Misery Shallows (DI Elizabeth Jewell Book 4)

by Carole Pitt

  Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood for Daly’s impatience. ‘First of all you sod off up north, then today you do another vanishing act and nobody has any idea what you’re up to because we’re kept in the dark. Then you bellyache because things aren’t progressing at the speed of light.’

  Daly looked sheepish. ‘I can’t divulge everything I’m doing Liz.’

  'You mean you won't.'

  'I can't prove anything yet, so what's the point in telling you.'

  'Because that’s what you’re supposed to do.’

  'Arguing won’t help matters. None of us needs more stress.’

  Elizabeth knew if she was to function at all tomorrow, she needed an early night. She was about to say so but her phone buzzed. It was Patterson. She passed it to Daly. ‘You can give Patterson instructions and tell him to make sure Gardiner stays with Mrs Fowler overnight.’

  Daly wandered over to the window while he talked for a few minutes. He ended the call and handed over her phone. ‘I’ll talk to you later,’ he said.

  Elizabeth noticed her wrist had swollen slightly and her patience had finally run out. ‘I’ve had enough for one day. I'm going home.'

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Virginia Dalman felt tired and she still had to finish typing her progress notes, essential for the case history. She leaned back in the chair, stretched her neck muscles for a few minutes before checking for any mistakes.

  Facial Reconstruction for Victim number 1.

  A thorough examination of the skull is now completed. This examination focused on the identification of any bony pathology or unusual landmarks including ruggedness of muscle, lower jaw profile, the symmetry of the nasal bones and dentition, also wear of the biting surfaces. All of these features have an effect on the appearance of an individual's face.

  Once the examination was completed, I cleaned the skull thoroughly and any damaged or fragmented areas I repaired with wax. I reattached the lower jaw, again with wax, according to the alignment of teeth. I filled the nasal openings with modelling clay and inserted prosthetic eyes into the orbits centred between the superior and inferior orbital rims. At this point, I prepared a plaster cast of the skull. When the cast has set, I can begin attaching markers to twenty-one specific landmark areas that correspond to the reference data.

  Then the facial and neck muscles will be layered on to the cast. I will reconstruct the nose and lips before forming any other muscles. The lips are approximately as wide as the distance between eye pupils. However, this distance varies significantly with age, sex, race, and the relation between the upper and lower teeth. The nose is one of the most difficult facial features to reconstruct. I will use a calculation of three times the length of the nose spine plus the depth of the tissue marker. Next, the pitch of the nose is determined by examining whether this spine is down, flat, or up. I will place a block of clay the correct length on the nasal spine. Then fill the remaining nasal tissue using the markers to estimate the bridge of the nose. After the main part of the nose is constructed, I will create small egg-shaped balls of clay, five millimetres in diameter at the widest point. I will position these on the sides of the nose corresponding with the previous mark. I will blend these carefully to the nose to ensure the nose structure is rounded and shaped appropriately.

  Next, I will add the muscles for facial expression and the soft tissue around the eyes. I will need additional measurements characteristic to race. Next, I will add the ears. To flesh out the face is I will use more clay until the tissue thickness markers are covered. Then add specific characterisation such as hair, skin wrinkles, noted racial traits, glasses, etc.

  A noise in the corridor disturbed her. She stepped outside the lab and heard Grayson's voice. A young female technician had dropped a small piece of equipment. He helped her to rescue it then put his ear back to his mobile.

  Dalman leaned against the wall, waiting for him to notice her. She waited until he'd finished his conversation then moved closer. Dalman knew Grayson would want to speak to her. Her sex appeal may have faded but she could still rely on her legendary status.

  'You look extremely smart,' she said, hoping he'd say where he was going.

  'I'm doing an after dinner speech, if I ever manage to get there. A traveller from Roxbury Farm died of a stab wound and I had to attend.’

  'So you're not doing the autopsy?’ Dalman asked.

  'Jessica Oakley is.’

  'I don't think I've met her,' Dalman said.

  'Works mainly in the Gloucester area, is extremely reliable, in case you’re wondering. She's helped out temporarily during the last eighteen months but is earmarked to take over permanently if I decide to stay in the US.'

  Dalman had considered moving to the US several times over the past decade. 'Will you?’

  'I'm considering it because of the opportunities there. I've also made some excellent alliances.'

  Dalman wondered if that included a woman. If so, trying to seduce him would be pointless. She wasn't shocked to hear there was now a third victim. In her field, three deaths seemed insignificant compared to genocide, hundreds of corpses to process, often in diabolical conditions.

  'So we may have a serial killer on the loose,' she stated.

  'I don’t think this stabbing is linked to the previous two. From the angle of the wounds, it’s possible this was an argument that turned nasty. Some of these traveller types are volatile and carry knives. I've seen what happens when two men fight over a woman. The eviction hasn’t helped to calm the hot tempers.’

  'I was hoping to catch you, I've made progress, albeit slowly. As you know, there was very little soft tissue left on the face but sufficient to approximate the thickness. Estimating tissue thickness is one the hardest aspects of reconstruction. It's also a shame she wasn't wearing any jewellery, add that to the mix and you'd be surprised how much it helps. People close to victims often recognise jewellery before the actual features.'

  'Can I drop by on Monday? I haven't really got time right now.'

  'Two minutes. You're the one who persuaded me to do this. Surely you need proof I'm working hard,' she gave him her full smile. If she'd been a few years younger, she'd have offered a lot more.

  Grayson was too polite to say no. Dalman was curious as to who he might be taking to the dinner, her interest in him had increased after he'd suggested she take on the reconstruction. Solitude was her preferred state, but an occasional date cut through the boredom and she still liked male company.

  Dalman checked that the skull had firmly anchored to its plinth. She noted Grayson's reaction as he scrutinised her work. He moved closer and spun the turntable. 'How do you keep the clay so supple?'

  'Make sure it’s the correct consistency, any slight deviation and you have to strip it back and start again. At this stage, I work to the markers. I don't want to waste the department's money.'

  Grayson stood back. 'Solving crimes is an expensive business. The public shouldn't believe everything the media print. They're fond of the word squander because it looks and sounds good in a headline. Think about the cost of the forensic staff currently on route to Roxbury Farm, it all adds up.'

  Dalman put down the callipers. 'Shouldn't the DNA samples have been done before now?'

  'Daly's been conspicuously absent lately. He's certainly not running the department the way he should. He's a law unto himself and God help anybody who criticises.'

  'Quite a fascinating character though.' Dalman added picking up a spatula and moving it across the cheekbone in a caressing motion.

  'How long will this take Virginia?’

  'I can’t hurry Joe. This has to be right. You approached me. I cancelled another job to come here. If you want the best, be prepared to wait.’

  'Of course, Virginia,' he said and smiled. 'I'll catch up with you later.'

  She was about to suggest he came to dinner sometime but holding him up further was not an option. Once the skull had really progressed, she'd ask him then. After he left, she made co
ffee and sat down. She found police work fascinating and the temptation to watch their methodology was strong. She sensed Daly resented her presence and as for DI Elizabeth Jewell, Dalman knew, for an absolute certainty, that the police officer disliked her intensely.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Desperate to sleep but too wired Elizabeth tried watching television but gave up. She picked up her book but even that didn't hold her attention. She wanted to ring Daly and apologise for her attitude but more importantly, she hoped to persuade him to confide in her. Since his trip up north, he'd shown classic signs of stress, which was unusual. Yes, he had a short fuse at times and liked to throw his weight around, which he was entitled to do in his position, but this was different.

  The current situation was bad enough without either of them making matters worse by further confrontation. She wasn't prepared to sit back and watch everyone flounder under the pressure. All this secrecy had to end; it was uncharacteristic of him not to share thoughts and ideas. Detective work meant teamwork, one thing Daly had always made clear, so why was he going against his own rules?

  Elizabeth climbed back upstairs determined to sleep, tomorrow would be fraught with difficulties if she didn’t. The packet containing the sleeping pills lay unopened in the drawer; she lifted it out, removed the leaflet, put on her glasses and started to read the small print. She popped one out of its protective bubble and was about to swallow it when she heard Bagpuss nudge the door open. She turned around and because she had her glasses on, she had a clear view of the object in his mouth.

  'Oh great, you've brought back a defenceless little field mouse. This is the fourth corpse in a week,’ she told the cat. ‘Do you understand what this means, statistically you're turning into a serial killer. I suppose I should be grateful you don't eat them.'

  She grabbed hold of his collar and tried to remove the mouse but Bagpuss resolutely hung on. After she prised open his mouth, he finally dropped it. 'You're a bad cat,' she shouted and shooed him downstairs. Each time she had to scoop up the bodies her emotional response surprised her. She felt sad as she wrapped the creature in newspaper, locked the cat in the kitchen and carried it outside to the wheelie bin. When she started up the stairs, he was behind. 'What's the point of me taking a sleeping pill if you've decided to have a night in wandering about the house?' She wanted to put him out, punish him, but cats killed and always got away with it.

  He meowed, jumped on the ottoman and watched while she placed the sleeping pill back in the packet. She retrieved her book, got under the duvet and studied the cover. It was rare for her to read a romantic book, normally she preferred thrillers or spy novels. This one was a birthday gift from a friend, set in New Zealand on a horse farm. Half an hour later, immersed in the story, the phone rang.

  Jessica Oakley said 'What happened to your early night?'

  'I was rudely interrupted by a psychopath with a dead body between its jaws.'

  'You're kidding me.'

  'It’s my homicidal cat. I wasn't expecting to hear from you this late.'

  'A couple of concerns arising from the PM. Moore had eaten not long before he died and the gastric contents showed undigested pills and a suspect liquid. I'll send the samples off in the morning. I've found a new tox lab, they promise a quicker turnaround.’

  Elizabeth mulled over possibilities. 'Anyas Lacroix told me he took meds for his condition. From what I saw and heard, it’s possible he had bi-polar disorder or even schizophrenia. What about this liquid?'

  'It normally takes at least a couple of hours for food to pass from the stomach to the small intestine so undigested contents in the stomach implies death shortly after eating. The other substances may not have been so apparent otherwise. The liquid, not sure, possibly a heroin substitute, methadone maybe, combined with the other meds might be the reason he couldn't overcome his attacker.’

  'Could someone have forced him to take it?’ Elizabeth asked.

  'No evidence of any struggle, no damage to the tongue or mouth.’ Jessica said.

  ‘Do you think the killer sedated him?’

  'That takes time to work, so I doubt it. I’d say Moore was taking drugs anyway.’ Jessica said.

  ‘I got the impression he was.’ Elizabeth said. ‘I also believe he was scared, maybe that’s why he was using.’

  'Sounds a good theory to me,’ Jessica replied.

  ‘Let’s stick to it unless you come up with any other ideas. Those small cuts on two of his fingers, are they defence wounds?'

  'Even though they are small, I’d say yes, which adds weight to the theory he was off his head and vulnerable. At least he tried to defend himself. Even a habitual user can still function under the influence. I’ll let Daly know the situation. Stomach contents and blood work need analysing. Once we know what the drugs are, we can decide whether Moore took them voluntarily. I've got a go over to Gloucester in the morning, so I'll phone you mid-afternoon.'

  'Thanks Jess, you've given me plenty to mull over. I nearly forgot, we made a half-hearted promise to go out for drink.'

  'Wait until you feel better. I know it's easy for me to say, but take it easy if you want to carry on working full time.'

  'The way things are going I'm not optimistic with any of these murders. Even though I'm not keen on the Dalman woman, she's our only hope. This facial reconstruction has to provide some answers or we're doomed.’ Elizabeth said.

  'She's supposed to be one of the best in her field. If that's true, you’ll get a hit. Better go now, speak to you tomorrow.'

  Elizabeth placed the phone in the cradle and got back into bed. She tried to give the book her undivided attention but the words swam before her eyes. There was no point in lying in the dark hoping to sleep and after Jessica's revelation about Moore's stomach contents she'd gone off the idea of swallowing a sleeping pill. Instead, and against all her promises not to, she opted for red wine. Bagpuss was standing by his empty bowl giving her the eye.

  'You've had your supper,' Elizabeth told him before she opened a bottle of Merlot.

  Undeterred, he padded around her legs. The clock said it was only ten-thirty but to her it felt more like three in the morning. Bagpuss gave up weaving a figure of eight and tried a loud meow.

  'You win,' she said and filled the bowl.

  While he gobbled the cordon bleu cat food, she sipped the wine and tried to organise her thoughts. Her first priority was to tackle Daly. The second relied on diplomacy, regardless of how she disliked Virginia Dalman. She backtracked and tried to pinpoint the reason she disliked her. She knew very little about her so why the negative vibes? There was one way to find out, drop in unannounced. Lillian Fowler was another woman who raised her alarm bells. She switched on the computer, brought up her notes and wrote up Jessica’s observations.

  By the time she’d finished the wine had worked. She let Bagpuss out, stared briefly at the full moon then headed back to bed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Sunday 23rd March 7-15

  Katie Gardiner had slept badly at Roxbury Farm. She'd awoken several times during the night disturbed by an impromptu vigil for Jez Moore. She'd understood their need to mourn but wished they hadn't congregated so close to the farmhouse. It reminded her of a night in the Greenfields at the Glastonbury Festival, listening to the drums and chants to herald in the summer solstice.

  DI Jewell had left her to keep an eye on Lillian Fowler, who after sleeping off her first hangover had continued drinking. Considering what had happened Katie felt sympathetic towards her. The poor woman was unable to face up to the catastrophe that was her life. Her husband had abandoned her for another woman, the eviction stalled and a violent murder on her property. She'd tried to persuade her to go upstairs to bed but in the end had left her propped up on the sofa, snoring. By then the temptation to pour herself a drink from the well stocked bar was strong. Now, feeling washed out and fatigued she wished she had.

  She'd lain awake, getting up on the hour to check Mrs Fowler and visit the t
oilet. Samson, a true guard dog hadn't moved away from his mistress. He'd accepted her presence albeit reluctantly and hadn't barked at her once, as though he knew exactly why she was there. The noise from the traveller's site didn't alarm him either, but then he didn't know any different.

  She'd had no choice but to sleep in the room directly opposite the paddock. When she’d tried the other three bedrooms she’d found them locked. All along the perimeter fence, the traveller's had erected burning torches that had cast distorted shadows across the walls. Katie had turned onto her left side and closed her eyes to block out the weird imagery. It was dawn before she fell asleep, by then there were fewer people and the chanting had come to an abrupt end. When she woke, it took a while to get her bearings. The farmhouse, built in the late seventeen hundreds was a maze of narrow corridors leading to dark recesses.

  She dressed quickly and carefully opened the sitting room door so as not to alarm Samson. He looked up as she entered but didn't move his position. Lillian was still asleep and rather than wake her up, Katie headed for the kitchen and breakfast. It was only seven fifteen, too early to expect someone to take over. DI Jewell should have organised a uniformed officer rather than waste her time. Tomorrow was her day off and she had a deadline to complete her paper work.

  Samson walked passed her and stood by the French windows. Katie unlocked them and within seconds, he'd disappeared into a mature hedge at the far end of the garden. She stepped down on to a stone patio complete with expensive outdoor furniture. This part of the garden appeared completely private unlike the area below the bedroom that she'd slept in. Katie looked up at the three first floor windows and tried to get her bearings. Two of them must belong to the rooms she couldn't access. Perhaps they contained Calvin Fowler’s belongings until he moved them to London. Katie knew it wasn't up to her to snoop. If DI Jewell had any suspicions about the Fowlers, she would have asked her to, and she hadn't. She'd left her coffee inside and decided to sit out on the patio until Samson returned.