Definitely Dead

by Kate Bendelow

  Completely stunned, she managed not to cry out or recoil. Instead, she stood frozen. Fascinated as much as horrified. The sudden sound of footsteps clanging across the stepping plates alerted her to the fact that Chris had returned. Relieved, Maya turned to face him but was distracted by a movement near the back door. Someone was about to walk in. Her nerves were so frayed by now, she let out a small scream as a man emerged through the open back door. He was clad in a full scene suit and carrying an all-weather writer stuffed with handwritten notes.

  ‘Maya, what’s wrong?’ Chris rushed to her side.

  ‘Nothing. Well, I mean… it’s just… I said hello and asked if I could come in… the man at the table… but he wasn’t Doctor Granger…’ She took a sharp intake of breath. ‘I mean… him… the body… I assumed that was upstairs… but he’s not… he’s here. And he’s dead. Definitely, definitely dead. Jesus Christ!’

  ‘For the love of God, Makin. Is she being deliberately obtuse?’ Granger sneered.

  ‘No, she’s not. Maya hasn’t been with us very long and this is her first body. It would appear she’s not known the full circumstances and it seems she’s had quite a shock.’ Chris placed a protective hand on Maya’s shoulder.

  ‘I’ve neither the time nor the inclination to listen to excuses. Can you just get him shifted onto a body sheet so I can have a proper look at him? I’m just going to my car to make a phone call. Shout me when you’re ready and try not to take all bloody day.’

  Maya let out a sigh of relief when he left. She had been determined to make a good impression at her first death and had already managed to make a complete fool of herself.

  ‘I am so sorry, Chris. I was convinced for some reason the body was upstairs. It’s probably because the last job I heard about was the one Kym dealt with. The overdose found naked on the bedroom floor?’ Maya groaned with embarrassment. ‘Then when you said Doctor Granger was out the back, I just assumed it was him sat at the table. I couldn’t see properly through the glass panel.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes. Learn from it, get over it and never make assumptions. If you don’t know something, then ask. Are you all right?’ Maya was grateful for his concern and understanding.

  ‘Yes thanks. I feel like a total idiot, but other than that I’m fine.’ She gave a strangled laugh.

  ‘Good. Right. Let’s focus. Everything has been photographed up to now and I’ve taken tape lifts and swabs from exposed areas of his face, neck and hands.’ Chris motioned to indicate the areas. ‘Help me spread this body sheet out and we can get him laid down.’

  ‘Who is he?’ Maya said as they wrestled the plastic sheeting across the floor.

  ‘This is Karl Gorman, sixty-five. A convicted rapist with a penchant for teenage girls. He’s also a renowned thief, he’d steal the steam off your piss if he could.’

  Maya snorted with disgust. ‘He doesn’t sound like any great loss to society.’

  ‘Nah. He’s a well-known pisshead. I reckon he’s spent more time in Beech Field nick than I have. Recently we’ve had intelligence to suggest he’s been the errand boy for one of our local gangsters, Aiden Donnelly.’

  Maya nodded. ‘I’ve heard of Donnelly. So, who found him?’

  ‘A fellow barfly. Apparently, he’d not seen Gorman for a few days and called round on the scrounge. Both the front and back door were closed, but not locked. He’s not got any medical issues that we know of. Our main area of concern is that last week he was involved in a fight outside the Black Swan.’

  ‘Who with?’

  ‘We don’t know yet. CID are still making enquiries. What we need to ascertain is whether his death is a result of that fight, or if anyone’s been back here to finish him off. Word has got around recently that he’s on the sex offenders’ register, which will muddy the motive waters. That and his recent dealings with Donnelly means he could have upset someone.’

  ‘And from the conversation I’ve just had outside, it sounds like there’s no love lost between him and the neighbours either.’

  ‘Exactly. There’s not gonna be a queue outside the crematorium for this one.’ Chris straightened up and patted the corpse on the back.

  Maya surveyed the scene of the dishevelled kitchen. Surrounding Gorman on the table was an empty glass, overflowing ashtray, a tea towel, cigarette packet and a vodka bottle, which was nearly full.

  ‘Has Doctor Granger been able to give a time of death?’ Maya asked.

  ‘Only an estimation. An exact time isn’t something pathologists will commit to. There are so many variables affecting the stages of death, such as rigor mortis, that it’s not an exact science.’ Chris took another swipe at his sweating brow with his forearm.

  ‘So, what’s his estimation?’

  ‘Up to four days, which ties in with when witnesses claim they last saw him. Temperature has a big impact on stages of death. Because it’s been so hot lately, rigor has probably worn off quicker than it would have if he’d died in winter. Plus, he’s a bit of a skinny runt, so that will also affect the process more than if he was a bit on the cuddly side like me.’ Chris winked as he jutted his stomach out.

  ‘Right, enough of the science lesson. I’ll lift him from under the arms, you get ready to move the chair out of the way and shift his legs.’

  Chris grasped Gorman under the arms, grunting as he heaved him out of the chair and manoeuvred him onto the body sheet. Maya pulled the chair out of the way and centred Gorman’s legs by reaching for the back of his calves and positioned them on the sheet. The legs felt heavy and unyielding but were moveable and not the rigid stiffness she would otherwise have expected. The body made a gurgling sound as it shifted, and a foul stench hit Maya as she remained crouched over Karl Gorman.

  ‘Eugh, it smells like he’s shit himself. Sorry you got the arse end.’ Chris took a step back.

  Maya surveyed Gorman in his supine position. He looked surreal, the way his mouth remained frozen and the lividity of his skin. She half expected him to sit up and berate them for being in his house. The blood had been coming from a gash above his left eyebrow – the side which had been lying on the kitchen table. His face appeared strangely flattened, and where his skin had pressed on the table, she could make out the heavy grained pattern of the wood on his cheek.

  ‘Do you think that cut is deep enough to have caused a fatal head injury?’ Maya asked.

  ‘We’ll not know for sure until the post-mortem. It looks a bit nasty but could be relatively superficial. I know there’s a fair bit of blood but he’s a drinker. Alcohol thins the blood.’ Chris pointed towards Gorman’s face. ‘Head wounds can look worse than they actually are. You’ll soon learn that noses and mouths can piss blood, but the injury isn’t actually that bad. I’ll go and give Granger a shout and we’ll strip him off while you carry on with the photographs.’

  As Chris stepped out to fetch the pathologist, Maya proceeded to photograph Gorman in his new position. She took a series of close-up pictures of his face and general body shots, including several photos of his hands. As she stood over the body taking the pictures at various angles, she noticed how the smell had grown stronger since he had been moved. The stench of excrement mixed with the smell of death was certainly going to be an unforgettable experience.

  Although the odour was undeniably unpleasant, Maya was pleased that she could withstand it. Now she had got used to the sight of the dead body, her initial shock was replaced with intense curiosity. Carefully placing the camera down on the edge of the body sheet, she knelt and cautiously lifted Gorman’s right hand. It felt surprisingly cold despite the sweltering temperature of the room.

  Like his legs, the hand felt heavy and unyielding, but she could turn it easily enough to inspect the back and palms. The fingers were heavily nicotine-stained, his nails long and dirty. His knuckles appeared bruised and slightly swollen. Old scars were visible on his fingers, consistent with someone who had spent many years labouring and handling tools, but she couldn’t see
any fresh cuts.

  ‘What are you thinking, Maya?’ Chris asked as he returned with the pathologist.

  ‘I was just checking his hands to see if there were any fresh cuts or scrapes. I was thinking that if he’d been attacked the chances are, he would have fought back and maybe sustained some defence wounds, but there’s nothing apparent. This is clearly his dominant hand, looking at the nicotine stains,’ she added.

  Chris nodded at her. ‘Good observation. Noticed anything else?’

  She looked down at the body and around the dishevelled kitchen. Now that he was laid out on the floor and the two men were in the room with her, it didn’t seem as large as it had when she originally entered.

  ‘Actually, yes. If he had been assaulted here, then surely there would be signs of a disturbance. There’s certainly enough rubbish in here which could have been knocked over or easily disturbed. Look at the dustbin mountain for a start. Also, if someone had been here, then wouldn’t they have taken his phone and wallet? They’re still on the lounge table. The cigarette packet and vodka bottle are both nearly full. Any self-respecting thief would have taken them, surely?’

  Chris nodded. ‘Well spotted. That said, the property is still insecure, and we have a dead sixty-five-year-old with an obvious head injury and lots of potential enemies. What are your thoughts, Doctor Granger?’

  ‘No alarm bells ringing up to now. Let’s strip him off and see what’s what.’

  Chris began by easing Gorman’s navy T-shirt over his head revealing a skinny, pale frame. Gases had caused his otherwise concave stomach to bloat like a pregnancy. The wall of the abdomen had begun to discolour and had a green hue to it. Had Gorman lain undiscovered much longer, bloating and discolouration would have intensified until the body effectively popped.

  The left side of Gorman’s ribs appeared slightly bruised, although it was hard to distinguish because of the lividity. Maya leaned over to take more photographs and grimaced as a wave of body odour emanated from the corpse, adding to the noxious bouquet of the kitchen.

  ‘God, he stinks,’ she exclaimed, grimacing under her mask.

  ‘Ha, wait for the feet.’ Chris chortled to himself as he eased Gorman’s trainers and socks off. Maya baulked at the sight of a shower of dry skin, like sawdust, come away as the socks were peeled off.

  Chris began to hum The Stripper tune as he began to wriggle Gorman’s stained jeans down his scrawny legs. Maya’s infamous booming laugh filled the room, causing Doctor Granger to wince and Chris to laugh harder. Granger, unamused, shook his head, which brought them both back to their senses. The three of them had cause to take a step back as the smell of defecation became even stronger.

  ‘I think we’ll leave his boxer shorts on until we get him in the mortuary. I’ve not seen anything that’s given me any real cause for concern.’ Granger squatted down. ‘The bruising on his knees and ribs there doesn’t look particularly fresh and more than likely relates to the fight he had. Can you just turn him over, Chris? I’ll just check his back and then he can be bagged up.’

  Maya continued to take a series of photographs as Chris heaved the body onto its side before lowering him face first on the body sheet. Granger grunted his thanks and told them he would see them back at the mortuary. Chris produced a pre-written body tag and attached it to Gorman’s wrist and asked Maya to take a close-up photograph.

  ‘I’ve not seen one of those before, what’s it for?’ she asked as she carefully zoomed in to ensure all the details of the tag were recorded.

  ‘Think of it as an exhibit label that you’d attach to any evidence, as essentially that’s what he is. It helps maintain continuity of the body. Once the duty undertakers come to collect him, they’ll take him to the mortuary. A police escort will follow them to ensure continuity is maintained.’

  Chris placed clear polythene bags over Gorman’s head, hands and feet for further preservation. Then they gathered him in the thick, white polythene body sheet. It rustled like a giant crisp packet as Chris tore at pieces of tape to secure the sheet in place. Next, they opened the body bag and shuffled him in it. The bag was fastened up and the zips secured with a plastic tag bearing a unique police reference number. Maya took one final photograph to record the number and then stood back.

  ‘He’s all done. Well, Maya – your first body in the bag, quite literally. How does it feel?’

  ‘It’s a relief to have it over and done with. At least I know what to expect in future. I feel okay about it. I think it helps knowing he was a shitbag. What happens now?’

  ‘A baptism of fire, that’s what. Might as well get another first out of the way. You can come to the mortuary with me and watch the post-mortem. We’ve just got enough time to grab some food on the way, I dunno about you but I’m bleedin’ starving.’ Maya heard his stomach rumble in agreement.

  ‘Nope, couldn’t eat a thing. I’ll get something later.’

  ‘Well, it’s up to you but personally I always find post-mortems make me hungry. It’s all those ribs. Let’s get out of these scene suits so I can ring DI Redford.’ Chris stretched noisily as he straightened himself up. ‘He might actually want to meet us at the mortuary. He’ll be in the viewing gallery, of course. He’ll tell you it’s so he can make calls while the PM takes place, but I think it’s so he can avoid being in the splash zone.’

  Surveying the dishevelled kitchen, Maya took a few final photographs. While focusing the lens she suddenly felt concerned that they had missed something. Nothing she could put her finger on. It was more of a sense that the room was keeping a secret.

  ‘Chris?’ she called as he headed down the hallway.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There’s… could you just…’

  ‘What’s up, Maya? Hurry up, love, I’m starving.’

  ‘Nothing. It’s okay. I’m coming.’

  She shook her head, ridding herself of the ridiculous notion that something was wrong. Her mother, Dominique, was always accusing her of having an overactive imagination. She’d already made one huge, wrong assumption today and she wasn’t going to allow herself to succumb to any more.

  Maya took one last look at the body bag and concluded it was probably just the shock of dealing with her first sudden death. After all, there was no sign of a disturbance or that anything untoward had happened. Chris had agreed with her on that, and he had years of experience to fall back on. The post-mortem would help to ascertain the cause of death and would reveal any cause for concern.

  If the death was deemed to be suspicious then the scene would be examined with a fine-tooth comb, and any latent clues would inevitably be uncovered. Otherwise, the stepping plates would be removed, the scene closed, and the house would be secured until the next of kin or council arranged for the property to be emptied.

  Knowing that Gorman had been a rapist and prolific criminal, Maya found she had little sympathy for his untimely death, whatever the circumstances. He was dead, but he was no loss to anyone. Perhaps she would have felt differently if he had been a well-liked family man. Now she was over the initial shock of having dealt with the scene, she was emotionally indifferent. Karl Gorman meant nothing to her other than being her first dead body.

  Turning to follow Chris down the hall, she thought of what the mortuary would have in store for her. She shuddered at Chris’s comment about being in the splash zone. The earlier trepidation began to resurface, and her stomach lurched unpleasantly. Getting hands-on with her first dead body was one thing, but she couldn’t begin to imagine what it was going to be like watching Karl Gorman’s body being sliced open and ripped apart.

  3

  Maya slept restlessly as the images played out in front of her. In the mortuary, Karl Gorman’s post-mortem was no longer a challenge to be faced, but a stark reality. Disturbingly, Gorman was still alive as the oblivious pathologist sliced into him. The sound of Gorman’s screams mingled with the shriek of the Stryker saw, which was used to remove the top of the skull. The mortician had wielded it effortle
ssly, as if removing the top of a boiled egg with a teaspoon.

  Maya shuddered as each of the organs grew legs and scuttled away, crab-like, from the weighing scales on which they had been placed. As much as she was desperate to, Maya couldn’t turn away as the horrific images unfolded. Gorman’s unblinking eye remained fixed on her. As unyielding in the mortuary as they had been when she first discovered him in the kitchen. She was about to cry out with shock when thankfully her radio alarm chirruped into life. The dream gradually evaded her, flitting back to the recesses of her subconscious.

  The nightmare of Gorman’s post-mortem had been far more disturbing than the real thing, which she had found fascinating. It had been a surreal experience. The only real discomfort had been caused by standing for over four hours as she watched the post-mortem unfold. Doctor Granger had eventually concluded that Gorman’s death was due to sudden arrhythmic cardiac death, caused by chronic alcohol misuse. Toxicology samples had been taken, but it would be several weeks before the results would be analysed and returned.

  Satisfied that there was no foul play surrounding Gorman’s death, DI Redford had agreed that the crime scene could be released. Doctor Granger had concluded that when Gorman’s head hit the kitchen table, it caused the gash above his eye to reopen. He echoed Chris’s earlier thoughts, surmising that Gorman’s drinking had accelerated the blood loss from the wound due to alcohol thinning the blood. It had been fascinating to watch the pathologist at work, but once the adrenaline rush of her first death had faded, Maya felt utterly drained and fatigued.

  Chris had been right about the post-mortem making him hungry. Maya had been ravenous herself when they left the mortuary. They had managed to call at the Chinese takeaway near Beech Field just before it closed and had ordered a ridiculous amount of food between them, which to her surprise, they had managed to eat. As always, the ride home on her motorbike offered its usual cathartic release as the wind whipped past her as she opened up the throttle on the quiet dual carriageway.