by Jay Nadal
“Will do, Guv, anything else?”
“Not for now, I’ll go to the PM. Meet me there at 1, and then later this afternoon we’ll have a full team debrief.”
“Thought the PM was at 12?” Abby questioned.
“It is,” Scott confirmed. “But we don’t need to attend… unless it’s necessary?”
Abby didn’t reply; she was pondering what lay ahead this afternoon. As a parent she felt a sympathetic twinge for the loss of a child so young. The realisation wasn’t lost on her. The deceased girl was the same age as her own daughter Sophie.
The contrast between their lives couldn’t be more different. Sophie was still at school, battling with the things that most girls of her age had to contend with; spots, hormones and boys. Libby, on the other hand, due to her circumstances, had been thrust into the cruel and seedy world of drugs, exploitation, prostitution and abandonment.
Abby doubted if she’d known what it was like to celebrate a birthday with family, yet alone bicker with siblings or even have a hug from a parent who loved her.
It’s a fucking cruel world we live in.
“I want to pull out the stops for this case, we owe it to her to find out what happened,” Scott reflected with a gentle nod of his head.
Any loss of life was sad; Scott faced his own demons. Losing his own child had hurt him more than he cared to admit. To witness another young life destroyed turned his stomach in knots.
He looked back over his shoulder towards the tent, hands clenched into fists; he needed justice one way or another.
Chapter 2
The post-mortem was in its advanced stages as Scott and Abby arrived at the mortuary. They put on protective paper suits before entering the main examination area.
“These places always give me the heebie-jeebies,” Abby remarked. A cold shiver ran down her spine, her shoulders shuddering in response. It didn’t help that they were walking past two tables that had characterless dead bodies cloaked beneath paper shrouds. The bodies created vague outlines from beneath their shrouds, which allowed Abby to make out that one was female and the other male.
She whispered, “I remember reading a newspaper article. Apparently, a mortuary worker in Ghana used to have sex with dead bodies, because he couldn’t get living women to date him.”
Scott turned to her, rolling his eyes and shaking his head. “And you believe everything you read in the paper?”
Abby shrugged, knowing she sounded daft. “It’s true,” she pleaded in her defence.
“Scotty.” Cara’s eyes lit up as she saw him approaching, causing Abby on this occasion to raise an eyebrow back in Scott’s direction.
Scott cleared his throat in embarrassment. “Afternoon Cara, I brought a second set of eyes with me,” Scott offered flipping his hand in Abby’s direction.
Cara greeted her with a warm nod.
The site of Libby Stevens on the table was in marked contrast to the way in which they had seen her just a few hours ago. Back on the beach, despite her being dead, she still looked normal, or as normal as she could be. But here now, she was nothing more than a body being taken apart in the name of forensics, to find out the cause of death. It caused both officers to pause as they stood by her. A heady mix of consternation, sadness and revulsion washed over them.
Scott scanned her body and was taken aback as he looked at her face. The scalp had been cut and pulled back over the front of her head. The top section of her skull and brain had been removed for analysis.
Taking in the same view, Abby’s stomach objected, her body willing her to leave. However, she still had a job to do. She had to ascertain cause of death and seek out any clues to this poor girl’s premature death. Yet her motherly instinct was causing her eyes to well up. “Poor girl,” she said quietly with a heavy breath.
She and Scott exchanged glances, their eyes reflecting the unified acknowledgement of the angst she was experiencing.
Scott’s eyes moved further down her body; the girl’s rib cage had been removed, and her inner organs taken for weighing and analysis. All that remained now was an empty red cavern that formed a perfect receptacle to catch her bodily fluids. A mortuary technician was using what amounted to nothing more than a soup ladle to spoon out the collected fluid.
What caught Scott’s attention was the extensive tissue damage where the girl’s vagina used to be, this in itself was enough to cause Scott to wince in disgust. “You want to give us the short story, Cara?”
“Well it’s the early stages of the post-mortem, and she’s in a bad way so I guess I’ll still be here for a few more hours. I’ve taken samples and sent them to toxicology; we should have them back tomorrow. She has a tattoo on her left ankle, with the word love written inside a heart. The missing fingernails were deliberate; under the magnifier, they appear as lacerations around the nail bed and cuticle, which suggests that they were pulled out.”
Scott nodded, “As you thought earlier.”
She nodded in agreement.
“There’s limited wrinkling to her skin, in particular the palms of her hands and the soles of her feet. This suggests to me that she wasn’t in the water for long. Had she been in longer, you would get significant loosening of the skin, and separation of the skin on her fingers. She didn’t drown either. Her lungs aren’t waterlogged, and by that I mean there’s no water in the lungs and there’s no frothy fluid in her airways.”
Cara continued her running commentary as she scanned the cadaver. “She was a smoker, with early discolouration to the lungs. She has 11 puncture marks in total on her arms and behind her knees, conducive with injecting. There is localised tissue damage to her veins as a result. There’s a small amount of skin and soft tissue damage around her face and legs. Likely causes are marine animals or fish feeding off her, I’m afraid. We also have general injuries and abrasions to her face and legs more than likely caused by intermittent contact between her body and things like the seabed and hard structures. However, that’s not the worst,” she sighed, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two officers.
A look of knowing reflected on the faces of Scott and Abby, as they exchanged a brief glance, preparing themselves for what was about to come next.
“Does it get any worse,” Abby asked, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms protectively around her body. She’d been to post mortems, but this was proving to be the worst. Perhaps it was due to the age of the victim, or the trauma to the body, or more realistically, both. Whatever it was, she began to feel lightheaded, the room was spinning and a cold sweat was blanching her face. Abby grabbed Scott’s arm to steady herself.
“You want to leave?” Scott offered. He too was suffering, but was handling it slightly better than his partner.
Abby shook her head. “No, I’ll be fine.” The opportunity to grab of couple of lungfuls of fresh air in a post mortem room hardly filled her with excitement. Dipping out would make her feel like she was wimping out.
Cara continued. “She’s had her tongue cut out; the stub that’s left suggests it wasn’t a very clean cut. But there wasn’t much trauma inside her mouth. So I would suggest that she didn’t put up any resistance.”
“Hold on a minute,” Scott interrupted closing his eyes. “Back up for a sec. Are you suggesting that she was already dead prior to having it removed?”
“More than likely, if you think about it. Had she been alive, and they’d removed her tongue, there would be laceration marks inside her mouth. Simply due to the small space in which they were working and the potential struggle she may have put up.”
Abby sighed, shaking her head in disgust, “I don’t think I need to hear any more.”
“I’m afraid you do,” Cara urged.
Pointing towards her genital area Cara lent forward, in a macabre way to get a closer look. “She’s got extensive external and internal injuries to her vagina, cervix, uterus, and her anus, anal canal and rectum. I examined her from the outside and through her lower abdomen cavity and the damage ext
ends far inside her. In my opinion the injuries are consistent with the use of a blunt instrument that’s been forcibly used to penetrate her.”
Scott and Abby were visibly shaken. Abby wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
Scott took a deep breath and massaged his forehead with his fingers, beginning to comprehend the final savage moments in this girl’s life. His heart was beating faster, a combination of shock and anger forcing his body to tense up. His stomach churned causing an uncomfortable feeling in his bowels. He straightened his spine, pulling his shoulders back, his jaw muscles tense as he gritted his teeth.
“The sick bastard, someone really had it in for her didn’t they? Any indication of the actual cause of death?”
Cara nodded, “Hypovolemic shock, also known as hemorrhagic shock, is my initial conclusion.”
“And what is that in English?” Abby asked.
“I believe she bled to death. It is when you lose more than twenty percent of your body’s blood or fluid supply. This severe fluid loss makes it impossible for the heart to pump a sufficient amount of blood to your body, and it leads to systematic organ failure. Bleeding from blunt trauma injuries and lots of internal bleeding can lead to this.”
Scott and Abby must have both sported bemused looks, so Cara tried a different approach.
“Okay, let me explain it to you in layman’s terms. As your heart shuts down and fails to circulate enough blood through your body, the symptoms of shock occur. Blood pressure plummets and there’s a severe drop in body temperature, which can be life threatening. She didn’t get medical attention and died as a result.”
“So she died a slow painful death and we’re looking for a sick murderer.” Scott’s body ran cold, as revulsion coursed through him. If I could only get my hands on this sick fucker. Just me and him in a room. With the door locked and my warrant card left outside.
He worked hard to control his breathing and remain objective. “Okay, thanks Cara. We’ll leave you to carry on so we can get back to the office.”
“Sure thing, Scotty; sorry it’s been a bad one for you guys,” she smiled sympathetically. “Give me a shout later if you’ve got time for a slice of cake and a cuppa, my treat.”
“Seriously woman, how can you talk about food when you’ve got this in front of you,” Scott said shaking his head in startled disbelief. “You don’t need cake because you’re already a fruitcake,” he added, perplexed at her ability to feel unfazed by her work.
Cara dropped her head to one side and laughed, “You know me, I love this stuff.”
***
Scott and Abby drove back to the station, in silence to begin with, both taking the time to reflect on what they had just heard about Libby.
Abby broke the silence, to lighten the mood. “Coffee and cake?” She exclaimed… “Really?”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Scott challenged in defence.
“Hardly subtle is she … She wants you as dessert.” Abby teased him with a mock smile of surprise as she turned in her seat to face him. “I think she’s got a soft spot for you,” she chortled to herself.
“Knock it off; you’re just jealous.”
“I am … I wish I had a fella chasing me like that.” Abby chimed, returning to gaze out of the passenger window.
“Well, you need to get yourself out there, then, don’t you, before you turn old and wrinkly.”
“Oh! I’m not past my sell-by date yet,” she protested. “I wish I could, but truth be told, I’m a bit scared really ... the thought of starting all over again with someone new.” She paused for a moment. “Been there, done that, and bought the T-shirt. It’s the hassle of when things don’t work out. I don’t want the kids being introduced to a parade of men.”
Scott burst out laughing, whilst still trying to drive in a straight line “Parade of men … fancy your chances at pulling all the single men in Brighton?”
Abby laughed, trying to backtrack. “One would be nice, but I won’t hold my breath. I just attract the weirdos, halitosis sufferers, and those who want me to handcuff them to the bed for some kinky fun.”
Scott nodded slowly, amused by her observations. “That’s what I like about you Abby, always a glass half-full person … Not.”
***
“Right, we need to know the who, why and when around this case.” There were collective nods from those gathered around the briefing table.
“Abby, for the benefit of the others, what can you tell us about Libby Stevens?”
Abby glanced around the table as she cleared her throat. “I cautioned Libby for soliciting a few months ago. She was picking up punters from outside the Unicorn Pub in Fleet Street, which is around the back of the station. Then she’d take them to either the car park in Stroudley Road or waste ground next door to do her tricks. If she got lucky with a rich punter, then she’d go to the Jury’s Inn. It was all about the money at the time … getting it as quick as she could to feed her habit. She wanted in and out if you pardon the expression.”
Even though a slip like that would normally have been met with derisory laughter from around the table, there was a sombre mood to this briefing.
“Anything else?” Scott asked.
“Yes. Just before that, she was knocking about with a boyfriend by the name of Johnny Wright. Uniform had a few brushes with the pair for loitering around the shops. They’d chased them out of the Churchill Square shopping centre for potential shoplifting, but nothing came of it.”
“Okay, thanks, Abby. There’s not much to go on at the moment. The post-mortem is underway, so we should get the full report tomorrow. However I do want to point out that Libby Stevens,” he turned to her picture on the whiteboard. “Libby was the subject of a violent sexual assault which destroyed her sexual organs and back passage. She also had all of her fingernails pulled out, and her tongue removed. The poor girl bled to death. I’d like to say that she died quickly and suffered little pain, but evidence suggests otherwise.”
“We’re dealing with a real sick fucker here, Guv,” added Mike. “I was talking to the forensics team on scene, and they weren’t that optimistic about getting much evidence. She’d spent too long in the water; any usable evidence may have been washed off.”
“What else have we got?”
Raj shuffled his papers, and sat upright, “Nothing on the CCTV front, Guv. I went into the marina. There are two CCTV cameras at opposite ends of the marina wall. They focus on the main access road behind the David Lloyd club and the Casino. There’s nothing looking over in our direction. Just in case, I’ve asked for a copy of the recordings for the past twenty-four hours.”
“Good thinking. Okay, we need to start doing some digging around. Her ex-boyfriend Johnny is a good place to start. Abby and I will go over and see him first thing in the morning. Sian and Mike, I want you both to speak to the local drug users in and around town and in particular up near the station. See if any of them came into contact Libby. Find out who the suppliers are too. Can you check in the same vicinity for other prostitutes? Some may have known Libby, and more to the point, see if any of them have come up against clients who’ve been a little rough with them.”
“You reckon it could be a punter?” Sian asked.
“Well it’s certainly a line of enquiry.” Scott added. “We can’t rule anything out at the moment.”
Scott walked over to the window and leaned against the windowsill looking back into the room. His right hand was in his pocket; his left hand was busily tapping away on the windowsill with a pen.
In a contemplative mood, trying to formulate a plan going forward, he gazed at the sunlight bouncing off the table. “Raj, contact social services and see what they’ve got on Libby Stevens. If she is fifteen, then she must have been in a foster home or residential care unit. Let’s see if they can shed some light on her situation and background.”
Raj nodded his agreement.
“Any other questions?” Scott asked as he searched the faces of his team, each o
ne of them decidedly more reserved than normal. “Listen up. I know this case is going to be hard. If this morning is anything to go by, we’re in for a rough ride. Abby and I both found the PM hard. My door is always open … If anything you see or hear becomes too much for you, pop in and let’s have a chat, okay?”
There were appreciative nods from his team.
“Well then, let’s crack on. Let’s find out what happened to this girl.”
Chapter 3
The address they were visiting this morning was in the up and coming New England Quarter of Brighton. It was a modern development consisting of stylish tall white and brown buildings housing trendy, affordable flats, townhouses and homes. It was a development built on the largest brownfield site in Brighton.
The area was steeped in history. The site sat adjacent to the railway station and consisted of high-density housing from a bygone era. It once suited those who worked on the railways and the goods yards that serviced the station.
By the mid-1900’s, the area saw a rapid decline, as those very same yards and factories closed down. The sites were cleared and left barren for many years. Discussions, debates and arguments ensued between various authorities and the community on what should replace it.
A few minor projects had been proposed; however, nothing came of them. It soon became an eye sore on the landscape, hidden behind tall boarded-up walls. They offered the perfect canvas for local youths, who sprayed murals and tags all over them.
A renewed development impetus recently spawned a micro-community within a community, offering a mix of hotels, shops, supermarkets and residential facilities.
