“How long was she missing?” asked Sally.
“Two weeks,” I answered.
“So what about the bruising? Does it correspond to the time frame?”
I looked at Jack for the answer. He took his glasses off and rubbed at the lenses with the hem of his stripy jumper. “She had been through the mill. She had a lot of bruising over a large portion of her body. Some bruises were recent. They were large and dark indicating they were new. Others across her body were fading and were yellowish-brown. This indicates the original bruise occurred about eight to nine days ago. There were small bruises that had all but disappeared, so yes, I’d say she was being hurt from at least two weeks ago.”
“So it’s a waiting game on anything further?” I asked.
“Unfortunately, yes. I’m still waiting for toxicology and results of stomach contents. They will take a while I’m afraid. I do intend to examine the body again in the coming days to check for bruises that weren’t visible at the time of post-mortem.”
“Thanks, Jack.”
Next, Aaron talked about the school and the fact Rosie had sought out contraceptive advice. We were waiting for records from Rosie’s GP and school nurse. I had nothing extra to add from the visit to the best friend’s address. It was the same story. Rosie was a good girl until a few weeks before she went missing, at which point she pulled away from people and became insular.
The local sex offenders all checked out. Sally and Ross had worked hard on corroborating them yesterday while Aaron and I had been in Norwich, so they were a dead end.
Evie stated she couldn’t find any trace of Rosie being on any of the social networking sites which confirms the information coming from Norwich, that Rosie was from a quiet family who wanted her to stay a child while she still was one.
We talked in circles. We couldn’t find a link between Norwich and us. Between Rosie and here. Between anything.
It had been a long couple of days but I could see everyone was ready for the work we still had ahead of us. A child killer is a big incentive to get cops to pull the last drop of energy they have out of the hat and push forward.
Finally I turned to Claire. “What’s the agreed strategy for the press release?”
The pen that had been swinging through her fingers had stopped and swirls had appeared on the pad in front of her. “We’re going to identify her to the press. Chris Stewart from Norwich has sent us an up to date photograph of Rosie and we’re going to appeal to anyone who may have seen her in and around the local area. We’re expecting the nationals to pick it up today, so we will have a wider audience. Someone may be able to help.”
A wider audience and a wider section of the public demanding answers.
I left the building, feeling tired. The rest of the day had passed in a blur of files, meetings and decision making. A call to Martin had found him in good spirits and about to head into another interview with a different girl from Rosie’s class. Nothing had come up we weren’t already aware of.
A glass of red wine was a welcome pleasure waiting for me at home. The joy of living alone meant I could please myself and not have to worry about the sensitivities of others. I changed clothes and relaxed in front of some American science fiction drama where Earth inhabitants battled aliens. It was escapism and I sucked it all up as fast as I soaked up the half bottle of red.
A brief text message from Ethan explained he was busy and would call me the next day.
Sally was already there when I arrived at the incident room the next morning at seven a.m. She also looked more refreshed.
“Anyone else in?” I asked.
She looked around the room, “Yes, Ross is somewhere. He said something about checking the overnight incident logs.”
“Okay,” I mumbled as I walked away to my office. It was chilly. While I waited for my computer to boot up I hung my suit jacket up and pulled on a thick beige cardigan from the back of a chair. The monitor came to life, the force logo appeared, and then flickered as the rest of the software loaded. Eventually the computer was functioning. I brought up my email in-box. Twenty-seven emails in less than twelve hours. I scanned through them. Forensics had sent an electronic copy of the scene photos, Claire had forwarded me a copy of the press release and Jack had invited me to a murder mystery night. Just the kind of tongue in cheek event he would love. I’d need to check my diary and get back to him.
I walked back into the incident room which had filled up. Sounds of tapping keyboards and conversations. I sat on the corner of Aaron’s desk and was greeted by a functional: “Morning.”
“I spoke to Martin last night,” I informed him. He carried on tapping at his keyboard. “Aaron?” He worked on. It was then that I noticed the discreet earplugs he sometimes wore in the office to block out the noise while he worked. I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up, his face showing confusion at the interruption. I pointed at my own ears and he pulled out his plugs. “I spoke to Martin last night,” I said again.
“Okay.”
“Nothing new so far. They have a lot to get through though.”
“Okay.” He was not going to give me much else in the way of conversation. The door opened with a thud as Ross came in, his face serious, jaw clenched up tight. I waited for him to speak but didn’t expect what came.
“Another body’s been found.”
25
“What the hell do you mean there’s another body?” I stood from the desk corner, feeling the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, a hyper-alertness that would not benefit the situation. I had to take a step back, to be professional about this.
The rest of the room was silent. A collective breath held. The thought of another murdered child was impossible to comprehend. I looked at Ross for answers.
“I was checking the overnight incident logs for the morning briefing and, well, a child’s body has been found early this morning. It’s close to the previous dump site, Alfred Street, and is a similar MO.” I gave him a querying look. “Just off Mansfield Road again, though further into town this time, top end of Huntingdon Street. A naked girl, suspected similar age. From initial reports it looks to be a dump site and not the initial crime scene and there are similar markings on the body.” He handed me the log, his hair flopping down over his face as he looked down. He continued, “She has bruising around her wrists and neck. Rosie Green is high profile within the force, so it didn’t take attending officers long to realise this was likely to be connected and the call was made to the control room. The first officers on scene have asked for our assistance and for Jack’s attendance.”
My head was spinning. Did this new location away from the more residential area and closer to the actual city mean anything or was he just wandering and finding somewhere to dump? “Please tell me we have an idea on identification this time? Anything on the original messages coming in?” I attempted to scan the document Ross had given me, but he could give me the highlights right now.
“She didn’t have anything on her, so there is no identification we can use. I can start to pull out some of the missing persons files of similar aged girls with close and matching descriptions and come back to you.”
I ran my fingers through my fringe. “Good. Thanks Ross.” What was happening? Another child murder, and in our area. What did this mean and were they really connected?
Grey came into my line of vision. “I’m going to attend the scene. See what we have and report back as soon as I know anything.”
He nodded, the sand ripples across his head deepened. “This could mean your team and working practices are reviewed. You need to be making inroads, Hannah, and quickly.”
I snaked the car left past the clock tower of the Victoria Centre and northwards. The city was waking up. Cars were on the move and the few people out on foot had coat collars pulled up, scarves wrapped tight around necks with their focus set on getting to where they were going as quickly as they could and out of the cold. We turned onto Huntingdon Street and saw chaos. The crime scene w
as just off here, on Alfred Street. It would be easier to park up and walk the rest of the way. This area of the city was always grey, the buildings gradually falling into disrepair, both small industrial buildings and homes. The street was busier and a lot less organised than the last scene, or so it seemed. A frost had covered the area overnight and the morning sun was weak, doing little to dispense with it. As I parked the car I could see the police activity had created a lot of attention. These kinds of scenes were always worse in daylight hours and caused quite a stir. People wanted to see what had happened and were gathering, no doubt so they could take photographs on their mobile phones and distribute them on the social networking sites. Something to brag about. No regard given to the loss of life or its effects on remaining family. They would show an outward display of horror at what they perceived they knew, but it wouldn’t stop the photographs or conveying of information, correct or otherwise.
It wore my patience, the current trend in capturing everything and splashing it all over to gain popularity. It left a bitter taste in my mouth. A child had lost her life and all people were interested in was sharing every last detail with their mates.
I picked up my pace as I strode to the crime scene cordon, taking care on the hidden patches of black ice underfoot. Tape flapped across an entryway to the scene. A baby-faced uniformed cop stood rigidly by the cordon. His job was to stop anyone who didn’t need to be in there and to list those who entered. It didn’t matter if the chief constable himself wanted to pass. If he didn’t need to be in there messing up the scene, then he didn’t get in. Some of the new probationary cops often found turning away officers of rank a difficult concept. This cop oozed crime scene anxiety. He had the look of a startled rabbit as we approached.
“DI Robbins.” I raised my ID. “Major Crimes Unit.”
He looked at my warrant card and lifted his notepad to register our details on the major incident log. “Ma’am,” he acknowledged. His hand shook a little.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Tony Hitchen, ma’am.” He scribbled Aaron and Sally’s names into the log along with mine. Loops curled up and down, but in a broken and stuttering fashion.
“Tony, this cordon needs to be a lot further out for two reasons. One, to widen the scene so the crime scene techs have enough room to get all the evidence they need and, two, can you see all the people?” I shifted my head sideways in a nod towards the gathering crowds, keeping my hands down in my pockets for warmth. Tony looked more apprehensive. “They shouldn’t be this close. Our victim needs some dignity afforded her. Do you think you can widen this scene and remove the crowds please?”
“Oh yes. Sorry, ma’am. Right away. I’m sorry.”
I could see I’d made him more nervous. It wasn’t my intention, but it was better coming from me than some of the more heavy handed DIs it was possible he would come up against at his next one. “It’s something to remember in the future. Preserve the scene as wide as you feel it needs to go. Don’t be afraid to make it over wide. Over wide we can bring in if we need to, but not wide enough makes it difficult. It means the area is contaminated. Widening our scene is about letting our teams work in a professional manner and our victim gets respect. Okay?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Just as we were pulling on the white forensic suits my phone rang.
“DI Robbins.”
“Han, it’s me. Heads up, I’m walking into your scene as we speak.”
26
“What the hell do you mean, you’re walking into my scene?” I hissed into the handset.
Sally and Aaron stared at me. Most of the time they were discreet when I was on a call, but this had caught their attention.
“I’ve been sent to cover it. Nothing I can do.” I looked around as Ethan’s voice from the phone came closer and louder. He was striding towards us, one hand pushed in his pocket, the other holding the phone to his ear.
This was difficult. I flinched. My relationship with Ethan was private. I hadn’t shared it with any of my work colleagues. My love life wasn’t any of their business, but the fact that he was press wasn’t going to help me explain any relationship with him I might have. Journalists don’t tend to be trusted, but can be helpful in some situations, especially when we need to get information out to the wider public. It means a balancing act has to be navigated. I didn’t even know how to define our relationship, so having him arrive at one of the most demanding crime scenes of my career so far was not helpful. My head started to throb. I wasn’t sure how he was going to play this, but I appreciated the heads up, even if it was the briefest of heads up in the history of warnings.
“DI Robbins.” Ethan approached me, playing it cool, lanyard around his neck making visible his press credentials.
Aaron and Sally exchanged a quick look between them as they appeared to make a connection to the phone call.
“Ethan Gale, what can we do for you?” I didn’t wait for an answer. “We are very pushed down here right now, all we can say is that there is an incident and we are dealing with it. We will, of course, make a press release when we know more.”
“I know you will; thank you.” He smiled. I didn’t know whether I wanted to punch him for coming down here and putting me in this position or smile back. I chose the third option which was one of being professional. I looked him in the eyes.
“My editor, Patricia Hart, sent me down because we have a woman she believes to be the victim’s mother at our offices. She’s quite distraught, as you can imagine. Patricia asked me to come and see if you could give the woman anything either way so she can get on with grieving or continuing to hope her daughter could be alive.”
Now I wanted to punch him in the face. “Why does your woman believe the person involved in our incident is her daughter and why the hell would she not call the police with what she knows and any questions she has?” The dull throb in my temples was changing from a feeling of anxiety to one of irritation.
Ethan ran his hand through his hair. “She doesn’t believe she gets a fair hearing from the police.” He paused as I tried to assimilate what he was telling me. “She feels discriminated against because they come from the poorer part of town. She asked us to bridge that gap for her. She heard there was a girl found here. Word travels fast and with the description doing the rounds, she feels it’s Allison.”
Tension ran from my head and down through my limbs as I fought to control my anger at the situation. “We haven’t released a description yet.”
“As you know, DI Robbins, word travels fast and uses a variety of methods. I hope you don’t mind if I wait here so I can let Allison’s mother know.”
“You can stay outside the cordon as long as you want to, Mr Gale. We will however, be needing to talk to this woman if the child does turn out to be Allison.”
A short distance away, Aaron and Sally were now sat on the edge of the crime scene van as they pulled on white forensic booties.
I lowered my voice. “How dare you do this to me; couldn’t they send someone else?”
“Han, I’m sorry, Allison is my story, so they sent me down. I’ll hover until you let me have something. I will try to be discreet, but this isn’t looking good is it?”
At that point I knew he was talking, not just about Allison, but about the fact that this was the second child murder in the city in such a short period of time. “Keep your profile low, Ethan. I’ll talk to you later.”
Ethan nodded.
“What was that about?” asked Aaron, his discretion unable to hold out any longer. “A mother sitting in a press office, rather than contacting us? Seriously? We have to go to the press to speak to the potential parent of our victim? That’s ridiculous.”
I couldn’t disagree with him. I pulled my phone back out of my trouser pocket and dialled the office. Ross answered. Updating him I requested he locate the missing persons file on a female by the name of Allison – hell, I didn’t know her surname. I covered my phone with my palm and turned
to where Ethan stood, his eyes down to his phone, fingers tapping at keys. “Ethan. Surname?”
He stopped punching at the phone. “Kirk. Allison Kirk.”
I resumed my conversation with Ross. “Allison Kirk. And pull up all the information we hold on both her and her mother and then go wider to extended family, associates and links that come up.”
“Wow, some people, huh.”
“Yeah, Ross. Thanks for the help.”
“No worries, boss.”
Aaron and I walked into the scene, a little more prepared for what we were about to witness, but preparation is complicated when it comes to children and violent deaths.
This time the girl was inside an industrial bin. I wondered on the significance. Maybe the offender had had more time. Time to lift her and load her into the bin rather than throwing her down. Did this mean he was disturbed last time? House to house, and knocking at commercial buildings hadn’t brought anything to light, but we were still working it.
Jack was already in the bin with the child.
“Jack?”
“Ah, Hannah, just the person.” Jack’s voice echoed out from the depths of the bin. “I’ve had a preliminary look at our young girl and you’re the person I need to talk to. Give me a moment and I will join you.”
Sally was talking to Tony Hitchen, the first officer on the scene, getting details. He would have to write up a statement later, but for now we needed an account from him, including who had called it in and how they had come across her. Aaron was talking to Doug who was now waiting on Jack.
“Give me a hand would you, dear?” Jack attempted to get his spindly legs over the edge of the container whilst holding on to his medical bag, his spotted socks were visible under his dark trousers. I reached up and grabbed the bag handle allowing him to pitch himself up and over. The smell he was bringing up with him: rotting vegetables and meat, scorched the inside of my nose. My stomach leapt again. I clamped my mouth shut and ground my teeth together.
The DI Hannah Robbins Series: Books 1 - 3 (Boxset) (Detective Hannah Robbins Crime Series) Page 7
