Songbird Page 4

‘No. Like I said, I couldn’t do what you do. What you’ve got to do now, this morning.’

  There was a silence in the room, and somehow all eyes ended up on Oliver Salmon, still standing and holding the tray. When he realised, he beamed a smile at them all and asked if anyone would like a biscuit.

  Chapter Five

  Detective Sergeant Waters was thinking about breakfast. Usually he would have eaten by now but opportunities were somewhat limited in the current situation. If the beach café was open, it might consist of a Magnum ice cream and a can of Pepsi. Nobody thinks about things like this – you don’t prepare a packed lunch before you attend the scene of a murder.

  He was back at the side of the road with PC Hannam. The forecast stampede of ramblers and dog-walkers had yet to materialise, and they had pretty much exhausted the idle conversation one can have about the weather, exceptional though it was. Hannam had mentioned the state of play in the third test match against India but Waters confessed that he hadn’t followed it much this year. The constable had nodded and eyed the detective sympathetically. Waters might have been able to pick out a cricket bat from a line-up of sporting paraphernalia but that was about his limit.

  A white van turned onto the road down near the café, and thoughts of breakfast were forgotten. Waters had sharp eyes and, though he hadn’t seen this particular vehicle before, he could read what was written on the side of it – Major Crime Investigation Unit. His empty stomach performed another slow somersault because these specialist officers would be reporting to the crime scene manager any moment now.

  It was a relief then when he recognised the woman who got out of the passenger seat, and even more so when she recognised him. She came around the van and held out a hand.

  ‘Hello, Sally Lonsdale. We’ve met before – a blood-stained bathroom and the body on the boat back in Kings Lake. Except you never found the body. I hope this one’s still here! Sorry we’re late. My driver got lost.’

  Two more people were getting out of the van – another middle-aged woman and a long-haired youth who looked as if he’d just finished his science A levels. They nodded, went straight to the rear and opened the doors, busy already, and Waters sensed that the roller-coaster ride of responsibility, of being in charge for the first time, was about to begin again. But he took another moment to think about how odd this morning was already – first Gervaise Fraser, who despite his eccentricities was Smith’s photographer of choice, and now Sally Lonsdale, who without a doubt had been at the top of the SOCO list as far as Smith had been concerned.

  Sally Lonsdale said, ‘Yes, you get a team this morning, not just me. Who’s managing the crime scene?’

  ‘I am. Chris Waters – Detective Sergeant, Kings Lake Central.’

  ‘Oh. Well, congratulations, Detective Sergeant. We’ll be ready to deploy in a couple of minutes.’

  She left him and joined her colleagues at the back of the van. Beyond them, Waters saw another marked police car arriving to join the party – and that’s what it was beginning to feel like, the party you’ve organised while your parents are away, when the house is suddenly full of people you didn’t invite and you’ve just heard the sound of breaking glass. The Octavia pulled up behind the white van, and to his dismay Waters saw four more uniformed officers getting out of it. That made eight already and there might be more on the way. What on earth was he supposed to do with them all?

  When the new arrivals joined Steve Hannam, it was quite a crowd. They looked very smart and well-equipped and professional, making Waters feel more inadequate in his shirt sleeves, and holding only a notepad and pencil. Reeve and Terek had disappeared and left him to it – but that’s what happens, that’s what ‘manager’ means. He had been a sergeant for four months but only now, it seemed, was he beginning to realise all the implications. And Reeve had probably only done this because there was no one else around.

  One of the new arrivals was a sergeant too, and he looked friendly enough. Waters took a decision, introduced himself and then said, ‘Can we have a word?’ They stepped away from the general conversation.

  The uniformed man, Sergeant Eric Boyd, said, ‘Got landed, did you?’

  ‘Landed? How?’

  ‘Worst job, isn’t it? If it goes alright, it’s only because you were doing what you were supposed to and following procedures. If it goes wrong – and there’s a hundred ways it can – it’s all your fault. How can I help?’

  Waters had to wonder whether it looked as if he was struggling, but the sergeant seemed genuine.

  ‘OK, thanks. Can we delay any more uniformed personnel from Hunston until we know what we’re dealing with a bit more definitely? There’s no sense in leaving Hunston empty. The SIO is here but she’s up at the caravan site office.’

  ‘She? Who is it?’

  ‘DCI Reeve, Kings Lake Central.’

  ‘Ah, she’s alright, a good hand, isn’t she? Fair enough, I can get on the radio. Do you want some of us to go back as well? I can tell you Hunston’s empty already but they might start pulling bodies from other stations. No sense standing around in this heat unless they’re needed.’

  Waters’ first thought was, actually yes, the fewer boots tramping about here the better, but he took a moment to think it through, to think ahead. If he was the SIO, for example, what had he already considered? One thing was the absence of a handbag. The woman was dressed for a night out, and that meant she’d had a handbag with her. He’d looked around where she lay and it wasn’t there. Conceivably, just, it was underneath her, but that was unlikely. Was it thrown into the grass and bushes somewhere along the footpath? At least two members of the public as well as himself and the first uniformed officers had already walked up and down it, so further contamination wasn’t an issue – and if the bag was found, that could resolve the question of identity. It might also contain a mobile phone – phones had been crucial in several of the cases he had worked on since coming to Lake. A couple of these men could conduct a visual search.

  And the other thing was CCTV. At some point, Terek or Reeve would want to know whether any of the caravan site was covered. Shirley Salmon would have the answer but what about the road down to the site from the town? There were other caravan and camping sites and a few upmarket private homes that might have something. The sooner it was located, the better.

  So, Waters told Sergeant Boyd what he wanted, and the sergeant was happy to oblige, dividing the two jobs up between his team of four. That’s temporarily eleven people under my command, thought Waters – eight uniforms and three CID. Empire building…

  An orange-gloved hand was waved in front of his face. He stopped day-dreaming and found Sally Lonsdale waiting for him, fully plastic-suited and booted, with her team in matching apparel. She said, ‘I’m a bit concerned about this weather. We need to make a start.’

  Waters said, ‘Yes, of course. Go ahead.’

  She waited, and when he didn’t move himself she added, ‘You have to take us in. It’s procedure. You have to lead the way.’

  Lonsdale stopped them on the side path as soon as she could see the body, and looked around. Then there was a discussion with the other woman, Patricia, about how to best tackle this one. There was no doubt who was senior here but it seemed to be a democratically run team, and Waters watched and listened – these were questions that had occupied a lot of his time recently.

  Every crime scene is unique. In a building, the nature and limits of the search for evidence are invariably defined by rooms and the connections between them, but in the countryside, someone has to decide on the parameters or you end up trying to fingertip search the entire planet. Waters had the feeling that in this case that someone was going to be him again – he could only pray Sally Lonsdale would be gentle with him.

  She crouched down, cupped her hand and lifted some of the soil from the path. When she tilted her hand, it flowed out in a dry, dusty stream – it was just fine, grey sand. She said, ‘Not enough integrity to hold a print of any sort. But we�
�ll take several samples; it’s probably different enough to be interesting if you can find it on someone’s shoes. You said you thought the woman has been strangled?’

  Waters nodded.

  ‘So there’s no sign of any blood at all?’

  This time he shook his head.

  Sally Lonsdale took a little more time to think.

  ‘If the vegetation all around is as thick as it is here, we can’t go shoulder to shoulder, we’ll just end up flattening it all and cover up anything useful underneath. I suggest a radius of five metres. We’ve got some software which will convert that to a virtual grid, in theory anyway. It’s only beta from Imperial College, but it seems promising. We can then go metre by square metre. You should end up with a 3D record of the search procedures. How does that sound?’

  Complete honesty with more than a dash of gratitude was all Waters had to offer at that point. He said, ‘It sounds like you know exactly what you’re doing, thank goodness.’

  She gave him a brief smile before she said, ‘Pat, we’ll use Gridder. Can you set it up? Troy, a list of plant species and pollen samples, if you don’t mind. Then we’ll get down and dirty…’

  She took his arm and walked back a few paces along the path. Then she pulled down the mask covering her nose and mouth. A thin film of perspiration had formed on her upper lip. She said, ‘Before you ask, his name really is Troy. He’s a PhD botanist from Bristol uni, and a brilliant addition to my team. But look, Chris, I’m worried about these temperatures.’

  He could see why – it must be hell in those plastic suits. Should he fetch them some bottled water from the café?

  The thing that made him feel really stupid was the pause and quizzical look, as if she assumed he must be joking.

  ‘Er, no. I’m thinking about the body. When’s the pathologist due?’

  How was he supposed to know that? It’s no great distance to the police mortuary at Lake but Robinson is only part-time there, and famously a law unto himself. Waters’ hesitation brought a change to Sally Lonsdale’s expression.

  She said, ‘Someone has called for a pathologist, haven’t they?’

  ‘I’m sure they will have done so. But I came straight here from home, I didn’t…’

  ‘The thing is, we could reach 30 degrees again today. The body isn’t in the shade.’

  ‘You mean the flies? I thought about that earlier.’

  ‘Well, yes, there is that. But I’m thinking about core temperatures. I don’t know how that could be affected. Other processes could be impacted as well. You really need to establish that there’s a pathologist on the way, Chris.’

  Of course – the dead human body loses heat at very specific rates. Up to twenty-four hours, this can give good indications of the time of death. He knew all this. What had he been thinking?

  He said, ‘Perhaps we should cover the body, give it some sort of shade.’

  Sally said, ‘We have a tent we could use but I don’t think we should. That could affect the rate of temperature loss as well. I don’t want to interfere with anyone else’s work or compromise anything. Maybe you could just…’

  Sally made a dialling gesture on an invisible mobile, and when he took his out she said, ‘But do it from here, please. Don’t wander off. As crime scene manager, you have to oversee what we’re doing.’

  Oversee her work? As crime scene manager? What a joke. And “Don’t wander off” made him sound like an eight-year-old, even though she had plainly tried to be nice about all this. He opened his mobile and found that the signal had disappeared again. Sally was busy now; he could pretend he was ringing, even pretend he was speaking to someone, but that would be a pathetic bit of face-saving. The real issue was the one she had identified – had anyone actually thought to call a forensic pathologist to examine the body of this poor murdered woman? And should it have been him, as the crime scene manager?

  Sally Lonsdale was right, he couldn’t leave them to it even for a few minutes, but he had to make this phone call – therefore he needed another phone. It was possible that a mobile on a different network might have a signal. The only answer was to risk making himself look more of an idiot, but he asked the scenes of crime officer if he could borrow her phone. She obliged without further comment, and sure enough, her signal was a solid two bars. Waters took a few steps along the trail that led back to the footpath and dialled Terek’s number, ready to admit his failings with regard to Dr Robinson and to offer his resignation as crime scene manager.

  Terek listened to the opening explanation for the call and then said, ‘I spoke to Robinson myself before we left. He was at Lake General but didn’t expect to be delayed for long. I expect he’s on his way if he isn’t there somewhere already, Chris. You can’t do everything – just keep the record of the crime scene one hundred per cent accurate.’

  Waters closed his eyes in relief, suddenly aware that his shirt was sticking to his back with sweat; yes, he could have gone into accountancy and earned more money but in forty years of that he wouldn’t have had a single morning as alternately interesting, exciting and terrifying as this one.

  Terek continued, ‘But while we’re on the subject, we just met a couple of uniformed men from Hunston who are checking the route back to the town for CCTV coverage. From what they said, I’m guessing that was your doing?’

  It was, he said, ready for some sort of criticism – the DI was a protocols man, and if you didn’t follow them yourself, you’d be told about it with monotonous regularity.

  Terek said, ‘I see. Well the DCI was impressed, so well done. Deployment is outside the scene manager’s role but you showed initiative.’

  Waters thought he’d better reveal the rest of his initiative in that case and said he had held up the arrival of more people at the crime scene until it had been fully examined.

  ‘Ah, that one we might need to reverse. DCI Reeve is asking Chief Superintendent Allen to authorise the collection of DNA samples from visitors on the caravan site – just the men. Almost everyone will be going home either today or tomorrow, so it makes a lot of sense. We’ll need more officers if that goes ahead, so it’s a good thing you told me. Anything else?’

  ‘Have we got anywhere on the ID?’

  Terek said, ‘We need a visual confirmation but it’s almost certainly the Michelle Simms woman. DCI Reeve is waiting to brief Ann Crisp and then we’ll be going to the caravan where they are staying. They’re also due to leave tomorrow, so it’s going to be a busy day getting as much done here as we can. Do you need any help down there?’

  Waters thought for a moment before he answered.

  ‘No thanks, sir. Things seem to be under control.’

  When Waters next glanced at his watch, he was surprised to see that almost an hour had passed since he’d spoken to Terek. The three SOCOs had done as Sally Lonsdale had promised – they had methodically examined every square centimetre of ground, working one square metre at a time on their hands and knees. Periodically he saw them pointing at something, briefly discussing and sometimes collecting a sample of the sand or the vegetation before recommencing the work. His hopes had risen that there was evidence here that would move the investigation forward, and quickly. So when Sally Lonsdale straightened up, stretched her back a few times and walked towards him, he was disappointed to see a shake of her head before she spoke to him.

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. We’ve sampled soil and vegetation three times over, so if you can find someone who spent time here, you could probably tie them to this general area with traces on footwear or clothing. But that’s your lot.’

  ‘Really?’

  He must have looked genuinely surprised. She pulled down her facemask and blew out her cheeks – the sun was high in the sky now and beating down hard. The plastic suits must be almost unbearable for any length of time.

  She went on, ‘We’re SOCOs, Chris. We do our best work at the scene of the crime. It would be my guess that this isn’t it.’

  He realised what she meant s
traight away – the woman’s body had been dumped here. There isn’t a kinder word.

  ‘What makes you say that, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  Sally said, ‘Not at all! She wasn’t very big but she was relatively young and probably fit. It isn’t a quick or easy thing to strangle another person to death. They tend to put up a lot of resistance while you’re doing so, and that invariably shows up where the event takes place. I’d expect to see scuff marks on the surface, more flattened or damaged vegetation. We haven’t touched her obviously, but even close to the body, the grass is as it should be, apart from where certain large boots have been this morning. As I say, that’s only my guess.’

  Back near the body, the other two SOCOs were standing up now, and it looked as if they really had finished. Waters found to his own surprise that his mind was already processing this new piece of intelligence. He hadn’t noticed the woman wasn’t very big, but it was the case; she wouldn’t have weighed more than nine stones. That’s one hundred and twenty-six pounds, a weight a reasonably strong man could carry quite a distance, especially under circumstances of duress, such as a desperate need to conceal the body of someone he had just murdered.

  Sally said, ‘And her shoes, that’s a bit odd. If she’d died here, she would have been kicking out in the struggle, that’s a natural reflex, but I can see no marks on them that might be associated with that. And they’re hardly walking boots, either. It’s surprising if they stayed on during the struggle.’

  Waters said, ‘One didn’t.’

  ‘And one did. Which is still surprising. Maybe you need to be a woman to get that. Anyway, we’re going to pack up. No sign of a pathologist, I see. Is it Robinson, by any chance?’

  But the tall, thin, blond-haired and quite good-looking detective sergeant took a couple of steps past her and stood where he had a clearer view of the body again. He had his hands in his pockets, a notepad poking out of the right hand one, and he didn’t say anything for several seconds.