by Nathan Sayer
Reed bent at the knees to get a small advantage. He wasn’t allowed to get right in there with her and didn’t much want to. She was laid flat on her back with her arms tucked neatly beside her. A thin layer of grime covered her skin and clothes. He walked to the opposite end so that he could see her face more clearly. She looked like she might be sleeping, not in the peaceful heavenly way that everyone imagines but in the gormless slacked jawed way that people really are in their sleep. Blood had dried to her head and matted her hair. Maybe the litter that surrounded her might hold some clues. Then Reed noticed something; the blood on her head went slightly to one direction. It defied gravity and ran upwards towards the sky, meaning her body must have been moved at some stage or at the very least turned over.
The murders Reed had dealt with before were the result of robberies, muggings or street fights which had escalated to something more than intended. They could be described as almost accidental killings. The only intentional murder he could recall working on was the case of Andrew Gate. Mr Gate had shot his wife after finding out she was having an affair. He called the police straight away after doing it and confessed all. Gate had a reason for his actions. Or had the reason just been more obvious?
Reed quickly gave himself a mental slap. There were sick and twisted people out there and just because he couldn’t rationalise the murder of a young girl, it didn’t mean that somebody else didn’t have what they believed to be a good reason. Some people had morals that wouldn’t allow them to throw rubbish from the car; here, someone had tossed a young girl’s body into this piss-stinking litter trap.
“Hello Detective Inspector Reed. Nice to see you again, although, I will say not the best of circumstances. I hear you’re in charge of this one.” It was head pathologist, Doctor Michael Steed. Reed welcomed the strange little man’s interruption.
“Hello Mike. Yeah I’m in charge of this one. I didn’t see your car.”
“The car’s here, I’ve been here a while. You just weren’t looking. I saw you trying to put off coming up here, so I gave you a minute before offering my support. It’s not a pretty sight is it?” Michael Steed was no more than 5 foot 4. Reed guessed he was over sixty because of his white hair and professor beard. He spoke with a foghorn of a voice that held posh tones, and Reed always expected him to finish each sentence with “You stupid boy!” but this would have been totally out of place with his jolly character.
“Not pretty at all. I said I didn’t see your car; it doesn’t mean I didn’t know you were here.”
“Enlighten me, dear sir.” Steed said whilst he adjusted his tweed jacket.
Reed nodded towards the policeman standing with the clipboard of names, “You’ve been disturbing my crime scene.”
“Ah. This is why you are the detective and I am not. I got a sort of permission from the lovely DS Tyler; she didn’t think you would mind me taking a look-see.”
“And she would be correct. Find anything?”
“Nothing earth shattering. It’s pretty much what you can see for yourself: female, late teens-early twenties and looks as though a blow to the back of the head is the most likely cause of death. I haven’t done too much as I didn’t want to interfere with your crime scene. The only contact I made was a liver temperature check, just a pin prick. There is something a little strange though.”
“How do you mean, strange?” Reed asked.
“I’ll know more after the autopsy but the blow to the head itself looks fairly straightforward. It’s the time of death that’s a bit of a puzzle. The liver temp would say it was sixty hours ago given the weather we’ve had, but if you were working from sight alone, I would say about twenty four hours. Any more than that and you would have expected our little creepy crawly friends to have really started on her, which they haven’t. Ask another pathologist and they might say it’s over sixty hours due to some thinning of the skin in certain areas. It’s rather interesting.” Steed explained with a smile.
“Now you’ve confused the hell out of me! What’s your best, educated guess?”
“Oh. Sixty hours. The liver temperature rarely lies.”
“How long before you start the autopsy? Reed asked, wondering why Steed had given him all the other timeframes. He was talking for the sake of bloody talking.
“Crime Scene tells me the body can be taken away within the next couple of hours. I’ll only hang around for another forty odd minutes, just so I can take another liver temperature reading. All things considered I’d say I’ll start the autopsy about three this afternoon. You want to tag along?” Steed chirped.
“I think ‘want’ is a bit strong, but yes I ’need’ to tag along, so don’t start without me.” Reed instructed.
“Right you are. Don’t you be late.” He countered, before offering, “If you’re hanging around too, I’ve got lunch in the car? It’s my wife’s finest ham and pickle.”
“You’re a bloody mystery to me.” Reed shook his head. Food was the last thing on his mind.
“What?” Steed shrugged, holding his hands out, but Reed was already walking away.
After locating DS Alice Tyler who was pretty much the Robin to his Batman, he informed her that she would have the pleasure of driving him back to the station. Plumridge would stay on to watch over the forensic team. Not that they needed it but he would be on hand to relay any important messages.
As Tyler and Reed were friends as well as colleagues of opposite sex, there were always rumours surrounding them. She was one of the most thorough detectives he had ever worked with and her memory was exceptional, which happened to be one of Reed’s downfalls. He would take advantage of her photographic-like memory by not listening in meetings, knowing she would keep him up to date with the important bits.
They had fun together and worked well together. He was respectful of her, which couldn’t be said for all the males in the department, especially as she had been recommended for promotion, by Reed, ahead of the rest of them.
They had first worked together when Reed’s brother, Liam, had been burgled by way of mistaken location. Liam’s flat was situated next door to a small-time thug called Carl Driscall, who happened to think he was a big-time player in the crime world. Driscall would add considerable weight to his already large physique by draping his body in gold, a ring for every finger and five necklaces when one would have sufficed. It was supposed to be a statement of success when in fact all it achieved was unwanted attention.
It was this jewellery and the drugs that paid for them that were the target for the three burglars. Unfortunately for them, they went to the wrong flat and with Reed’s brother Liam having only just moved in and yet to make it a proper home, all they left with was a TV, a pair of trainers and a jar of small change totalling £16.43.
Luck would have it that one of Reed’s informants was leaving the King’s Arms pub and spotted the three men as they made a run for it carrying their loot. Weapons of defence had been clearly visible. It was these weapons that had got Reed’s back up most. Seeing the bigger picture, if his brother had come home any earlier than he had, Reed had serious doubts as to whether they would have checked to see if the person walking in matched Carl Driscall’s description before using their baseball bats and metal bars if his brother had come home.
A few days and a couple of calls later, Liam’s stuff was returned in full. The three men were offered a promise of no arrest which Reed kept. But one visit to the intended target to inform him of their plan to rob him, and how they had carried baseball bats meant for him, justice had been served fairly swiftly.
In a strange way, Tyler had admired Reed for his actions. No rules had been broken, just manipulated to suit the situation. The fact that Tyler had been privy to all of Reed’s actions and hadn’t lodged a complaint meant that a mutual friendship had begun.
Being Chief Family Liaison Officer for Norfolk was not what Allison Mcleary had set out to do. But somewhere along the line it was what she had become. Her main role was dealing with families af
fected by a crime that was still ongoing. If somebody was missing or murdered, it was Mcleary’s duty to reveal or conceal information, her judgement on the family members emotional wellbeing serving as her guide. Sometimes though, she had no choice on discretion. When a missing person was found, dead or alive, she had to pass the information on.
She had experienced physical assault when delivering news but the worst injuries she had suffered had been from a middle aged woman who, upon hearing the news that her son was safe and well, had hugged her so hard that it actually cracked a rib. It was hard accepting the credit for good news but harder taking the blame for bad.
Mcleary was now sat opposite Carmella’s dad, Brian Chapman, in the dining room of this newly built, but not yet finished house. Brenda Chapman was in the lounge talking on the phone. Their only other child, Brett, who was now very likely their only child, was upstairs in his room, blocking out reality with endless hours of computer games and loud music much like any other teenager.
Mcleary had just taken a phone call from DI Reed to say that a young girl’s body had been found. Although it had not been confirmed as Carmella, it did match her description and it was time to prepare the family for the potentially devastating news before a friend or family member called them to say there was a heavy police presence at Thetford Common and ask if they had heard anything.
It was a blessing and a curse to be able to read people so well and Mcleary had a visualisation of what was to come. The house she was sat in was beautiful. Brian, a builder by trade, had built it to their exact requirements and over the last couple of days had explained what was left to do. The few bricks that were left on a pallet in the back garden had been set aside for a barbeque which was going to be at the centre of the patio. The main family rooms had been finished and decorated in neutral colours. He was waiting for a wood burner to arrive so he could put it in the hollow brick fireplace she was staring at now. It had an empty space where something should be, a symbol of their lives to come. Brenda would be upset, obviously, but Brian was barely holding it together at the moment and she feared he could have a complete breakdown. Brett would be sad, lost and confused and wanting the whole episode to just go away.
Brenda came into the dining room and made eye contact with Mcleary, immediately knowing something was wrong. Brian, who had not looked up from his newspaper when Mcleary had taken the call, now folded it slightly between his fingers and peeked over the top of it.
“What is it?” Brenda asked.
“Sit down and I’ll tell you. I’ve just taken a phone call,” Brenda had pulled a chair from the table and was physically shaking. Brian folded his paper completely, putting it down on the table and tried to steady his wife. Brenda somehow knew in her heart of hearts what was coming. Mcleary’s eyes switched from one parent to the other as she continued, “A body has been found.”
Brian’s face instantly contorted and he threw his hands up to hide it. Brenda was beyond shaking now. She looked like she was having a seizure. Her breathing was almost asthmatic and she gasped for air. The first of many tears to come were gushing down her cheeks.
“It does match the description of Carmella,” She continued but wasn’t sure she had been heard. Mcleary lowered her head in respect, “I’m sorry.”
She let the Chapmans cry and try to find comfort in one another’s arms; only when the screaming started did she stand and move over to them. She didn’t know if she was wanted there but she couldn’t help herself. It was only when she wrapped an arm around each of them that she realised the screaming was coming from Brian.
Brett came thundering down the stairs and Mcleary looked up at him as he froze in the doorway. He knew too.
Just knew.
She stepped away from his parents to allow him to join their mutual hug of grieving. Allison Mcleary left the room and shed some tears too.
Chapter 4
“Two sugars for me.” Reed demanded.
DS Tyler was stood by the coffee vending machine in the main reception at Wymondham police station. Although you had to pay for the coffee down here, at least it actually tasted like coffee which was more than could be said of the free stuff they were provided with upstairs. DI Reed had come through the double doors with purpose. He always had two sugars so Tyler accepted he was just asking for a cup and not informing her how he liked it. “Yes, sir.”
“Then come and see me in my office.” He added as he made his way down the corridor, not breaking his stride or looking back.
“Yes, sir.” Tyler also accepted she was paying today. She felt around in her bag for the purse she had just put away.
The journey back to Wymondham had been sullen. The discovery of a young girl’s body wasn’t exactly something either of them wanted to delve into. Not straight away but, unfortunately, they would have to. When they finally parked up, Reed had taken out his phone and told Tyler to go ahead and he would catch her up in a minute. She was almost certain he was going to call his wife and it made her feel a little sad that she didn’t have someone to call. In all honesty, if Reed hadn’t have been there, she probably would have called him. Seeing people murdered and discarded like rubbish triggered off an instinct to check on the ones you loved. Not that she loved Reed but her dad was dead and her mum was in a care home. She visited her mum once or twice a week but she wasn’t conveniently ready at the end of the phone if they she ever fancied a chat. Since her dad had died four years ago, her mother had shown signs of dementia within a matter of weeks. Since then it had been hit and miss as to whether she could actually hold a conversation. Tyler didn’t have a partner and she had thrown herself into her work to such an extent that she had drifted apart from her university friends. The sad truth was that the person she felt closest to was her boss.
She made her way down the corridor and up the stairs towards Reed’s office. It was a slow journey as there had been no lids to put on the coffee cups. Over analysing it, she established that the cups and lids had been purchased in equal measures. Nobody should ever need two lids to one cup; some people might not even want a lid. Being short of cups she could understand, the common practice of inserting one inside the other to protect your hands from the heat was perfectly acceptable. What wasn’t acceptable was the fact she had paid sixty pence for two drinks and twenty pence’s worth was scolding her skin and staining her clothes.
After much care, she entered Reed’s office. He was sat behind his desk on the edge of his big comfy chair, rifling through one of his desk drawers and he didn’t feel the need to look up. Every time Tyler was in here she couldn’t shake the feeling that he suffered from some form of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. All the papers on his desk were at right angles to the edges of the desk, in neat, almost untouched piles. He had two pens, one red, and one black; they were positioned so that they formed a triangle against the corner of his desk.
This provided a dilemma for Tyler, she was somewhat unsure as to where she should place his coffee and as there was more liquid on the outside of the cup than there was in it, she didn’t want to mess up his perfectly organised display. Luckily he relieved her from the dilemma; he slammed the drawer shut, stood up from his chair and held out his hand inviting her to hand the drink over. He took a big gulp from the cardboard container in the same manner as a homeless alcoholic would drink from their bottle that was hidden in a brown paper bag. He made to put his cup down but hesitated for a split second, obviously struggling to find a suitable spot on his desk too. He chose instead to finish it off and toss the cup in the bin. Tyler made a mental note to hold onto hers until it was finished as she sat herself down.
“I want you to join me at the autopsy. Dental records confirm it’s Carmella.” Reed said.
“Thanks.” Tyler replied sarcastically. They both knew she wanted to be there. Reed wanted to be there too. They both knew that the autopsy, as horrible as it would be, was the potential first step to catching the killer. Plus, Reed needed Tyler there; with her memory she was his personal notepad.
“You’re more than welcome. I could take someone else if. . .”
“No, I’ll come.”
“I know you will.” Reed smiled before unexpectedly throwing his car keys on her lap, making her jump so that she spilled a little more coffee. He was already on his way out of the room so she gave up drinking it and placed it on the centre of his desk out of spite.
The morgue was part of the Norwich City Hospital estate. It was set amongst various research centres. There was a whole building dedicated to plant research, another where its occupants designed various diets to help with various diseases. Slap bang in the middle was the mortuary. As they parked out the front, Reed couldn’t help but think that the mortuary location was a sort of afterthought, like the planners had forgotten they needed one. Its location hardly inspired faith in the work being done in the research centres either side. The main hospital had its own morgue for the patients they couldn’t save so that this one was dedicated to ‘outside’ corpses.
Reed and Tyler had unfortunately been here a number of times. This didn’t stop the receptionist, Ms Edward, not Edwards, always requiring identification. How she could see their small ID cards was a mystery. She looked like she was the wrong side of 80 years old and she had a personality of someone who hadn’t slept at all in those years. She would squint at the ID before painstakingly comparing it, point by point, to the human form in front of her. Once she was satisfied, she gave them their passes and protective clothing and waved them through, letting them find their own way because she knew full well they had been here before. The protective clothing came in a sealed bag and contained a full body suit which zipped up at the front, a hat to catch loose hairs and a pair of paper boots to minimalise the chances of contaminants being transported into the autopsy room. Hands needed to be washed thoroughly before entering and again after exiting.
