Death Bed

by Leigh Russell

  Geraldine looked down at the dead girl lying flat on her back on a black plastic sheet, a bin bag that had been split open, before turning to a scene of crime officer.

  ‘Any idea who she is?’

  The scene of crime officer shook his head.

  ‘No, ma’am.’

  ‘She was fully clothed?’

  Geraldine nodded towards the body which was half hidden by a pathologist kneeling beside it on a folded blanket. She moved to one side to gain a clearer view. The pathologist had cut the victim’s clothes open to expose her flesh. In the bright lights the dead girl’s lower abdomen had a faint green tinge, blood stained fluid had leaked from her nose and mouth and her tongue and eyes were protruding slightly. Her feet were bare, narrow and bloody, with bright red weals encircling her ankles. Geraldine could see one of her wrists, similarly scored. The stench was foul.

  ‘If she was fully clothed, wasn’t there anything in her pockets to indicate her identity?’

  ‘No ma’am, there was nothing at all in her pockets. No ID, no purse, no phone, nothing.’

  ‘What about her prints?’

  ‘We’re sending off everything we can, DNA, prints, whatever we can find.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope they come up with something before the meeting tomorrow,’ Geraldine said. ‘Can you tell how she got here?’

  ‘The bag must have been carried most of the way, but it was dragged along for the last few feet, from that direction.’

  He pointed to the Tufnell Park Road end of the alley.

  Geraldine stepped over to the pathologist, a grey-haired man absorbed in his work.

  ‘What was the cause of death?’

  ‘I’m nearly done,’ he replied without turning round.

  He clearly wasn’t prepared to talk them through it so they had to wait while he completed his preliminary examination. Controlling her impatience, Geraldine gazed around. Strong weeds sprouted through cracks in the uneven path which was littered with cigarette butts and lager cans.

  ‘Nice place to end up,’ Sam said under her breath.

  The pathologist stood up at last and leaned forward, rubbing his knees.

  ‘I’m Gerald Mann,’ he said, turning to Geraldine.

  He had sharp eyes, crinkly with laughter lines which his solemn expression couldn’t conceal.

  ‘DI Geraldine Steel. So, what can you tell us?’

  ‘We have a black female in her late teens or early twenties. I won’t commit myself to the cause of death right here and now, but the victim was badly beaten about the head before she died, subjected to a sustained and severe beating over a matter of days or possibly weeks. She’s been dead for at least two days, probably longer. There’s no question we’re looking at an unlawful killing. As to whether it was deliberate or not, well, that’s for you to determine, but it might be significant that she’s recently lost a finger.’

  He took a step back from the body and Geraldine saw that the dead woman’s right index finger was missing.

  ‘What happened?’

  The pathologist shook his head.

  ‘I’m not sure yet. But she was shackled - ’

  He pointed to deep weals on the dead woman’s wrists.

  ‘I can’t say the exact cause of death yet, but my gut feeling, in view of the obvious evidence, is that we’re looking at the victim of a particularly brutal murder.’

  ‘Aren’t they all?’ Sam grimaced. ‘They always say that,’ she added, turning to Geraldine who was surprised to hear the sergeant sounding churlish.

  ‘And you came here hoping to see a murder victim who’s been well-treated?’ the pathologist retorted.

  ‘Wait, are you saying whoever killed her cut her finger off while she was still alive?’ Geraldine asked, keen to defuse the tension between her colleagues and focus their attention on the body.

  ‘You’ll have my preliminary findings first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Thank you. We’d appreciate a full post-mortem report by midday tomorrow. There’s a briefing after lunch, and the more information we can gather together by then, the better.’

  The pathologist was already packing his bag.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  The body was carried swiftly along the alley to the waiting mortuary van. Within minutes it had driven off and the scene of crime officers followed, until only one was left, along with a uniformed officer posted outside standing guard in the rain.

  ‘Four o’clock. Time for banana cake?’ Sam asked hopefully. Back in the fresh air she seemed to have recovered her good spirits.

  Geraldine shook her head.

  ‘Before we go anywhere we need to interview the man who found the body, and then we’re going to speak to a few of the neighbours, find out if anyone saw or heard anything suspicious. But I want to stay out here for a few minutes first.’

  ‘What for?’

  Geraldine shook her head again.

  ‘I don’t know exactly. I just want to get the feel of the scene. Remember everything.’

  ‘We’ve got lots of photos.’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘I know, but – it’s nearly tea time.’

  ‘We’re not leaving until we’ve finished,’ Geraldine repeated firmly.

  ‘Do you know how many unsolved murders we have in London? We always sort them in the end. It won’t be a problem.’

  Geraldine stood, immobile, gazing at the scene.

  ‘It’s so hard to picture it. It’s night. A car draws up in Tufnell Park Road just at the end of the alley. SOCOs confirmed that the bag was dragged into position from that end.’

  ‘The alley’s quite near the main road,’ Sam pointed out.

  ‘But did the killer come here deliberately because he knew about the alley?’

  ‘It’s possible he drove up Junction Road, cruising along slowly looking for somewhere to dispose of the body, but it’s more likely he’d selected his destination in advance.’

  ‘Yes,’ Geraldine agreed. ‘I’d say he knew where he was going. You can’t see the alley from the main road.’

  ‘And he wouldn’t have wanted to hang about searching for a suitable spot,’ Sam added. ‘There’s always a chance someone might be out on the street. Even at night you can’t be sure there’ll be no one around.’

  They stood looking around for a few moments.

  ‘So he was driving along,’ Geraldine resumed, ‘spotted the alley, or probably knew about it already, parked the car, carried the bag half way along, dropped it, and drove off. It would probably only have taken a few seconds, and he was gone.’

  She nodded to herself.

  ‘That makes sense. Now, let’s see what Mr Crawley can tell us.’

  Sam gave a loud sigh.

  ‘Well, if there’s no cake left, I’ll know who to blame,’ she grumbled.

  Geraldine burst out laughing.

  11

  SHOCK

  They turned off Tufnell Park Road and followed Littlefield Close which took them past the other end of the alley. The woman who came to the door was tall and skinny with a mop of curly hair that gave her a slightly comical appearance. She puffed frantically at a cigarette as she threw a cursory glance at Geraldine’s warrant card.

  ‘I’m Liz. We’ve been waiting for you.’

  She nodded then turned aside, wracked by a dry cough.

  ‘You’d best come in. He’s in the kitchen. Dave!’ she yelled, her voice suddenly loud. ‘Dave! They’re here. Come on then. This way. They’re here, love,’ she called again as she led Geraldine and Sam along a narrow hall. ‘He’s had a bit of a shock and -’ She broke off as they entered an L-shaped kitchen which had been extended to provide a dining area along the back of the house. Through the window they could see a small, untidy garden.

  ‘The garden’s ours,’ Liz told them, as though they were potential purchasers come to view the property.

  ‘Shall I put the kettle on?’

  ‘No, thank you. We won’t keep yo
u long. I just need to ask Mr Crawley a few questions for now, and my colleague will speak to you in the other room.’

  ‘I didn’t see anything,’ Liz replied, suddenly wary.

  ‘You might remember something Mr Crawley said when he found the body and it’s possible he might have forgotten something especially as, like you said, he’s had a shock.’

  ‘Fair enough. Come on, then.’

  Liz led Sam out of the kitchen and Geraldine turned to David Crawley sitting silently at the table. Beneath his light brown moustache Geraldine saw that his lips were trembling.

  ‘Mr Crawley, I’d like to ask you a few questions about what you saw. Are you alright?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When did you find the body?’

  He shrugged.

  ‘We had our breakfast, brunch I should say, at about midday. We got up late,’ he added with a rueful grin. ‘We had a late night.’

  ‘Did you recognise the deceased?’

  Crawley shook his head.

  ‘Tell me how you found the body.’

  ‘I went out to get some cigarettes and a paper. The alley’s a short cut to the nearest shops, down by the station. The first thing I noticed when I went in the alley was this horrible smell. You couldn’t miss it.’

  He screwed up his face, like a small child about to cry.

  ‘I noticed it as soon as I was in the alley and it got worse and then …’

  He broke off, no longer seeing Geraldine perched on a stool in his kitchen but a dead body stuffed into a bin liner. She thought back to her first view of a cadaver. Even knowing what to expect she had been shocked and could only imagine how horrific it must have been for David Crawley to stumble on a corpse without any warning, just round the corner from his own front doorstep.

  ‘What happened?’ she prompted him gently.

  ‘When I was about half way along the alley I saw a black bin bag lying across the path. I thought it must have fallen over. I bent down to move it to one side but the bag wasn’t properly closed and that’s when I saw the face staring up at me. It was like she knew I was there.’

  He shuddered.

  ‘What time was it when you discovered it?’

  ‘Afternoon, really. I suppose it must have been about one. You can check, because I called you lot almost straight away.’

  ‘Almost? Why the delay?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘I don’t know. Just the shock, I suppose. At first Liz didn’t believe it.’

  ‘Did she go outside and look?’

  ‘Not bloody likely! I wouldn’t let her see that. Then I made the call and – have they taken it away yet?’

  ‘Yes, but the road will be closed off for now while we examine the area. Mr Crawley, did you manage to get a good look at the dead woman?’

  He looked at her in surprise.

  ‘Not a good look, no. As soon as I saw what it was I ran home as fast as I could.’

  ‘Mr Crawley, think carefully please. Did you see the dead woman’s face?’

  ‘Yeah I saw it. That’s what I’ve been telling you. That’s why I called you lot.’

  ‘Mr Crawley, the bag was closed when the police arrived. The woman wasn’t visible.’

  ‘I know. I closed it. There’s young kids living along the street. You don’t want them seeing something like that.’

  ‘And you said you’d never seen the dead woman before?’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘You’re sure of that?’

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘It was horrible,’ Liz said, pulling on a cigarette.

  ‘Tell me exactly what you saw.’

  Liz frowned and examined the tip of her cigarette.

  ‘I didn’t see it myself. Only Dave came in and he’d gone all white, you know, like people do when they’re in shock, and he said ‘there’s a woman out there in the alley,’ something like that. ‘What’s she doing there then?’ I asked him. ‘Tell her to bog off.’ That’s when he told me she was dead, and we called you.’

  ‘What time was it when he found the body?’

  ‘About twelve. No, it must have been later than that because we didn’t have breakfast – lunch – until twelve. Then he went out to get some fags and that’s when he found it – her. So it must have been about one or one thirty. I don’t know exactly.’

  ‘Had either of you been outside at all earlier that morning?’

  ‘No. We’d only just got up. We’d had a late night.’

  ‘Were you together all the time on Saturday night?’

  ‘What? You think he nipped out to knock off some woman in the middle of the night?’

  She gave a nervous laugh.

  ‘Just answer the question, please.’

  ‘Yes, we were together.’

  ‘Did you go out on Saturday evening?’

  ‘Yes. We went to the pub on the corner – you can ask them, they know us. On the way home we got a takeaway from the Indian. And then we came home, watched a film on the box and went to bed.’

  ‘What time did you arrive home?’

  Liz shrugged.

  ‘It must’ve been around eleven when we left the pub, so I guess we were home about half past. We watched a film and went to bed.’

  ‘What time was that?’

  Liz shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. I was a bit tanked-up. I think it was about two.’

  ‘Think carefully, Liz. Is it possible you heard anything after you’d gone to bed?’

  ‘Apart from Dave snoring?’

  Liz laughed and shook her head.

  ‘Did you hear any cars pulling up in the street?’

  ‘There’s always cars. I didn’t notice anything in particular.’

  Dave’s story matched his girlfriend’s. Beyond having stumbled upon her body he knew nothing about the dead woman.

  Geraldine scowled as they drove off.

  ‘She was chucked in a dustbin bag and dumped like so much rubbish.’

  ‘It made no difference to her. She was already dead when she was left there.’

  ‘Even so,’ Geraldine remonstrated, ‘it makes a difference. To begin with it tells us the killer had no respect for the body - ’

  ‘Respect? He killed her. What sort of respect was that? If he could beat the crap out of her while she was alive why would he care how he treated her when she was dead?’

  ‘But to dispose of her like he was putting out rubbish in a dustbin bag, was that an expression of anger towards his victim, something personal, or perhaps a racist attack, or does he value all human life so little?’

  Sam shrugged as she turned the wheel.

  ‘Maybe he just wanted to get rid of the body. It seems a practical enough way of doing it.’

  Geraldine nodded but she had a feeling this killer was not so straightforward.

  ‘And we don’t know we’re looking for just one man,’ Sam added. ‘There could be more than one person involved.’

  ‘It’s usually a man though, isn’t it? A man working on his own. Murder’s not a sociable activity as a rule.’

  Geraldine sighed. All they could do was speculate about the killer; they didn’t even know the dead girl’s name.

  12

  CAUGHT OFF GUARD

  Douggie turned off the main road. As he reached the next corner a black car pulled into the kerb just ahead of him. Out of the corner of his eye he took in the shining bodywork of a well-maintained BMW. He’d barely registered the door opening before the driver sprang out and seized him by the throat. The man spun him round, at the same time grabbing his left wrist and twisting his arm up behind his back until Douggie felt as though his shoulder was being ripped apart. He had a confused impression of polished brown leather shoes and a long dark coat. He would have yelped in pain, but the man was clutching his throat so tightly he could hardly breathe. Caught off guard, he lost his footing and only the man’s vice-like grip beneath his chin stopped him pitching forwards and crashing into the side of the car. He ga
gged, struggling to breathe, and the man loosened his hold slightly.

  ‘Nice car,’ Douggie wheezed.

  The driver’s window was open and he detected a whiff of vomit.

  ‘Douggie Hopkins?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  He had recovered sufficiently to register the man’s posh voice and was curious to see him, but when he tried to swivel round his assailant slammed his head against the roof of the car.

  ‘I’ve got a job for you.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  For answer, the man crushed Douggie’s nose against the car until his eyes watered.

  ‘What sort of job? Bloody hell, there’s no need to break my nose.’

  ‘I want to get rid of a car. Permanently. Someone said you’d be able to help me.’

  ‘Is that all?’

  Douggie attempted a laugh.

  ‘You could’ve just asked. I’m your man. It’ll cost you, mind.’ Cost you extra for nearly breaking my fucking nose, he thought.

  ‘I’ll give you two thousand pounds, but no more questions.’

  ‘Two thousand? That should do it,’ Douggie replied.

  His nose ached horribly, squashed against the side of the car, but it was worth getting a bruised face for two thousand quid. He would have done the job for less, although he didn’t say so.

  ‘The car has to be completely destroyed, and it must be done tonight.’

  ‘No problem. I’ll torch it.’

  ‘Yes, set fire to it and burn it, burn it, burn it until there’s nothing left!’

  ‘Yes, alright, I get it,’ Douggie gasped. ‘Don’t worry. Nothing like a fire for getting rid - ’

  The man tightened his grip on Douggie’s throat suddenly, almost suffocating him.