by ML Rose
Arla couldn't see due to the angle, so she had to step closer. Only by arching herself over the dead body could she get a view of the neck, which was trapped beneath one shoulder. She saw the bruise marks straightaway. There were also some lacerations in the lower neck, but the rest was hidden by the body.
"Good work, Rob," she said approvingly. Arla directed the beam of her light for the rest of the body, but she didn't need it. She had a close look at the half of the upturned face that was visible to her. The mouth was open, and the tongue protruding slightly. That would be one effect of strangulation, if that was the cause of death.
Arla knew that death by strangulation wasn't as easy as everyone assumed. The victim would struggle, and the windpipe was well protected by thick neck muscles. It took ten to fifteen minutes on average. Superior strength was needed, and Dr Vaughan wasn't a small man. He stretched to easily more than 6 feet, and she guessed his weight would be approaching 200 pounds.
She looked around the rest of the bathroom. All the bottles and his shaving kit were in place in the rack above the vanity sink. The glass partition in the walk-in shower was pristine. There was no other sign of struggle. If two big men had fought in here, someone had cleaned up before he left.
Or, he was strangled after he was killed by other means. Arla had a careful look at the fingers. The nails were cut, but nicotine stains were present. She had guessed as much by the dark coloration of the lips, but the mottling after death made the skin darker in any case. The knuckles were raised and red, with some lacerations. So, some evidence of a struggle.
The shirt was tucked in, and his outfit looked like office wear. He wasn't wearing shoes, only navy-blue socks.
Arla stood. "How far away is scene of crime?"
Lisa checked her phone. She grimaced and shook her head. "They must be Yes, busy. Last time I heard, Parmentier said they had four cases to deal with this morning."
"Right, we might as well get a move on. Help me turn the body over."
Rob looked pensive. Like any good detective, he was mindful of disturbing the crime scene. "Shouldn't we wait till SOC arrived, guv? I mean, we don't want to miss anything…"
Arla smiled at him. He was just doing his job.
"Look around you. Everything is in place, right? There are no marks on the carpet, so he wasn't dragged up here. He’s still wearing all his clothes, which means he must have just come back from work. Yet, he did struggle with someone. I haven't seen the bedroom as yet, but you have. Any signs of a struggle there?"
Lisa and Rob looked at each other, then shook their heads.
"Right. So, whatever happened to the good doctor, clearly happened outside this house. Maybe in the garden. A man his size would only be overpowered by someone equal in strength. Quite clearly, that struggle didn't happen here. Therefore, I don't think we will be disturbing too much if we just turn his body around, keeping it in the same place."
Rob put two gloved hands under the man's shoulder, while Arla stabilised the head. Lisa was at the feet, making sure they landed gently on the tiles when the body turned.
"Ready?" Arla said. "On my count of three. One, two…"
CHAPTER 4
Rob grunted as he pulled the shoulders back. Lisa positioned the legs so the hips turned over easily. Arla got her first good look at the face. Despite seeing numerous dead bodies in her career, she still found it disconcerting to stare into the lifeless eyes of a victim. His eyes were frozen in the fear and panic of the seconds before he died.
Arla resisted the urge to close the eyelids. She didn't want to touch him any further. Blood congealed on the side of the face that lay against the floor. Lisa shown her torch and Arla looked carefully. It was difficult to say if there was any blunt trauma, or whether the victim had just injured his face when he fell.
"Anyone got a pair of scissors? Arla asked. By the blank faces of both her sergeants she knew they didn't have one. But the uniformed constable outside did. He came in and produced a Stanley knife. Arla took it from him and gave it to Rob who slit open the button-down shirt.
Rob picked up the buttons and put them inside an evidence bag. Arla noticed the bruise marks on the rib fairly easily. The area was more than 5 cm and there was a bluish-purple discolouration. No penetration, but he had clearly been punched or hit there with a blunt object.
Arla stood and her sergeants moved to make way for her.
"Try Dr Banerjee again. Give me the phone if you get through," Arla said.
She walked past the uniformed constable and stepped into what must be the study. There was a computer desk in one corner with a printer on the side. No laptop, or desktop computer was visible. The shelves groaned with the weight of heavy medical textbooks.
Arla didn't know what Dr Vaughan's specialisation was, but she saw clinical medical books, with some obstetrics and gynaecology textbooks mixed in. His graduation and a couple of other certificates were framed on the wall.
She peered closely at the one that said Member of the Royal College of Obstetrics and Gynaecology. The designation of MRCOG had been awarded to Dr Vaughan in 1991. Arla opened the drawers of the filing cabinet below one of the bookshelves. She saw papers, neatly arranged in alphabetical order. But she couldn't find a laptop. Asking her team yielded the same result. She frowned.
"Did we find a cell phone?"
Lisa shook her head. "No guv. We looked for the mobile in the bedroom as well, but didn't find anything. There's no laptop anywhere in the house, we looked downstairs as well."
"What about the garden shed?"
Rob shrugged. "Had a look. Lawnmower and a toolbox. Nothing else."
Arla craned her neck and pointed at the ceiling. "Loft?"
"Not been there yet, guv."
Arla knew the doctor wouldn't keep the laptop he used in the loft, unless he had to hide it. She looked around the study, the first buds of suspicion forming in her mind. This place was too clean. Too pristine. Even the dead body in the bathroom looks like it had been placed there. She couldn't remember the last time she saw a murder scene that looked so tidy.
The signs of struggle pointed to the killer being a man. Unless the woman was a bodybuilder or an Olympic athlete, she wouldn't have won a fight with Dr Vaughan, who was wide in the shoulder and hips.
Or was he killed outside, and then brought indoors? The more she saw, the more she inclined in that direction.
"Have we asked the neighbours if they saw anything?"
Lisa shook her head. "Not yet, guv."
"Well, there's lots of houses on the street. Quite possible someone opposite saw something. Get Rosslyn and Gita down here. Might as well make a start."
She walked past the sergeants and into the first bedroom.
The king-size bed, which was slept in, indicated to Arla this was the master bedroom. The sheets were pulled to one side, and there was a clear depression where someone had slept. Arla walked to the other side and lifted the bedsheet and duvet with a gloved hand. This side had not been used, which meant the doctor was sleeping alone.
There was a mahogany writing table next to the window, with a stack of bookshelves above it. The curtains were drawn, and the spotlights in the ceiling glowed. Arla switched the lights off, and drew the curtains apart. Warm sunlight flooded the room.
Opposite the bed, she saw another family photo of all three members, placed on a sideboard. She noticed the slippers, three pairs of them, stuck to one side of a chest of drawers. Neatly placed, and undisturbed. It made Arla frown. She pressed her lips together, and put her hands on her hips.
Something didn't add up. The doctor was fully dressed, and had socks on. And yet, the bed was used. Arla put a hand on the depression in the mat, and it was warm. It had clearly been slept in last night. Did the doctor sleep with his clothes on? That didn't make much sense.
She took out a phone and checked to make sure Harry hadn't called her. Harry was at work, probably still dealing with the cocaine dealing gang they had just busted, after more than a yea
r's worth of surveillance. She would see him when she returned to the office.
Arla saw a couple of cards on top of the chest of drawers. There was a white lace cloth with dark red patterns on the chest of drawers. It was triangular and hung off the edges of the chest in tassels. The cards were displayed on top of the cloth.
Arla picked up a card. It was for a birthday celebration, and Dr Vaughan had turned 65 two weeks ago, according to the date. Someone had wished him happy birthday, and signed it off as Kiki. Arla took her phone out and snapped a couple of photos. Kiki sounded like a feminine nickname, and she wondered who it was. There was no sign of a woman living in the house. The furniture was all dark, and there were no flowers. This was a single man's home, nicely decorated, but in typical masculine fashion.
Arla walked to the next bedroom. This room is smaller, with a single bed. There was a chest of drawers and also a dresser in the corner. Lisa had the dresser open, and was looking inside. Arla found some clothes, a couple of suits and some shoes at the bottom. With gloved hands, she went through all the pockets of the suits.
Her hand steeled when she found a card inside a breast pocket. It was a restaurant reservation at an upmarket hotel in Belgravia, near Mayfair. A place where the upper echelons of British society dined.
The date was more than a month ago, and it was signed off as – love to see you there, yours Kiki.
That name again. Arla took out an evidence bag, put the card in, and asked Rob to bag the remainder of the cards. If nothing else, she hoped the woman's fingerprints would be on the card. Arla’s sixth sense told her it wasn't the wife. A wife wouldn’t invite him to a restaurant. Although the family photos remained on the wall, Arla doubted the doctor was still married.
"Right then. Let's have a look in the loft, shall we? Rob, would you like to do the honours?"
Lisa helped Rob find a hook for the trap door in the ceiling above the landing. The door swung down when Rob opened it. The collapsible staircase was lowered and the uniformed constable, whose name badge said Maguire, volunteered to go up first. He switched the loft light on, then walked around for a while. Presently, his ruddy face leaned down. "Nothing to see here apart from old suitcases, guv."
"Might as well have a look," Arla said, putting the heel of her flat shoe on the first rung of the ladder. The air inside the loft was stale and musty. Shafts of sunlight pierced the tiles, lighting up dancing dust motes.
Old carpets were rolled up in the corners, and so were several old suitcases. Like Maguire had said, not much of interest.
Arla turned her flashlight on and looked around the corners, ducking under spiderwebs and the pitch of the roof. She heard some scurrying sound at the corners, which indicated mice. Again, apart from mice droppings along the old carpets she found nothing else.
There were some plastic storage boxes with books stacked inside them. She averted her face from the plume of dust as she lifted the lid of one plastic box. Inside she found old paperbacks and textbooks, mixed in with some handwritten notebooks.
She lifted a notebook and went through it, shining a torch. They appear to be patient notes. Arla dropped the book back inside the box, and asked Rob to take the box as a specimen. She climbed down from the loft, and her phone beeped. It was Harry.
CHAPTER 5
Harry and Dr Banerjee, the pathologist, arrived at the same time. There could be no greater distinction between the suave and well-dressed Harry Mehta, and the shoulder slumped, creased suit wearing Dr Banerjee.
Arla was in the open plan kitchen as both men entered. Harry was behind Dr Banerjee. The elderly pathologist wore his usual dark blue linen suit, which looks so rumpled Arla felt like giving it an iron. There was a food stain on the lilac shirt. Dr Banerjee's receding hair seem to be giving up the fight. His bald pate glistened with a sheen of sweat. He moved ponderously, like a harmless old bear, as he approached Arla.
They called him Inspector Columbo for his appearance. But Arla knew appearances could be deceptive. Dr Banerjee had a razor-sharp intellect, and had taught Arla everything she knew about the art of analysing a dead body.
Dr Banerjee dug a finger inside his collar and pulled. "Goodness me it's getting hot, isn't it?"
Harry spoke up from behind him. "It's me. I tend to raise the temperature when I walk into a room."
Rob and Lisa cackled while Arla rolled her eyes. Harry was an oaf of giant proportions, and she didn't want to encourage him. Not that he needed any. He rubbed his hands with obvious glee at the mirth his statement had caused.
"I know it's hot, but you won't see me breaking sweat,” he said calmly.
He walked up to Arla, towering above her. Harry was 6 feet five, with wide shoulders. His coffee-coloured cheeks were smooth as marble, his jet-black hair swept back with so much gel Arla wondered why he didn't have greasy hands all day long. He winked at her, and she turned away, feigning annoyance.
"You know why I don’t sweat? Because I'm cool," he stated.
"You're a fool, actually," Arla retorted. She tapped her wrist. "What time do you call this?"
He lifted his long arms sideways, and a waft of expensive cologne hit her nostrils. Harry liked to drown himself in the stuff. At home his side of the dresser was full of aftershave and deodorant bottles.
"Someone has to do the hard work." He raised his eyebrows. "You know, ticking boxes and filling out forms. Paperwork makes the world go round."
"Doing all that paperwork is giving you a fat butt, Harry. You should check your weight sometime."
Dr Banerjee intervened. Lisa and Rob stood respectfully in one corner, watching the interaction with a smile. Everyone knew of their relationship, and after baby Nicole's arrival, there was no need to keep it a secret. Romantic alliances between force members were frowned upon, but the reality was that it happened all the time. It made sense too, because no one apart from cops understood their brand of humour, and their pressured lifestyle.
"Children," Dr Banerjee raised a hand. "The sun is out, and we have a dead body upstairs. I need to do the needful, then send it to the morgue for cold storage."
"Good point," Arla said. "Otherwise, even Harry's aftershave won't keep the smell at bay."
Lisa and Rob left the room, followed by Dr Banerjee. They were alone, and Harry grabbed hold of Arla’s butt and squeezed. Her pulse skyrocketed as a warm flush spread across her cheeks. She slapped his hand away and gave him daggers with her eyes.
"It's my scent," he whispered, giving her an air kiss. "You know you love it."
"I only love it when you keep your mouth shut." She murmured. But her eyes remained on his full, sexy lips. She blinked, and moved towards the door. Harry sighed in content and followed her.
"I got selected for the AFO course, by the way," he said. Arla's stopped short. She whirled around, frowning at him.
"Selected? When did you apply? I thought we were going to talk about this." She wasn't keen on Harry becoming an authorised firearms officer. It meant he might be taken from her team, and she didn’t want Harry to be at the receiving end of bullets.
"Last month. And you did know about it."
Arla gave a slight shake of her head. Harry could do what he wanted to, of course. But she had nightmare visions of him getting shot, and it was a future she didn't want to contemplate.
"Let's talk about this later," she muttered, now angry. Harry was all smiles for getting selected. Like a kid in a candy store. But what about her feelings? She was pissed off with him for being inconsiderate.
Or was she being unreasonable? She knew he wanted to take his career further, but this seemed like rather an extreme step. Questions clouded her mind as she stomped up the stairs. She forced herself to brush the dilemma to one side. She would deal with it later, back home.
In the bathroom, Banerjee was crouching by the body. His gloves were on, and he had a mask over his face. He had inserted the rectal probe thermometer. He pulled it out, wiped it on sterile tissue and took the measurement. He continued checking
the rest of the body, as Arla watched.
"What's the cause of death, Doc?" She asked after a few minutes elapsed.
Dr Banerjee was peering inside the oral cavity. He inserted a probe inside the victim’s mouth, and raised the teeth. Rigor mortis had already claimed the jaws.
He took a swab from the inside of the cheeks. He put the swap stick inside its holder, capped it, then attached a label and put it inside a specimen bag. He rested one hand on his knee and turned to look at Arla thoughtfully.
"Difficult to say. He's been strangulated, and obviously he was in a struggle. But I'm not sure if strangulation is the cause of death."
"Why do you say that?"
“The trachea is not displaced, which means it's not broken. Without breaking the trachea, we can’t stop airflow into the lungs. That's the main mechanism of death in strangulation."
He pulled down one of the victim’s eyelids and shone his torch into the whites of the eye.
"No jagged black marks that show petechial haemorrhages. They tend to happen when intra-optic pressure increases due to compressing the carotid artery in the neck. That causes the haemorrhages, but as you can see, they’re absent.”
"But his tongue was out, right?"
"Yes, but that just means he ran out of oxygen. There could be a number of reasons for that."
The pathologist pointed to the shoulders, where the shirt had been cut open further to expose the skin. Arla saw new bruises.
"He had been subdued, and he fought back. No question about it. But I can't find any penetrating trauma. No gunshot wounds. Strange. After a struggle, the victim is normally killed by violent means. That seems not to be the case."
Arla raked the tip of her tongue against her teeth.
What Dr Banerjee said fitted in with her own opinion. She knew how a killer’s mind worked. Had the dead body been placed here carefully to fool the detectives? Arla still had to look in the garden. But she hadn't seen any blood marks, or broken flower pots on the patio that was visible from the bi-folding glass doors.
