by Luca Veste
‘It’s been a while, that’s all. Was starting to wonder if I’d be stuck on break-ins for another six months.’
‘Well you’ve got something else now.’
‘Who’s with me?’
‘Rossi or Tony Brannon. Your decision.’
‘Great. Not exactly Sophie’s fucking Choice.’
‘Language. Weren’t you taught never to swear in front of a lady? And anyway, beggars can’t be choosers. How long until you can get down there?’
Murphy crooked his phone between his shoulder and ear. Grabbed his trousers from where they had been lying next to his jeans. ‘Which end?’
‘Which end of what?’
‘The park.’ Jesus wept.
‘Oh, Aigburth Drive. Just look for the lights. Sounds like half the bloody force is there.’
Murphy zipped up his trousers and gave the previous day’s shirt a sniff. ‘I’ll be there in twenty minutes.’
He left the house five minutes later reversing out the driveway, and onto the road. Decided twenty minutes was probably a little optimistic. It’d probably be double that this time of the morning, even without the usual weekday traffic through the tunnel. He shook his head, tugged on his bottom lip with his teeth, and turned right out of the small winding road which surrounded the small estate, lamenting the fact he was already going to be playing catch up when he got there.
The commute may have been bad, but at least it gave him a chance to wake up. Within five minutes he was on the motorway heading for the Wallasey tunnel, which separated the Wirral and Liverpool.
The Wirral hadn’t always been home. In fact, he’d only been able to call it that for the previous few months. The Wirral was historically known as simultaneously living in Liverpool’s shadow, whilst also enjoying much more wealth than most of Liverpool. These days, the link was closer. Whilst the wealth was still strong in the west of the Wirral, with the likes of West Kirby and Heswall, the destruction of the shipping trade at Cammell Laird’s on the east side meant that the Wirral now had its own pockets of deprivation. Even the kids spoke in a Scouse accent now, albeit a bastardised version of it. Murphy was comfortable living there, even if the subtle differences became more apparent every day, needling at him.
He loved the city of Liverpool. The people, the buildings, the history. He just needed some time away. Working there was enough for now.
He used his fast tag when he arrived at the Wallasey tunnel booths, and broke the forty mile an hour limit going under the River Mersey, but it was still forty minutes after the phone call by the time he’d pulled the car to a stop.
He walked out into the damp and cold January morning, zipping his coat as he walked towards the railings which lined the path, hastily strung-up crime scene tape strewn across them. The wide main road was shadowed by high trees on both sides, which masked most of the view. A couple of uniforms stood guard at the park entrance – a quick flash of his warrant card and he was able to pass through.
He could see the hive of activity a couple of hundred yards or so ahead, near a stone path which cut through the grass on either side, leading from the entrance into the distance. The main activity seemed to be concentrated on a grass verge which went up into the treeline. Murphy dropped his head as the wind rose, and began walking towards it.
‘Sir!’ Detective sergeant Laura Rossi, second generation Italian. Five and a half foot tall, dark long hair. Strong looking, from the broad shoulders which made her stocky, to the Roman nose which complemented her features. Most of the single, and quite a few of the married lads at the station had tried and failed with her. Murphy wasn’t one of them. She came bounding towards Murphy and brushed her hair away from her face, tucking strands behind her ear. ‘You all right?’
‘What have we got?’ Murphy said as she reached him.
‘Morning to you too, sir.’
Murphy looked down at her, Rossi being at least eight inches shorter, and about half his weight. He smiled as she looked up to him, before realising where they were and adopting a stoic face once more. He was glad she was there. In a weird way, and completely without context given he had no kids of his own, he wanted to look after her; be a father figure of some sort. She was inexperienced, he supposed. Needed some guidance. Which, if this was a bona fide murder case, he could definitely do without. Especially considering his last effort. ‘Let’s get on with it. And stop calling me sir, how many times do I have to tell you.’
‘Course. Sorry, sir. Young female, found by a corpse sniffer around six a.m. Fully clothed. Nothing here but the body, laid out beneath a tree.’
Murphy looked around and spotted the man she was referring to, talking to some uniforms. An older guy, probably in his mid-sixties, his dog sitting next to him, silent on his lead.
‘He have anything to say?’ Murphy said.
‘Not much, dog ran off into the trees, he went looking for it and found the girl.’
‘Is nobhead here?’
Rossi looked confused. ‘Who’s a nobhead?’
Murphy smiled, still finding it amusing that the Scouse accent didn’t match the Mediterranean looks. ‘Brannon. Is he around?’
Rossi attempted to hold back a laugh behind a hand. Murphy noticed her fingernails, bitten down rather than manicured. ‘Yeah, he’s off on the hunt for clues. His words, not mine.’
‘Good.’ Murphy replied. ‘Fat bastard could do with some exercise. SOCOs here yet?’
‘About twenty minutes before you.’
‘Any other witnesses?’
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Okay. You looked at the body yet?’
Rossi shook her head.
‘Well then. Let’s not keep her waiting.’
Murphy snapped on his gloves, extra-large, and began walking towards the scene. He could see the Palm House, a large dome building which was the centrepiece of the park, in the distance, past the trees. The great glass windows gave it the appearance of a huge greenhouse looked dull and lifeless in the muggy morning light.
Murphy and Rossi entered the tent that was being erected around the body. The treeline was thicker there, the ground, still not completely unfrozen from the harsh winter, crunching underneath his feet.
The click and whirr of photographs being taken was the only soundtrack to the scene. Murphy let his eyes be drawn to the girl. Early twenties he figured. Plain looking, dressed conservatively in black trousers and a red v-necked jumper. One earring, which meant either one was missing or was now a souvenir.
His money, as always, was on the latter. Always to the morbid thought first. To be fair, he was usually right.
Murphy side-stepped around the edge, carefully avoiding anything that looked important, and stood at the foot of the body, taking it in. She had the distinctive pallor of the dead; pale, the colour drained out of her as the blood stopped flowing. The clothes looked new, unworn, the creases on the jumper looking like they were from packaging, rather than wear.
She was spread-eagled, arms outstretched in a V, her legs doing the same. Carefully placed in the position. It looked unnatural, posed, which was probably the intention, Murphy thought. Her face was what drew his gaze. Half-lidded eyes, staring right through him. Blue, glazed, the last image they’d captured that of whoever had left her here. Her mouth was slightly parted, the top row of teeth on show in a final grimace. Ugly, red marks over her bare neck.
Dr Stuart Houghton, Stu to his friends, was crouched next to the girl. He’d been the lead pathologist in the city for as long as Murphy had been working. His grey hair was thinning, his posture stooped, as he stood up from his haunches. His short, squat stature only enhanced by the ever-growing paunch he was cultivating around his middle. He turned to look at Murphy.
‘Dr Houghton, what have we got?’
‘Took your time, Dave.’
Murphy shot his hands to his mouth. ‘Calling me Dave when you know I don’t like it? You never fail to shock. And it was only because I knew you’d be here already. What can you
tell me?’
‘Are you running this one?’ Houghton said.
Murphy gazed at the pathologist and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just do as I’m told.’
Houghton pursed his lips at him. ‘Well then, can’t tell you much at the moment,’ he said, gesturing towards the young woman. ‘This is how she was found, her arms and legs outstretched like she’s doing a star jump, only lying down. There’s no evidence around the body as far as we can tell so far, and she’s been dead around twelve hours. No ID, handbag, purse, nothing. Other than that you’ll have to wait for the post-mortem. We’re moving her out now.’
‘Why suspicious then?’ Murphy asked, knowing the answer but wanting to piss off the doc a little more.
Houghton muttered something under his breath before continuing. ‘As you can no doubt already see, there’s bruises around her neck which indicate asphyxiation. First paramedic on the scene noticed them, and, in my opinion correctly, assumed it was better to call in the big boys.’
Murphy looked closer at the girl. Large bruises under her chin, turning darker as time passed. A large birthmark, or mole, the colour of strong coffee on the lower left side of her neck.
‘Did she die here?’
‘Not certain yet, but I’m almost positive she didn’t. No signs of struggle around the area. The grass is flattened only in the immediate vicinity of the body.’
‘Any other distinguishing features aside from the mole, I need to know about straight away. And let us know when the post-mortem is.’
Houghton nodded, and went back to work.
Murphy left the tent, Rossi trailing behind him. ‘We’ll take a statement from the witness and then we should try and find out who she is.’
Rossi nodded and set off towards the witness. Murphy began the process of removing his gloves and looking around the area, seeing a few familiar faces from older crime scenes about the place. He nodded and exchanged greetings with some of them.
No one stopped to talk to him.
He wasn’t surprised. He gave one last look at the finished tent, the uniforms walking around the area, looking under the bushes and scouring the ground.
Back to it.
2
Sunday 27th January 2013 – Day One
‘This is Eddie Bishop,’ Rossi said as she led the dog walker towards Murphy. He was a grey-haired man with a stooped posture, a little Jack Russell padding alongside him. Yellow, stained teeth grimaced back at Murphy, the man’s wrinkled hands gripping the lead tighter, as he kept the dog close by.
‘Just a couple of questions, Mr Bishop.’
‘Eddie is fine.’
‘Okay, Eddie,’ Murphy replied, noting the softness of the infamous Scouse accent. Softness which you only really heard from the older inhabitants of the city nowadays. ‘Do you walk this way often?’ he continued.
‘Twice a day, first thing in the morning, again in the evening.’
Murphy watched as Rossi wrote down the conversation in her notepad. ‘And the dog found the victim.’
Eddie’s face grew serious as he explained how he’d found the dog standing over the young woman. ‘Terrible shame. Will take me a long time to get over this, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
‘And you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary this morning. Anything at all?’ Murphy asked.
Eddie shook his head. ‘Same as always, just me and Floyd.’ he replied, gesturing at the dog.
Murphy finished up with Eddie, explaining the need for a formal statement and promising to keep him informed, knowing that would be highly unlikely.
‘Anything else?’ Murphy asked Rossi, as she finished writing the conversation down in her notepad.
‘There’s someone who keeps telling uniforms at the gate that he heard something. Might be an idea to check that out.’
‘Okay. We’ll do that now.’
Murphy stopped to take in the place. The park was big enough to get lost in, vast areas of green and small wooded areas surrounding it.
‘In the dark, you could become invisible in a place like this,’ Murphy said to Rossi as they neared the gates.
‘True. Perfect places for this type of thing. In and out, probably without being seen in the early hours,’ Rossi replied, stepping underneath the crime scene tape. ‘I’ll be coming to interview this witness with you, yeah? I mean, I guess I’m getting to partner up with you on this one?’
Murphy paused. ‘Let me see. We’ve worked together on and off for about two years, right?’
Rossi nodded her head up and down slowly.
‘Ever known me to choose to work with Brannon?’
She smiled and mocked a salute. ‘I’ll just go and get a new notepad from the car.’
Murphy watched as she walked towards her car parked over the road, her posture straight and assured. The trouser suit looked new.
‘Sir. Sir!’
Murphy stopped and turned. Sighed for effect. ‘What do you want, Brannon?’
DS Brannon stopped jogging and bent down with his hands on his knees, panting. ‘I … sorry …’ He brought himself up again. ‘I just wondered if there was anything I can do?’
‘Haven’t you already got something to do?’
‘I just thought you might have something more interesting. I’m being wasted walking around looking through the mud.’
‘Rossi is with me on this one, Brannon. Maybe next time. For now, I want witness statements from everyone who lives in these houses which face the park entrance. Start organising it.’
‘But …’
Murphy smiled inwardly and turned back towards the road outside the park. Brannon wasn’t all that bad really. He was annoying rather than incompetent. He wasn’t even all that fat, but first impressions stick.
The uniforms were already being harassed by local residents eager to discover what was occurring near their homes. Murphy pushed through, ignoring the questions being directed towards him from a wild-haired older man, adorned only in a dressing gown and slippers.
Murphy took the uniformed constable who’d been trying to placate the man to one side. ‘Which one says he heard something?’
‘The loud-mouthed one.’
Typical, Murphy thought. ‘Okay, where does he live?’ The constable pointed to his house, which was exactly opposite the entrance. ‘Take him back in. We’ll be there in a minute.’
The first thought that struck Murphy as they approached the house, was that it seemed a little big for just one man.
As he entered, the second thought was that it wasn’t big enough for one man and the amount of stuff he seemed to own.
Newspapers were stacked up along the hallway in bundles, at least four feet in height, held together with what looked like old twine. A staircase with no carpet ran up the other side was similarly stacked with paper, but magazines instead of newspapers. As Murphy walked towards the first door which led off the hallway, he became aware of a sour milk smell assailing his nostrils, making him thankful for the lack of breakfast that morning. Rossi was a few steps behind him. Murphy turned to see if it had reached her yet. From the look on her face, he knew it had.
‘In and out?’
‘Definitely, or I’m going now,’ Rossi replied, covering her mouth with her hand.
They turned into a large living room, Rossi almost bumping into Murphy as he stopped in his tracks.
‘Jesus.’
The room was full. The only visible space to stand was that in which Murphy was occupying. Small portable televisions teetered precariously on top of microwaves with missing doors. Stacks of crockery were piled onto an old mantelpiece, a door missing its glass leaning against it.
It was the world’s biggest game of Jenga, only using household goods instead of wooden bricks.
‘Who’s there?’
The voice seemed to come from within the mass of what Murphy could only think of as every item a person could acquire in their life, without ever throwing anything away.
‘Hello? I’m Detecti
ve Inspector Murphy, this is Detective Sergeant Rossi.’ Murphy turned to introduce Rossi, but there was an empty space behind him.
Great.
‘I have a lot of work to do. Are you going to get on with it?’
Murphy ducked a little, trying to find the source of the voice. He saw a flash of brown through a small gap in the structure. ‘Can you tell me your name?’
A loud sigh. ‘Arthur Reeves.’
‘Right. And you live here alone?’
‘Do you see anyone else here?’
‘I can’t even see you, Mr Reeves.’
A small chuckle. ‘I guess that’s right. Let’s cut to the chase. I heard a car last night. It kept going up and down the road, disturbed my sleep. I got up out of bed and looked out the window. I couldn’t see very well, there’s not many streetlights up this way. It stopped at the entrance to the park. I assumed they’d been trying to find a parking space. Then it drove on again, right into the park.’
Murphy stood back up. ‘Did you notice anything about the car? Colour, model, reg plate?’
‘Not really. It was dark, as I said. Could have been dark blue, or dark red. Looked like a normal car. Or a van. A small van.’
‘Okay. And what time was this?’
‘About four a.m. I think. Maybe five or three, or in between. I thought it might be important, considering.’
Not exactly the early break Murphy had been looking for. ‘Anything else?’
‘Sorry. I went back to bed. It wasn’t until I saw all the police cars turn up that I even gave it a second thought.’
‘Well, thank you, Mr Reeves,’ Murphy said, patting his thigh, ‘that’s a great help.’
‘Is that it?’
‘Yeah. An officer will come and take a formal statement soon. But for now, you can get back to work.’
Murphy turned out of the room, coming face to face with Rossi. ‘There you are.’
‘Found the smell,’ Rossi whispered. ‘In the kitchen. There’s about two thousand empty milk bottles in there. Estimating of course. Think he got bored of rinsing them out.’
‘Let’s get out of here.’
They left the house, Murphy filling Rossi in on his conversation. ‘What was his deal do you reckon?’ he said as he finished.
