Missing

by Jay Nadal

  It was far too easy to get comfortable with your surroundings, your job, and your life. It was why so many people struggled to accept and cope with change. Human beings were creatures of habit. From the minute they got up, to the minute they went to bed, their lives were nothing more than a series of automated behaviours that formed their daily routine.

  Scott knew more than anyone else. His study into human behaviour had shown fear was the common denominator that underpinned every kind of conflict in life. Many kinds of fear remained unconscious, but still gave rise to debilitating emotional conflicts or otherwise unhealthy decisions.

  He was falling into a trap where his routine was so embedded in his psyche and daily life that the fear of change outweighed the excitement of change.

  The answers he looked for were not in the black coffee that stared back at him.

  “Penny for your thoughts, Inspector?”

  James, one of the staff members in the cafe jogged him out of his reverie. He was a slim man, with tightly cropped hair, even tighter T-shirt, and drainpipe jeans that looked as if they had been stitched on. He was cleaning away the table beside Scott and smiled with a look of concern.

  Scott smiled and offered James the slightest of shrugs. “I just needed some peace and quiet away from the office to go through a few things.”

  James raised both hands in mock disappointment saying, “I know I’m imposing. I’ll leave you to it. Give me a shout if you need another refill.”

  Scott let out the loudest of sighs, which caused a few people at other tables to glance around for the source of the interruption to their conversations. Scott smiled inwardly, chuckling to himself.

  His thoughts turned to Abby. She was due back tomorrow, and from all accounts, enjoyed her stay at the apartment in Spain. She had sent Scott texts daily to begin with, thanking him, and prying to see what everyone was up to in the team. He missed her, more than he dared to admit. She annoyed the hell out of him with her fuzziness and OCD tendencies, but he loved it. He missed her as a friend and as a colleague.

  Perhaps that’s why he’d felt out of sorts for the last few weeks. Abby was part of his familiarity, part of his daily routine, and without her, there was a gap in his life. He hoped, in fact he prayed, that she returned with a clearer state of mind than the one she’d had before she left. The threat of her leaving hung in the air, but he sensed that his olive branch of a holiday, and changes to her working patterns, had somehow diminished that risk. He looked forward to seeing her moody features and being on the end of her negativity about everything in life.

  His phone vibrated in the chest pocket of his jacket. He whipped it out to see Mike’s name on the screen. “Mike, what’s up?”

  Mike’s response was enough to send a surge of electricity through every nerve and cell of his body.

  The call had come in less than fifteen minutes ago. A body discovered in a shallow ditch by the side of a road, south of Plumpton. Mike had deployed SOCO and had alerted Cara. Local units had sealed off the area. A shocking discovery by a postal collection driver who had collected mail from a remote post-box positioned by the side of the road.

  Scott gathered intelligence regarding the discovery as they headed north out of town. As usual, Mike drove with the care and delicacy of an army tank driver, as he ploughed through town traffic, and then roared onto the Lewes Road.

  They speculated on what they would discover as they approached signs for Plumpton, and saw the flashing blue lights of a patrol car that blocked the entrance to a track that led off the main road. Preliminary reports from the scene had suggested that the victim may have lain undiscovered for a few days. The track was narrow and often used as a cut through to a neighbouring village, or by farm vehicles, and courting couples.

  White scientific services vans were positioned close by along with Cara’s car. SOCOs in white paper suits, blue foot coveralls, and blue latex gloves, constructed the frame for the white tent that would be placed over the body.

  Scott and Mike signed the scene log before being directed by a uniformed officer down the track towards the body. The ground underfoot was wet and squelchy. To avoid disturbing the scene any further, forensic officers had laid down metal stepping plates to provide a safe route to the scene. Scott’s mind ran through several scenarios, as he wondered how long the body had remained exposed to the elements and nocturnal animals.

  They paused by the inner cordon, a boundary blue and white tape that marked the area of focus for the forensic officers. Cara, dressed in an identical white paper suit, with latex gloves and shoes, knelt beside the victim. From their position as observers, Scott could see the body of a white female lying on her right side. A clear plastic bag remained over her head secured by silver duct tape around her neck. She was naked from the waist down, the grey hue of her flesh streaked with brown mud stains.

  “I think we can rule out suicide…” Mike suggested.

  “Possibly. The first rule of investigation, Mike, rule nothing out.”

  Mike cleared his throat. “Local officers haven’t been able to glean anything. The idiots trampled all over the scene. There was no sign of any possessions that would indicate her ID.”

  The lifeless body transfixed Scott’s eyes, as he thought about the circumstances that would have led to the woman’s tragic demise. It was a known location for courting couples. The victim could have been here under the promise of some discreet passion, or, she may have been dumped here because of its isolation.

  A full thirty minutes passed before Cara squelched back towards them, a grim look etched on her face. Matt Allen, the crime scene manager joined them. Scott stomped around on the spot, the chill of the late morning weaving its way through his jacket and shirt, since he’d left his coat back at the office. He hadn’t expected to be standing on a cold, damp, wet morning down a muddy lane.

  Cara snapped off her gloves. “I’d say a combination of strangulation and suffocation appears to be the cause of death. There are clear impressions across the front of her neck that would suggest some form of compression.”

  “Suffocation?”

  “Yes, Scott. I would suggest that someone placed the bag over her head whilst she was still alive.”

  Scott nodded. “Any other indications to suggest a struggle?”

  Cara shook her head. “It’s hard to tell, she’s caked in mud and dirt. I’ll need to clean her up before I can be certain. There isn’t any clear evidence of damage to her skin following death. I think the weather saved her in that respect as I can’t imagine many animals wanting to be out here.”

  “Any indication on time of death?” Mike asked.

  Cara grimaced as she shot a look back over her shoulder towards the gruesome body. “Again, hard to be precise. The weather, external temperature and the fact it appears she was covered, would all be influential factors. There’s still primary flaccidity; she’s stiff and cold. I would work on a timescale of around thirty-six maximum.”

  “So that takes us back to Sunday. I can’t imagine much happening around here. There may have been a few courting couples along the track. Mike, can you organise for uniformed officers to ask around, and do door to door in the village? We’re looking for the usual stuff, unusual activities, and strangers, noises, etcetera.”

  Mike nodded as he jotted a few lines on his notepad.

  “Matt, it would be helpful if your team could identify whether the victim was alive and killed in situ or dumped here.”

  “We’ll do our best, Scott, but to be honest, this is a dreadful scene to examine properly. I would imagine that the rain has washed out most forensic evidence. As for footprints and tyre marks…” Matt shook his head as he stared at the ground. “A long shot and we may get lucky. I’m arranging for extra coverings and lights to be sent over. I think the team will be here for a while.”

  Weather proved to be their main adversary rather than time itself. They would rely on extracting vital forensic evidence from the body. Soil samples taken from the bo
dy may help to identify whether they corresponded to the soil profile and composition of the area where the body lay.

  “I can fit her in for a post-mortem this afternoon, if that works for you?”

  “That works for me. As soon as SOCO have done their job, we can arrange for her to be moved.”

  Scott instructed Mike to remain at the scene once he had left with Cara. Extra officers were being drafted in to assist with the search of the area. It would be a difficult terrain to assess. A mixture of farmland and dense forest made access challenging during the current wet conditions. With further rain forecast over the next twenty-four hours, a sense of urgency rippled around the officers.

  8

  The bleakness of the day continued long after his visit to Plumpton. Scott had accompanied Cara and the body to the Lewes Road mortuary. The coldness of the examination room did nothing to warm him after several hours at the crime scene. He stood to one side of the examination table.

  Scott took a moment before they started to cast a detailed look at the victim from head to toe. Neil had removed some earth and debris that clung to the woman’s skin. It would be examined later for any signs of evidence. He put the woman in her thirties, her skin was taught, and her hair, though dirty and caked in mud, suggested it was blonde and shoulder length. He spotted a heart-shaped tattoo on her left hip and requested a close-up photo.

  The post-mortem had begun with a careful inspection of the body. Cara had weighed and measured the body, noting the cadaver’s clothing, valuables and characteristics such as eye colour, hair colour and length, and age.

  She’d then moved onto removing the subject’s remaining clothes, before examining the body, searching for any alien deposits, identifying marks such as scars or tattoos, or injuries. She took samples of hair, nails and nail scrapings.

  Throughout the examination, Scott watched and observed. Cara moved around the body with grace, precision and tentative care, as she recorded everything on a body diagram and in recorded verbal notes.

  Cara and her assistant, Neil, advanced their examination of the cadaver.

  Her vital organs were removed, photographed and weighed. A single incision across the back of the head allowed for the top of the skull to be removed so the brain could be weighed and examined.

  “She died of strangulation rather than suffocation. The impressions around her neck are visible. The tissue damage beneath the surface is extensive. Her windpipe collapsed, and my guess is, through extreme pressure.”

  “Would it require the force of a male?”

  “More than likely. The collapsing of the windpipe would require enough force. My guess is that whoever committed the act applied the full force of their upper body. You might want to see this as well…” Cara pointed to extensive bruising around the upper arms. “It’s almost identical on both arms.”

  “What would you suggest was the cause?”

  “It’s an informed guess, but I have seen it before on one other victim. The impressions are like those caused by sitting on someone’s chest with legs positioned over each arm, pinning the victim to the floor. From that position, the victim would be powerless to fight back, and it would correlate to the amount of tissue damage on the neck.”

  Scott crossed his arms and considered the implications. “And the plastic bag?”

  “Again, I would suggest that someone taped the bag over the head moments before strangulation. There is residue inside the bag which suggests that the victim was alive. I’ve taken swabs to confirm that they belong to the victim. I’m certain they do.”

  “Was there a sexual motive involved?”

  Cara nodded. She pointed a long metal probe towards the woman’s pelvic region. “There’s extensive bruising to the vaginal opening, and the upper thighs. It appears to be a forceful sexual assault. I doubt it was consensual. There are accompanying bite marks to the front of her left shoulder. I’ll arrange for a forensic odontologist to analyse them. It might help you as the case progresses. I’ve taken vaginal swabs.”

  “Anything else of interest?” Scott enquired.

  “There is, as a matter of fact. As you can see she has little pubic hair, choosing to remove most. She is mousy brown. But there was a loose black pubic hair I retrieved.”

  “So that could be the assailant’s? Or whoever she last had sex with?”

  Cara shrugged, but agreed in principle with the idea.

  Scott left Cara to finish the post-mortem and confirmed that he would call later for a complete update.

  On his return from the mortuary, Scott tracked down Meadows and gave him an update.

  Meadows was keen for Scott to keep a tight rein on the investigation as there had been an alarming increase in sex-related crimes in Sussex and Hove over recent months. Much of it blamed on the popular drug scene peddled in nightclubs and pubs.

  Brighton in recent years had become a Mecca for stag and hen dos. Every weekend, large groups drifted in and out of the pubs and clubs. The women wore outlandish outfits, with sashes publicising their celebrations. The men were no better, wearing identical T-shirts announcing they were celebrating the final bachelor days of the groom.

  This influx of partying had led to an increase in stranger rapes, many of which went unreported, or unsolved.

  They discussed the possibility of whether this crime was planned or a random attack. That the victim was missing her skirt, shoes and underwear only added to the uncertainty regarding the motive for the attack.

  The influx of officers to the crime scene, and a subsequent search of the area, had given Scott and his team their first breakthrough. A handbag was found a few yards away from the body, discarded behind trees. Within it were a driving licence, bank card, some keys and a purse containing cash. The contents belonged to Linda Allen, aged thirty-three, from Brighton.

  The discovery helped narrow down a possible motive. For the time being, they could rule out robbery. Sixty pounds in cash, and a bank card would have been the first items to be stolen.

  The bag and its contents were being pored over by a member of Matt’s team, searching for any clues that could help them to narrow the search further.

  Jackie Cartwright had all but given up on Linda’s return. It had now been two full days since she had left her children with her friend. With the third night approaching, any patience she’d clung onto had long gone and any concern had been replaced with anger.

  Shannon and Leo were at their wits’ end. They had alternated between crying, screaming and bouts of silence. Jackie could offer no answers to Shannon’s questions, or soothe Leo’s sodden eyes that looked to her for answers. It had crossed her mind to report Linda missing, but feared it would only cause further complications with the authorities and social services. After the spat that Linda and her mum had had, she doubted that Clare Allen would offer any sympathy or express concern.

  “I’ll fucking kill her, if she’s fucked off.” She had given up trying to call. She had taken a few moments to race across the road and bang furiously on Linda’s door. When no answer was forthcoming, she had pressed her face against the front window, cupping her hands around her eyes as she peered into the darkened room through a small gap in the curtains.

  Two nights had gone by and she hadn’t rung or answered her phone. Linda wasn’t a bad mum; it’s just that she went off the rails sometimes.

  Jackie wondered what else she could do. Linda had left no keys with her, and she needed to get inside to get new supplies for the kids and search for Linda.

  Jackie needed help. As she walked back towards her house, her mind raced with options. There was only one thing left to do.

  9

  The address on the driving licence took Scott and Helen to a small cul-de-sac just off the Ridgeway in Woodingdean. A row of identical, small bungalows lined either side of the road as they pulled up. It was a quiet, residential street, not the best kept. Scott noticed that several of the houses were in dire need of a lick of paint and new windows.

  Scott
rapped on the door a few times as Helen peered in through the front window. With no answer forthcoming, Scott knocked harder. He grimaced as he turned to Helen who shook her head to confirm that she could see no sign of movement or disturbance. They split, with Scott going one way to check the perimeter of the building, whilst Helen attempted to gain access to the rear garden.

  “The side gate is locked, Guv. I can’t see anything through the windows. I think no one’s at home.”

  Scott agreed. He’d listened through the letterbox flap and heard nothing. Despite his announcement, only silence echoed back.

  They headed off in different directions, to knock on neighbours’ doors and find out if anyone had seen Linda.

  The household to the left of Linda’s didn’t reply, and with an empty driveway, Scott assumed that they were out for the evening.

  The next door along was opened by a woman with a phone to her ear, and a young toddler balancing on her hip. Scott introduced himself and explained the reason for his visit. Scott’s words cut through her like a shard of glass, leaving her speechless.

  “Madam are you okay?” Her face was ashen, her lower jaw hung loosely, as fear, anxiety and curiosity collided with a monumental bang.

  Jackie Cartwright offered a nervous nod as she swallowed hard. “Yes, yes. I’m fine. Yes, I do know the woman across the road. Linda’s my friend. I’m minding her children. What’s happened?”

  Helen joined Scott at Jackie’s front door as Scott asked if they could come in. She stuttered both in her words and thoughts before she took a few steps in and led them through to the lounge.

  Shannon and Leo stared in silence at their visitors. Their eyes darted between Scott’s sombre face and Helen’s warming smile as she tried to soothe their apprehension. Jackie took the children into the kitchen, giving Shannon a packet of crisps and a carton of Ribena to keep her busy. She strapped little Leo into his pram, leaving him with a soft puzzle book to play with.