’s van.

  “So why did you send Troy home?”

  He shut off the motor and looked across at her, hiding his eyes behind his shades. “It takes a long time to build a team in an office like ours. It’s not like CID out there in the big office; they’re all back-stabbing bastards who’d climb over their mother’s corpse to get promotion or a gold star. We’re different; we look after each other. Implicitly. We are a closed shop. And once we’ve been together for a while and I feel we can all trust each other, I’ll answer a question like that from you. But until then I have a duty to keep my mouth shut.”

  “I wouldn’t have reported you.”

  He stared at her.

  “I mean – I should have, you know, all things being equal.”

  “But?”

  “But they’re not equal. I think you actually had a good reason
to do what you did.”

  Eddie opened the van door, took off the shades and threw them onto the dashboard. “Don’t do me any favours. And don’t say things just to butter me up. I’m really not the buttering-up kind.”

  “But—”

  “Listen. I’ll let you into a little secret.”

  Nicki moved across the seat, leaned in a bit. Her blouse gaped.

  Eddie shook his head and got out of the van. “Get a scene suit on.”

  She met him at the back of the van. “So what’s the secret?” She unzipped the suit he’d thrown her, then bent over and pushed her feet into it.

  Eddie turned his back on her. “This is my secret: I hate my job. Every day I wake up knowing I’ve got to come to work, I could cry. There’s so much else I could be doing if I didn’t have to come to this shithole and look after people like you.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s not an insult. The truth can never be an insult.”

  She stood up, pulled her arms into the sleeves so that her chest was about three yards in front of her, and Eddie looked away again. Once she’d zipped up, he turned back. “I hate the office and I hate the people in it. That includes you. I only come to work to get to places like this. This is what I do best.” He pointed to the cordon and the lonely copper checking messages on his phone. “Scene work gives me a buzz. The rest is payment for that buzz. It’s the gristle you get in your steak. It’s the hangover in the bottom of a bottle. See what I mean?”

  “So I’m an inconvenience? I’m a lump of gristle?” She was smiling, but it was shallow, masking concern.

  “I didn’t apply to be a supervisor. It was given to me; I didn’t really have a choice. But if I’d had a choice, I’d be Kenny. I wouldn’t be me. Kenny gets to play out all day doing this stuff; I get to sort out pricks like Troy Ainsley, and I get to wonder if pretty novices are going to stab me in the back because they don’t like the way I manage my office. And I have managed it, through some fucking hard times over the last few years.”

  She stared at him, but there was no regret on her face.

  He stepped closer. “My aim is to be fair. Nothing else. You break my rules, you too will get walled up by the throat. Abide by them and you’ll be fine.”

  “So what are they?” Her voice had an edge to it, unlike her fucking Disney toys.

  “Honesty. In everything. Oh, and everyone deserves a second chance.”

  “If you preach honesty in everything, how come you actually lied in front of Mr Walker?”

  “Jeffery is an exception to my rule. He makes allowances for my management style because he knows I’m being fair. If he has to get involved it usually entails a lot of shouting and swearing, and he doesn’t like that. So he has the world’s largest blind eye. You very nearly got him involved in something much bigger than you knew.”

  “Which was?”

  “Which was none of your business. Don’t try to second guess me, and don’t flash your tits at me hoping I’ll be extra lenient on you. It doesn’t work. Got it?”

  Nicki looked away.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. You do your job well, you ask for advice when you need to, and you do what I say, and we’ll never have a cross word. And when I can trust you, I will.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Now let’s go and take the piss out of Kenny. This really is the strawberries and cream part of the job.”

  * * *

  Eddie gave his details to the copper with the clipboard and stopped at the scene tape. He nudged Nicki. “Look!”

  Kenny had his knee in the window of the car, heaving for all he was worth on the pickaxe handle, and issuing a stream of profanities. Eddie began to laugh, and then he began to howl. Pretty soon, Kenny stopped what he was doing and turned to see Eddie and Nicki walking up the drive towards him, laughing hysterically.

  “It’s not funny!” I’ve been trying to get that bastard out for twenty-five minutes!”

  “Correction: it is funny. And I’ve got the photos to prove it.”

  “You twat!”

  “Pleased to be of service. Anyway, Kenny – this is Nicki. Nicki, this is Sleepy.”

  They nodded at each other in lieu of shaking hands. Shaking hands wasn’t the done thing at a crime scene.

  “Any ideas?”

  Eddie peered into the back of the car and looked at the headrest. He pushed in a plastic clip on each side and gently eased the headrest up. Then he went around to the driver’s door, leaned in and withdrew the axe from the dead guy’s throat as easily as pulling an oar through water. He laid it on the brown paper sheet, ready for photography.

  “I hate you, Collins.”

  The dead man slumped, his head resting easily onto his left shoulder, exposing the hole and displaced vertebrae in the back of his neck. A stringy tendon hung out of the wound and draped over the otherwise pristine collar of his shirt.

  “I fucking hate you.”

  “Pleased to be of service.” Eddie bowed. “Nicki is with you for the rest of this scene, and take her to the PM too, alright?”

  Kenny nodded, his attention now on the axe. “Yeah, no problem.”

  Kenny pulled Nicki to one side and explained in minute detail his thought process for the rest of the scene exam. Once the axe had been packaged, he would place clear plastic bags over the dead man’s hands, feet, and head. Then he’d open out a body bag and get him out of the car. There would be some leakage, he said, but it was unavoidable.

  He would call in the undertakers, or body snatchers as Eddie liked to call them, and have the vehicle recovered for a more thorough examination later.

  As Kenny talked, Eddie stepped away. He’d been thinking about this scene, and it was entirely Troy’s fault that he hadn’t had the time to give it more intense thought earlier. He wondered where the attacker had secreted himself, for secreted he surely must have been. It had happened in full daylight.

  Hiding in the conifers would have provided the perfect cover while still allowing a view of Marchant preparing to leave for work.

  Eddie looked at them. For a full minute, he stood there doing nothing else but looking. And during that time, his mind didn’t wander, it was focused on the job, it was paying explicit attention to those trees and the ground around them.

  There was a small gap between the low branches of two neighbouring trees. Eddie slid his torch from the pouch on his belt and knelt on the asphalt.

  He crept forward. He imagined the attacker would have been kneeling in the gap as far away from the driveway as possible, with an eight- or ten-pound pickaxe at his side, ready to pounce. And he’d have been there for what, half an hour? An hour? Several hours?

  Deep in the scrub of small sticks near the base of the conifers, there were several freshly broken twigs, their sandy-coloured flesh standing out against the surrounding darkness. On the ground, amid the thousands of fallen brown needles, was a clump of flattened nettles. This was the killer’s nest. There were four feet of thick scrub between the conifers and the wall.

  Eddie stood and walked around to the entrance, looking at the gaps between the other conifers as he went. There were no similar signs of disturbance in any of them. He ducked under the blue and white police tape and walked along the footpath. The gap, only slightly visible from this side, presented itself on his left. He stood, hands on hips looking at the top of the wall. It was rough stone, like a dry-stone wall, but fixed with mortar. Running along the crown stone on the highest part of the wall was a fresh scrape, a shallow gouge that, like the broken twigs, showed up light against the mossy and blackened surroundings.

  He peered over the wall and into the darkness below. The torch lit the trees and the carpet of brown needles, it showed him more broken twigs, but it didn’t show him anything else.

  There were no clumps of fibres clinging to the branches, there was no blood soaking into the broken twigs, no hairs floating in the breeze. There were no fresh cigarette end
s or drinks containers. There was nothing. Lots of nothing.

  Eddie could see this murder ending up in the ‘unsolved’ box.

  Chapter Ten

  Charles wore his pinny, and even though Eddie had stopped laughing at it ages ago, he still found it funny. But what made it even funnier was the shirt and tie he wore beneath it.

  “You practising for a waiter’s job? It’s good to see you getting back into society. Being one step up from a tramp is so last year.”

  Charles came over to him with a tray. On it was a plate of pork chop, chips and salad. “What?” He handed Eddie a napkin.

  Eddie gawped at it. “You after a Michelin Star?” He studied the napkin. “We normally use our sleeves.”

  “Not any more. We’re going to behave like normal people from now on.”

  “Normal? You?” Eddie snorted. “Hey, have you been sniffing glue, because I told you it’s bad—”

  “Why can’t you just enjoy it? Why must you turn everything into a major event?”

  Eddie caught a scent, and then squinted. “You smell like a Lynx advert. Have you been stealing my aftershave?”

  “I might have borrowed a splash. You can have it back when I get home. Anyway,” he smiled, “what’s an advert smell like?”

  “Very clever. Had a brave pill today, have we?”

  “Nope. A happy pill.”

  Eddie paused. “Where are you going?”

  “I met someone. Wendy. Wonderful woman.”

  “You’re going on a date?”

  “You are so sharp, son. I’m proud of you.”

  Eddie’s mouth fell open. The food wasn’t burnt. It looked good and it smelled good. He’d even dressed the salad. “This is freaking me out. What the hell’s going on?”

  “You like it?” Charles smiled, rubbing his hands together. “Wendy gave me a few pointers.”

  “What, like getting someone else to make it?”

  “All made with my own fair hands, boy.” He tossed the pinny into the kitchen, stood before the tall mirror behind the front door where he adjusted his already immaculate tie, and said, “You’ll have to wash up tonight, I’m afraid. Don’t know what time I’ll be back.” He winked, opened the door, and checked his watch. “Come on, come on.”