by Carole Pitt
Daly sensed what was coming. 'And what did the old bastard say next?’
'He made me wait outside his office while he phoned the Chief. When he called me back in, he said retirement was too good for me so he was sacking me for incompetence, making false expense claims and other shit. I had to clear out my desk immediately. He went on to promise that if I didn't cause any trouble he'd issue a statement saying I had retired due to ill health, which is exactly what happened. I had no way out. The bastards knew I was a threat.'
'How come no bugger leaked the truth?' Daly asked.
'That's as bigger bloody mystery as the Walker's vanishing into thin air. Let's go back and I'll start answering your questions.'
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Wednesday evening 19th March
Dr Virginia Dalman was a slight figure and at first glance, Elizabeth put her in her mid-sixties, then she realised it was her white hair that made her appear older. Up close, she had a fine Nordic bone structure and the palest blue eyes Elizabeth had ever seen. She stared at her without introducing herself provoking an unusual response from Dalman. 'I refuse to dye my hair even if it adds fifteen years. If that’s what you’re thinking.’
'I apologise, I was rude,' Elizabeth said.
Dalman smiled. 'Thank you for coming, but I'm sure you're wondering why I asked to see you.'
'I guess you have accepted the assignment, which means we will be working together.'
'That's correct. Dr Grayson has suggested I use the new laboratory. I understand it was only recently finished.'
'The morgue refurbishment began a few years ago and the new laboratory is the final phase. An anonymous donor left a hefty sum in their will.'
'What a strange bequest,' Dalman said.
'Not really, it wasn't unconditional. The deceased person wished to be frozen and brought back when the technology becomes available.'
'Has this person's wishes been implemented?'
'No one really knows. The rumour is the builders extended the basement to house the subzero coffin.'
'Have you seen the new wing?' Dalman asked.
Elizabeth wasn't going to admit to her morgue phobia. 'I haven't been there in a while.'
'Follow me then, Elizabeth. Is it okay to use your first name?'
'I've no objection as long as I don't have to call you Dr Dalman.
Dalman picked up a walking stick and her progress to the new laboratory was slow. Noticing how the older woman leaned to her right Elizabeth assumed she had a hip problem. That might be me in a few years, she thought. If, as she suspected her own problem was arthritis. As a distraction from her thoughts, she admired the new wing; it was even more impressive than the previous renovations. Daly had attended the official opening at the beginning of March but hadn't commented much. His interests didn't extend to laboratories and pathology suites.'
'Are you familiar with the reconstruction procedure?' Dalman asked.
Elizabeth shook her head. 'Only what I've read in forensic manuals which are probably out of date by now.’
They reached the double doors leading to the lab. Elizabeth held them open for Dalman. Once inside Dalman lowered herself onto a chair. 'Forensic science has made enormous progress, sometimes it's difficult to keep pace. Computer software has improved, which helps reduce the time it takes to complete the reconstruction. However, making a clay model of the skull is essential before attempting to recreate the face. Measurements are crucial, the size of the eye sockets, shape and angle of the nose, width of the mouth, depth and height of cheekbones. This science is not without critics, the main one is that it's purely guesswork but the results prove the contrary, many victims regain their identity. Of course, each case differs, there’s always a chance the victim's face may never be recognised. We rely heavily on the public to come forward, especially for cold cases.'
'What's the next step after the skull?
'We concentrate on the features, which are painstakingly modelled to create character. The face must represent a living person, not a deceased one. Some family members who recognise their relative from the reconstruction are amazed at the likeness. Another method is to pinpoint particular tell tale areas of the skull and map them into a computer; once this is done the computer can then carry out a detailed search of the missing persons databases in the hope those images will correspond with a name. Look at it this way Elizabeth, it isn't an exact science but what is important is that facial reconstruction helps jog memories.'
Elizabeth reluctantly admired Virginia Dalman. Her dedication to the science paled into insignificance compared to her other work as a forensic anthropologist. Before leaving the house she'd read about her career and some of the hostile areas she had worked in.
Dalman turned her computer around to show Elizabeth the images. She studied them, surprised she was actually interested and not feeling any urgency to get away.
'I can't establish victim number one's exact age until the rest of the bones are analysed. But first we have to remove the remaining flesh.'
Elizabeth shuddered at the prospect. She wondered if they still boiled them. 'I assumed you only dealt with skulls.'
'I'm primarily a forensic anthropologist. I deal with all bones.'
Elizabeth stretched to ease the discomfort in her shoulders. 'You're English is excellent. Did you learn at school?'
'Yes, I learnt as a child. My parents were both academics and travelled extensively so it was easy to learn languages. Then I married an Englishman and lived here but we divorced after eight years and I returned to Sweden.
Elizabeth sensed Dalman's underlying toughness. To have survived working in war torn countries then gone on to travel the world as an expert witness had to be arduous. 'I believe you and Dr Grayson have known each other for a while.'
'We've met up occasionally over the years.'
Elizabeth wanted to ask her more about their relationship but a look in Dalman's eyes stopped her. Instead, she remained silent while Dalman concentrated on repositioning her computer.
'I hear you have another victim. Just before you arrived, Dr Grayson sent me a message. He's extremely concerned about the poor condition of this second body. For me this is unexpected and changes everything. We all have a lot of work to do.'
Elizabeth heard the slightly patronising tone and felt the woman was flexing her superiority. 'He seemed to manage with the first victim. Did he tell you that the DNA tests threw up questions about her ethnicity? Surely that would make her more distinctive.'
'Perhaps, those percentages might give her a specific look, but we shall see.'
Elizabeth tried to regain her position. 'Could it make her easier to recognise for anyone searching?’
Dalman looked up. 'As I said earlier, this is my challenge.'
'Will you do the same for the second victim?'
'It will depend on whether you discover a connection between them. I'm not a detective, other than finding clues as to what a person looks like.'
'There has to be a connection,' Elizabeth said, 'or it's a copycat killing which I find unlikely as there hasn’t been any detailed press coverage about the first victim.'
'I realise I'm stating the obvious but if any matching DNA is found then you are looking for someone who could be very dangerous.'
Elizabeth knew it wasn't Dalman's place to suggest potential suspects. She was under contract to conduct a specialist procedure, not to pry into every detail of the investigation. She wished she'd kept her mouth shut about a link between the crimes. Dalman was a scientist whose first priority would be to protect her illustrious reputation and future. Elizabeth wondered why in the space of a few minutes she'd changed her opinion of this woman. It didn't take long for her to find out. Dalman herself provided the answer.
'DCS Daly mentioned to me an old case he was interested in, a family of five who disappeared in the eighties. Is he reopening it?'
Elizabeth’s heart flipped, so he'd discuss it with a stranger but not her. She kept her answer d
eliberately vague. 'If they didn't find anything all those years ago what would you expect them to find now?'
Dalman studied a piece of paper. 'I'm not saying they will, but I suggested that while I was here and bearing in mind my profession I could produce detailed information of any bone fragments, that is if they reopen the case and find remains. Who knows, they may have missed vital evidence back then.'
Now it seemed, not content with her remit, she was also interested in the cold case. Elizabeth chose her words carefully rather than tell Dalman not to interfere in police business.
'DCS Daly has not given any indication he'll reopen the case. Whatever he told you is purely from his personal interest in it. Career police officers never forget an unsolved case, especially one as complex. It eats away at them.'
Dalman appeared bemused. 'Well Inspector, that is contrary to what I have heard. One of the reasons I accepted this assignment was Joe Grayson's assurance I would be required to help with another case, a cold case.’
Elizabeth wondered what was going on. First Daly going off and now this woman telling her what was going to happen. ‘Should Daly decide to reopen this cold case, I'm sure he will inform you.'
The atmosphere in the lab had definitely cooled and Elizabeth began to feel uncomfortable, both physically and mentally. She made a point of checking her watch. 'I've got to go. Thank you for explaining how you intend to proceed. I'll look in on you from time to time to check on your progress.'
Dalman stood up. 'Thank you for coming Elizabeth.'
Elizabeth nodded; she didn't trust herself to speak in case she sounded hostile.
'When Daly is back I shall ask to look over the case files. I'm hoping I can be of some help, and as you know I have worked on hundreds of historic investigations.'
'Won't that add to an already big workload?' Elizabeth asked.
'Not at all, I'm a bad sleeper, so I can take it home for my bedtime reading.'
'I would have thought in your job you'd want to switch off now and then.'
Elizabeth limped to the door and Dalman called her before she opened it. 'Have you hurt your leg?’ She asked.
Disclosing her recent medical history was out of the question. 'I'm suffering from a few aches, nothing more.'
Dalman hurried over and grasped Elizabeth's hand. Her immediate reaction was to wrench it away but the woman's grip tightened around her wrist then ran her other hand across Elizabeth's fingers. 'Your joints are inflamed,' Dalman stated.
'Please let go of my hand, I'm not your patient.'
Dalman obeyed. 'I apologise. I only wanted to help.'
'I'm grateful for your concern, but I'm already late for an appointment.'
Dalman wasn't ready to give up. 'This might well be rheumatoid arthritis, which is often a lifelong condition.'
'I'm sure my GP is the best person to tell me what's wrong.'
'He'll tell you it's an autoimmune response,' Dalman said. 'I would advise you to take some leave as the medication can cause severe side effects.'
Elizabeth wanted to counter her claims but wasn't prepared to argue with this eminent scientist, she walked away without saying a word. Instead of going straight to her car, she headed for the hospital's ground floor cafe and ordered a coffee. She found a vacant table, sat down and pondered on Dalman's behaviour. It was weird. She knew it wasn't uncommon for scientists to display odd traits but Elizabeth had felt threatened by her on the spot diagnosis. Was that deliberate intimidation? What had freaked her out was the reference to autoimmune diseases. While the nurse at casualty did her blood samples, she too had mentioned the word autoimmune.
She drank the coffee quickly and was glad to get in the Saab. Fatigue had set in again. She sat for a while hoping it would pass. She thought about Dalman's request to study the Walker case files and her eagerness to help. Perhaps she was hell bent on becoming even more famous and saw a better opportunity liaising with Gloucestershire Constabulary rather than a major city force.
She started the engine and when she tried to depress the clutch, her ankle throbbed. After three attempts, frustration and discomfort forced her to admit defeat. Elizabeth retrieved her phone and didn't hesitate. By the time he answered, she was close to tears.
'Dean, I'm in the morgue car park at the back of the hospital and I need you to come and get me.'
CHAPTER TWENTY
Thursday 20th March
Dean had stayed overnight. Elizabeth came downstairs to find he'd tidied up and fed Bagpuss. His company and reassurance had made her feel much better even though she’d found telling him about her illness difficult. From first meeting him, she'd admired his ability to approach problems head-on. Straight away he'd suggested moving in so she wasn't on her own at night, that way, he'd said, he could take over the household tasks so she could rest. Elizabeth was unsure whether to agree, not because she didn't appreciate his offer, only that she'd get used to having someone around after years of living on her own and would feel bereft when he moved out.
Dean had responded half jokingly. 'If you find it tough after I've gone we could always make it permanent.'
Rather than discuss any long-term commitment she'd quickly changed the subject and told him about the Dalman incident, to which he'd advised her to report what had happened to Daly, rather than let Dalman get her version of events in first.
‘I can’t. Everyone will say I’m a wimp,’ Elizabeth had told him.
After he'd gone, she checked her phone to find a text from Daly ordering her to collect him from Cheltenham station. Considering he had any number of people to call on she thought he had a nerve, unless he had an ulterior motive like wanting to talk to her in private. He was on the nine-fifteen train from Durham, due in just after one o' clock.
It was pointless going to Cordover Street so she opted to stay home and work while she waited for Daly's train. The business about Dalman and the Walker case files kept bugging her. Some of her past confrontations with Daly were legendary, now she wasn't so keen to alienate him. Reopening a cold case alongside a current investigation could be fraught with difficulties unless new information surfaced. Normally a specialist team would take on such a case, precluding anyone involved with the original investigation. Whatever his reasons for the sudden interest she needed to steer him away from the idea. They had enough to cope with.
As a distraction, she spent the next couple of hours prioritising the information from the two current crime scenes. As she switched off her computer, her mind felt sharper than it had for a few days. Some of the missing travellers had gone back to Roxbury farm, which meant they could interview them. She set off for the station in good time, hoping Daly would give her a truthful account of his trip north.
Other than a few words of greeting, he remained quiet on the drive to HQ. Once inside the building she followed him to the bright spacious canteen, another improvement over their last premises and while he decided where to sit, she collected tea and cakes.
Elizabeth could see he was tired and obviously starving. 'So no one fed you up north?'
'I had a meal last night, nothing since,' he said eying up the last cake. 'Do you want it?
'Go ahead,' she sighed.
Daly wiped his mouth with a serviette and finished off his tea. 'That's better, my brain felt more starved than my stomach.'
Elizabeth watched the tables fill up. 'Can we go to your office?'
Daly scanned the room. 'What have you been saying about me? I'm getting a few odd looks.'
'I'm the paranoid one, not you. They're probably admiring your suit, which I have to say is very smart.'
Elizabeth closed Daly's office door and dragged the old Lloyd Loom chair nearer to the desk. For years it had been falling apart, slivers of bamboo had stabbed at anyone with the misfortune to sit in it. When DI Yeats had taken over the chair had disappeared and everyone assumed he'd thrown it out. Daly eventually confessed he’d secretly sent someone to rescue it from a storeroom. The old chair had undergone a major makeover
complete with a new comfortable cushion upholstered in brown faux suede. Elizabeth had hated the damn thing but now found it marginally more comfortable. She sat back, kicked of her shoes and rested her feet on the cold floor.
Daly opened his briefcase and rearranged its contents. Elizabeth knew he was stalling, waiting for her to pounce.
'Where exactly have you been?' she asked.
He slammed the briefcase shut and stood up. 'Sunderland, not somewhere you're familiar with. Anyway, to cut to the chase, as the yanks say, Dr Dalman called me while I was on the train. She said you were extremely aggressive towards her.'
Elizabeth cursed for not taking Dean's advice about Dalman. If she'd contacted Daly the minute she'd left the morgue, she could have pre-empted her story. Now Daly had her on the defensive. 'What is it with you and older women? Are you after a replacement for Anita Fleming?’
One glance at Daly and Elizabeth immediately regretted her words. She'd expected him to be angry, not have a hangdog expression. 'Sorry Sir, that comment was out of order but Dalman practically assaulted me yesterday and I hoped to tell you about her behaviour before she twisted the events to suit her. Before you shout me down, I've a few questions. Why did you discuss the Walker case with her, agree for her to identify skeletal remains should new searches be authorised?'
'I need another cuppa. Do you want one?’ Daly said.
'Stop stalling again. We have two unidentified victims. Dalman's remit is to reconstruct faces, not influence the investigation team. I don't know what you were thinking of and yes I'll have a coffee.'
