The Safe Word

by Karen Long

  Eleanor nodded.

  “Matt and Susan will be here for a couple more hours I imagine.”

  “Don’t start without me,” said Eleanor.

  “Then make sure you pick up your cell,” said Dr Hounslow sharply.

  Eleanor turned to Susan Cheung, who was packing evidence bags into a large plastic tub. “What have we got?”

  “Not much really. I got a couple of broom fibres, which could have been shed when our killer cleaned. They look new and we might be able to get a manufacturing id on them but don’t hold your breath. Very little in the arena here, we have photographs of the footprints but they’re indistinct; Manny’s up on the ledge getting traces there. He’s nearly finished if you want a quick check.”

  Eleanor nodded that she would.

  “I’m setting up a team to scour the inside and out of the building and Matt will head over to the morgue to prepare our lady for her physical examination.”

  Whereas most of Eleanor’s police colleagues employed words like ‘the vic’, ‘the perp’ and ‘the deceased’, Susan Cheung and her team always referred to the body as being ‘our lady’ or ‘our gentleman’ or in some hard cases, ‘our baby’ and if a name was available they were always prefixed with Mrs, Miss or Mister. Eleanor suspected it was a public relations ploy rather than a psychological prop.

  Eleanor walked outside and looked at the white-clad figure moving cautiously along the ledge, trying to unroll a sticky tape in an increasing wind. “What have you got?” Eleanor shouted up at him. He turned round and cupped his ear. She waved her fingers at him. He shook his head. “Shit,” she said quietly. Eleanor stared at the proceedings and ran through the information she had acquired already. The lock had been changed sometime on Friday night after Heston’s patrol and was discovered on Saturday morning and replaced by the afternoon, which meant that when the killer came back with the body he was unable to get in through the entrance. This must have been on either Saturday evening or the early hours of Sunday. He obviously hadn’t brought his bolt cutters with him. Instead he carried the body up to the window and lowered the ladder and carried her down. So, this place was important to him and he knew an alternative way in, which indicated that he had certainly worked the area in some detail before yesterday. Eleanor speed dialled as she watched Manny placing a small object into an evidence bag, “Timms?”

  “I’m on my way, with you in five.”

  Eleanor listened patiently as Detective Timms swore imaginatively at the city traffic.

  “You been briefed?” she said.

  “Very brief…Motherfucker!”

  Eleanor heard Timms give a quick blast of the siren. “Is Wadesky there?”

  “Yup.”

  “Give her the phone.” There was a brief rustle and Wadesky’s shrill tones came down the line.

  “Slow the fuck down Timms! Hi Ellie how’re you doin’ girl?”

  “Better than you by the sound of it,” replied Eleanor smiling. Sarah Wadesky was difficult not to like. Seven months pregnant with her third child, she refused to sit at a desk and push papers around. A 6ft black, empowered athlete, Wadesky loved the chase, a fight and her 5’6” Polish husband Jozef who ran a small impecunious business sketching people’s pets and raising their two boys, Alex and Aaron. A constant source of jibes, Jozef had become a standard bearer for his sex by performing all household jobs without complaint, not suffering from jealousy and dedicating whole evenings to massaging his wife’s feet. Women wanted him; men declared him ‘a fag’.

  Timms pulled his Taurus in behind the ME’s van, stepped out and immediately lit the cigar that dangled from the corner of his mouth. “Where’s the action?” he growled, “Because the cavalry is here!” Wadesky rolled her eyes and massaged her lower back with a grimace. “What do you want us to do?” she asked Eleanor.

  “Recce the site and then I want you to start compiling names. Start with bad sex guys in the area; rapes, kidnapping and assaults, particularly if they were flagged. Prioritise adult hetero to begin with. Then start fishing names that may be connected with Westex, maybe an employee or someone who knows the layout of this place.”

  “No problem. You looking for any particular flavour of flagged?”

  Eleanor paused for a moment and then spoke carefully. “He took his time. It was pre-meditated and he used his imagination.”

  The gurney carrying the woman’s body was being expertly trundled out through the main entrance.

  “Who’s leading the clean-up? Sue Cheung?” asked Wadesky.

  Eleanor nodded, tapping her phone against her teeth as she pondered.

  “What you thinking?”

  Eleanor thought carefully for a moment or two. “The killer may have had to carry the dead woman up there,” she nodded to where Manny was finishing up, and passing some small evidence bags to Ellis, who was hovering helpfully on the lower parapet.

  “How heavy was the vic?”

  “I’d say about my weight, difficult to tell for sure but mine, give or take,” Eleanor replied. They watched as Manny picked his way slowly down to the parapet, where Ellis was lowering himself gamely onto the low wall and then fluidly to the ground.

  Wadesky squinted at Eleanor, “You wanna try?”

  Eleanor nodded, “Why not?” They made their way over to Manny and Ellis. “You got boot prints?”

  “I’m pretty sure we got a couple of clear photos,” replied Manny, “No signs of plastic, blood or fabric and the surface had been handled with gloves.”

  “Give me a guess on foot size,”

  “I’d say he was a nine; nine and a half. That’d make him a little under six foot. But these are guesses,” said Manny.

  “What’s your boot size,” Eleanor asked, turning to Ellis.

  “Urm…ten ma’am,” he replied uncertainly.

  “You reckon you can carry a dead woman of about the same dimensions as Detective Raven here?” coaxed Wadesky. Ellis looked at both of the women and then at the window.

  “I guess,” he said non-committedly.

  “Well how’re you going to do it?” asked Eleanor. Ellis visibly relaxed as he realised they weren’t asking him to physically go through the process, just to throw out some ideas.

  “You’re wrapped in the bag at this stage ma’am?” Eleanor nodded helpfully. “Well I’m definitely wearing gloves because there aint any fingerprints and I’d need ’em for grip.” He followed the route he’d take with his eyes and then looked at Eleanor. He frowned. “Yeah, I could do it easily but in a plastic bag? I’m not sure.”

  “The vic didn’t have any shoes and the bag wasn’t torn,” Ellis looked on in horror as Eleanor slipped off her shoes and coat.

  “Manny, go get me a body bag. Ellis here is reconstructing the crime.”

  Ellis began to shake his head. “I aint risking your life ma’am,” he said decisively.

  “Are you expecting me to do this in my current condition patrolman? You surely can’t imagine that Detective Timms is capable of hauling his own fat ass up there, never mind Detective Raven’s,” said Wadesky.

  Ellis’ eyes flicked over to Timms, who was in the process of bumming a doughnut and coffee off a patrolman. He shook his head.

  “Take it easy ok?” said Wadesky. Ellis nodded nervously.

  “I’m dead weight so it’s going to be difficult but I need to know if this is how he did it. It’s going to save a lot of man hours,” said Eleanor.

  Manny unfolded a body bag and helped Eleanor step into it. He zipped it up to her throat but left her head exposed, tucking the excess material into itself. Timms strolled over, the cigar replaced by the doughnut sagging precariously from the side of his mouth. “What the fuck’s going on?” he said yanking the doughnut out and waving it at the body bag.

  “Police work Timms. I’ll explain if it gets too confusing,” snipped Wadesky.

  “Ready?” asked Eleanor. Ellis nodded and then with one swift, practised maneuver, lifted Eleanor over his shoulder. He tried looping h
is right arm over both her legs but when that proved too difficult grasped the plastic body bag tightly at her knees and shoulder. Eleanor felt a strange mixture of complete vulnerability and paradoxically, security. She smiled inwardly as she thought that in different circumstances this would have been intoxicating.

  Ellis made his way over to the wall, hesitating for a moment. “You’re going to be fine,” Eleanor said encouragingly. She felt his breathing change and was surprised at how warm he was next to her cooling skin. It took him a matter of seconds to climb onto the low wall and then step along to level himself with the ledge. Eleanor glanced up, it seemed impossible that he could make it with her over his shoulder but she felt him raise his foot and then started to clamber up. He grunted with the effort as she was hoisted higher. He slipped back down to the wall level momentarily. “Hang on,” he said to her. “I can’t see where I put my…” Then he was off again. It took him less than ten seconds to reach the ledge and pull himself up.

  “Hey Raven, if you fall off at least Manny don’t have to go to the bother of bagging you.” Timms laughed uproariously but stopped when he saw Wadesky’s expression.

  Eleanor felt the muscles in Ellis’ arm tense and bulge as he took the strain of lifting both their weights higher. There was a sudden, dramatic lurch of angle and her head and shoulder cracked painfully against the wall.

  “I’m fine!” she hissed, “Keep going!”

  His grip tightened on her leg and sleeve, drawing her more protectively in as his knee gained purchase and he hauled them up to the ledge. Eleanor felt the cold, wet smack of leaves against her face as Ellis moved sideways along the ledge in the direction of the parapet. Again, she began to tip dramatically to one side as Ellis climbed up the steep parapet, grabbing sections of the foliage to maintain his balance. For a moment his foot slipped on the build-up of wet leaves but he steadied himself and moved on. It took him one last heave and he was on the ledge inching towards the window.

  “Thank Christ for that! How’s your head?” said Ellis with obvious relief.

  “Can you get me through the window?” asked Eleanor looking at the thirty foot drop between her and the figures staring up at them. Ellis grunted, shifted her weight slightly and reached the window, pushing it open with his right hand.

  “I’ve opened the window but I’m not sure about the ladder,” he replied.

  “Try.” For a moment Eleanor thought he had let go of her and was hurling her over the narrow ledge to the ground. Instinctively she grabbed at him and tightened her legs, like the coils of a boa, round his chest.

  “Whoa!” he spluttered. “I’ve got to reach in and pull down the ladder. You’re going to feel vulnerable but if I don’t think I can do it without endangering you, I’ll stop ok?”

  Eleanor loosened her grasp and tried to relax. She steadied her breathing and listened to the calmness of his voice.

  “I’m not going to drop you. He didn’t and I won’t.”

  For a second time she lurched but managed to control her adrenaline surge and not grab him. She felt him fishing around behind the window frame and then came a satisfied grunt followed by the metallic scream of the ladder being pulled down.

  “Ladder’s down and I can get us both through the window and onto it but that’s as far as I’m going…Ma’am,” said Ellis. “Now the killer didn’t do it in reverse so I’m going to swap round and lower you against the wall. Then you can get down under your own steam. There’s not much wriggle room so try to keep yourself close to me.” Eleanor felt the cold damp of the wall as Ellis turned round and pressed her back into the wall. She felt his knees bend and then straighten again.

  “Ellis!” bellowed a voice from the ground. Eleanor peered down to see who was shouting. “Ellis move back towards the wall end, you can lower her there safely.” It was difficult to see who the voice belonged to as her hair had been caught and loosened over her face by the wet foliage and the abrasion on her forehead was bleeding sufficiently to have glued a mass of hair over her left eye.

  “Ok!” shouted Ellis. She heard the sound and caught a glimpse of movement as someone began to work his way up to where they were standing. In a matter of moments two strong hands supported her as Ellis lowered her gently to a standing position.

  Eleanor had a clear image in her mind of how ridiculous she must look to this man. Incarcerated in a black body bag, her matted hair covering a head wound, there could be no dignity or even rationale to the situation.

  “Can I unzip you detective?” came a soft, somewhat bemused voice.

  “Yes!” she snapped back. She heard the zip being opened carefully and felt Ellis steady her as the man helped her out. Her stockinged feet curled as she stepped onto the freezing parapet. Eleanor brushed the hair from her face and peered at the man. He was at least 6’2”, with short dark unruly hair, blue-green eyes and a trimmed beard peppered with red.

  “Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Detective Laurence Whitefoot. Your new partner.”

  Chapter Three

  “Can I assume your new partner has asserted his dominance over you?” asked Dr Hounslow in a deadpan tone. Eleanor grimaced as Laurence Whitefoot tried to smother his smirk.

  “It was a wall and it came off worse than me,” quipped Eleanor, masking the irritation she felt at having Whitefoot foisted on her and a large, apparently very visual, bruise and swelling over her left eye. But the jokes were over, Dr Hounslow had already had the plastic liner removed from the body of the victim after an initial investigation and had handed it over to Susan Cheung and her team. The X-ray team had taken their slides and departed.

  The woman’s body was lying on its back her head supported by a metal headrest, the hook trailing several links of the chain, still deeply embedded in her spine. Mira Hounslow tested her pen and then began to walk round the body for the external physical examination.

  “Detective Whitefoot, you have not had the honour of attending one of my physical examinations before and so I wish you to be absolutely clear of what is and what is not tolerated.”

  “Yes Ma’am,” replied Laurence cautiously.

  “If you wish to have a conversation with any of your colleagues you either leave the room or wait till I have left the room. Once you have left the room you are not invited back in. If you have some pertinent question and by that I mean pertinent, you may clear your throat and wait for my response. Is that clear?” For a moment Eleanor thought that Whitefoot believed Dr Hounslow was making another joke and she waited with interest to see if the smile curling the edges of his lips would provoke a crushing verbal attack from the pathologist but he seemed to cotton on quickly to the reality. Unsure as to whether the clock had started Laurence Whitefoot merely nodded.

  “Good. Right, let’s get started. White, unidentified female, 5ft 7 inches…” Dr Hounslow stood stock still as Marty Samuelson crept through the swing door and meekly folded himself behind Eleanor and Whitefoot. With one raised eyebrow Dr Hounslow began again, her voice clipped with irritation. “I would say well-nourished but too low a bmi for a young woman in her twenties. Starting at the head…” Dr Hounslow peered closely at the woman’s face, depressing the skin around her face gently with a gloved finger. She then peered at Eleanor. “Our lady here is sporting an almost identical abrasion to yourself Detective.”

  Eleanor allowed herself an inward smile. As her eyes dropped to her notepad she noticed Whitefoot’s thumb gesture upwards. She caught his eye and he nodded encouragingly. Eleanor set her mouth in a hard line.

  “The wound shows no sign of bleeding.”

  Eleanor’s hand shot up and waited for the nod. “You believe she was dead before she entered the building.”

  “This wound would indicate that, yes. Passing down to the throat and shoulder region there is bruising consistent with ligature marks, and what could be petechiae…” Dr Hounslow’s voice trailed off as she leaned in closer to the body. “No… these look like tens of small stab wounds. Possibly from a darn
ing needle… I’ll know more when I perform the internal. Passing along to the chest region… both breasts have a great deal of bruising, and what could be pinch marks made by a mechanical device. Also, what look like old injuries. Maybe strap marks.” Eleanor cleared her throat and waited while Dr Hounslow indicated to Matt that he could photograph those areas. “Yes Detective?”

  “Can you give us some idea of the age of those wounds?”

  “Certainly not perimortem or anything like it. From the healing I’d say a week or so before,” replied Dr Hounslow. Matt stepped back and allowed the pathologist to approach the body. “Ok, looks as though we have more old bruising, again possibly a week or so ago. There are more needle marks around the breast, stomach and thigh region and what look like small burn marks.”

  Laurence cleared his throat and waited.

  “Yes?” said the pathologist testily.

  “Are the burn marks consistent with cigarette or electrode attachments?”

  “Can’t be sure yet but I would think that they were more likely to be the latter suggestion.” Eleanor watched with interest as Laurence jotted down copious notes in a large ring-bound notebook.

  “This might help id our lady,” said Dr Hounslow. She indicated that Eleanor should step closer. Wedged tightly on the swollen fourth finger of the woman’s left hand was a diamond engagement ring. Even though the ring was partially covered in skin and blood, there was no doubting the quality of the stone or the craftsmanship.

  “When can we have it?” asked Eleanor.

  “Call Susan, this needs a tissue scrape. Possibly today but Matt will give you photos,” Dr Hounslow nodded to Matt who proceeded to photograph and then remove the ring from the finger.

  “You want to follow up the ring?” asked Laurence, trotting behind as Eleanor headed for her car.

  “No, you do that,” she replied indifferently. Dr Hounslow was performing the internal examination and that would take at least another hour and the clock was ticking.