Her Final Hour

by Rachel Amphlett

  ‘What have you got?’

  The technician held up a gloved hand. ‘Mobile phone, Sarge.’

  Mark raised an eyebrow at Jan. ‘What make was the one Jessica’s parents said she had?’

  ‘That one,’ said Jan. ‘Great work, Gareth.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jan held open the door for Turpin before hurrying across to Tracy, who sat at a desk strewn with objects garnered from Jessica Marley’s bedroom.

  ‘Could you log this into evidence?’ she said, handing over a plastic bag containing the mobile phone. ‘And then let Alex have a look to see what he can find in relation to the calls and text messages. It’s flat at the moment, so you’ll need to charge it.’

  ‘Will do. I’ll correlate the calls and texts between this and Brennan’s phone as well, to make sure he hasn’t deleted anything.’

  ‘Great, thanks.’

  Jan shrugged her coat off her shoulders as she made her way over to her desk. She ran a critical eye over the emails that had accumulated in her absence.

  The incident room echoed a cacophony of noise from the team that had been corralled to work on the investigation, but Jan revelled in it. The door swung open as another uniformed constable hurried across to Tracy with an armful of brightly coloured manila folders, and a second later rushed by Jan’s desk on another errand, dropping three of the folders into her top tray.

  She looked up from her work as Kennedy stalked past, grateful that he had been assigned to the murder inquiry as Senior Investigating Officer. He had a no-nonsense reputation, as well as a track record that included mentoring several younger members of the murder investigation team. He didn’t so much demand respect as command it – he led by example.

  She glanced over her shoulder. Kennedy had reached his office, loosened his tie and already had the desk phone to his ear, barking instructions to some unfortunate sod at headquarters.

  She smiled, turning her attention back to the folders that had been left for her. The first contained a copy of the witness statements from Jessica’s manager and supervisor at the supermarket, and, as she read through the typed-up notes, a wistfulness gripped her.

  Annie Hartman’s statement confirmed that the young woman had been hard-working, attentive to detail and had never once turned up late. The manager had been distraught upon learning about Jessica’s murder and, according to Caroline, had already put up posters in the windows with the Crimestoppers number, asking customers to get in touch if they had any information.

  Isaac Fisher, the man with whom Jessica had worked in the petrol station on Thursday afternoons, was similarly upset; Jessica was the same age as his oldest granddaughter, and, like Annie, he hadn’t a bad word to say about her.

  Jan closed the file and tossed it to one side, then flipped open the next one, pulling out a wedge of paperwork and casting her gaze over the words. To her relief, it related to another case that she and Turpin had closed out last month and all that was required was her signature on two of the pages.

  She scrawled her initials where indicated and dropped it back into her top tray and then peered at her computer screen. Fighting back the urge to groan, she replied to as many of the new messages as she could, delegated the rest and then glanced up as Kennedy moved to the front of the room and cleared his throat.

  ‘Let’s get a move on, people. Briefing, now please.’

  ‘Here.’ Turpin appeared at her side and passed a takeout coffee cup to her. ‘Thought you might need this.’

  ‘You’re a legend, thanks – I was starting to struggle after all that fresh air today. I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about Jessica, walking up that road on her own.’ She shivered. ‘These days, you’d think it’d be the last thing a woman would do.’

  ‘I suppose it’s a tight-knit community where everyone knows everyone,’ he said, as they stood at the back of the assembled group of police officers. ‘And that’s the problem, isn’t it? She must’ve thought she was safe. All the times she’d walked that lane before with no problem––’

  ‘Are you saying she was complacent?’

  ‘No. I’m saying she should have been safe. It’s just that there are some evil bastards out there.’

  Jan murmured her agreement, and turned her attention to Kennedy as he started the briefing.

  ‘My thanks to the team who facilitated the house-to-house enquiries today in Harton Wick,’ he began. ‘As some of you will be aware, during that time Mark found evidence to suggest that a streetlight had been deliberately smashed so that Jessica Marley would’ve had to walk a length of the lane back to her parents’ house in darkness. We’ve checked with the local council and, because of the current late night bus trial, the lights along there don’t switch off until one o’clock in the morning at the moment. They switch on again at six a.m. for a couple of hours.’

  He held up his hand for silence as murmurs swept through the room. ‘Alex and Caroline, I want you to chase up the CCTV camera footage from the buses that drove along that route on Monday night. Arrange to have the drivers brought in for questioning – I’d like to observe.’

  Kennedy turned back to the whiteboard and tapped the photograph taken at the murder scene on the gallops. ‘Why was Jessica’s body dumped here? And, where was she killed?’

  ‘Jasper and his team confirm there were no traces of blood on the road itself or the verge,’ said Turpin. ‘There are no blood traces on her mobile phone, either. As for where her body was found, perhaps it serves as a message to either Will Brennan or MacKenzie Adams.’

  ‘Both of whom remain suspects until ruled out otherwise,’ said Kennedy. ‘How did you get on interviewing MacKenzie Adams this morning? Can you provide an update for everyone while we’re here? I take it from your mood that he lived up to expectations?’

  ‘The man’s an arsehole,’ said Turpin. ‘A misogynist for starters, and all he cares about is how much publicity he can get out of Jessica’s death.’

  ‘Feel better now?’ said Kennedy to a ripple of laughter.

  ‘Yes, guv. Sorry – he got to us.’

  ‘Well, you’ve got a fair point about him being an arsehole. It’s been noted in other circles, according to the background research Caroline’s been doing. How’d you get on with the questioning?’

  ‘He confirmed the gate through to the gallops isn’t kept locked, even though he has a key,’ said Jan. ‘There’s a second racing yard run by someone called Dominic Millar who uses it to train his horses from time to time. We checked on the way back – his is a much smaller yard, perhaps only eight horses at the moment.’

  ‘His website states that he’s been training for about eighteen months,’ said Mark. ‘He had a bad fall three years ago, and that put paid to his riding career.’

  ‘Was he any good?’

  ‘No big wins, but it appears he was making a decent living out of it.’

  ‘Enough to set himself up as a trainer?’

  ‘We plan to look into that, guv,’ said Jan. ‘There wasn’t much online.’

  ‘All right. Get PC Newton to help if you need to.’

  ‘Will do.’

  ‘What did he have to say about Jessica working for him?’

  ‘He said she’d only started there three weeks ago and had worked three shifts. He said he forgot to tell us about her previously because he was in shock.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘That’s what we thought, guv. We’ll check her work arrangements with the other staff at the stables once uniform have all the interviews complete, plus we’ll get someone to look into his finances to make sure the payroll records are up to date. That’ll at least confirm the dates for us.’

  ‘Thanks, you two.’ Kennedy turned his attention to Police Sergeant Wilcox. ‘Tom – I want you and your team coordinating the witness statements from the regulars in the pub. I realise we’ve got some based on the list of names Noah Collins provided, but we need to make sure no-one’s been overlooked. Take a look at the ATM in the pub
as well, and get onto the bank Collins uses for his card machine. I want records of everyone spending money in that place on Monday night. Once we have those, we can find out from them who else was in there. I want everyone interviewed as soon as possible.’

  ‘Guv.’

  ‘Mark – make sure you follow up with Jasper to get a note of their findings from this afternoon’s search, even if it’s not a full report. I want regular updates from him and his team so we can keep this investigation moving forward.’

  ‘Will do, guv.’

  ‘All right, that’ll do. Thank you, everyone, for your hard work so far. We’ve got a long way to go, but we will find who murdered this young woman. Dismissed.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  Mark clutched the collar of his jacket tight around his neck as he led the way towards the double doors of the building that housed Oxford City Council’s mortuary.

  Grey and foreboding clouds tumbled overhead, a portent for the heavy downpour that had been forecast for the morning, as well as the task that lay ahead.

  As the last of the weak sunlight disappeared from view, it transformed the red brick of the single-storey building to a dull hue and sucked the colour from the shrubs that had been planted either side of the entrance.

  His phone beeped in his pocket, and his mood improved as his eyes skimmed the text from Lucy.

  Thanks again for the dinner invitation. Looking forward to it xx.

  ‘Not that I’m in a hurry to get in there,’ said Jan, ‘but open the door, Sarge. We’re about to get soaked.’

  He pocketed the phone and wrenched open the door, standing to one side to let her pass before following her across the tiled floor to a reception desk.

  Clive Moore looked up from the computer he was working on, then pushed a clipboard across the desk to them. ‘Morning, detectives. Sign in, please.’

  Mark pointed at the computer. ‘New kit? About time.’

  ‘Our illustrious leaders decided to grant us a smidgen of funds to embark upon a humble spending spree,’ said the pathologist’s assistant, peering down his nose as he handed a pen to Mark. ‘A shame the rest of the pleas we’ve made for additional money have gone unheeded.’

  Mark bit back a smile and signed the visitor log before passing it to Jan.

  Clive’s dreary demeanour was accentuated by the grey sweater he wore. Lanky, in his late twenties, he almost aged another two decades in front of them when he took the clipboard from Jan with a sigh, as if the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

  ‘Busy?’ said Mark.

  ‘Always. Especially with Gillian having to be in court this week. We could’ve done without that. We’re going to be working over the weekend now to try and catch up. Oh, here she is.’

  Mark turned at the sound of footsteps to see Gillian hurrying towards them, a mask pulled down around her throat.

  ‘Morning,’ she said. ‘Can you get ready as soon as possible? I want to make a start straight away.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Mark. ‘Clive was just telling us you’re having to work this weekend.’

  Gillian’s eyes steeled. ‘It’s worth it. Did he have a chance to tell you my evidence helped get a conviction yesterday? Six years for a domestic abuse case. The poor woman was unrecognisable by the time he’d finished with her. At least he won’t see the light of day for a while.’

  ‘Well done.’

  He meant it, too. Despite their past animosity, he and the pathologist had a mutual respect these days, and her role within the court system was well renowned. She would have been a formidable asset to the prosecution’s case.

  ‘Thanks. See you in there in five minutes.’

  She nodded to Jan, then spun around and headed back to the examination room, the steel door slamming in her wake.

  ‘You know where the changing rooms are,’ said Clive as he left the desk and hurried after her. ‘I’d better go and help her get ready.’

  Mark left Jan to get changed and stepped into the men’s locker room. Pulling apart a plastic sealed gown that had been left in a pile on a nearby wooden bench, he shrugged it over his shoulders and then added the matching bootees to his feet.

  Squaring his shoulders, he moved out into the corridor and saw Jan waiting by the doors.

  ‘All set?’

  ‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said. ‘Let’s get it over with.’

  Gillian peered over her mask at them as they entered the examination room. ‘I figured I’d make a start while I was waiting – you don’t mind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ said Mark. In fact, he was glad he hadn’t had to watch the pathologist brandishing the saw she had used to open the girl’s skull, and noted relief in Jan’s eyes as they moved closer to the table.

  He listened while Gillian dictated her findings into a microphone clipped to her lapel as she worked, her movements methodical and steady.

  Clive passed various instruments to her as she requested them, the two of them working in tandem, a fluidity to the way they progressed through the brutal reality of a post mortem.

  Finally it was done and, while Clive began to sew Jessica’s broken body back together, Gillian beckoned them away from the table and across to a stainless-steel sink where she scrubbed her hands.

  ‘Okay, well, you probably got the gist of all that but I can confirm she was killed with a single blow to the back of her head, just above her ear. I believe she would’ve been rendered unconscious with that – any hope of survival was lost when her attacker decided to dump her body on the gallops instead of seeking medical attention.’

  ‘So, she might’ve survived if she hadn’t been dumped?’ said Jan.

  Gillian lowered her mask and grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t want to hazard a guess as to her quality of life after a blow like that, but it is a possibility, yes.’

  ‘Was she assaulted?’

  ‘No – I haven’t found any indication of sexual assault.’

  ‘What about the fact that she was found with her knickers around her ankle, then?’

  ‘Maybe her killer was interrupted.’

  ‘There were a couple of theories we were progressing in the incident room,’ said Mark. ‘One was the possibility of it being a hit-and-run accident––’

  ‘No,’ said Gillian. ‘There are no signs of lesions to her skin that you’d typically see in a hit-and-run. If that was the case, we would’ve seen abrasions where she’d been hit and dragged along the road. What else were you thinking?’

  ‘The possibility that it might’ve been an accident. That she might’ve been injured by a horse – if she’d been thrown off, or kicked.’

  The pathologist shook her head. ‘You can rule that out as well. The angle of the strike to her skull is all wrong for a kick from a horse – and I’ve seen plenty of those in my time working here. Again, if she had fallen, then I would’ve expected to see evidence of grass stains, bruising to her limbs or breakages in fingers or wrists where she tried to slow her fall. There’s nothing here to support that theory.’

  Mark sighed and cast his gaze back to the pitiful figure on the table, her face now covered with a sheet while Clive began to clean the floor.

  ‘Then it’s definitely murder,’ he said.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Jan paused at the garden gate to the Marleys’ home, a sickness twisting at her stomach.

  Turpin joined her, pocketing his mobile phone. ‘Kennedy says once we’re done here, that’s us for the day. We’re due over at MacKenzie’s stables tomorrow to oversee the remaining interviews there.’

  ‘Okay. He’s sure about this?’

  ‘Better they find out from us than local gossip. It’s not going to be long before someone finds out and lets it slip.’

  ‘All right.’

  Four days of grief had taken their toll on Jessica’s father. When he opened the door, Jan was taken aback by the pallor of his face and the dull ache in his eyes.

  The family dog barked once from behind the living room door, its claws s
cratching at the wooden surface before Jan heard Jessica’s mother berating the animal. The scratching stopped, followed by the sound of the latch being turned.

  Jessica’s father shuffled backwards to let them in, and then glanced over his shoulder as PC Wickes emerged from the kitchen.

  ‘Grant said you were on your way over. Have you caught anyone yet?’

  ‘It’s very early days, Mr Marley, but we’re doing everything we can. We’ve got a lot of new information coming in,’ said Turpin. ‘Would it be all right to give you and your wife an update?’

  Trevor Marley nodded, his eyes downcast. Pointing towards the living room door, he let Turpin lead the way, Jan following the two men.

  Jessica’s mother sat in the same armchair as last time, the small dog in her lap. Wendy Marley’s eyes had the same redness about them as her husband’s, and she twisted a paper tissue between her hands as she watched Turpin and Jan take a seat on the sofa.

  ‘They say they want to update us,’ said Trevor. He ran a hand across the brightly patterned throw on the back of his armchair, and then sat with a sigh. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘The Home Office pathologist concluded her post mortem this morning,’ said Jan, her gaze moving between the two parents. ‘She has told us that Jessica died as a result of a single blow to the back of her head. The pathologist has ruled out a hit-and-run accident or any possibility that Jessica might have fallen from a horse.’

  Trevor ran a hand across his face, then stood and moved across to where Wendy sat, wrapping his arm around her as he lowered himself to the arm of her chair. ‘Did she die straight away, or did she suffer?’

  Jan swallowed. ‘The pathologist confirms that the knock to her head was enough to render her unconscious immediately.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ said Wendy, and leaned into her husband. ‘She was still alive when he left her out there?’

  ‘I’m sorry, yes. That is what the pathologist believes.’

  ‘Who would do such a thing?’ said Trevor, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘Our beautiful girl. She never hurt anyone in her whole life. Never had a bad word to say about anyone. Why?’