Then, ‘So the shoes should have come off in any sort of violent struggle. What about if she was being carried, afterwards?’
‘Maybe, yes. They’re slingbacks – you’re making an effort to keep them on most of the time.’
He thought about it some more before he said, ‘One shoe on and one shoe off… Like the nursery rhyme. Will you check the shoes for prints?’
‘We can’t touch the body or anything on it. That’s up to the pathologist, assuming he gets here at some point. I can ask for the shoe to be released to us when he’s done. We’ve bagged up the shoe that wasn’t on her foot. We can test that straight away.’
‘OK, let’s do that, please. And yes, it’s Dr Robinson…’
The detective sergeant had a curiously abstracted manner at times but Sally Lonsdale didn’t pay that too much attention – the CID, she’d realised long ago, has a high percentage of eccentrics and oddballs. This one had worked with Smith for years; no one could escape untouched by an experience like that. She pulled up her mask for a few more minutes of torture, and went back to her colleagues.
The uniformed officer had probably spoken to Waters before he touched him on the shoulder. When the detective turned, he saw one of the men he’d sent off in search of a handbag.
‘Sir? It might be nothing but there’s a patch of flattened grass off the footpath, back near to where the cars are parked. My oppo says it was probably just a courting couple last night but I said we should let you know. Dunno if you want to take a look?’
Yes, Waters said, watching the SOCOs gathering together their equipment. ‘As soon as they’re done here, I’ll get these people to have a look on the way back. Thank you.’
Sally Lonsdale was down on her knees again, to the side of the flattened area the constables had found, and Waters thought, well, that is just about the impression that a couple lying side by side in the grass would leave. There were low brambles and thorn bushes at the end close to where their heads might have been, and now Sally was holding one of the stems between a gloved finger and thumb. She turned and waved the other woman forward, and then they were carefully removing something with tweezers and putting it into a sample bag. He couldn’t wait, and stepped carefully in behind the two women, wanting to see for himself.
Sally half-turned and said, ‘This looks more like it. We’ve just bagged up a hair from the briar stem. It’s reddish. And there are more, so we’ll need to get them all. We need to start the whole process again, I’m afraid.’
The other female SOCO said something about needing to lose a few pounds anyway, and then a new voice came from behind Waters, a broad Scottish voice.
‘Is this it? My God, where’s the body? I was told there was a body!’
Chapter Six
‘Ann, we need to move them out almost straight away – within the next half an hour. I want the SOCO team to have a look at her room, Michelle’s bedroom, as soon as they’re done down on the footpath. The site owner said she has some caravans not in use, I’m going to ask if they can move into one of those this morning. That way we can get a proper look at the whole caravan as well.’
Alison Reeve watched as the family liaison officer took that on board and considered it. They were outside the Fletchers’ caravan, far enough away not to be heard by those inside.
Ann Crisp said, ‘She was only in there for a couple of nights, ma’am, if she came down on Tuesday. Are you thinking something happened in there? Her sister said… Well, the story about Michelle leaving the social club last night sounded right to me.’
‘And me. I’m not doubting what Michaela just told us. But some of Michelle’s stuff is still in there, personal stuff and we need to examine it. What I don’t need is her sister and her nieces watching us while we do that.’
Reeve had a dozen important things to do but she didn’t want to hurry the liaison officer – she needed her onside in a case like this. The older child, Zara, was ten and had plainly grasped that something terrible was going on, even though the two of them had been sitting with Ann Crisp at the other end of the caravan when she and Terek had spoken to Michaela Fletcher. The two children might even turn out to be witnesses – just one of the many minor nightmares you have as the senior investigating officer.
Ann Crisp said, ‘Yes, I’ll explain it to them. I’ll make sure they leave behind as much as possible. You mentioned DNA testing, ma’am. Will that include the family here?’
And here is another nightmare. Do you ask the victim’s sister to have a swab taken from inside her mouth shortly after you’ve told her that her sister has been found dead? Do you then ask her permission for her daughters to be treated in the same way? Reeve had no doubt that Ann Crisp was very good at explaining these things but, in the end, it’s another judgement call. Would the need to account for all individuals who had left traces inside the caravan be likely to arise? Was there a ten per cent chance of that? Twenty per cent?
Reeve said, ‘No, we’ll spare them that for now. But I need to ring Chief Superintendent Allen as soon as possible…’
The liaison officer could take a hint – she nodded and went back towards the caravan without another word. Reeve said, ‘Thank you, Ann. Ask DI Terek to meet me out here, would you?’
Not a problem at all, said Shirley Salmon, she would put them in number 28 which was just around the corner but out of sight of the comings and goings of the police. But she wasn’t so sure how this DNA screening was supposed to take place. They wanted to use her office?
Reeve said, ‘It’s a simple and quick procedure, Mrs Salmon. As I explained, we’ll approach the seven men who are leaving today and ask them to delay their departure for a short while. It’s voluntary, obviously, and if they need to leave on time, we will have their local forces taking their sample on our behalf, if the men concerned agree. For the rest, those due to leave tomorrow, we’ll ask them to come to your office during the day, today. There will be two specialist officers to carry it out and explain to everyone what’s happening – those people will be on their way from Norwich shortly. It’s better to use a central point than to carry the equipment around the site.’
And it is voluntary unless one has been arrested. Of course, refusing to give a sample without a convincing explanation probably just increases the chance that you will be arrested, and then the police can take the sample without your permission. But Reeve could appreciate why Shirley Salmon was a little uneasy. This was not the way anyone wants to end their holiday, their week away by the sea with the kids, even if it is only for the purposes of elimination. Might she even lose a little future business, with these clients not having the best of memories to take home with them?
‘Well, I expect we’ll manage,’ Shirley said. ‘Will you want me to let everyone know what’s going on?’
‘No, no, not at all. That’s our responsibility. Detective Inspector Terek has written a note which explains what’s happening. It doesn’t go into any detail. It will only say that a…’
Reeve looked at Terek, and he said, ‘A serious incident.’
‘A serious incident took place nearby last night, and it would help us if the men over eighteen could eliminate themselves from our inquiries before they leave the site. The note will explain their rights and our responsibilities as far as the samples taken are concerned. We have officers ready to visit everyone and explain, as soon as we can get copies made. I wonder, could we presume on you again to help us with that? Obviously, we’ll compensate you.’
Sometimes it feels like you need the cheek of the devil, but Shirley Salmon agreed, giving the detective inspector her email address so he could send the document from his phone and have it printed there and then in her office. Terek supervised that while Reeve went outside to brief the two constables whom Waters had sent off in search of CCTV. They’d located one detached house that had a camera mounted on a gatepost, and from its angle it might have some coverage of the beach road. There was no one at home when they knocked and it might only be a wealt
hy person’s holiday home, they said. In which case, it probably wasn’t switched on. Their next job, Reeve told them, was to find as many people at home as possible – deliver the letters that DI Terek was about to give them to every caravan on this list. Make sure to say this is a voluntary procedure but naturally the investigating officers might need to speak in person to anyone who decides not to participate.
The constables went to find Terek, and Alison Reeve went to her car and opened the door to let some of the heat out before she sat inside. She liked this, the responsibility and the pressure, she’d got used to it now, but it was tiring and she hadn’t eaten this morning. That would explain the little wave of fatigue that had just washed over her, and a hot flush at the same time. Not that as well, surely, that’s not due for another decade at least.
Once in the driver’s seat, she reached into the well behind and found one of the small bottles of water she’d had there since she started jogging again. Started and stopped, the last time being weeks ago now. It was tepid and tasteless but she drank some because it was better than nothing, and it might help with the hunger pangs. Then she closed her eyes and leaned back against the head-rest, grateful for a moment to think. Terek was a good organiser, and he’d sort out what needed to be done on the caravan site for the next few minutes.
They were in need of a confirmed ID now but Michaela Fletcher had no doubt it was her sister’s body that had been found. The grief had taken root as soon as Reeve introduced herself and her detective inspector, before she had explained the reason for their visit; something changes in the eyes and perhaps in the mouth, the lips. People sometimes hide their eyes because we know instinctively that they give us away, but the way the mouth works can be revealing, too. Michaela Fletcher had pursed her lips as if annoyed that her sister had been so foolish as to get herself killed last night, and she’d taken a deeper than usual breath. She was intensely aware of her children, too, which would also be colouring her first reactions.
But there had been no tears, no wailing, no hysteria. Ann Crisp had taken the children into the furthest bedroom, sat them down and asked them about their holiday, what they had been doing, and Reeve had explained to Michaela for the second time that there had been no identification yet of the woman who had been found – no one must jump to conclusions, but obviously, under the circumstances, and after her phone call to the Hunston police earlier in the morning…
The proper approach was to treat this as a missing person until there had been an identification, and so Reeve had asked that sort of question, and the sister’s answers helped to begin the process of forming a picture of the likely victim. Originally Michelle had said the holiday was a great idea, she’d love to spend a week at the seaside with the girls. Reeve had said then, ‘Michelle doesn’t have children of her own?’ and the response had been a simple ‘No’. Too simple, because it had been followed by a pause and Reeve had waited to see what might emerge out of that silence. Some sort of pain had been hiding there but it made no move and this was not the time to go in and search for it. There would be other interviews soon.
But then, said Michaela, on the Friday night, Michelle had called to say she couldn’t come down after all, not on the Saturday. She said there were problems in the shop with too many staff taking holidays, but maybe she’d come down later in the week.
Reeve said, ‘What sort of shop?’
‘A hairdressing salon. Michelle manages it.’
‘I see. Was that unusual, the last-minute change of mind?’
‘No. Michelle is… Well, I’m used to it but I was cross for the girls. They think the world of her. Mad Aunt Michelle is lots of fun. You know?’
Reeve nodded, but she didn’t know, being the only child of an only child. She could imagine, and there was a cousin who had four under the age of ten. Alison had never been quite sure what her relationship to them was, in the technical sense. Were they second cousins? Not that it mattered. They lived in York and she only saw them once in a blue moon.
But then, Michaela went on, she got a call on the Tuesday morning saying it was back on, that Michelle would drive up from Luton in the afternoon and be there in time to buy them all fish and chips.
Reeve said, ‘And I assume that’s what happened?’
‘Yes, she breezed in, all smiles at five o’clock on Tuesday. She said…’
Michaela Fletcher choked a little then, and Reeve had glanced at Terek; was he picking it up, the slight undercurrent? What was it? Annoyance? Irritation? She’d seen them before, the peculiarly irrational responses people have to tragic news, their sense that the victim has been in some way inconsiderate in bringing all this woe to those left behind.
Reeve said, ‘Mrs Fletcher, we don’t need to do this now. Obviously, we will want to talk all that through with you at some point. But we do need to think about an identification. Do you have a recent picture of Michelle?’
She did, on her phone, and she’d handed that over to the detective inspector so he could forward it to his and to DCI Reeve’s phones straight away. Still seated in her car, Reeve opened her eyes, blinking at the brilliance of the sunlight, took out her phone and looked at the picture again.
It had been taken in a kitchen. Michelle Simms was holding up a carving knife, and looking back towards the camera or the phone that had taken the image. She was laughing and trying to look scary at the same time. In front of her on a work surface there was a joint of meat of some description, roast lamb or beef, with several slices already cut. Behind her and not in focus was the figure of a man with his back to her – perhaps this was the target of her mock attack. He looked as if he might be washing up at a sink, unaware of what she was doing.
Michelle Simms was a redhead. Impossible to say whether it was natural but it suited her face and features – large eyes that were as much green as blue in the picture, but photographs can be deceiving in that respect; long lashes, a wide, generous mouth and in between, a small, tilted nose. Not a beauty, Reeve concluded professionally, but attractive – looks that would turn a few heads whenever she walked into a room. Probably fun, too, judging by this photograph and bearing in mind what Michaela Fletcher had just told them about her sister. And now look where that’s got you, Reeve thought, before she closed her phone.
Back to it, then. She re-opened her phone, went to speed-dial and pressed a number. It was answered after ringing five times, and she said, ‘Chris, DCI Reeve. What’s happening?’
‘Ma’am, I was just about to call you or DI Terek. We’ve got a bit of a situation now.’
‘Chris, there’s always a bit of a situation. If there wasn’t, we’d be out of a job. What’s the problem?’
She listened as he explained – it seemed they now had either two crime scenes, or one crime with two scenes. A sharp-eyed constable, searching for the woman’s missing handbag, had found the place where she might have been attacked, and he, Waters, had got the SOCOs going over that after they’d examined the area around the body. But now Dr Robinson was there as well, and he wanted to go straight up to where the body was, and as crime scene manager, he, Waters, could not be in two places at once. Could another senior officer come down to the footpath and assist?
Reeve said, ‘I’ll be down myself shortly, but it sounds like you’re doing a good job, Chris. You’ve got several uniforms there – any sergeants?’
‘Yes, ma’am. There’s a Sergeant Boyd from Hunston. He’s one of the officers who were searching for the handbag.’
‘Who organised that, Chris? Whose idea was it?’
‘Mine, ma’am.’
Waters must have misunderstood her silence. He said, ‘I’m sorry if that wasn’t procedurally correct, but-’
‘It was fine. I don’t know Sergeant Boyd but tell him he is now promoted to assistant crime scene manager by me. He can supervise one place and you can do the other, it doesn’t matter which way round you do it, as long as someone is observing and recording both procedures. Anything else?’
‘Er, no… Just my phone signal, ma’am. I can just get one here where the SOCOs are working now but if I go back to where the woman is, I lose it. So if I don’t answer, that’s why.’
He’d made up his mind then, without any hesitation – Waters was going with Robinson to watch the examination of the body. That might be what one would expect from an ambitious young detective, but it isn’t for everyone and there had been some doubts expressed about Waters’ operational readiness for command. He had completed just three years’ police service when he applied for the promotion, and that wasn’t the only question mark. If there is such a thing as a typical detective sergeant, Waters wasn’t it, and not simply because of his academic qualifications; increasing numbers of police officers are graduates now. No, the doubts had been about his ability to manage detectives, who are a funny lot at the best of times. They ask questions for a living, and some of them get very good at it. If they don’t quickly develop some respect for a new sergeant, they start asking questions about that as well. Had it been the right decision to give Waters the remains of what had been Smith’s team instead of starting him afresh with brand new faces? Reeve had allowed herself to be persuaded on that but…
She said, ‘Chris, get Sergeant Boyd’s number and text it to me, just in case. I’ll ring him and tell him this isn’t a wind-up. Then you go with Robinson, that’s the priority here. I’ll be along there myself in the next half an hour. Oh, and tell Sally Lonsdale I’ve got a quick finger-printing job before she can leave, she’ll be thrilled. There was one more thing…’
She kept him waiting for a few seconds – she could imagine the pen poised over the notepad.
‘Oh yes. Good work. Sounds like you’ve handled it well so far, and shown a bit of initiative. Keep it up.’
Detective Inspector Terek came out of the office and shaded his eyes, looking for her. Then the two uniformed officers appeared behind him, each with a handful of the letters they were about to deliver. Had she jumped the gun on this? Data protection is a hot and controversial issue – Allen, of course, had pointed this out as soon as she made the request – and she was about to invade the personal space of a number of men in a highly intrusive manner. Open your mouth and stand still while we rub this stick thing around on the inside of your cheeks; then hand over your personal details – we just want to make sure you’re not a rapist and a murderer. There’s no easy way to sell that to the people you are supposed to be serving and protecting. You can say this is the price of justice today, folks, but not everyone is going to see it that way.
Songbird Page 5
