by Sally Rigby
‘Hello, Whitney.’ George answered after a couple of rings.
‘Hey. How are you?’ she asked.
‘You’ve caught me at a bad time. I’ve just come out of an informal interview for a new post.’
‘What post?’
Would George still be able to help on her cases if she got the job? They’d only worked together on one, and even though it started off badly, in the end it had made all the difference. Thanks to George, Whitney’s daughter Tiffany was rescued from a pair of psychotic twins who’d have murdered her if they’d had the chance. Whitney would forever be in George’s debt for that.
‘Associate Professor in my department. I shouldn’t be saying this, but several people in influential positions have intimated I’m the favourite for it. The official selection process is extremely stringent and begins next week.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me. You’re so good at your job. What does the interview process involve?’
Interviews in the police force were difficult enough. Whitney could only imagine how hard George’s interview would be. The thought of it made her insides curl.
‘Today it’s the familiarisation programme, which includes informal interviews and a lunch where the applicants meet and chat with members of the department. It isn’t formally assessed, but people will definitely pass on their opinions. It will be interesting to see the competition. No one else from our university is applying. The shortlist consists of four outside applicants and me. Next week I have to give a presentation on my research to the Selection Panel, plus anyone who’s interested. Most will come from my department, though it’s open to anyone in the university. Formal interviews by the Selection Panel take place the day after the presentations.’
‘Good luck. It sounds stressful.’
‘I’m well prepared,’ George said. ‘Did you call for anything in particular?’
‘I thought you might be interested in a case we’ve just got.’
‘I’m sorry. As much as I’d love to be with you, it’s not possible. I can’t miss the lunch. But it doesn’t mean you can’t phone me if you have any questions.’
‘Don’t worry, I totally understand,’ she said.
‘Thanks. Before I go, why don’t you give me a quick rundown?’
Whitney smiled to herself. George couldn’t resist; she was that sort of person.
‘It’s certainly a doozy. I’m at the crime scene, and in front of me is a naked man. Well, naked apart from his socks. He’s also minus his penis and balls. I’m with Claire at the moment. It’s pretty gross. But work comes first, and I won’t keep you any longer.’
She knew her words would tempt George. But would she come? Was it wrong she was trying to lure her? Probably, but George was her own person. She never did anything she didn’t want to.
There was silence for a few seconds.
‘I didn’t expect that. How can I not come and take a look? Give me directions and I’ll be there as soon as I can.’
‘What about the lunch?’ Whitney asked.
She didn’t want to put her off, but equally she didn’t want the responsibility of getting her in trouble.
‘It’s not for a little while. I’ll make sure I’m back in time. This is one scene I don’t want to miss.’
Chapter Three
George pulled on her coat, picked up her bag, and headed out of the office, sneaking down the corridor to the side door of the old Victorian building where her room was situated. It was madness to be nipping out when she had the lunch to attend, but she had a fascination with murders involving mutilation and was interested in the psyche of the perpetrators. Over the years, there had been several famous cases involving mutilated bodies. Not just chopped into bits to transport or dispose of, which was a whole different scenario, but mutilation which had some significance.
Fortunately, because of the awful weather, she’d decided to bring her car into work, and she battled with the wind to keep her umbrella from blowing inside out as she hurried to the university car park. What happened to the lovely spring weather of a few days ago?
It took around twenty minutes to reach the address Whitney had given her as it was on the other side of the city. As she approached the waste ground, there were several police cars parked and the usual yellow cordon tape around the crime scene area with officers strategically placed around it. She found a free space up the road and, after parking, she walked briskly to the scene, until reaching one of the uniformed officers.
‘Sorry, you can’t go any further,’ the officer said, holding his hand up to stop her.
‘I’m here to see DCI Walker. She’s expecting me. I’m Dr Cavendish.’
‘Dr Cavendish to see DCI Walker,’ he said into his radio.
‘Send her down,’ a crackly voice said.
‘You can go now. It’s straight down there,’ he said, pointing at the stepping plates which led into the waste ground. ‘But sign the security log first.’ He held out a clipboard, and she signed herself in.
She headed where he’d indicated, but before reaching there accidentally walked right through a muddy puddle which was at least four inches deep. She glanced at her shoes, which she’d worn especially for the informal interview and lunch. Damn. Now she’d need to change them before she could go back.
They were black patent leather with a small heel. Being five foot ten, she only ever wore small heels, as she didn’t like to tower too much over everyone. Not that she didn’t enjoy being tall. She did. It gave her a certain amount of respect and authority, which is why she’d chosen them for today.
She debated going back to the car to see if her wellies were in the boot but decided against it as she couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn them and it would just waste time.
As she drew closer to the tent, she saw Matt and Whitney in deep conversation. Whitney smiled and waved. It would be good to catch-up with the officer again, even under these circumstances. There might have been friction between them when they initially got to know each other, but they’d moved past that. Whitney was a refreshing change from the people George worked with. The detective always said it as she saw it. If she didn’t like something, she’d tell you – she was open and honest about her feelings. Something George struggled with on a daily basis.
There was also a connection between the two of them since their last case involving Whitney’s daughter. When she saw Whitney and Tiffany together, she had a twinge of regret she’d chosen her career over having a family. But it was her choice and most times she was happy with it. She’d done very well, and when she made associate professor, it was going to be even better.
‘Look at the state of your shoes. Don’t you have any wellies?’ Whitney asked as she approached.
‘By the time I realised, the damage had been done. I don’t have much time, so tell me what you know about the victim.’
‘Come and see for yourself. Matt, you can stay out here.’
‘Thanks, guv. I couldn’t bear looking at it again.’
‘That bad?’ George asked, noticing how grey his complexion was.
‘I haven’t seen anything like this before,’ Whitney said.
‘Really? Surely you must have seen mutilated bodies?’
‘We live in Lenchester, not in London. I’ve seen missing limbs on occasion, but not missing genitals. It looks… Well, let’s not talk about it out here. Let’s go in.’
She followed Whitney into the tent and saw Claire in the opposite corner, putting her camera into its case.
‘Morning, Claire,’ George said.
‘Another gawker.’ Claire shook her head.
‘Not exactly. I wanted to see the body in situ.’ She walked further into the tent and up to the body.
The naked male victim appeared to be in his forties, had dark hair streaked with grey, and was well toned, with no flab. Her eyes focussed on the hole where his genitals should have been. Dried blood was splattered around the open wound. A wave of nausea washed over her, but she
swallowed hard, determined not to let it take hold. Before becoming a forensic psychologist, she’d intended on being a surgeon like her father, but found herself unable to even look at blood. She’d spent many hours in the hypnotherapist’s chair and had mostly got over it, but wounds like this still affected her. A hand resting on her arm made her start.
‘Are you okay?’ Whitney asked.
‘Yes, I’m fine. You know my history with blood.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would affect you like this. I thought you’d be interested from a psychological perspective.’
‘I am. And I’m not going to let anything get in the way. I’ll be fine.’ She breathed deeply a couple of times and forced herself to look at the body. This time it was easier.
‘What’s that all about?’ she said, pointing to the socks.
‘You mean you don’t have some theory already circulating around your head?’ Whitney quipped.
‘Maybe the killer doesn’t like feet,’ she suggested.
‘What happened to his missing bits?’ Whitney mused.
‘Saved in a jar? Thrown in the bin? He was forced to swallow them?’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ Whitney screwed up her face.
‘It’s been known.’
‘They’re not in his mouth, throat, hands, or anus, if that helps,’ Claire said. ‘Now, if you two have finished, I need to arrange for the body to be moved.’
‘Just give us a couple of minutes, so George has time to fully inspect it,’ Whitney said.
George noted the fact the victim didn’t seem to be positioned in any way, and how he was left in full view and not hidden.
‘How long has he been here, do you think?’ she asked Claire.
‘Let me do my tests back at the lab and I’ll let you know. Off the record, I’d say at least ten hours. The dry patch underneath implies he must’ve been placed here before the rain started,’ Claire said.
She exchanged a quick glance with Whitney. It wasn’t often the pathologist was willing to share anything until she’d confirmed it back at the morgue.
‘Come on, let’s leave Claire to get on,’ she said to Whitney.
‘We’ll wait to hear from you, Claire. Hopefully you’ll have something for us later today,’ Whitney said.
‘You never know your luck, if people leave me alone and I can get on with my work.’ Claire dismissed them with a flick of her hand.
They walked out of the tent and inspected the surrounding area where the scenes of crime team had started working. ‘Look over there,’ George said. ‘Tyre marks. Do you think they’re from the car belonging to the person who dumped the body?’
‘It’s going to be the devil’s own job trying to get any evidence in this weather. Do you have enough time to come to the station with me so we can discuss this further, or do you have to get back for your lunch?’
George checked her watch. It started in thirty minutes and not only were her shoes caked in mud, there were splatters up her tights and over her skirt. She couldn’t go in that state, which meant going home and getting changed. But there wasn’t time. It would be better to miss it completely than to show up late and have all eyes on her. She did have some jeans, a jumper, and a pair of trainers in the car, which would be fine for wearing in the incident room.
Was she making a mistake? She didn’t like letting people down, but equally it was only part of the familiarisation programme, and she knew everyone apart from the other candidates, who she wouldn’t see again. She’d phone the departmental administrator and explain she’d been called away on an emergency. That should suffice.
‘I’m not going dressed like this,’ she said, pointing at her clothes. ‘I’ll come back with you to the station.’
‘That’s not like you,’ Whitney said.
‘You need me, they don’t. It’s not like it’s the formal interview. I’m sure it won’t matter.’
Ducking out of the lunch wasn’t something she’d have considered doing in the past. But since working with Whitney, she’d changed. She wouldn’t allow herself to be governed by the rules in quite the same way as she used to. That didn’t mean she’d given up rules altogether. She liked them. Especially the security they gave her. But now she’d break them if she believed it would produce a positive outcome.
‘Well, if you say so, then I’m happy about it. We need your input. But don’t blame me if it comes back to bite you on the bum,’ Whitney said.
‘It won’t. Next week is the important time, when I have the presentation and the formal interview. You have me at your disposal for a few days, at least. Come on, let’s leave so I can change out of these clothes.’
Chapter Four
George and Whitney each grabbed a coffee from the machine on the first floor of the station.
‘How’s Tiffany?’
‘She’s getting there. She’s stopped jumping every time there’s a loud noise, and she went to the pub with her friends at the weekend. The first time she’d been out at night since it happened. The counsellor you suggested made all the difference. When I’d suggested she went to one, she flat out refused. I don’t know how you managed to change her mind.’
George had met Tiffany for coffee several times in one of the university cafés. The young girl had opened up about the nightmares she’d been having but made George promise not to tell her mum because she didn’t want her worrying. She’d agreed, providing Tiffany went to see the counsellor she recommended.
‘It helps to speak to someone outside of family. I’m very fond of her.’
‘And those feelings are reciprocated. It’s always “George, this… George, that…” A lesser woman would be feeling jealous.’ Whitney laughed.
‘You have nothing to worry about. You’re an incredible mother. It’s because of you Tiffany’s been able to face her demons.’
‘Now you’re making me blush,’ Whitney said.
‘I mean it.’
‘Let’s get to work before this turns into an emotion-fest and makes us both uncomfortable.’
They made their way to the large incident room, which held desks for around twenty people. Grouped in pairs, each desk had a computer screen on it. The board was situated on the far side of the room, close to the door leading to Whitney’s office.
As usual, the room was buzzing with chatter. They headed towards the back, by the board.
‘Listen up, everyone,’ Whitney said. ‘I’m sure you’ve heard we’ve found a body.’
‘You mean a partial body.’ Frank, the oldest member of her team, gave a loud belly laugh.
‘Okay, let’s get all the jokes over with, and then we can start,’ Whitney said.
George loved being with the team. The atmosphere was friendly, with no real competitiveness. So different from the university, where you really had to watch your back, as everyone was trying to outdo each other. She wondered briefly if anyone at work had noticed her missing, as the lunch was about to start. There was nothing she could do about it now. She’d phoned and explained her absence was unavoidable and she’d be there as soon she could.
‘Well, one thing’s for sure, he won’t be feeling a right dick,’ Doug said.
Everyone laughed. After a few more equally bad jokes, Whitney raised her hands, indicating for everyone to be quiet.
‘Fun time over. We have some investigating to do. We haven’t had this confirmed, but I believe him to be Russell Atkins. He went to my school.’
She wrote his name in the centre of the board, followed by a question mark. ‘Ellie, do a PNC check, see if he’s in the database reported as missing, or if he’s in our records for any other reason. Also, see if there’s anything on social media. If you don’t come up with anything, check the DVLA database. I don’t want to have to wait for DNA or dental records. The family needs to be informed as soon as possible. If I’m right about it being Russell, we need his address, where he works, family, friends, and anything else you can find.’
‘Yes, guv,’ Ellie repl
ied.
‘Before I assign actions, I’ll hand over to Dr Cavendish for her insights so far.’
George smiled at everyone, remembering what it had been like the first time she’d spoken to the team. They were shocked Whitney had invited her in. At the time, they’d been sceptical about how much help she could give. Now they seemed to accept her.
‘It’s good to see you all again, albeit under less than ideal circumstances. My initial thoughts are this murder is personal. Killers don’t normally cut off genitals without having a very good reason, usually directly linked to the victim. With that in mind, it would be fair to assume the killer knew the victim in some way. They could have been a family member, spouse, friend, or colleague.’
‘Excellent,’ Whitney said as she went to the board and wrote victim known to killer.
‘At the moment, it’s impossible to develop a more detailed profile until we have forensic information from Dr Dexter. However, we already know certain facts. It’s likely to have been a crime of passion, which knife crimes typically are. Also, having viewed the incision, the killer had certainly handled a knife before. Then there’s the fact the socks were left on the body and the remaining clothes were neatly folded at the scene. Why? What’s the killer telling us? Finally, we mustn’t forget the physical requirement of moving the body. As I’ve already mentioned, we’ll know more once the pathologist has got back to us.’
She nodded at Whitney, to indicate she’d finished. Had she given them enough? Probably not, but at the moment she had nothing else to discuss and not much to contribute to the investigation.
A frisson of excitement coursed through her. This case was interesting. Until she’d met Whitney, George’s work had mainly been on the academic, theoretical side. Getting a taste of what it was like in the real world proved to be extremely stimulating. She didn’t want to leave the university. She loved her work, the students, and her research. But actually seeing how she could make a difference was extremely satisfying.
‘SOCO are at the scene. It’s a mud bath out there, so I’d be very surprised if they get much from it. We need to focus on investigating people who knew the victim. What do you make of the location, George?’ Whitney asked.
