by Diane Saxon
Unable to consider the thought, she tuned back into Jim.
‘We managed to eliminate other footprints, both human and dogs, because they were different. Fliss’s footprints weren’t difficult to identify and the Dalmatian’s are distinctive.’ He crouched down, pointed to one with a long stick. ‘Large, catlike almost, with no fur between to smudge the imprint. Not many walkers up here after the rain, so we were fortunate. Quite a bit smudged by the presence of so many leaves, but there are distinctive prints in patches of mud.’
He moved, flowed his arm around the area. ‘Then we have slide marks right down to where Domino supposedly landed. We don’t know for sure as someone’s size elevens walked all over my bloody crime scene.’
He cast a scathing look at Mason and waited, but if he thought he’d get some kind of apology, Mason acted true to form and gave a careless shrug.
‘Domino was alive. He needed to be sent to a vet immediately. We didn’t know at the time we were dealing with a crime scene. We were working under the assumption he’d had an accident.’
‘Some bloody accident. Poor lad.’ Jim snorted his disgust. ‘So, we know more or less where he landed, but then it looks at the moment like someone else fell too.’ He swept his arm to indicate the slope of the wooded hillside. ‘There are more slide marks, intermittent, as though the person was rolling and bouncing.’ Jim glanced at Jenna.
Blood drained from her head leaving her weak and light-headed. She clenched her jaw, determined not to show any weakness, but noticed how Adrian watched closely as Jim continued.
‘From the initial observations, no forensics yet, it looks like your sister slid down the hillside and then, on hands and knees, crawled up into the tunnel, right over the body. The deceased has clear fingerprints on her face, neck and shoulder. Obligingly, someone dipped them in blood and mud before they applied them to the corpse. We’re getting them checked against the prints on Fliss’s iPhone.’
Jenna closed her eyes, ground her teeth together as she tried to swallow. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders. ‘Continue.’
‘There is one clear footprint on the body. We’re double-checking, but we believe it’s the same as your sister’s prints above. As the body had been there for possibly twenty-four hours from the state of rigor mortis, we’re assuming your sister had no idea she was there as she scrambled through the mud.’
Jim waved his hand in the vague direction of the site, shook his head with disgust. ‘So many bloody footprints in there, we can’t tell what happened.’ He flicked his fingers to indicate higher up the hill. ‘It’s clearer up there. Larger footprints keep coming down the hill, still controlled, still sideways, but faster and a little more slide to them. Right to the site.’ Jim let them absorb the information. ‘Any questions?’
Ryan eyed his father, raised a tentative hand as though he was still in school.
‘Son?’
‘Was she alive? Sarg’s sister. Was she alive when he took her?’
Jim cast his gaze around the rest of the crew. ‘I can’t give you that information. She wasn’t moving is all we can surmise.’ In the silence, he waited for further questions, but when there were none forthcoming, he waved them on to follow him. He strode away back towards the car park, coming up short as he reached a small area to the right-hand side, cordoned off with red and white crime scene tape.
‘Here. We think he put her down. Maybe he had to readjust his hold on her. We don’t believe there was a struggle. We need to conduct a thorough search, but here,’ he pointed, ‘there’s soft imprints in the mud, not just footprints, but clothing. And here.’ He used his stick to point again. ‘The shrubs here have been flattened.’
Jenna’s heart stuttered, and she voiced what everyone else must surely be thinking. ‘She couldn’t be dead. There was no logic to him carrying her if she was dead. Why risk it?’ Jenna circled her gaze around the group. ‘There’s already one dead body. Why wouldn’t you leave another? You have nothing to lose at this point. No. She had to be alive.’ She couldn’t believe anything else. Wouldn’t allow herself to.
Jim reached into his inside pocket, pulled out several small plastic evidence bags. ‘I’ve plucked a few things, simply because I could see them and with the weather closing in again, I don’t want to lose stuff I can clearly see.’ Handing out one each to Jenna, Mason, and Ryan, he gave them a moment to inspect the contents. He flicked his finger to indicate Jenna’s bag. ‘Long, blonde hair. Caught on this bramble. Fits your sister’s description. But we need DNA.’
‘I’ll arrange that. Her hairbrush?’
‘That would do.’
Nodding at Mason’s bag, ‘Clothing fibre, red. Again, we’ll see if there is any DNA on it.’
Jenna swallowed as her mouth went dry. ‘She had a bright red coat. To match Domino’s collar and lead.’ She slipped the bag from Mason’s fingers to get a closer look. ‘I’d hazard a guess that’s the same material.’ Her heart squeezed tight. They didn’t need DNA, it belonged to Fliss.
‘And, finally…’ Taking the small evidence bag back out of Ryan’s hand, Jim showed it to Jenna. With shaking fingers, she slid it from his grasp, rubbed her own fingers across it. A small silver locket.
Adrian stepped in for a closer look.
Jim’s voice gentled as she stood perfectly still while she studied the locket. ‘We know it belongs to your sister. We already checked inside. There are three photographs. Your mum, you… and Domino.’
Jenna’s soft pants were the only sound in the quiet of the woodland. Adrian slanted his gaze over to Mason, and Jenna turned to see why, realising from the stiffness of his frame that Mason suffered almost as much as she did.
Unable and unwilling at this point to take the implication in, Jenna paced away, took a moment, rubbing her thumb across the plastic encasing Fliss’s locket.
‘Mum bought it for her twenty-first.’ Her mum who’d been gone such a short while. Jenna closed her mind off to the pain stabbing at her chest. She’d not even come to terms with that emotional rollercoaster and she had to deal with this one. She could only hope she had the strength within her. ‘It damned near cost a fortune.’ With a last stroke of the necklace, Jenna handed it back. ‘Was that the only one you found?’
‘Only…?’
‘Necklace.’ She touched her fingers to her throat. ‘She always wore two. The locket Mum bought her, and the angel I bought her for her eighteenth. She never wanted to take it off.’ She stopped as her throat tightened against the words that needed to be said. ‘I bought it to protect her.’
Jim cleared his throat roughly. “There was no other necklace. Not yet. We’ll keep looking.”
Helpless, Jenna turned on her heel, she glanced at each of the men in their varying degrees of discomfort, held Adrian’s gaze for a long moment, clear determination filling her before she turned her attention to Jim. Professional. The only reason she could stay involved in the case was if she remained professional. If she fell apart, she’d never find her sister. Her mother was dead and gone. Fliss still stood a chance of being found if they acted quickly. First twenty-four hours were the most important. Half that time had already gone.
With steely determination, she met Jim’s sympathetic gaze and pulled her own inner strength right out of her boots. ‘What next?’
Jim indicated further down the pathway and they walked in silence for several minutes.
He reached inside his jacket pocket and took two further evidence bags out. ‘We think he put her down here again. Just before he came out to the car park. Maybe he needed to check there wasn’t anyone around. Maybe she was just too heavy for him. Either way, this is where we found the chain from the locket. They obviously became separated. It may have caught on her clothes, it’s considerably lighter than the locket.’ Holding it up, he showed it around. ‘And something else. A gold wedding band.’ He handed this to Jenna while he watched and waited.
‘This isn’t hers.’ She frowned as she handed it back and turn
ed to walk away.
‘No, I assumed that from the size of it. Your sister is tall, long-limbed. This ring is quite tiny. We think it may have belonged to the deceased.’
She swivelled around, tilting her head slightly to one side. ‘How?’
‘Don’t know.’ Shrugging, Jim took the evidence bags and put them all back inside his white overalls, except the one with the gold ring. ‘But the victim had a wedding band mark around her finger and no wedding band. The size would be consistent with her finger size. Her fingers were quite small.’
Jenna’s head spun with the possibilities. ‘So, either he took it because it’s identifiable and dropped it when he placed Fliss on the floor, or what’s the possibility Fliss had hold of it, as she touched the body, and she dropped it?’
Mason stepped in to take a look. Jim nodded his head, jiggling the packet in front of them.
‘Indeed. We’ll have it fingerprinted. Plain gold wedding ring. Initials and date inside.’
‘What?’ Jenna demanded, closing in on Jim to take the bag from his fingers and stare at it.
Jim leaned over, waggling a finger above the ring. ‘It has a date: 14 March 2008. And initials.’ He took the evidence from Jenna and held it close to his eyes, screwing his face up as he peered through his half-moon glasses. ‘MS and FS by the look of it, although the script is very ornate, so it could be something else.’ He squinted. ‘Could be a B. MB and FB. I dunno. Heh.’ He lowered the ring. ‘We’ll give it to the Intelligence Unit and see if they can come up with anything.’ He weighed it in his hand before stuffing the bag back in his pocket. ‘Good lead though.’
Jim stopped as they reached the boundary of the car park, indicating their surroundings. ‘No further evidence, no more footprints. Anything that might have been there was covered by all the activity when the Services arrived. We don’t know if he had a car because the vet drove hers down here, destroying any evidence, or if he lived locally and simply carried her home. Difficult to tell, but I do know he couldn’t have carried her far.’ He pointed at the ground where footprints had been cordoned off. ‘She was too heavy for him, you can see from the way his right foot goes over to the side every couple of steps, and besides, it would be too noticeable in this area to carry someone far.’ Nodding towards the overlooking houses rising above the car park. ‘You’ll see if anyone noticed anything when they finish their door-to-door.’
Jenna nodded, scanning the hillside once more. ‘He had to know he had limited time after Fliss screamed. He had to assume someone would call the police. The dog walkers in Dale End said it sounded…’ She paused to drag in a laboured breath. ‘Blood-curdling.’
Stripping off his gloves, Jim extended his hands to Jenna, wrapped both of his around hers when she reached out, his warmth seeping through the thin layer of her vinyl gloves. ‘Jenna, I’m sorry. Best of luck. You know if you need anything, my love, you come to me.’
She dipped her head but never made any attempt to withdraw her hands from his, feeling the easy affection which came from years of knowing each other. ‘Thank you, Jim.’
Glancing around, she gave his fingers a quick squeeze before she dropped her hold on him and stood in silence for a moment before Jim turned.
He shook Adrian’s hand, his gaze narrowed in quick assessment as though he needed to take the measure of him. He clenched Mason’s big fist in his for a brief moment before he turned and gave an affectionate scrub of his knuckles across his son’s head. ‘Get a suit, boy.’
Ryan bobbed his head in acknowledgement, his Adam’s apple jerking as he made rapid swallowing noises, dark crimson rushing up his neck and into his cheeks to leave them flushed and mottled under his pale skin. ‘Yes, Dad.’
Already preoccupied with the next step of his job, Jim strode off up the path towards the crime scene.
Mason drew up alongside Jenna as they made their way back to the cars. She tucked her chin into the collar of her coat, keeping her voice low. ‘I’m going back to the station. I’m told I’m not allowed to join in any house-to-house or questioning of witnesses. I’m only here to keep the glue sticking in the right places.’
Mason glanced over his shoulder at the Chief Prosecutor. ‘Wanker.’
She ducked her head to study her robust boots. ‘You’re going to have to find a more suitable name for him.’
As she raised her head, Mason patted her on the shoulder. ‘It’s good enough for now.’
She gave him a reluctant smile. ‘He doesn’t seem so bad. I guess his intentions are noble.’
Mason’s stillness drew her attention. ‘Don’t go all soft on him, now, will you? He’s not on your side, but I am.’
Before she could reply, he turned away and wandered towards his car as PC Downey scuttled after him and Adrian caught up with her.
‘He doesn’t like me.’
She kicked up a smile. ‘Mason? Eh, he doesn’t like anybody.’
15
Saturday 27 October, 18:00 hrs
The man rubbed eyes scraped raw by contact lenses. He fucking hated them, but he hated his thick-lensed glasses even more and refused to wear them to work. They made him look like some kind of geek with his thin, straight dark hair and swarthy skin. He raised his fingers to his stubbled cheeks. He looked scruffy enough by the end of the day without squinting at everyone through bottle bottom thick lenses. Not only did they age him, but the weighty frames dug into the dip at the top of his nose to leave a thick red ridge, like a scar. He’d considered buying new ones with thinner frames, but they could never thin the lenses down quite enough for his prescription to fit into the type of frames he’d appreciate wearing.
It was his mother’s fault. The opticians told her. If she’d taken him when he was younger, they would have corrected his vision at any early age while he was developing, but because of her fear of any kind of authority, she’d failed him. She’d always failed him.
He glanced at his watch. There was nothing more he needed to do. He’d kept his head down all day, but it seemed everyone needed him. The office bustled, but he’d handed over his workload before he was due to leave. Damned if he was about to work overtime. He had better things to do.
He flicked the screen off on the PC he’d worked on. Everything neatly filed, all information collated. Tomorrow he’d give the project more of a structure. He pushed to his feet and made for the door.
‘G’Night all.’
He blinked in the harsh lights of the corridor and made his way down the stairs, a hint of anticipation trickling through his veins. He’d not allowed himself to think about her all day, deliberately turning his attention away from the woman who was now his wife’s replacement. Soon. Soon he’d see her. He’d tend to her wounds, make her better and she’d be grateful.
On his way out of the door, he raised his hand. ‘Bye, Ben. See you tomorrow, mate.’
Relief swept over him as he slipped into his car. He could take the contact lenses out and drive home with his glasses on.
His stomach gave an angry growl and he realised just how busy he’d been during the day. Too busy to eat.
He reached for a packet of breath fresheners and popped one in his mouth as he checked his mirror and then pulled away from his parking spot, a quick thrill of excitement pushing away his weariness.
16
Saturday 27 October, 19:40 hrs
‘My tummy hurts, Jenna.’
‘Well, you should have taken notice when Mummy said to go to the loo before you came out. Don’t you dare wet yourself!’
‘Jenna, it hurts so much, please. I need to find a toilet. Please, Jenna.’
Fliss blinked once, twice. She could have sworn her sister had been in the room with her. Her voice had been so real. It hadn’t seemed like it was just in her head. It had been the shriller tones of Jenna’s younger self she’d heard.
The pain in Fliss’s stomach increased and she flexed her legs as much as the restraints allowed, pulled in her pelvic floor muscles. God, she was going to wet hersel
f. She wanted to jiggle around as she used to when she was a little girl and she’d waited too long to go to the loo. She’d always done that. Always been too occupied to think about such things as going to the toilet. Now, there was nothing more important, and it made the need all the stronger.
She had to have been on her own for hours and although she dreaded the return of her captor, she also desperately longed for him to come back and rescue her. Rescue her! How could she even think that way? He wasn’t going to rescue her. He was probably going to come back and kill her.
She waited in silence. Nothing but the sound of her own breathing to fill the empty cavern of a cellar. Desperate to pee, not even the welcome diversion of her drifting mind could help, her ears labouring to hear a sound, any sound.
Then she heard something, the faintest noise. A shuffle in the dimness of the white painted room. She held her breath and listened harder. Strained to hear. Less of a sound than a vibrating hum she could vaguely feel through the metal bed. She stared at the solid wooden door, it seemed to be coming from that direction. She angled her head slightly to catch the sound better, but it stopped abruptly as though it had been switched off. Resting her head back on the thin pillow, Fliss stared up at the ceiling and gave herself a minute to think.
Could it be a car? She tried to sniff the air for evidence of fumes, but her nose was still so blocked, filled with blood and snot so as to constrict her breathing, so she had to suck air in through her lips. The metallic taste in her mouth a persistent reminder of what had happened.
Christ, she’d probably broken her nose. Her sister was never going to let her live this down. She’d had quite a neat nose. A little on the long side, but at least it had been straight. Aware she could see it, she peered down the length of it. She hoped it was just swollen, or the break had been clean, and it would heal straight again. Knowing her luck, it would develop a lump, or be bent. She’d look like a witch. If she even managed to get out of there. If she lived.
