Rules of the Earth: A dark gripping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 1)

by Wendy Cartmell

  DC Ciaran Douglas, quite trendy in his slim trousers and knitted ties, which mostly never matched his shirt, was a police graduate on a fast track career path. Aged in his mid-twenties, he looked younger than that, at least to Crane and Anderson. Bringing to the party the new policing methods and being fresh out of Hendon, Douglas now needed on the job experience.

  Crane had to acknowledge that he and Anderson were dinosaurs by comparison to the two bright young things, but as a team, the four complimented each other. Age and experience versus the brave new world and technologically savvy younger members.

  By the time Douglas came in balancing a tray with four mugs on it, Anderson indicated to Crane that he should start the briefing.

  Dressed in his usual work uniform of black suit and white shirt and leaning on his stick, courtesy of the injury that had invalided him out of the British Army, he began, “Well, Major Martin, our friendly local medical examiner, is definitely floating the idea of asphyxiophilia being the main contributor to Sally Sawyer’s death.”

  “Not the cause?” Douglas frowned.

  “No, death was due to a massive heart attack. As her heart was completely healthy and she had no other underlying medical problems, he feels that the evidence he found showing starvation of oxygen to her brain, caused by pressure being put on her carotid arteries, led to a heart attack. There were faint bruises on her neck from thumbs and indication that the scarf we found wound around her neck, had been pulled tight. He thinks the silk scarf was used to ensure maximum potency and least bruising.”

  “Was it consensual?”

  “Probably, as there was no other bruising found, nor injuries. There was minimal bruising from the restraints. If she’d been tied up against her will, the Major says there were would more in the way of abrasions.”

  “Jesus,” muttered Holly, chewing one end of her platted hair.

  Crane indicated the photographs he’d put up on the white board of Sally lying dead on her bed.

  “As we saw from the crime scene, the bed linen had been removed and was found in the washing machine. There was an overall smell of bleach in the flat and the Major has confirmed that her body was washed down with the stuff. Presumably that was all done by the perpetrator. Sally’s flat mate, Donna, didn’t do it and the smell of bleach was particularly strong when she arrived back home yesterday and found her friend’s body.”

  “And there’s no forensic evidence on her at all?” asked Douglas.

  “No, none. Not after all that bleach.”

  “No semen?”

  “No, Ciaran, only faint traces of a lubricant commonly used on condoms.”

  “He really made sure there was nothing of himself left in the flat,” said Anderson. “Right down to dousing the scarves he’d used in a solution of bleach as well.”

  “Or her, sir,” said Holly and they all turned and gaped at her. “Our killer could equally be a woman. It’s not just blokes that enjoy BDSM, you know,” she said.

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Crane, a slight flush creeping up his face.

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