Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr) (4 page)

Grace nodded towards the lake. She watched air bubbles rising to the surface, plopping and then rippling away. “No sign of the body being brought up yet?”

“Apparently it’s in a bit of a mess. I think they’re trying to secure it tightly so it doesn’t lose any of its limbs when they bring it up.”

“What do we know then Duncan?”

“Well we don’t know anything about the body yet. I’ve been told that it’s bound inside a carpet or rug of some kind so I don’t think we’ll be able to get anything at all even when it’s brought to the surface. We don’t know how long it’s been in the water so we’ll need to get it into a body bag and down to the mortuary as soon as possible because once its exposed to the air there will be a rapid acceleration to the decomposition.”

“Have you got anything in the forensics line?”

“Too early yet, Grace. What I can say is that I’m pretty confident the body was thrown off the edge of the jetty there,” he replied, pointing to the wooden platform leading from the shale banking out into the lake. “You can see where the Search Units dinghy is, well that’s roughly above where the body is. That’s about six feet from the edge of the jetty and that’s why I say thrown. Because of that I would say at least two people were involved in dumping it.”

Grace returned a puzzled look. “Two?”

“Yep two – at least. If one person had carried that body they would only have been able to drop it or roll it off the edge. It’s virtually impossible for one person to sling a dead weight body any distance. With two people they would have been able to get enough swing to heave it that far into the water.” He tapped his nose. “Simple when you’ve dealt with as many bodies as I have.” A smile crept across his wizened features.

“Couldn’t they have used a boat?”

“And only gone out a few feet?” He dismissed her suggestion with a curt nod.  “No it was thrown, trust me.” He paused and continued, “Because the body’s wrapped inside a carpet or rug of some type I’m running on the assumption that the person was more than likely killed elsewhere and bought
it here to be dumped. Nevertheless we’re taping off the jetty and checking it for bloodstains, hairs and fibres. Then we’ll be searching it for footwear marks. I’m also setting up a search grid and looking for tyre tracks. The underwater search unit will be bringing the body up to another landing stage and then I’ll body bag it to be transported to the morgue. I understand Miss Marple is already making her way there and will be performing the post mortem later this afternoon.”

Grace knew that he was referring to the forensic pathologist Professor Lizzie McCormack, who had acquired her nickname not only because of her ability to catch killers through her forensic skills but also because of her uncanny likeness to the actress Geraldine McEwan.

She thanked Duncan with a nod, smile and wave of her hand and spun back in the direction of Mike Sampson. She could see he was still heavily engaged in conversation with the two divers. As she was running through everything again inside her head, marrying what the homicide investigation manual recommended together with her experience of attending murder scenes, her mobile rang. She delved into her jacket pocket and pulled it out. The screen displayed the name and mobile number of her work partner – Sergeant Hunter Kerr. She knew that Hunter was somewhere up in the Whitby area in a rented cottage with his family.

I bet someone back in the office has rung him and told him about
this
and now he’s phoning to check up that I can cope.

And even though she knew he would be enquiring in that nice, caring and unobtrusive way of his nevertheless it was still checking on her. She needed to do this without someone holding her hand – to prove to herself more than anything that she was capable.

“Well Sergeant Kerr I am coping very well thank you,” she muttered beneath her breath. “And I don’t need you checking up on me.”

As she
made to disconnect the call she heard a shout from the centre of the lake. She spun around in time to see the police frogman break the surface raising a hand in the air. It looked as though they were about to bring the body up.

Her phone stopped in mid-tone; Hunter would be transferred across to her voicemail. She switched off her mobile and plunged it back into her jacket pocket telling herself she’d ring him later in the evening - once she had got everything up and running.

* * * * *

Screeching to a halt in the rear car park of the Medico Legal Centre Grace again checked her watch for the umpteenth time that hour. She inwardly cursed; she was running late and she was regretting not having followed the body carrier from the Country Park when she knew she should have done. Instead she’d sat in her car, on her mobile, updating her Detective Inspector – Gerald Scaife, who was setting up the incident room back in the MIT department. She had given him as much information as she could from her scribbled notes, but because the post mortem had yet to be done she found herself unable to answer the majority of the questions he had bombarded her with.
It only reinforced her thought that she should have followed the body. To cap it all and cause further delay the DI had then passed her across to DC Isobel Stevens, the HOLMES supervisor, who had begun logging in the information onto the National (Home Office Large Major Enquiry System) network, and she had found herself listening to another round of questions which she had been unable to answer. Fortunately she was of the same rank as Isobel and was able to politely fend her off, promising to get back to her the minute the post mortem had concluded.

Grace pushed through the rear entrance doors of the Medico Legal Centre, pulling off her elastic scrunchy and running her hands through her thick mane of hair, shaking out her corkscrew curls,
whilst hurrying along the corridor to the post mortem suite. Quickly she slipped into her protective body suit and in her haste, as she slotted the white shoe coverings over her flat ballet pumps she stumbled forward shouldering the wall. Beneath her breath she cursed again, rubbing the top of her arm as she barged through the double set of doors, which gave access into the Medico Legal Centre mortuary. Her actions caused the occupants in the cutting room to all snap their heads in her direction.

“Quite a dramatic entrance – Miss?” Professor Lizzie McCormack, the forensic pathologist said glancing over the thin gold rims of her spectacles.

Grace felt that the way the pathologist had paused and then added ‘Miss’ was as if she was being chided as a schoolgirl.

She smiled apologetically. “DC Marshall,” she responded, feeling herself blush. “Grace,” she finished and quickly scanned the faces of Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw and Scenes of Crime Manager Duncan Wroe who had not surprisingly beaten her there. She could see the disconcerting scowl on the Superintendent’s face.

That’s it make an arse of yourself
Acting Sergeant
Marshall.

“Ah yes, of course – Grace. You have to forgive me I’m terrible with names these days. We met several weeks ago at the old farm near Harlington, a fourteen year old girl badly mutilated, by our infamous serial killer, if my memory serves me right.”

Grace nodded.

“Terrible business that. You finally got him though. What did the papers nickname him?”

“The Dearne Vally Demon.” She shuddered. The mere mention of that monster’s nickname sent shivers down her spine.

“Yes that was it. And he certainly was a demon wasn’t he. I remember the injuries to that poor girl.” She shook her head. “It always amazes me how cruel humankind can be. Wasn’t it six girls he murdered?”

The professor’s rhetorical question provoked a flashback. Grace could feel her chest tighten as images burst inside her head. And though twelve days had gone by since that fateful evening, the memory was still as sharp as if it had all happened yesterday.

That last investigation had caused her so much mental pain, and had physically exhausted her. She had only just got back to work after taking a week off sick to
get her head right. As she reflected, not for the first time, she thought about how catastrophically things could have ended for her that night, after they had finally tracked down their crazed serial killer. She knew that the mental pictures and feelings from that night were going to live inside her for quite some time to come; the Force’s counsellor had told her that.

She took in a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly; exactly the way Beth, Hunter’s wife, had advised her to handle the onset of a panic attack.

“Any way that’s all in the past now. Back to the present eh!  Well Grace you’re not a moment too soon we are just about to start.” Lizzie McCormack’s voice snapped her out of her daydream.

The petite grey haired Professor peeled on her latex gloves and pulled a metal trolley to her side. Upon it, laid out in pristine condition, glinting beneath the bright artificial lighting was every conceivable surgical tool and evidence collection container imaginable.

The body, fished from the lake, was laid out on one of the central steel mortuary tables. It had been removed from its body bag but was still wrapped up in its bundle. Despite being soiled by a substantial amount of silt and broken reeds Grace could now see that the body had been shrouded inside a rug of an Asian style design.

Professor McCormack reached up and switched on a microphone suspended above her. In her soft Scottish accent she began her PM preamble, opening with the time and date. Then instructing her technician to cut away the bindings she took a step back and slid her green scrub mask up over her mouth and nose.

He began to snip at the cord securing the rug. The binding was white plastic coated washing line.

“Careful as you unwrap it,” Duncan Wroe said to the technician, moving in closer with his camera. “I’ve known in the past that the murder weapon has been thrown in when the killer has wrapped up the body.” He seesawed his gaze between Detective Superintendent Robshaw and Grace. “By dumping the body in the lake the murderer was obviously hoping it would never be found and therefore they might just have thrown in any weapon they used.”

The second the technician carefully peeled the sides of the rug away from the cadaver the stench hit Grace and she reacted by quickly slapping on her own paper facemask, which until then had been hanging around her neck.

Even
the sterile antiseptic smell that was supposed to cover the rot and decay of the dead, that permeated inside the brightly lit room did not dissipate the stench.

The body was grotesque; dark, bluish, purple and swollen beyond recognition, though there was no mistaking it was female; long black matted hair covered most of her face and neck, and she was naked.

The technician moved aside and Professor McCormack took over, exploring inches of the cadaver at a time, pausing from time to time to scrutinise certain marks before moving on. She cleared her throat and continued with her exordium.

“The clothing has been removed to reveal the body of a woman of Asian appearance in a state of advanced decomposition. This is manifested by skin slippage, discolouration, bloating and the presence of a foul odour.” With thumb and forefinger she began sliding the long strands of black hair away from the deceased’s face. “Well, well.” she exclaimed, “I think I’ve more than likely found this young lady’s cause of death.”

Angling a slender forefinger over the corpse’s neck she leaned back to allow the SOCO manager in and snap-off more photographs. Grace and the Detective Superintendent took a step forward, adjusting their posture to get a look at what the pathologist was pointing to.

Lizzie McCormack continued in her soft Scottish lilt. “On the left hand side of the neck approximately two and a half centimetres below the jaw line is an incision which is approximately fifteen centimetres in length. The large vessels either side of the neck have been severed. The larynx has been severed below the vocal chord through to the intervertebral cartilages. The arteries and other vessels contained in the sheath have all been cut through. The cut is very clean, very precise.” The Forensic Pathologist raised her eyes catching Grace’s gaze. “Her death would have been immediate.”

She returned to the corpse, picking up limbs, examining the hands and fingers. Then she began to turn the body. As she rolled the cadaver onto one hip she suddenly gave off a surprised “hmm,” and beckoned to the SOCO Manager. “Mr Wroe, I take my hat off to you.” She supported the bloated carcass whilst he shot-off a series of frames. After he had finished she pulled out an object which had been hidden beneath the body.

Grace could see that Duncan was doing his best to suppress a grin. It was one of his triumphant grins that she had witnessed so many times before when he had uncovered a vital piece of evidence.

“In all my years as a pathologist I have never seen anything like this before,” she said holding up something which closely resembled a knife.

Grace looked at the object and then exchanged glances with her colleagues. It was quite apparent from the look each of them
shared with one another that none of them had quite seen anything like it before.

Lizzie McCormack dropped it into an exhibit bag and handed it to Grace.

She eyed it again, this time studiously, through the clear plastic, turning it over repeatedly.

“A real vicious looking thing,” said Detective Superintendent Robshaw looking over Grace’s shoulder.