Make You Sorry

by Christine Rae-Jones

  They came to a holly bush and Kaiser stopped. He stood upright and perfectly still; eyes and nose pointing straight ahead. His mouth was slightly open and he was panting. ‘That’s his indicator,’ said Barber. ‘There’s something here.’

  Morgan didn’t need to be told. The woodland smell he had been enjoying was now tainted by the stench of decaying flesh. Although decomposition would be slower in low winter temperatures, nature would still have its way. Through the intertwined branches and prickly leaves Morgan saw a flash of white. He waited while Barber made a fuss of his dog then picked his way round the holly bush to get a better view.

  In the light of his torch he saw something was leaning against a wide tree trunk. Ignoring the scratches to his hands, he held the holly branches aside. It was a figure, covered in white fabric which was streaked with mud and other stains, but still sparkled in the beam of light. Was that something in the figure’s lap? He wasn’t sure.

  PC Barber was gripping Kaiser’s collar when Morgan returned from behind the holly bush. ‘Is it the missing solicitor, do you think?’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘Can’t be sure. If it is, she’s not in a good state. It’ll be dental records and personal effects... if there are any.’

  Barber started to make his way towards the path before calling back. ‘Enjoy the rest of your first day and I’ll no doubt see you again at some point.’ He waved before reaching into his pocket and producing a mangled yellow tennis ball. Morgan heard him tell Kaiser how clever he was and knew that when they had reached a safe distance from the scene, the dog was going to get his reward – ten minutes of fetch the ball.

  Now alone, Morgan felt that the peace and stillness had intensified. There was an occasional drip of water on areas of rotting leaves and it reminded him of the death at Cliffside. A slight movement of air disturbed the bare branches of the trees. Then, nothing.

  If this was Abigail Slater, what was she doing here? Was this the suicide of a soon-to-be bride who had decided she couldn’t go through with it, or had someone made that decision for her?

  Tiredness washed over him. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to happen. A member of the public usually came across a body, quite often when they were walking their dog. They rang the police who sent a uniformed officer or PCSO to guard the scene. After that, forensics did their bit, and the pathologist and Senior Investigating Officer turned up later. He shouldn’t be the first responder. How had that happened? Of course, it happened because the member of the public walking the dog was his wife.

  He didn’t know how long he waited before he heard footsteps. When he turned, he saw two uniformed officers. The male was carrying a mobile phone and a police radio which he handed to Morgan, and the female had three rolls of blue and white police barrier tape. ‘How far back do you want this?’ she asked. As they were choosing trees to secure the tape to, he heard more people coming from the direction of the car park. Another body; another circus.

  Chapter 18

  Monday 10th February

  Samantha Morgan watched her husband disappear into the woods with PC Barber and Kaiser. She was resigned to a long wait and might have sat it out if she had been alone, but with the twins arguing, and the pervasive smell of wet dog in the car, she decided she would make a move as soon as someone came who could take a message to Nick.

  A marked police car arrived and two uniformed officers got out. She approached and told them that she had found the garter. Then, she pointed them to where her husband and the dog and handler had gone into the woods. The female officer thanked her and asked her to wait in the car until someone came to take a statement. When Sam replied that she intended to leave the scene, the officers looked at each other with obvious alarm. ‘I’m not asking you for permission,’ she clarified her position, ‘I’m telling you to let DI Morgan know that I’ll see him at home this evening.’ She stomped back to her car and started the engine. As she turned in a tight circle, the tyres spraying loose chippings, Alexander shouted ‘Yey. Go Mum!’

  Samantha drove back to the park home and told the twins to wait in the car. She was angry that Nick’s priority had been the police investigation, rather than his family. Just because they hadn’t actually seen the body didn’t mean that they weren’t traumatised, particularly so soon after the dead youth at Cliffside. When the dog started to whine, she realised she had been taking her temper out on him and rubbing too hard. She hugged him before settling him into his basket with a chew and a couple of toys.

  The twins sensed Samantha’s mood and stayed quiet during the drive to Silver Sands House. When they arrived, she hustled them through the front door which was propped open, although there were signs everywhere forbidding it. She led them along the hallway, glancing into the dining room and public rooms before hurrying up to Dorothy’s suite. There was no reply when she knocked on the door so she tried the handle. It opened. Her mother was asleep in her armchair, head to one side and mouth open. Samantha went into the small kitchen area and put the kettle on. She found Dorothy’s biscuit tin which she handed to the twins. They looked at her in surprise. Chocolate biscuits were a rare treat.

  She warmed the pot and spooned what Dorothy called “proper tea” into it before re-boiling the kettle and pouring water over the leaves. The ritual took her back to when she lived with her parents. She used teabags nowadays.

  When she returned to the lounge Alex had turned on the television and Dorothy was wakening. ‘What a surprise, dear. I must have dropped off.’

  ‘We found a body, Grandma,’ Alex shouted as he launched himself into the two-seater settee.

  ‘That’s not fair,’ said Victoria ‘I wanted to tell her.’

  ‘I know about the body,’ said Dorothy, ‘and strictly speaking, your father found it.’

  ‘No!’ they shouted together. ‘Another body.’

  Dorothy looked to Samantha who was pouring the tea.

  ‘In the woods. Truffles found a garter. I think it may belong to that solicitor, Abigail... whatever her name is. We don’t know if she’s there, but Nick’s gone in with a police dog to look.’

  Dorothy took the tea and sighed. ‘I really hoped she would be found safe and well. But, dead in the woods? That’s not good,’ she said. ‘For so many reasons, that’s not good.’

  Chapter 19

  Monday 10th February

  Dave Spence arrived at DI Maggy Patel’s office and knocked on the open door. ‘I’ve got the pathologist’s preliminary report on Carl Raynor, ma’am,’ he said holding up the large white envelope.

  ‘Have you read it?’

  ‘Skimmed it and read the last few paragraphs. It seems he was stabbed in the back and asphyxiated. The stab wounds are on the right side of the body. A couple of tentative ones and a deeper one, but none of them hit vital vessels or organs. Mackenzie says it wouldn’t have taken much to smother him. I wasn’t there when he was weighed, but if he was fifty kilos I’d be surprised. Full toxicology will come later.’

  Patel shook her head, her expression sad. ‘Stabbed and asphyxiated? Is that someone sending out a message? Have we any idea how long he was living there?’

  ‘Not long, I’d say. There were ashes in the fireplace, but not enough for many fires. And you’d need a fire in that draughty dump.’

  ‘You don’t think our new recruit, DI Morgan, could have found him and decided to circumnavigate the court eviction process, do you?’ Patel was tapping a pen against her chin as she spoke.

  Spence wasn’t sure if she was being serious. ‘There was no car on the drive. Where’s DI Morgan’s car? I’d say that’s very suspicious, wouldn’t you?’ He checked for a reaction, but her face gave nothing away. ‘I brought him in after he found the body. I thought about cautioning him, but I didn’t. Are you saying I should have, ma’am?’

  Patel smiled. Maybe she had been teasing him? ‘I expect we’ll find out more when I question him. His statement is basic at best.’ She tossed her pen on to the desk, sat back in her chair, and crossed her
arms. ‘There was drug paraphernalia in one of the bedrooms with two unopened electric toothbrushes and a couple of bottles of perfume so I can’t believe it was another druggie robbing Raynor of his cache. They would have taken the lot. Were you there when Mack was at the scene?’ Spence was surprised to hear Patel use the pathologist’s nickname; she was normally more formal.

  ‘Yes, for some of the time. He said he thought that the fight began in the back bedroom. Thinks it started as Raynor bent over to snort a line off a bedside cabinet. He must have tried to get away, because there are scuffle marks in the dust between there and where he we found him, in the front bedroom.’

  Patel searched through the papers on her desk before pulling one out and reading from it. ‘CSI’s initial report found cocaine residue on that cabinet. It’d been kicked over, so they reckon there must have been a bit of a struggle. They’re not sure how many people were involved because the footmarks in the dust aren’t clear.’ She turned over the page. ‘No blood trail from the back to the front bedroom so, he was either stabbed and smothered in the front bedroom, or...’

  ‘The stab wounds aren’t all that deep. He might have been stabbed in the back bedroom and his clothes absorbed the blood while the fight moved to the front?’

  Spence held out the envelope which she took and opened. ‘How long is it going to be before Mack uses email do you think?’ she asked.

  ‘He says he doesn’t trust the system and that the only way he can be sure we’ll read his reports is if he gives us hard copy.’

  She nodded as she glanced through the pages. ‘He might have a point.’

  ‘Have you read the bit about bruising to the chest?’ he asked.

  ‘Just got there. Some historical bruising but also two recent bruises, one above each nipple. What do you think? It says possibly knee prints?’

  Spence nodded his agreement. ‘Mack thought he was knelt on as he’s being smothered. There were a few kick marks in the dust at his feet. Forensics took some cushions, pillows and a folded blanket for DNA. They’ve also photographed what they can of the footprints. We’ll need to get DI Morgan’s shoes for elimination.’

  Patel wagged her forefinger at him. ‘You know they call themselves CSI now.’

  ‘I’d like to be called DI Spence, but we can’t always get what we want.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s any CCTV? The houses along that road are expensive so you’d think someone would have a top of the range system.’

  ‘A lot of them have been turned into flats, but I can find out.’ Spence turned to leave and then changed his mind. ‘Just to be clear, ma’am. I am formally assigned to this case, yes?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Spence felt uncomfortable under her gaze. ‘I mean that I think I can bring a lot to this investigation and I want to be part of it.’

  ‘Should I translate that as “I don’t want to be working with DI Morgan?”’

  ‘I want to be on the Carl Raynor case and DCI Johnson said it would be your decision.’

  If Patel was angered that Spence had spoken to her boss about allocation of duties, she hid it. ‘Leave it with me, Dave. And come back to me when you’ve found CCTV that shows Raynor being followed back to Cliffside, by a face we already know and can arrest before teatime. If you can do that, I’ll make sure you’re always on my team.’

  Chapter 20

  Monday 10th February

  As SIO, Morgan’s first job in the woodland was to brief both the pathologist and crime scene manager. Together, they would agree the strategy for approaching the body and for the collection of evidence. Whilst at the Met, he’d often worked with the same people and they had developed an understanding of how each of them operated. He missed that familiarity and camaraderie.

  He watched as each new arrival was added to the log. They struggled into their customary protective coveralls and shoe covers at the outer crime scene boundary. He introduced himself to each group before listing his needs and expectations. Glances passed between colleagues which they did not try to hide.

  ‘I’m sure that when we’ve worked together for a while, we’ll be able to make these briefings shorter but you’ll forgive me if I dot i’s and cross t’s today. This is already a high profile case. Now, who can book this into evidence for me, please?’ He held up the black plastic dog poop bag containing the garter and gave details of its provenance to the technician who took it.

  A couple of the CSI team had been given the task of clearing a route to the body and they were examining the ground and branches for trace evidence before chopping the coarser greenery into large plastic crates. They stopped to listen when Morgan addressed the group before returning to their task. Although masks covered most of their faces, he noticed an exchange of raised eyebrows. Fuck them, he thought. He didn’t have to prove anything and he didn’t need them to like him either.

  ‘And you must be the famous Detective Inspector Nick Morgan.’ The voice carried from beyond the blue and white tape which was snapping in the wind that was picking up again. The accent was Scottish although softer than the Glaswegian tones of a pathologist Morgan had worked with in London. ‘I’m Dr Mackenzie, Hugh Mackenzie. I won’t shake hands since we’re both gloved up.’ The short man had greying facial hair which looked as if it had been red or dark blonde in earlier years. Bushy eyebrows arched over bright blue eyes which had a sparkle of mischief, even in the limited woodland light.

  ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Dr Mackenzie.’

  ‘I believe your wife is Dorothy Cooper’s daughter?’ Mackenzie was nodding in response to his own question as he continued, ‘The funeral director?’

  ‘Yes, she is.’

  ‘And she found the body?’

  Morgan braced himself for whatever joke might be coming next. ‘Yes, she did; while she was out with our children, walking the dog.’

  Mackenzie was nodding again, ‘Well, tell her I’m sorry for her trouble, I really am. Now, where would you like me to start?’

  Morgan pointed the pathologist to the gap in the bushes and followed him back to the body.

  By the time Morgan returned to the car park by the woods, Sam’s car had gone. He assumed she would be at their park home but when he drove there, he found Truffles curled up in his basket, asleep and alone. He called her mobile which went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Hi Sam, please call me when you get this message. I need to arrange for someone to take a statement from you while you still have a clear memory of what happened.’ He was about to disconnect, then added, ‘I hope you’re okay, and the kids too. Love you.’

  He called into the park home reception office to tell them that the woods were out of bounds to staff and visitors for the foreseeable future. Maisie wasn’t there and the sullen man at the desk was only interested in how soon they would be able to get back to normal. This was Morgan’s least favourite reaction to the discovery of an unexpected and unexplained death and he was careful to make his reply as unhelpful as possible. ‘These things take as long as they take, sir. We’ll let you know when we are releasing the site.’

  Driving back to the station, he was faced with the prospect of having to choose a team from a group of people whose strengths and weaknesses were unknown to him. This investigation was already being picked over by the media and, as his first case for the Major Crimes Unit, it was attracting the scrutiny of colleagues too. Who could he trust? He missed his team at the Met.

  There was a yellow note stuck to Morgan’s office door telling him that Johnson wanted to speak to him as soon as he got back. He glanced at his mobile to make sure he hadn’t missed any calls then sprinted up the stairs. Johnson beckoned him in as he passed the glazed panels of his office.

  ‘This isn’t how I hoped the Abigail Slater business would end,’ said Johnson, pointing to the chair facing his desk.

  No coffee and comfy sofa now, thought Morgan, before starting the update. ‘I’ve spoken to her parents and they’re coming to identify the body. I told
her father straight that Abigail isn’t suitable for viewing but he insisted they both come so I’ve arranged for a car to fetch them. They should be here in about an hour and a half. Apparently there are a couple of tattoos on her arms that they can identify. If it’s her, Mackenzie can get on with the PM. Because of the media interest he says he will get it done today, even if it goes into the evening.’

  Johnson grimaced. ‘He’ll charge extra for that, you know.’

  ‘There’s already speculation out there, and the sooner everyone gets the facts, the sooner we can ask the public for what they might know.’

  ‘On that subject, the local television news would like to interview you for this evening’s broadcast. It’s something I would normally expect to do but it seems your celebrity status has got them quite excited and they asked for you by name.’ Johnson emphasised the ‘celebrity’ word and Morgan bit his cheek. He looked at his watch.

  ‘That’s not possible, sir, unless it’s for the late evening broadcast. I can’t predict exactly when the Slaters will arrive and I see no point in speaking to the media unless we can at least confirm it’s her.’

  Johnson sat forward, planting his elbows on his desk and steepling his fingers. ‘The news editor has spoken to the Police and Crime Commissioner who rang me herself. She wants this case given absolute priority and the media to be kept informed at every opportunity.’

  ‘Then she’ll have to authorise the budget, part of which I’ve spent on overtime payments for the postmortem.’

  ‘I tend to use the word “autopsy” now,’ said Johnson.

  ‘I’m old school, sir. And I’m still adjusting to using CSI instead of SOCO. I’ve never found anyone struggling to understand me.’ He got up to leave.

  ‘The team is putting together an Incident Room for you.’