by Jay Nadal
“The question is, who did it? I’m not sure about the landlord of the Unicorn; he’s too pathetic. We need to focus our investigation on Johnny.”
“Guv, I’ve seen footage of Johnny talking with another white male. I can’t make out a great description, but I can pull off stills first thing.”
Scott approved of that. “So this could be the tip of the iceberg, Johnny and others unknown, could be moving girls around the country. Something like this is organised. There must be gangs in other cities. We could be looking at a national network of trafficking underage girls. Johnny is just one small link; he’s clever, but not that clever … not enough to run this. He’s just a scroat doing the dirty work for someone else. We also have to consider that these are just the girls that we know about. There are kids that disappear, go missing or run off every year that aren’t reported.”
He paused for a moment to grab another mouthful of the meat feast slice that was now drooping from a napkin in his hand. Even though he wasn’t hungry, pizza had the uncanny knack of creating hunger. It sat there in the box crying out for attention. Each satisfying bite soothing the aching emptiness he felt.
Scott’s thoughts were interrupted by DCI Harvey’s phone ringing. The team paused for a moment as the DCI listened, nodded and replied, “Thanks for letting me know, we’ll be over right away.” She gave a long hard sigh as she hung up, “I think your job just got a little harder. A member of the public has just reported finding the body of a middle-aged female. Found on the edge of Hove Park near the junction of Woodland Drive and Chartfield.”
Chapter 7
Hove Park was located to the north of Hove, a popular park with residents, dog walkers and runners. It featured a mix of large open grass, mature trees, flowerbeds and recreational facilities. Its boundary lined with tall mature elm trees that offered a picturesque feel to the area.
The last remnants of daylight were fast diminishing by the time Scott and Abby arrived on scene. The scenes of crime officers were busy. A blue forensic tent had been erected where the victim had been found; arc lights illuminated the scene in the fading light. The officers were working quickly to secure the scene, marking out the local area, and beginning the early forensic examination before day turned to night.
Scott and Abby signed into the scene log that PC Oju was maintaining at the cordon of the scene. The police activity had attracted its usual flock of curious passers-by, and residents who were selfishly abhorred about a horrific crime of some sorts being committed on their doorstep.
Scott and Abby spent a few moments putting on forensics suits before venturing into a small, dense, overgrown wooded area that skirted the southern edge of the park. As he stood there, Scott looked around to develop a mental picture of the crime scene and its surrounding landscape. From the road, it was unlikely that anyone would have seen any activity taking place in the middle of this dense area.
Scott pushed the branches to one side as he approached the scene carefully, his feet disappearing up to his knees in overgrown foliage. Abby followed a few steps behind him, cursing the fact that she’d worn her court shoes. Not the most ideal of footwear when traipsing around the woodland floor. The cracking of twigs and the crunching of leaves beneath their feet alerted Matt Allen, the Crime Scene Manager to their arrival. He was kneeling in the undergrowth, organising evidence bags that had already been gathered.
The blue tent glowed brightly under the illumination of the arc lights that had been set up inside. Ghoulish shadows danced around in the tent as SOCO’s examined the body, intermittent flashes of light burst through the tent walls as the whole scene was documented and photographed.
Scott took a moment to look around. It was hard to evaluate the crime scene effectively. His view was obscured in every direction. A thick impenetrable wall of trees, shrubs, and bushes closed in on him from four sides as darkness smothered his view. Scott looked up, the last few glimmers of daylight were attempting to worm their way through the gaps in the upper canopy of the trees.
Before long, the surrounding area would take on a different identity. It would go from a playground for kids and recreational area for pensioners to walk their dogs, to a black sea of darkness that few would brave crossing. A cold void drained of life, a landscape for nocturnal wildlife to play and hunt.
“Scott, how you doing, buddy?”
“Evening Matt, we were just about to knock off for the evening.”
“No rest for the wicked, hey?”
Scott muttered something incomprehensible as he exhaled loudly. “Go on then, what have you got so far?”
“We’ve got a woman, probably in her 40s, found in a shallow grave of earth and leaves. A dog walker stumbled upon the find when he went to retrieve his dog that had wandered into here. He found the dog scrapping away the debris, when he pulled it away, a hand poked through. The poor bloke practically shit himself.”
Scott and Abby pulled back the flap and peered in, wary of disturbing or contaminating the scene until the forensics team had completed their sweep. From their position, they could see the outline of a woman lying on her side. The debris had been moved to reveal one arm contorted back on itself, the palm facing up, her face bloodied and dirty, her white blouse unbuttoned and stained dark. One shoe was missing, no doubt due to a struggle or being dragged through the undergrowth, her hair looked dishevelled and matted to one side of her face.
Scott made a mental note to get the cordon extended around the perimeter of the park. At first light, a sweep could be done by uniformed officers to locate her other shoe and any other items that could be connected to her.
Matt carried on with his initial assessment. “She seems to have heavy head wounds and …” he paused looking at the pair of them, “She’s had her nipples cut off,” he finally said with a shrug. “Weird if you ask me,” he surmised.
“Anything else?” Scott asked.
“There’s a handbag found besides the body, a purse and phone are still inside, so not sure robbery is the motive, more like sexual. Her driver’s license gives her as Christine Newland, she lives close by in Tongdean Ave. The victim has a necklace on with the initial C as a pendant, so It could belong to her.”
“Fuck sake.”
“What?” Matt asked looking at Scott’s frown.
“She’s a miss pers that came in this afternoon, I gave it to Sian to follow up,” he said massaging his forehead. The DCI was right; his job had become a lot harder.
“Want me to inform the husband, Guv?”
“No, it's fine Abby, I’ll break the news. Get onto the station and put in a request for a FLO to meet me there in fifteen minutes. You need to head off. It will be a late one, your kids need you … go on.”
“You sure?”
“Go,” he barked, “Before I change my mind and get you to do door-to-door. Uniform can do the witness door-to-door for a few houses close by and the nosey parkers by the roadside. We can follow up tomorrow morning with anything of interest. Mike and Sian are on at 6 a.m. They can deal with it.”
Abby didn’t need asking twice. She tramped through the wooded area keen to get back to her kids, muttering and swearing to herself as the protective suit snagged on thorns. She needed to go via her in-laws to grab Adam and Sophie, before facing a mountain of ironing, housework and preparing Adam’s packed lunch for the following day. Only then could she hit the sack.
“Is the path on the way here?” Scott asked.
“Yep, she’s been informed; she’s due shortly.”
“I’ll catch up with her later. Off to break the news now and see if this is the miss pers.” He pursed his lips in frustration.
“Take this; it was in her handbag,” Matt offered, holding up a small clear evidence bag with a picture in it.
Scott held it up in the near darkness. The light from his phone screen allowed Scott to see the picture of a couple sitting across a table with a sparkling turquoise sea offering an idyllic backdrop as they shared a glass of wine. No doubt a tropical
holiday somewhere. He looked back at Matt raising an eyebrow.
“Good luck, mate.”
***
PC Andrea Smith the Family Liaison Officer was already parked outside the address in Tongdean Ave by the time Scott arrived. The road was an affluent mix of large, detached properties with deep-fronted driveways, some of which swept away behind electrically operated security gates. Tall hedges offered further privacy. Any prospective buyers would find it hard to get change from £1.5 million pounds if they went shopping down this street.
The house Scott was interested in was an impressive family home. Matching front and garage doors added to the expensive feel of the property and well-proportioned bay fronted windows offered a tantalising glimpse inside. As Scott looked up, he could see that the house had been extended into the roof space adding a further floor. The electrical business must be booming, he reflected.
They waited after pressing the doorbell next to the large, double light oak doors. The glass panel insets provided a clear view of a wide hallway, shiny ivory coloured tiled floor and a wide staircase towards the rear, leading up to the first floor. An eager, stocky middle-aged man opened the door. Scott assumed it to be Christine’s husband. His eyes were bloodshot and small, his breath hurried. His eyes shifted between the two strangers standing in front of him, before he shot further glances past the visitors, no doubt still searching for his wife.
From the man’s creased pink shirt, and unkempt wavy black hair, Scott assumed that the man had had very little sleep. He was joined a few seconds later by a girl no older than fourteen or fifteen. She stood there in a black vest top and jeans, one hand nervously fiddling with a black hairband that was wrapped around her other wrist.
Scott and Andrea presented their warrants cards. “I’m Detective Inspector Baker and this is Police Constable Andrea Smith. Are you Mr Newland?”
The man nodded. “Yes, I’m Alan Newland, and this is our daughter Lucy,” he said shooting a quick glance towards his daughter who continued staring forward. “Is this about my wife? Have you found her?”
“It is. May we come in?”
Alan Newland showed them into a large formal living room. with two large, brown leather sofas facing each other and an expensive looking glass rectangular table in between them. A flat-screen TV hung from the wall above the fireplace. Towards one corner of the room, Scott clocked a large bookcase that housed hundreds of books. Tall ornate vases covered in a mosaic of small squared mirror pieces were neatly placed either side of each sofa adding to the opulent feel. Mr. Newland motioned for them to sit down.
Before Scott took his seat, he turned to Alan Newland. “Is it possible to talk to you in private for a moment?”
Alan hesitantly looked toward his daughter Lucy. In a faint voice he said, “Lucy, darling, can you go to your bedroom just for a few moments?” Anxiety written on her face, fear burned in her eyes, she turned and left the room.
Once seated, Scott looked at Alan Newland. He saw a man burdened with trouble. Alan looked beside himself. Restless hours had robbed him of any energy, and now Scott was about to destroy his life. “There isn’t an easy way to tell you, Mr Newland, but we’ve just found a body. We believe it to be of a woman in her mid-forties with long brown wavy hair. We can’t be certain as yet to her identity; however, we’ve found evidence at the scene that links back to this address.”
Scott’s words seem to pass through Mr Newland with no reaction. Scott knew the man was probably in a state of shock and unable to comprehend what he just been told. In their line of work, difficult news like this was often met with a variety of reactions. Scott continued, “The body’s been found not far from here, a handbag was close by, and inside it were a mobile phone and purse. There was a driver’s license with this address in the name of Christine Newland. And we also found a picture,” Scott held it up in clear view of Mr Newland. “Is this your wife?”
Alan Newland nodded, before placing his hands over his face. He lurched forward; his shaking shoulders the only clue to his silent cries. PC Smith rose to join Alan Newland by his side. She placed one hand on his back and gave him a sympathetic pat. “What happened to her?” he asked as he lifted his head towards Scott, his eyes heavy with tears that escaped down his cheeks.
“We’re not entirely sure, the forensics team are still on site, but early indications suggest the victim suffered a serious assault.” Scott chose not to cause the man any further pain by suggesting a sexual nature to the assault. “Did your wife have a necklace?”
“Yes,” he replied as he ran a hand through his wavy, unkempt hair. “It was a thin silver curb chain with a swirly C pendant.”
Scott was certain now that this was indeed his wife. “I know it’s a difficult time for you, but we’ll need you to identify if it’s your wife. Andrea is a family liaison officer and will remain with you to help in any way she can before taking you to the mortuary at some point tomorrow after the post mortem has been done.”
Alan Newland tried to compose himself. His eyes were darting around the room, his mind whirring as it tried to comprehend the enormity of news he’d just received. The thought of waiting twelve hours to see if it was indeed his wife was too much to bear. “No, I can’t wait that long; I need to see her, I need to see her immediately.”
Alan Newland groaned from deep within his chest, his breath jerky and heavy. “What am I going to tell Lucy?” His eyes welling up as he imagined his daughter now, sitting on her bed waiting for her mother to walk in the door any moment.
Scott didn’t have an answer, how could he? He felt the man’s pain. Alan Newland had just lost his wife, a person he planned to spend the rest of his life with, the wife and mother of their child. Nevertheless, he had a murder investigation on his hands. In cases involving suspicious deaths, close family would always fall under the watchful eye of the investigating team. In Scott’s opinion, everyone could be a suspect of the deceased. Sympathy would come later; for the time being, he needed to remain objective.
“Mr Newland, the next few hours are vital. I know it’s difficult, but we’ll need to speak to you in the morning. Andrea Smith can take you to see the body first thing tomorrow and then bring you to the station.”
Alan Newland looked up and nodded meekly in between the sobs that racked his body.
Chapter 8
Turning up in the morning to witness a post-mortem examination wasn’t something Scott willingly chose to endure. By the time he had arrived, Abby and Cara were deeply engrossed in conversation in the office. They were sipping on large mugs of tea and working their way through a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits. Scott wasn’t sure how they managed to line their stomachs just moments before a post-mortem.
He wondered for a fleeting moment whether they had been talking about him as the conversation stopped dead in the tracks the minute he walked into the room. Both looked at him like startled children who’d been caught raiding the contents of the tuck shop illegally. Their eyes were fixed wide open, half-eaten biscuits in one hand, a mug of tea in the other.
“Should my ears be burning?” he asked glancing between them with suspicion in his eyes.
Abby let out a cackle of laughter. “Erm, no … but if you’re into period pains, then pull up a chair!” Cara chocked on her tea, as she fought the urge to join Abby.
Feeling suitable embarrassed, and way out of his depth, Scott retraced his steps, walking backwards out of the room. “I know where I’m not needed. I’ll leave you two experts to discuss that topic in peace … another time,” Scott added, reminding them that they had work to do.
“Party pooper,” Cara shouted once he’d left the room.
Scott could never really put his finger on why the mortuary smelt the way it did. Cara was adamant it didn’t smell at all. That was no doubt due to her sense of smell becoming accustomed to the heady mix of detergents, sanitisers and decomposing flesh.
Most people would never have the need to step into a mortuary, other than those for wh
om it was their final resting place, or for the living that were coming to identify a body. Every mortuary Scott had been to bore striking similarities. The solemn surroundings seemed to drain the colour out of the environment as much as it did from the cadavers … everything was a grey or off-white. The magnolia-speckled lino floors wrapped themselves halfway up the walls. The coldness of the metal tables, metal benches and fridge units adding to the emptiness … they were grim places to work.
For Cara and the mortuary technicians, it was their office. They seemed oblivious to the cloying smell that hung in the air, and how it crawled into every fibre of the clothes you wore. It was normal for them to see bodies neatly packed in the fridges awaiting collection by the sombre men in black, the undertakers coming to collect their valuable packages. And yet, they laughed and joked as they would in any office. They talked about their daily lives, the irritating partners they had, what they were cooking for dinner, even the fractured and hazy recollections they had after night out in town.
The cadaver was on the first of three tables in the examination room. Other than the gentle hum of the air conditioning, the room was silent. To the right of them was the bank of fridge doors, in the middle of the room were the three examination tables, and to the left of them was a long, stainless steel work surface with sinks and water hoses.
Surprisingly, for her trade, Cara had very few tools to work with. A silver tray to her side had been laid out. Two scalpels of varying lengths, a black rubber mallet, a screwdriver, two soup ladles, a pair of scissors, and a steel implement in the shape of a T that had a sharp flat tip on the long edge. Scott and Abby stood on one side of the cadaver whilst Cara stood on the other as she began her procedure.
In the clear light of day, the officers could clearly see the victim for the very first time. She was a well-proportioned woman with a round face that no doubt once sported a warm smile with her chubby cheeks. Her mousy brown hair now matted on her left side in a thick dried black crust of earth and blood. Cara carried out her preliminary visual inspection of the cadaver, capturing her notes in a handheld voice recorder. The officers remained silent as Cara gave a running commentary of any visible marks like pinpricks, tattoos, birthmarks or moles. She moved onto an overall summary of the condition of the body, focussing on any external signs that could have contributed to her cause of death.
