A Quiet Death

by Cari Hunter

  From the doorway of the main house, his wife Trudy watched the team disembark from the van, and then clapped her hands to silence the collies and disappeared back inside.

  “The Landie’s fuelled and ready to go,” Ron said. “Yon hiker and his missus are in the living room. It’s a bloody shame what’s gone on up at Greave, and you folks are welcome to co-opt anything you need for as long as it takes.”

  “We appreciate that, Mr. Stanton,” Eleanor said.

  He tipped his cap at her. “Ron, please. Oh, how do, Sanne? Here, let me get that for you.” He strode across and took Sanne’s rucksack before she had a chance to shoulder it. “Those girls of yours laying yet?”

  “Not yet. It’s still a bit dark for them.” She fell into step with him as he led the way to his Land Rover. “I have high hopes, though.”

  “That’s the spirit. I’ll ask Trude to leave a dozen out for you if I remember.” Ever the gentleman, he boosted her into the back of the Landie, where she shuffled onto the bench seat beside Nelson.

  “I promise I’ll share my eggs with you,” she whispered to him.

  The engine noise and the roughness of the ride curtailed any further conversation, and Sanne could only catch flashes of Stryder Clough through the canvas shell covering the rear compartment. She had run a similar route on occasion, following a lower path close to the clough’s central stream and then joining the Pennine Way just beyond Greave Stones. Sitting proud at the top of the clough, the stones were ideal for picnics and scrambling, offering an excellent vantage point on a clear day, or shelter from the elements if the weather turned. She could only imagine the horror of finding a body hidden among them, although her imagination had ample source material thanks to two of her recent cases. Closing her eyes, she leaned into Nelson and felt his brief, reassuring grip on her forearm. They were approaching the two-year anniversary of their EDSOP partnership; by now, what he didn’t know about her, he could probably hazard a good guess at.

  A sudden lurch and dip brought the Land Rover to a halt.

  “That’s about as close as I can get you,” Ron said, leaving the engine to idle and jumping down from the driver’s seat. Sunlight flooded into the rear compartment when he unfastened the canvas flaps. Half blinded by the brightness, Sanne welcomed his guiding hand as she climbed out onto the plateau of stony ground that marked the end of the track. “You can join the path just there,” he told her, aware of her familiarity with the area. “See? If I weren’t so damn busy, I’d come with you.”

  “We’ll be fine. Thanks.” She hefted her rucksack and adjusted its straps. It was an old one she’d found stuffed into her own Landie, and Eleanor had filled it with logbooks, forensic clothing and markers, and recording equipment. She set off at a nod from Eleanor, leading without being asked and picking her way through the heather until she reached the narrow trail.

  “One of these days I’ll come up here when we’re not on a case,” Nelson said, taking in the view with wide eyes. “Bring Abeni and the girls, pack a lunch, and run wild.”

  Sanne smiled, the hills and fresh air irresistible despite the circumstances. “You should. They’d love it. Meg and I used to spend all our summer holidays outdoors, riding our bikes on the back field. Our mums wouldn’t see us till we were hungry, and we’d have given our eyeteeth to get as far as the Peaks. There was none of this buggering about on Facebook or PlayStations.”

  “Tumblr,” Nelson said. “I think that’s where the cool kids are these days. Or is it Imgur?”

  Sanne crossed her eyes at him. “Not being at all cool, I have no idea what you’ve just said.” She slowed to gauge the best stepping stones as the path veered to the opposite side of the stream. Her first choice wobbled and capsized beneath her boot. “You can swim, right?”

  Nelson looked dubious. “Yes, but I hate getting my feet wet.”

  “I suggest you avoid that one, then.” She chose another and hopped across, waiting on the bank until everyone else joined her. “It’s not far now,” she told them. Looking up, she caught her first glimpse of the stern grey rocks, and she walked on without hesitation. Having assumed the role of guide and pacesetter, she couldn’t shirk either responsibility even if she’d wanted to. She fixed her eyes on the path again, concentrating on where she put her feet and not what she was heading toward.

  One of the officers guarding the scene met them at the spot where the path became less distinct, the clough giving way to peat hags and groughs undulating across the hilltop. He waited while they donned their Tyvek suits, masks, and booties, no doubt aware that his entire uniform would have to be sacrificed to SOCO for analysis.

  “The vic’s round here,” he said. “We’ve been keeping to one path.”

  Eleanor nodded and gestured for him to lead on. They passed the flat table-like rock where Sanne and Meg had once shared lunch, soaking wet after a deluge but too happy with the views and homemade cake to care about their sodden socks, and Sanne was half-smiling at the memory when she noticed the foot. A small, frail thing, it protruded from between two stones, its toes almost submerged in the peat. She heard Chris O’Brien swear and Nelson draw in a sharp breath as they spotted it as well.

  “Sanne, could you pass me the camera, please?” Eleanor asked. “Are you okay doing the video?”

  “Fine.” Sanne gave Nelson the rucksack to hold and withdrew both pieces of kit from its depths. She moved forward when Eleanor did, panning the camcorder in a wide arc and then narrowing its focus to a gap beneath one of the stones. The body revealed itself in increments: a tattered heel, a skinny leg, and a bottom bared by a crumpled-up dress.

  “Fucking hell,” Eleanor said, and the click of her camera ceased.

  Ignoring Eleanor, Sanne squatted so low that her nose almost touched the peat, coming face-to-face with a young girl, her eyes half-lidded and her expression tranquil. This close, Sanne could see it wasn’t a dress that she was wearing but a short, brightly coloured tunic with gold brocade decorating its purple cloth, missing the loose trousers that would have matched it. For some unfathomable reason the responding officers hadn’t thought to mention that the girl was Asian, probably either Pakistani or Bengali, but Eleanor was already on the phone, breaking the news to the brass.

  “Damn,” Nelson said, stooping at Sanne’s side. “What on earth is she doing all the way out here?”

  Sanne lowered the camcorder. “I think that might be the sixty-four thousand quid question,” she said.

  *

  “Yes, sir, I’m aware of that.” The peat was too wet for Eleanor to pace on, but that didn’t stop her trying. Water gathered around her booties as they sank into the spongy layer, spilling over her bootlaces whenever she stayed still for too long. “I’m planning to call in a community liaison.”

  The wind forced her to hold the phone close, which aimed Detective Chief Inspector Litton’s nervous breakdown directly into her ear.

  “This is all we fucking need, with everything that’s gone on in South Yorks,” he said, his voice verging on a whine. “I don’t want our force tarred with the same brush, and I won’t have it said that we’ve wilfully neglected our duty.”

  “No, sir.” Eleanor watched a grouse dart for cover as Nelson strayed into its territory, and she wished she could heed its “g’back” warning cry. Like several other police forces in England, South Yorkshire stood accused of ignoring evidence linking gangs of men to the sexual exploitation of young girls. That the men were mostly from ethnic minorities and their victims white had reignited racial tensions in the affected areas and raised suspicions that the police had been burying the cases for fear of appearing racist. The resulting media fallout had been considerable, and the issue was unlikely to fade from the headlines any time soon.

  “Initial thoughts?” The snap of Litton’s question startled Eleanor. She turned to face the stones again, finding less to distract her in their impassive mass.

  “She’s young,” she said. “Perhaps thirteen or fourteen. No obvious cause of
death. Her only visible injuries are minor and probably due to her being barefoot. The lower half of her clothing is missing, and her position suggests she may have hidden herself in the rocks rather than been concealed there by a third party.”

  “So we could be looking at rape not murder?” Litton sounded moderately cheered by the prospect, and Eleanor had to dig her nails into her palm to keep the anger from her response.

  “It’s impossible to say, sir. The body is still in situ. We’ll know more after the PM.”

  “Yes, well, I expect to be kept apprised of any developments.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  He ended the call, and she dropped the phone into her pocket as if it had dirtied her fingers. Her team—well aware whom she’d been talking to—looked pensive as she approached. They weren’t stupid; they all understood the implications for the department should one foot be set wrong on such a case.

  “DCI Litton wishes us luck with the investigation,” she said.

  Nelson huffed in outright disbelief, and Sanne busied herself scratching peat from her eyebrow. Above them, the beat of rotor blades announced the impending arrival of SOCO.

  “Now or never for your footage, Sanne,” Eleanor shouted over the helicopter’s din.

  Sanne gave her a thumbs-up. “I’ve got loads already, and we took more photos.”

  Her enthusiasm made Eleanor smile. Sanne was in her element on the moors, but the hike and the increasing wind chill already had Eleanor craving a hot bath and a generous dram of Scotch. She couldn’t feel her toes, her eyes were watering, and her nose kept running. While she appreciated the grandeur of the Peaks, she preferred to view them from the comfort of her car as she drove past. On the positive side, at least she wouldn’t end up with second-degree sunburn this time around. “Do you want to stay and chat to SOCO?” she asked.

  “Aye, so long as they don’t try to chase me off with a big stick. I’ll see if Nelson will keep me company. Safety in numbers and all that.” Sanne shielded her eyes from the downdraught. “Are you on the next flight out?”

  “That’s the plan. Get what you can from them and brief me ASAP. Phone or e-mail is fine if you’re late back.”

  “No worries, boss.” Sanne grimaced as if realising what she’d just said. “Well, maybe a few, eh?”

  *

  Still clad head to foot in forensic coveralls, but well beyond SOCO’s newly established perimeter, Sanne used a thin crease on the flank of a suitable rock to boost herself upward. The gritstone bit a hole in her nitrile gloves and shredded the skin of her fingertip, but she managed to wriggle to the summit, where she found her balance and turned in a slow circle.

  “Are you joining me?” she shouted down to Nelson, who stood squinting at her in the glare of the dipping sun. He briefly considered her proposition before nodding and starting to follow her route.

  “Promise you won’t laugh if I split my kecks?” he said, self-conscious as ever about the snug fit of his Tyvek suit.

  “I promise I’ll try.” She held out a hand and helped him up, keeping a firm grip on him until he’d found his sea legs in the strengthening wind.

  “Right,” he said, once assured that his suit had survived intact. “What am I looking at?”

  “For the most part, the summit of Brabyn’s Tor. And that’s the Pennine Way.” Sanne nodded toward the only visible path. “From here it crosses the summit for about a mile before dropping down to the Smithy River. If you followed it south instead, it would dip to the Snake and then climb again toward Corvenden.”

  He grunted in recognition. “Bit of déjà vu about this, isn’t there?”

  “Yeah.” She kept her eyes fixed on the horizon as a blush of pink began to highlight the dusting of clouds. She hadn’t been anywhere near Corvenden Edge or Laddaw Rocks since the abduction case of the previous summer, and she didn’t want to look at them now, though they were little more than a smudge in the distance. She hated that the actions of one man had tainted an entire area for her, but what had happened there was still too raw, and she wasn’t sure when, if ever, she would be able to go back.

  “Do you think this is a copycat, San?”

  “Honestly?” She looked up at him. “I haven’t a clue. From the state of the vic’s feet I would say she’d been running, and it seems obvious she hid herself, but surely she’s too young for someone not to have missed her? If she’d been up here with a group or her family, they’d have reported in by now, but local police and Mountain Rescue haven’t been alerted. Besides which…” She hesitated, not wanting to offend him.

  “Besides which, what?”

  She decided to dive right in. “Well, you don’t see many ethnic minorities in the Peaks. I’ve been running and hiking around here for years, and the vast majority of the people I meet are white. I could count on one hand the number of Asians I’ve seen, and they’re never in traditional dress. Maybe in summer, having a picnic by the river, but never on the tops in crappy weather.”

  “Huh. So I’m a statistical anomaly, am I?” He sounded intrigued.

  “That you are.”

  “Cultural thing?”

  “I suppose it must be, but either way, I think we can rule out an abduction during a day trip.”

  “Okay.” He scanned around, paying particular attention to a steep outcropping. “Any caves nearby?”

  “No. The closest are those at Laddaw, but our vic would never have made it this far. Oh shit, I’ll tell you what there is, though!” She shook her head at her own ineptitude and began to climb down. “There’s a bloody road!”

  Nelson spun in a three-sixty. “Where? I can’t see one.”

  “You won’t. It’s a couple of miles north, over the lip of the hill. It connects up with the Snake eventually, but no one uses it much anymore except for local access. You can still get through to Sheffield that way, though, if you’re idiot enough to try.”

  Nelson bounded back to the peat, ignoring the splash of black water that hit his suit. “Or if you want to avoid mobile speed cameras, police patrols, and anyone else who might remember you.”

  “Exactly.” She weaved through the rocks until she could see Ted Ulverston, the Scene of Crime Officer who had worked their last major case and who had politely but firmly shooed them away from the girl’s body.

  “We’re nowhere near finished yet,” he called, spotting their approach.

  “That’s fine,” she said. “I just wanted to pinch a couple of head torches, if you have any to spare.”

  Ted raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you going potholing?”

  “Not a bloody chance, but the sun’s setting, and we’ve decided to toot around while you do your forensic thing.” She wasn’t usually one for subterfuge, but she didn’t want SOCO tagging along when there might not be anything to justify the trek.

  “Whatever floats your boat.” Ted rummaged in a holdall and brought out a pair of torches. “I’ll give you a shout when we’re ready to move her.”

  “Cheers, Ted.” The kit safely stashed, Sanne slung her rucksack over her shoulder. “We’ll keep to the Pennine Way and bag or mark anything that looks like a recent discard,” she told Nelson. “If she was out here in daylight, there’s a chance she found the path.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell the boss about the road?” Nelson’s question held just the hint of a tease. Sanne was nothing if not by the book.

  “I think she’s got enough on her plate, and it’d take ages for anyone to drive over and meet us there.” She puffed out her chest and held her head high. “I am seizing the initiative, Nelson. The boss made it my New Year’s resolution.”

  “In which case, lead on.”

  *

  The swish of the curtain prompted Meg’s seventeen-year-old patient to unplug her mobile from the wall and abandon the text she was in the middle of composing. Levi Collins had come to the hospital via ambulance with a half-hour history of abdominal pain that she hadn’t attempted to self-medicate, and she swung her legs nervously as s
he awaited Meg’s verdict. Meg spent a few seconds admiring her leopard-print onesie and fake UGG boots, standard local dress for a trip to the A&E, though the full-length tail was a novel touch.

  “Well?” Levi asked. “Am I up the duff?”

  “No. Your pregnancy test was negative.” Ignoring Levi’s triumphant whoop, Meg handed her a leaflet detailing various contraceptive choices. “Try to find something in there that suits you, eh?”

  Levi stashed the leaflet in her bag. “What’s up with me, then?”

  “You have a UTI.”

  The colour drained from Levi’s face. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Is it chlamydia? God, me mam’ll kill me.”

  “UTI, not STI. You have a urinary tract infection. They’re very common, and yours will clear up fine with a short course of antibiotics.”

  “Thank fuck for that.” Levi toyed with her phone, as if the urge to update her status was too strong to bear. “Me mam says I’m dyspeptic.”

  “What, you’re prone to indigestion?”

  “No, I can’t spell for shit.”

  “Ah, right.” Meg bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Okay, well, here are your antibiotics, and here’s a leaflet that might help prevent another infection. Will you be able to read it?”

  Levi plucked it from Meg’s fingers. “Course I will. I’m not thick, y’know.” She slid from the bed and untangled her tail from the railing. “Ta, Doc.”

  Meg jotted a note on Levi’s chart, watching her wander into the X-ray department and then out again in search of the Majors exit.

  “We should put trimethoprim in the bloody water supply,” she said to Liz, as the tail vanished around a corner. “That’s my fourth UTI of the day.”

  Liz rubbed her eyes as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just seen. “I bet that one was your favourite, though.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Hers didn’t come with a fake coma like Mrs. Begum’s.”