by Ford,P. F.
Chapter Eight
The news from the hospital mortuary was not the best Slater had ever heard. From his preliminary findings, Henry Cutter, their pet roving pathologist, was able to confirm that their victim was definitely a girl, about five feet two inches tall, and with blonde curly hair. Her age he reckoned to be late teens or early twenties.
He estimated she had been dead for less than 48 hours. And that was about as good as it was going to get at this stage, because, despite his best efforts, he had been unable to reconstruct the face enough to provide a good description.
“I’m sorry,” he told Dave Slater. “But there’s so much bruising and swelling to the face it’s impossible to tell you what she looked like. I could clean the skull and get Nadira to do a reconstruction once she’s finished excavating the grave, but that’s going to take a few days.”
“We may have to do that,” said Slater, glumly. “At the moment we’ve got nothing to go on. It’s as if she just dropped out of the sky.”
“Ah!” said Cutter. “It’s funny you should mention that. I’ve been trying to figure out how she could have been so badly beaten and what she could have been beaten with.”
“When I first saw her, I figured maybe she’d been run over by a steamroller,” said Slater.
“I’ve got to be honest,” said the pathologist. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so badly smashed up as this, and what marks I can make out don’t seem consistent with any sort of weapon I’ve come across before. And then I got to thinking about how she could have got there.”
“If you’ve got a theory I’d love to hear it,” said Slater with interest. “We’ve only got Norman’s ‘Aliens in a UFO’ theory to go on at the moment, and to be honest I don’t think it’s a runner.”
Henry Cutter smiled, obviously appreciating Slater’s attempt at black humour. Slater was glad – he didn’t want to work with someone who didn’t understand the importance of humour to help you cope.
“Well, you just said it,” said Cutter. “She fell from the sky.”
“You mean from an airplane?” asked Slater.
“I found a puncture mark on the back of her neck. I haven’t got the results yet, but it’s an unusual place to inject someone, so let’s assume she was surprised and something nasty was injected into her. Let’s suppose it was enough to knock her out. Then she’s dragged on board a small aircraft, the pilot takes off, gets to a few hundred feet, or so, opens the door and pushes her out.”
“Are you serious?” asked Slater.
“It would explain why there’s so much damage to the body, and it explains how she got out in the middle of all that long grass without leaving any sort of trail.”
“Yeah.” Slater looked at Cutter doubtfully. “But how do you know she was pushed? What if she fell?”
“Wouldn’t an accident like that have been reported?”
“You’ve got me there.” Slater nodded thoughtfully. “And now I’m thinking about your idea, it does seem to fit.”
“It also explains another thing,” continued Cutter. “In one or two places, coarse grass stems have actually penetrated her body. Normally they’d just bend and snap, but with the force of a body falling from a couple of hundred feet…”
“Can you give us any idea when this might have happened?” Slater hoped the pathologist could give them at least a rough idea, to help narrow their search.
“I’ll be able to give you a more accurate result tomorrow, but if I had to guess I would say the night before last, between 9pm and 3am.”
“How much weight would you put behind this theory of yours?” asked Slater, looking at Cutter thoughtfully.
“I need to confirm one or two things first,” said Cutter. “But I’d put my money on it being a winner.”
“Well we can certainly put it ahead of Norm’s ‘aliens’ theory,” said Slater. “I’ll start looking into it as soon as I get back. It’s just a pity we can’t identify her. We haven’t even got a bloke missing right now, never mind a blonde girl in her late teens or early 20s.”
“Pity,” Cutter said. “If only we had some dental records to compare, or DNA. Anything like that would help.”
The first person Slater bumped into when he got out of his car later was Steve Biddeford.
“Just the guy I was looking for.” Biddeford clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ve been assigned to your murder team.”
This was good news. Slater had a high regard for Steve Biddeford who, despite being relatively new to this work, was proving to be a valuable asset in many ways.
“Come on then,” said Slater. “You’ll need to get up to speed, although it won’t take very long. We’re not exactly making rapid progress. But at least we’ve got a proper incident room this time.”
Slater led the way through the building and up the stairs without saying any more.
“You’re looking thoughtful,” said Biddeford. “Anything I can help with?”
“We’ve got a dead body, female, no ID, face smashed to a pulp so we don’t really know what she looks like. How do we identify her?” Slater shook his head as they reached the incident room.
“Missing persons?”
“There isn’t even a bloke missing in the area, never mind a young girl.”
“Ah, right,” said Biddeford. “I see your problem.”
Slater led him into the incident room. There was a row of white boards propped against one wall. So far, two had been put up on easels and had information written in blue ink. Slater made his way to the first board and added “check possible light aircraft passing over between 9pm and 3am on Monday (29/06) night”. Then he added “SB”, Steve Biddeford’s initials.
“Maybe you could start by checking this light aircraft theory out,” Slater said to Biddeford, who had followed him over and was now staring intently at the two boards.
“Sure, no problem,” said Biddeford.
Slater began to add more information to the second board. It was headed “Victim Number One”. He wrote the word “name” on the left side, but as yet, they had no name. Under that, he started a list of possible identifying features. There were lots of blanks by the time he finished. All he really knew was her height, hair colour and estimated age.
Slater noticed Biddeford staring at the board he had just finished updating. Before he could ask why, Biddeford reached into his pocket and fished out a photo.
“Err, Sarge,” he said to Slater. “Might this be the girl?”
Slater took the photograph and stared at it.
“Who is she?” he asked.
“Remember I told you I’d been asked to look out for a girl who’s gone missing from Birmingham? Who might, or might not be in Tinton? She’s the right age, the right height, and you can see she’s got blonde hair.”
“It has to be a possibility,” agreed Slater. “But her face is unrecognisable from the damage she sustained. Can you see if you can find someone up there who can get hold of her dental records and send them down to us?”
“I’m on it,” said Biddeford, hurrying to the nearest phone.
Chapter Nine
Slater wasn’t quite sure if finding the grave shortly after they found the first body was a bizarre coincidence, or if there was some connection, so for the time being he and Norman were covering both and had been given the luxury of having their own incident room and a small team to help them.
For now, the team consisted of Detective Sergeants Slater and Norman, Detective Constable Steve Biddeford, and PCs Jane Jolly and Phillipa Flight. A further PC might be allocated to man (or woman) the main office phone and handle incoming calls if one could be spared once everyone had returned from the crime scenes.
In the meantime, Jolly was on phones, which she seemed happy to do, and Flight was on general admin, which Slater had quickly found out she hated. He realised that as far as PC Flight was concerned, she felt she was wasted indoors and should be out on the street fighting crime.
The phone on Slater’s desk
buzzed annoyingly. He grabbed it.
“Slater.”
“I don’t know which one of you lot is going to handle this, but the dead girl’s mother’s here to identify the body,” said the voice of a world-weary duty sergeant down the line.
“What do you mean ‘the dead girl’s mother’s here?’” asked Slater.
“What do you think I mean?” the voice replied.
“But we’re not even sure who she is yet. How the hell can someone have called the mother?” Slater was both puzzled and annoyed at this development. They’d only been sent the dental records last night and he’d yet to hear from the pathologist this morning.
“You can keep your irritation to yourself and spare me the interrogation,” the voice came back, belligerently, “I’m just the bloke on the desk down here trying to keep everything running smoothly and in order. Right now, I’m telling you there’s a lady here who’s come to see her daughter’s body. It’s your case, so it’s your problem. And, as you don’t seem to be clear about how this place works, I’ll remind you – the only people who could have made that call are those working on the case. So I’ll thank you to direct your questions at them and not at me. But before you do that, get someone down here to look after this lady. Now.”
“I’m sorry-,” Slater started to apologise, but it was too late. The duty sergeant had hung up. As he replaced his own receiver, he made a mental note to call in to make peace next time he went down stairs.
“What’s up?” asked Norman.
“The girl’s mother’s here to identify her daughter.”
“What? Who told her? We don’t even know who-”
“I know, right?” Slater shook his head, wondering what on earth was going on. “And when I find out which big mouth around here called her I’m going to kick some serious arse. But, right now, we’ve got a lady downstairs needing an explanation.”
“Do you want me to go? I’m quite good at handling these things.”
“Are you sure you don’t mind, Norm? What are you going to tell her?”
“I haven’t a clue,” said Norman, climbing from his chair. “But that’s okay. I’ll make it up as I go along. There’s no point in both of us going when we’ve got so much to do. I’ll take Jolly Jane with me. I’m sure we can handle it between us.”
“Did you mention my name?” asked Jane Jolly, looking up at the sound of her name.
“I did indeed,” said Norman. “I need your help to comfort a lady who might, or might not, be grief stricken in the very near future.”
Jolly rose from her chair and followed Norman through the door. Just before it closed, Norman’s head re-appeared.
“Can you chase up the pathologist?” he asked Slater. “If he’s got us an ID we just might be able to get away with this. Otherwise we’re going to look like a complete bunch of idiots.”
“I’ll do it right now,” said Slater, picking up his phone.
Before he entered the waiting area to meet Mrs Townley, Norman took a peep at her through the window in the door. She was a small, mousy, frightened, and slightly bewildered looking, woman sitting on her own in the waiting area. Norman thought she looked a little like a dormouse would look in human form. The overall impression she made on him was that she appeared to have been worn away by life; he could empathise with that.
“You ready for this?” he asked, turning to Jolly. “This poor woman has come all the way down from Birmingham this morning, and we don’t even know if it’s her daughter’s body we’ve found. This has the potential to be a very embarrassing and uncomfortable situation for us, and a very distressing one for her.”
Jolly looked through the window at Mrs Townley.
“She looks very sweet. A bit like my mum,” she said. Then she took a deep breath. “Come on, Norm,” she said, pushing at the door. “We can do this.”
She led the way across the room.
“Mrs Townley?” she began. “I’m PC Jolly, and this is Detective Sergeant Norman. I understand you’ve come to identify a body.”
Mrs Townley looked up and Norman was pleased to see her face break into a smile. Obviously PC Jolly’s own warm smile, and his attempt at looking friendly, had worked. “Let’s go somewhere a bit more private,” he suggested, indicating a door in the far corner.
They sat around a table in an interview room. Jolly fussed around and made sure they all had tea or coffee, but they could only stall for so long, and finally Norman realised he was going to have to tell her the truth.
“Can I ask you why you’re here this morning, Mrs Townley?” he began.
“They said you’d found my daughter’s body,” she said. “So I’ve come to make sure it is her, and to take her back home.”
“Who told you, Mrs Townley?” asked Norman.
“Why, Sergeant Brown in Birmingham,” she said, looking surprised that Norman should feel the need to ask.
“Ah. Right,” said Norman. “The thing is, we don’t actually-”
He was going to say that they didn’t actually know if they’d found her daughter, but he was interrupted by his mobile phone bursting into song.
“Please excuse me one moment, I need to answer this,” he said.
He stood and walked out of the room.
“Yeah?” he said. “Any luck?”
“It is Sarah Townley,” said Slater.
“You timed that just right,” said Norman. “I was just about to explain that we didn’t know who she was. And by the way, it wasn’t one of our team that told her. It was some idiot called Sergeant Brown up in Birmingham.”
When he re-entered the room, Norman apologised once more before getting back to what he was saying.
“As I was saying,” he continued. “We don’t actually have mortuary facilities here as we’re only a small station. Your daughter is over at the hospital mortuary undergoing a post mortem examination. I’m afraid she died under suspicious circumstances.”
Mrs Townley nodded her head but said nothing. Norman wasn’t sure if she really understood what he was saying. Jolly moved a little closer to Mrs Townley and took her hand. The older woman looked at Jolly’s kindly face and gave her a sad little smile in return.
“Look,” said Norman awkwardly. “Let me go and see if I can find out when we can take you across to the hospital to see the body. PC Jolly here will look after you while I’m gone.”
Mrs Townley looked dazed and even more confused than she had earlier
“See the body. Yes,” she said quietly. “I suppose I’ll have to, won’t I? Thank you.”
When Norman left the room to go upstairs and check with the pathologist, he heaved a big sigh. He hated doing this. Why on earth had he volunteered? Maybe there was some masochistic streak inside him.
PC Jolly patted Mrs Townley’s hand, wondering how she could make her feel better.
“It’s a good job her father’s not still alive.” Mrs Townley sighed. “He would never have coped with losing a second daughter.”
“A second?” said Jolly. “That seems awfully unfair.”
“Oh yes.” Mrs Townley nodded sadly. “There’s only me left now. My husband died of a broken heart after the first one disappeared. God knows where she is, but I’m sure she can’t still be alive. His granddaughter went too, and now the second daughter’s gone. What have I got left now?”
She squeezed Jolly’s hand hard and looked at her as though she almost expected an answer, but Jolly had none. What could she possibly say to that?
“What happened to your other daughter?” she asked, tentatively.
“Is this a bad town?” asked Mrs Townley.
“I’m sorry?” said Jolly.
“Tinton,” said Mrs Townley. “Is it a bad place?”
“It’s just a quiet, sleepy little old market town,” replied Jolly. “It’s very rare for anything bad to happen here. In fact, it’s rare for anything to happen at all.”
“My older daughter and my granddaughter disappeared here. That’s why Sarah came. She w
anted to see if she could find out what happened to Sandra. I begged her not to come, but she wouldn’t listen to me. That’s why I reported her missing. I was hoping the police would find her and send her home. But she’s old enough to do what she wants. That’s what they told me. And now look what’s happened.”
Jolly was beginning to get the strangest feeling.
“Tell me about Sandra,” she said, trying to keep her voice steady. “How did she disappear?”
“They were moving here,” said Mrs Townley. “Fifteen years ago it was. Her and that husband of hers. He came from this area and he wanted to move back so they bought this nice big house and moved here. But some time during the first week they were here, she just vanished into thin air along with her daughter. He said she took all her belongings and ran away. But she wouldn’t have done that. She was very close to her father. Whatever she was doing she would have told him, even if she was running away.”
She lapsed into silence, still holding onto Jolly’s hand, squeezing hard. Jolly lifted her hand so she could stroke the back of Mrs Townley’s hand. Her mind was racing with the possibility, but surely it was too much of a coincidence, wasn’t it?
When Norman came back, Jolly asked if she could have a quick word with him outside.
“Jesus,” said Norman, when she told him what she’d just heard. “It’s a bit of a long shot, don’t you think?”
“Yes.” Jolly knew it was, but she also knew what her instincts were screaming at her. “But how often do you uncover the bodies of a woman and child together?”
“But we don’t know that for sure yet. It’s unconfirmed. We can’t just say to her, ‘oh, by the way, someone’s dog has just dug up two bodies that just might be your daughter and granddaughter’, can we?”
“How you figure out that sort of problem is your job,” said Jolly, sweetly. “I’m just passing on information that might be relevant to our enquiries.”
“I’ll have to talk to Dave about this,” said Norman. “In the meantime, you do not mention this possibility to Mrs Townley. You can tell her that if she really wants to see her daughter we can take her this afternoon, but make sure she understands the daughter she’s going to see won’t look much like the daughter she remembers.”
