by David Hodges
He winced. ‘Just thought it might be something we could follow up on.’
She turned for the door. ‘Try not to dwell on it, Hayd,’ she said drily. ‘We don’t want you over-taxing that cerebral engine house of yours, do we?’
He waggled an admonishing finger at her. ‘Lowest form of wit, sarcasm, you know, old girl. But sticking with it, is there the remotest chance that we might be going to eat sometime today, do you think?’
She sighed. ‘There’s cold ham in the fridge at home and chips in the freezer,’ she said, turning back through the door into the corridor. ‘I’ll join you as soon as I’ve seen the boss.’
He rubbed his hands. ‘Excellent. Give him my kind regards, won’t you? And see if you can cheer him up.’
As it turned out, however, Roscoe was in no mood to be cheered up and his mood remained sour and uncommunicative throughout most of Kate’s briefing on the progress of their inquiries. But his demeanour soon changed when she passed on her reservations about Graham Snell and Lawrence de Marr and he seized on the former rock star’s name immediately.
‘Lawrence de Marr?’ he exclaimed, slapping the palm of one big hairy hand down on the table top. ‘I knew I’d heard Ellie Landy’s name somewhere. It was a Bristol case about five years ago. Didn’t realize that dirty bastard, de Marr, had moved back down here when he came out of stir.’ He extracted a wad of gum from somewhere under his moustache and dropped it with a dull thud into the wastepaper bin. Then, shaking a cigarette out of a packet on his desk, he tapped it several times on the desk top before lighting up and enveloping Kate in smoke.
‘You know it’s now illegal to smoke in the workplace?’ she said tartly, waving some of the smoke away.
He ignored her and carried on with what he was saying.
‘So, de Marr’s back on our manor, is he? Well, that is food for thought. What with him and this Graham Snell weirdo you’ve just told me about, at least we’ve now got a couple of ready-made suspects to go for if this bloody drowning turns out to be something other than an accident.’
Kate stiffened in the straight-backed chair, her in-built antenna on full alert. ‘Why do you say that, Guv? Something come up, has it?’
This time he waved the smoke away with a grunted apology, then stared at her for a moment. ‘Don’t go getting all excited,’ he censured. ‘As far as I’m concerned, we’re still dealing with a straightforward drowning case. It’s just that I’ve received a phone call from the coroner’s officer to say that the PM, which was originally scheduled for Thursday, is now being brought forward to tomorrow and apparently the senior pathologist, Lydia Summers, is being called in to do it.’
Kate lurched forward in her chair. ‘Tomorrow? Why on earth is that?’
He shrugged. ‘Your guess is as good as mine, but apparently when they stripped her, they found something they’re not happy with, so I want you there when they open her up. Ten o’clock sharp. Got it?’
Kate nodded. Great, she thought grimly. There was always something to look forward to as a police detective.
‘Oh yeah,’ Roscoe added, ‘and take Sherlock with you – if he can get up in time!’
CHAPTER 4
The smell was usually the first thing to hit the senses, but Kate and Hayden arrived at the mortuary in good time and well before the clinical butchery was due to take place. The naked body of the young woman was lying on her back on the stainless steel mortuary table, swollen by gas and the water from the River Parrett that would shortly be released by a razor sharp scalpel and Kate tried not to think about what she would have to witness when the macabre dissection got underway.
Despite being an experienced detective, who had seen more than her fair share of the macabre in her career, Kate had never got used to post mortems. It wasn’t so much the gore and the smell, though that was bad enough, but the indifferent manner in which the cadaver of what had once been a living human being was treated by those charged with the duty of looking into the circumstances of their death. In life, the person had been a unique character; an individual, with his or her own likes, dislikes, opinions and aspirations, who had laughed, cried and loved. In death, however, they suddenly became an inanimate object, identified only by the label tied to their toe – a ‘thing’ to be stripped naked and stretched out on a steel table under the glare of powerful strip-lights, without any regard to privacy or decency, before being studied in minute humiliating detail and then callously dismembered with cold clinical precision.
It was a sobering thought that this was the fate that awaited so many people with the severing of their mortal coil and for Kate it was one inescapable truth that was the stuff of nightmares.
Yet the job had to be done. It was vital to establish the cause of a death when this was unclear from its initial incidence, otherwise it would be open to anyone to murder a relative or neighbour for revenge, personal gain or any of a number of motives that might prompt a homicide, without the slightest fear of detection. And the process had come a long way since the law to make post mortems mandatory in relevant cases had been passed in the nineteenth century. This had at first resulted in ham-fisted examinations being conducted in barns, sheds and even public houses by untrained, sometimes half-drunk physicians with little equipment and virtually no idea what they were supposed to be looking for. Resource-led sophistication was the order of the day in the twenty-first century, however, and every unnatural or violent death invariably resulted in a clinical investigation so thorough that absolutely nothing was left to chance.
Lydia Summers was already kitted out in her protective overalls and an assistant was standing by with the sophisticated video camera that would record the whole sickening process for the benefit of the coroner and the inevitable inquest, and the pathologist smiled as they walked into the room.
‘So what have we got, Doc?’ Kate said by way of introduction and also to take her mind off the more gruesome side of what was about to take place. ‘We understood this was an accidental drowning?’
Summers nodded. ‘Well, it was certainly a drowning, Sergeant, and I am sure that I will find the lungs marbled, spongy and swollen with fluid when I open her up. If you look at the nostrils and mouth, the traces of white froth you can still see exuding from the apertures is certainly characteristic of a drowning and undoubtedly this will also be present in the trachea and bronchi. But I’m not too sure about the rest of it.’
‘Meaning what?’
Summers sighed, clearly enjoying the suspense she had created. ‘You know, I always think pathology is very much like police detective work. Conan Doyle thought so too; that’s why he created Sherlock Holmes after working with Dr Bell in Edinburgh. You can tell a lot from a corpse; build a complete picture as to what sort of person they were and how they died. It’s all down to observation and conclusions based on the evidence that’s presented before you—’
‘OK, Dr Summers,’ Kate interjected, making no effort to conceal her impatience. ‘Elementary and all that but what have you got for us?’
‘Ah,’ the pathologist replied with an extravagant wink. ‘Now that’s the interesting part. Would you like to approach the bench, as I believe the judge says to lawyers at crown court?’
Kate was at the head of the corpse a fraction of a second before Hayden.
‘See there,’ Summers said, pointing with a gloved hand. Kate saw immediately what she was indicating – some greenish-brown marks at the lower end of the neck, just above the clavicles.
‘Contusions,’ the pathologist explained. ‘Bruising essentially. The marks were noted by one of my attendants when the woman’s clothes were removed.’
‘Why weren’t they spotted when the body was examined at the scene?’
Summers shrugged. ‘Bruises have an individuality all of their own, Sergeant. The time element for bruises to become visible varies from person to person and can also be affected by the environment and ambient temperature.’
‘So, what are your conclusions? That she was violen
tly assaulted?’
Summers shook her head. ‘Not in the way you mean. In my opinion, the marks may have been caused by a heavy relentless pressure, rather than by the kind of compression that occurs in a strangulation. In simple terms, it could be that her head was forced under the water and kept there until she asphyxiated.’
She nodded to a green-robed attendant, who seemed to be telepathic, for, without being told, he grasped the dead woman’s right shoulder and bodily pulled her over on to her side, with her back towards Kate.
‘See?’ the pathologist continued.
Kate peered closer and drew in her breath sharply. The long, irregular green-brown marks were clearly visible across the shoulders, just below the nape of the neck.
‘What do you think?’ Summers queried, like a lecturer to a student at medical school.
Kate pursed her lips for a second, thinking, but it was Hayden who came up with the analysis. ‘She was lying on something which pressed into her back?’ he suggested. ‘Something with an edge to it, like a piece of timber or a kerb?’
The pathologist gave him a thin smile. ‘Very good, DC Lewis. But more likely a step or a river bank landing stage. There are contusions on her buttocks and the backs of her upper thighs too, suggesting contact with other raised surfaces, perhaps gravel or tree roots, plus bruising to her abdomen and hips, probably caused by a heavy weight pressing down on her body—’
‘Maybe another person, is that what you’re saying?’ Hayden interjected again. ‘Perhaps sitting astride her and pressing her against whatever it was she was lying on.’
An admiring glance from the pathologist this time. ‘Bravo again, DC Lewis. The contusions would have been more pronounced had she been naked at the time, of course, but the thick anorak she was wearing cushioned the effects somewhat. And I think she may have struggled, as a result of which her assailant increased the pressure on her, in a determined effort to hold her down.’
Kate shuddered, horrific visions crowding her mind as she thought of what Ellie Landy must have gone through. ‘So we’re talking murder?’ she said.
Summers shook her head. ‘It’s one hypothesis, Sergeant,’ she said, ‘but there are other possibilities and I could be completely wrong. It is not uncommon for corpses floating in a river to collide with debris, boat hulls, landing stages and so forth – hence the marks to her face and head, as dead bodies tend to float face-downwards – and, if you look at her left thigh, you will see the nasty tear, which looks as though it was made by barbed wire, possibly from a submerged fence. Another pathologist might consider that some of the specific marks I have drawn your attention to were also caused in this way. But you would have a job attributing the contusions on the neck and the marks on the back to this type of occurrence. I can only tell you what I see and what, in my professional opinion, could be a feasible scenario. As detectives, it is your job to try and put some meat on the bones, so to speak.’
As the attendant eased the body on to its back once more, Summers reached across to raise the dead woman’s right arm and pull it towards her. ‘There’s one more thing,’ she said. ‘Look at the fingers of her right hand.’
Both Kate and Hayden did so and again Hayden was first in with a comment. ‘Torn finger nails,’ he breathed. ‘A wall or something like it.’
Summers raised both eyebrows. ‘You should be doing my job, DC Lewis,’ she patronized. ‘But you are certainly correct. Several of the nails are coming away from the fingers, which is normal in an immersion like this, but you can still see that they have suffered substantial cuticle damage and there are traces of something beneath them, which I would suggest is a lot more than her own blood. I am convinced that she scraped her hand across a rough surface in the panic of imminent expiration – something rough and unyielding to cause those injuries – and a wall would be a good start.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Kate exclaimed. ‘Roscoe’s gonna love this!’
‘I’ll be arranging for toxicology and other specialist tests, of course,’ Summers went on, ‘so it might be a bit of a wait.’ She smiled benignly. ‘But the wait will be worth it, I’m sure. Now, if we’re done, I have a post mortem to conduct.’
And she reached for the scalpel… .
Kate was right about one thing – Roscoe was not happy with her news.
‘Are you trying to say this could be a murder?’ he snapped. ‘Seem to be a lot of flippin’ assumptions here.’
‘A lot of unnatural bruising too, Guv,’ Kate said. ‘Best to play safe and treat it as suspicious, until we know otherwise.’
‘All right for you to say,’ the DI grumbled. ‘But murder investigations cost a lot of ackers. Mr Ricketts, our ultra-cautious DCI, will need convincing before he’s going to recommend a major crime inquiry. To be honest, we’d look bloody stupid if we set a hare running, only to find the silly bitch ended up in the river because she slipped on some dog shit.’
Kate winced. ‘Your call, Guv,’ she said. ‘I can only relay Doc Summers’ findings.’
He chewed furiously for a few moments, then stared her straight in the eye. ‘So, what do you think?’
She shrugged. ‘Lot of ifs and buts about this one, Guv,’ Kate said. ‘It’s not like a straightforward strangulation or knifing where you’ve got definite evidence, but to my mind, several things don’t add up.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the missing mobile and notebook, for a start – and her car ignition keys too. There was no sign of any of the stuff at her lodgings, although there was a mobile charger there, indicating she did have a phone, so how come they all fell out of her pocket, yet her ID card and wallet didn’t?’
‘She may not have had a notebook with her at all and she could have dropped the mobile when she fell in – just like the plod skipper suggested.’
‘Oh come on, Guv, we’ve already covered that. A journalist without a notebook? It doesn’t compute. And we searched her clothes thoroughly and all we found were a couple of biros. Why would she have biros and no notebook?’
Roscoe lit another cigarette. ‘OK, I’ll admit that at first sight it all seems a bit sus, but I’d need a lot more than we’ve got before I decided to recommend we sent the balloon up. So, as a start, when this arsehole, de Marr, turns up to do the ID in the morning, see what else you can find out from him about his daughter. And don’t be going off at half-cock by treating him – or that fruitcake, Snell, for that matter – as a suspect in some fanciful murder investigation. OK? Also, get hold of that turd at the news agency again, see if he can shed any further light on things. Then report back to me PDQ with what you’ve got. Savvy?’
She nodded, then hesitated before coming out with what she had on her mind. He picked that up and raised an inquisitorial eyebrow. ‘And?’ he said. ‘What else?’
She made a face. ‘You won’t like it.’
‘Try me.’
‘Hayden spotted something in her room.’
His eyes narrowed at mention of her husband’s name. ‘What’s Sherlock come up with this time then?’
‘It was a handwritten note in a paperback book on her bedside cabinet. It said “Sandman 10.30”. Maybe she went to meet someone?’
His frown became a ferocious scowl. ‘Sandman? Isn’t that the fairytale dipstick who was supposed to send people to sleep by chucking sand in their eyes?’
‘Sprinkling magic sand, Guv,’ she corrected. ‘But I wasn’t thinking of fairytales. Could be a real person she was going to meet. That could be the connection we’re looking for.’
‘Yeah,’ he agreed. ‘And I can just see me going to the DCI to say we’ve got a possible murder and we think the key suspect is the bloody Sandman.’
She grinned, remembering an earlier conversation with him. ‘A bit more convincing than the tooth fairy, though, Guv,’ she commented. ‘Wouldn’t you agree?’
‘Just sod off, Lewis!’ he said. ‘Before I forget I’m a bleedin’ gentleman!’
CHAPTER 5
Lawrence de Marr
was dressed in what looked like his best suit when he turned up at the mortuary at eleven in the morning, following Kate’s telephone call, but in a strange way his clothes made him look even more like a skeleton and the dark blue jacket looked at least two sizes too big on him.
‘Thought I’d dress for the occasion,’ he said with a grin and tossed his cigarette into the shrubbery beside the double doors. ‘After all, it isn’t every day you get to see your stepdaughter parked in a fridge, is it?’
Kate threw him a look of undisguised contempt as she led the way into the building, but his perverted humour was undiminished when one of the attendants showed him through to the viewing room and he emitted a throaty chuckle as he stared at Ellie Landy’s waxen face.
‘’Strewth, girl,’ he joked, ‘you don’t look at all well.’
‘Is this your daughter or not?’ Kate snapped, her eyes blazing.
He frowned. ‘Stepdaughter,’ he corrected. ‘But yeah, that’s her. I’d know that smug look anywhere. Been cut up yet, has she?’
He made to lift the corner of the sheet, which covered the body up to the shoulders, but Kate knocked his hand away and he grinned again.
‘Just thought I’d take a look,’ he said in mock protest. ‘See if they stitched her up as well as she did me.’
‘Perhaps you’d come through to the office,’ Kate said coldly. ‘There’s a statement of identification we’d like you to sign.’
He shrugged and moved ahead of her in the direction of the doors she had indicated, lighting another cigarette in the reception area beyond and nodding to the coroner’s officer as he brushed past him into a small side room.
‘Do you know where Miss Landy’s mother is now?’ Kate queried as he signed the statement form and straightened up.
He nodded and this time there was no humour in his expression, just a bleak far-away look. ‘Last I heard, she was in Rio,’ he said, ‘her and her new hunk. That was when I was in stir. Could be anywhere now.’
