Songbird Page 6

  She looked at her watch and saw that it was now ten o’clock. Come on, Reeve, get your rear-end off this seat and into gear. The day is still young and full of promise.

  Chapter Seven

  ‘Strictly speaking, as the crime scene manager you should now direct me to the body by the route commensurate with minimal disturbance – but as various size twelve boots along with photographers and scenes of crime investigators have already been wandering about here for the past couple of hours, I don’t suppose it really matters.’

  Waters had had no personal dealings with Dr Robinson, the Kings Lake police pathologist, but the man’s reputation for irascibility preceded him wherever he went, and so he, Waters, decided not to respond to those remarks. They were standing on the now well-worn track that led off the main footpath, and he had to admit the pathologist did have a point. If he had arrived earlier, of course… Best not to mention that, though.

  ‘And still strictly speaking, we should all be on the scene together. Sometimes I need to direct the work of the photographer, d’ye understand?’

  Waters nodded, and the pathologist lowered his head a little so he could look over his spectacles and up at the very young detective sergeant who had been handed a heavy responsibility.

  ‘Who was the photographer?’

  ‘A Mr Fraser, sir.’

  ‘Oh aye, well, Fraser has some idea what he’s about, I suppose. Put your clipboard away now, and take my case. You’re going to assist me.’

  Observe and record, preserve the integrity of the location – there had been no mention of assisting pathologists at the scene of a murder. But Robinson had thrust the battered, black case towards him and he had no alternative but to take hold of it.

  Robinson said, ‘I’ll be taking my own notes as we go, you can make your record when we’re done. Right. Let’s see the poor wee lassie.’

  First they had taken the air temperature above the body, and Robinson had tutted because he disapproved of it, as did everyone else wearing a plastic suit today. But he went on to explain that such high ambient levels would affect the rate of heat loss from the body itself, making that particular method of calculating the time of death more problematical than usual. And then, because the two recordings had to be taken consecutively, they had lifted the woman’s body enough to take a reading of the rectal temperature. She lay stiffly against Robinson’s raised knee, for all the world like a mannequin from an upmarket fashion store. Waters had watched the whole process on a single breath – not squeamish, he never had been, but suitably appalled, as any of us might be on seeing such a thing close at hand for the first time.

  Robinson said, ‘Generally speaking, the core temperature falls at zero point eight of a degree Celsius per hour after death but as you can imagine, if the air is very warm, the rate of loss can be slower. Then you must take into account the overnight temperature if she’s been here all night. And I’d say she has.’

  Waters said, ‘What makes you think that, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  The pathologist lowered the body slowly back into its original position.

  ‘The degree of rigor mortis. I’m assuming you weren’t playing hooky when they covered this at Hendon on a Friday morning. Or was it Bramshill for you?’

  Neither – things have moved on rapidly since those days and the framework for training criminal investigation officers now is unrecognisable to most professionals over the age of forty. Waters said, ‘I know rigor lasts between twelve and twenty-four hours and then decreases over a period of about another twelve hours.’

  Robinson said, ‘Aye, good for you… Well, it can come on more slowly in low temperatures, and the converse is true. But this body is at full rigor, I would say. However you add it up, I think she’s been here since yesterday evening.’

  The doctor made notes on a clipboard of his own. When he had finished, Waters said, ‘There are other tests to establish time of death, aren’t there? What about vitreous humour?’

  Waters received the over-the-spectacles stare again – DI Terek does the same thing but it’s considerably more unnerving from an experienced forensic pathologist, for some reason.

  ‘I can see I have to be on top of my game this morning. Yes, that’s a test I’d expect to carry out in a case like this one. The potassium level in the humour rises at a known rate after death but that’s not as objective as some would like it to be, either. You’ll still only get an interval of confidence from me in ma final report. Shall I proceed now, or do you have any more suggestions for me?’

  Waters shook his head and kept his mouth shut but he could see Robinson had not really been offended by the interest shown in his work. The pathologist examined the head minutely and pointed out something that no one else had mentioned; there were fine scratches on the skin above the bruising on her face, and these continued up beyond her hairline. Waters moved around to get a closer look as he told Robinson what the SOCOs had found at the other scene – the hairs they had discovered on thorns close to the patch of flattened grass.

  ‘Aye, this is consistent with that, thorns or briars. I’ll be taking samples from these when we’re back in the mortuary. You see this bruising on the cheek? I think we’ll find knuckle marks in that. I’d say she was struck in the face by a fist.’

  That brought it home again, the fact that someone had done this to her, had hit her so hard when she was still alive. What could she possibly have done to deserve that? Nothing. No one deserves this, Waters reminded himself. She is in every sense the victim of someone else’s selfishness and cruelty.

  Dr Robinson had moved on to her hands. Then, his eyes still inches from her fingertips, he reached behind himself towards the bag that Waters was still holding and said, ‘Hand-lens, please!’

  Waters found one among the numerous implements the bag contained and put it into the pathologist’s waiting grasp. After a tense few seconds he heard, ‘Ah, now, there’s grit or sand under these nails, and something else behind that in two of them. Some sort of light-coloured material. It might be fabric of some description. I want to leave this in situ until we’re back in the mortuary.’

  Robinson straightened up and turned – he still had the woman’s stiff, cold fingers held between his own living ones. He pointed and said, ‘Also in my case, there are some clear plastic covers with red tapes for drawstrings. They look like plastic bags. Aye, those are the ones. Pass me two of those, if you please.’

  A cover was placed carefully over the left hand of the body and the drawstring tightened around the wrist – the same procedure followed for the other hand. Then Robinson told Waters he would have her head and neck covered in the same way before the body was removed to the mortuary. Waters asked why and was told that the body, this body, was itself a crime scene – the woman had most likely been strangled to death with someone’s bare hands, hadn’t she? Surely the detective had managed to come to that conclusion himself?

  Waters, however, had learned to be wary of making assumptions, and the look on his face said only that he might have considered the possibility. Robinson raised his eyebrows and said, ‘So, what thoughts have ye had? As the man in charge of all he surveys at least for now, would you like to share your thinking with me? Perhaps direct me to look for anything else of interest either here or in the lab?’

  Waters said, ‘The state of her clothing suggests it was a sexually motivated attack, doesn’t it?’

  Robinson looked back at the body as if the idea hadn’t occurred to him until now. Then he said, ‘Did SOCO find any fluids here?’

  ‘No, or at least they didn’t say they had.’

  ‘I’ve only examined superficially but neither have I. So, just a minute, then.’

  The pathologist half stood, moved and then crouched again by the hip. Waters flinched and watched only out of the corner of his eye as the gloved fingers examined the genitals, a very odd feeling in his gut as if his own were next on the good doctor’s to-do list.

  There was some head-shakin
g before he heard, ‘I’ll be taking swabs in the post-mortem obviously but I can see nothing here that leads me to… And there’s nae the trauma I’d expect if that were the case. None at all. No signs in or around her mouth either. The motive is none of my business, laddie, but I wouldn’t go jumping to any conclusions just yet if I were you.’

  Robinson stood then and said, ‘Where’s the other shoe?’

  ‘Oh. SOCO have it bagged up. It was lying on the grass.’

  ‘You’re sure they didn’t remove anything from the body itself?’

  ‘Absolutely not.’

  ‘You’re absolutely not sure?’

  ‘No. I meant…’

  Robinson was being officious for the sake of it, and making certain he had re-established the proper relationship between an authority figure of long experience and a junior police officer, but he was almost smiling when he said then, ‘Look, we canna stand here chatting for the rest of the morning. I want this body moved out of the sun and out of this heat.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s up to me, Dr Robinson. I’ll need to speak to the SIO.’

  ‘Miss Reeve, isn’t it? She’s a sensible woman. You get in touch with her while I finish up here. Hand me ma bag now, if you please.’

  Waters stepped away, preparing for more embarrassment – having borrowed the lead SOCO’s mobile, he might need to borrow the pathologist’s too, but then he saw Reeve herself on the footpath, talking to one of the uniformed men he’d left on guard there. She saw him and waved a hand as she continued towards him, but she stopped a few metres short so that he had to close the gap himself. Perhaps she needed to speak to him before she saw the body – or perhaps she just needed another moment to prepare herself.

  She said, ‘Finding the other location is a bonus, Chris. Sally Lonsdale’s in her element – they seem to be examining every grain of sand. Bring me up to speed on the situation here.’

  He did so, ending with the information that the pathologist wanted to remove the body as soon as possible. Reeve had joined the full plastic suit brigade but hers was a white version, as if she’d found one that might reflect a little of the heat. She waved a hand in front of her face and said, ‘I can see why. But I’d really like to get something positive on an ID as soon as possible. I have a picture and something else from the sister so… Has Robinson finished? I’m going to need to move the body a bit.’

  In death, of course, the face becomes frozen, like a mask. Time and the complex processes of decay will eventually erase the features that made the individual unique among us, but for a while the face remains much as it was in life, before life came to an end. And yet, as many have found, the victim can still be difficult to recognise. Expressions, the minute and never-ending, ever-changing adjustments to the eyes, the brows, the lips, to all the musculature of the human visage, are themselves fundamental to the process of recognition. In life, we do not see the features of others in stasis – in death that is all we see, and the shock can make us wonder who they are.

  Reeve had to shade the image on her phone with one hand and then peer at it to make out the picture of Michelle Simms. She looked at it for several seconds and then she did the same with the face of the dead woman, trying to measure the obvious features in a systematic way. She glanced from one to the other three, four, five times and still she was frowning. She said, ‘I’m not absolutely sure.’

  When he was handed the phone, Waters got low down so he could hold it in front of him almost in line with the face on the ground. He didn’t spend as long looking as the DCI before he said, ‘I think this is her, ma’am.’

  Reeve looked at Robinson, as if the best of three would confirm the identification but he shook his head and said, ‘No, thank you. I’ll stick with my nine loci DNA test. The odds of that giving the wrong result are thirteen billion to one. No guessing games for me.’

  Reeve, however, had another card to play. She said to the pathologist, ‘I’d like to lift the body just a little so I can take a look at her lower back. Is that going to cause any problems?’

  ‘Only the fact that full rigor has set in, as your colleague already knows. Bruising is going to be evidential in your case, I’d say, but I suppose if we’re careful…’

  And Robinson was very careful. It was essential that nothing they did to the body here could be allowed to prejudice his findings in the autopsy. The fingers, for example, on a corpse in full rigor mortis are easily broken – imagine a clever defence lawyer questioning that injury and then using it to throw doubt on the rest of the physical evidence the prosecution has assembled. Did that grit or sand get pushed under the nails while they were lifting and turning the body? Now Waters could see why Robinson had put the covers over the hands and why he must make a record of the time that was done as soon as possible.

  Robinson lifted the woman’s shoulders and Waters her feet, lifted her high enough and then turned her slightly so that when she crouched down, Reeve could see the lower back. The skirt was in the way, so then she had to reach under and ease it down, while the pathologist tutted and muttered a little because he hadn’t yet examined the back himself.

  Reeve had been on her hands and knees. She straightened up and said to Robinson, ‘It’s against the rules but I’m going to take one picture of this on my mobile because I think it will speed the identification. DS Waters, you are to record that I have done so. You are also to personally delete it from my phone later today, and again record that you have done so. OK?’

  Waters nodded and Robinson said, ‘What is it you’re taking a picture of, if ye don’t mind me asking?’

  Reeve was already getting back into position.

  ‘It’s a small tattoo. I don’t suppose there are lots of women with this particular one but just to be sure I’d like the sister to see it. We’ll still need someone to identify her but this will give us the best indication yet of who she is. OK, that’s it. You can put her down.’

  Waters understood why he had been given those instructions. Under normal circumstances, police officers are not encouraged to use their own phones to record evidence. It seems hard to believe but there have been cases in which such images have found their way into social media posts, and the consequences for subsequent judicial processes are too obvious to need explaining. Under normal circumstances, taking a picture of a murder victim on one’s own mobile was forbidden – as senior investigating officer, Waters realised, you get to decide when the rules need to be broken.

  He was curious to see the image but Robinson apparently was not. Instead, the pathologist said, ‘Now, have ye done? I need to get this out of the sun. Will you release the body from the crime scene, madam?’

  Reeve didn’t answer immediately. She looked around and Waters knew she must be checking off a list, making sure nothing had been missed. Then she said, ‘All right. Will you be calling an ambulance?’

  ‘Aye, we have one equipped for these auspicious occasions. When it gets here, we’ll need a couple of your people to help move the stretcher. And I’d like your young man here to stay with it until she’s safely on board. He seems to have the general idea of what needs to be done.’

  The DCI made a face that said to Waters, that’s high praise, and then she told him he’d have to wait here until she sent Sally Lonsdale back up to examine the ground underneath the body – there was nothing obvious to see when they lifted it, but she was intent on covering every base. She said, ‘You’re probably going to be stuck here until the early afternoon, Chris. I’ll arrange for someone to bring you a sandwich and something to drink. Is there anything else you need?’

  He thought, well, a Portaloo would be nice but there are plenty of bushes roundabout… Do you have to make a record of that, though? Does it form a part of the crime scene investigation?

  ‘I can’t think of anything, ma’am. Do you mind if I see the photograph, though?’

  ‘Of course not. You should as I’ve involved you in breaching a protocol.’

  She smiled and he wondere
d whether there was a hint of mockery of her detective inspector, his boss, DI Terek. She opened her phone and there it was – the tattooed image of an imp, a little devil with horns, a forked tail and a wicked grin. It was colourful, in various shades of red with a black outline, and of high quality, professionally done.

  He said, ‘Where exactly is it?’

  Reeve made the involuntary movement as we all do, placing a hand low in the small of her back as she answered, ‘Just here.’

  Robinson’s curiosity must have got the better of him. Reeve turned the phone so he could see the image. He looked without expression for a moment and then said, ‘Well, it would appear she should have supped with a longer spoon.’

  Reeve went away then, and Robinson made his phone call. Waters didn’t know what the pathologist had meant by those words, and they’d troubled him for the rest of the day. That evening, as he sat in the flat, waiting for Janey to return his call, he Googled them and found the answer.

  Chapter Eight

  Sally Lonsdale took one of the small, clear envelopes out of her field bag, held it up to the light so they could both see it and said, ‘I don’t know about you, ma’am, but I think it’s a match. It’s a dye, not her natural colour, but I think the hair we’ve found here is from the body we worked around earlier.’