Persecution

by R. C. Bridgestock

  ‘Or was it a random act of anger?’ said Mike.

  There was little skin left on the victim’s face. Blood-splattered, broken cheek bones protruded, and her features were badly distorted.

  There was no mistaking the glint in Charley’s eye at the revelation that the girl’s short, neatly cropped hair was a vivid fuchsia pink.

  ‘What the murderers didn’t realise was that there is no mistaking that their victim would stand out in a crowd. Hopefully, it will make the last sightings of her memorable to someone, for us.’

  Slowly, Charley crouched down beside her, pushing her head forwards to within inches of the victim’s face. She scanned the bruises on her naked body from head to toe, and back again, two or three times, until she was satisfied she had missed nothing. There were no visible operation scars, no tattoos that would help with her identification. ‘Who’s done this to you, and why?’ she whispered to the corpse.

  As she carefully pushed a blood-soaked strand of hair to the side of the victim’s ruined face with a gloved hand, intense bruising became visible. She looked up at her team questioningly. ‘It appears the bruising is more to the front of her neck…’

  She turned back to the body and pointed out two reasonably clear footmark impressions around the exposed abdomen area. ‘Interesting,’ she said, thoughtfully, struggling to take her eyes off the marks. ‘Neal, can you do the necessary…’ she said pointing.

  Before the SIO had finished there were multiple clicking noises emerging from the CSI’s camera.

  Mike dropped to his haunches beside her. ‘See the partial sole impressions on her bare skin? They’re different sizes,’ he said. His eyes looked up towards Neal, who nodded in agreement.

  ‘There are definitely two people involved you think?’ said Annie.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Neal.

  Charley spoke out the myriad thoughts that were milling around inside her head, whilst she maintained the professional, strategic approach.

  ‘Has she been stamped on, or walked over? Bruising means it would likely be before death, while her blood was still flowing…’

  ‘I guess we will find out more when we get her to the mortuary,’ said Mike.

  Charley stood, and looked around at the faces of her team. With the Home Office pathologist unable to attend, there was an examination to be conducted at the scene. ‘Right, what do we know about our unidentified woman?’

  Annie pushed aside her thick, blonde fringe. Educated by nuns, the slightly younger police officer had far less life, and police experience. DC Glover had achieved her training, and performed her probation in a small, quiet town in the south of England before her transfer to Peel Street. Her lack of experience however, was made up for by her eagerness to learn, and her likability factor meant she was a pleasure to have as part of the team. As always Annie was the first to offer her opinion. ‘The obvious thought would be that she has been the subject of a sexual assault. She’s also taken one hell of a beating. I can’t see any personal possessions, or jewellery on her, or anything else discarded around her. Could it be that she has also been robbed?’

  ‘Anything is a possibility,’ said Charley. ‘However?’

  Annie lowered her eyes. ‘We must rely on evidence to explain what’s taken place, not assumptions.’

  ‘Correct,’ said Charley.

  ‘Rigor mortis has set in, so she’s been dead for a few hours,’ said Mike.

  Charley nodded. ‘Shall we turn her over?’

  Annie bent down to help Neal turn the body over, with gloved hands. The massive dent had crushed the corpse’s head into an ovoid shape. Annie stayed down on her haunches, Charley joined her.

  Charley’s gaze travelled down the body. ‘Minor grazes, and bruising to her back and buttocks. All these are consistent with her being dragged to her resting place.’ The Detective Inspector’s eyes moved beyond the body to the grass verge beyond the kerb where drag marks confirmed her thought pattern. ‘Why would they move her such a short distance?’ she muttered. Her voice rose. ‘I’m surprised that her shoes haven’t come off.’

  Mike stood above the corpse, eyes wide, his hands sat on his hips. ‘Could it be that they were fastened tightly, which would also account for the bottom half of her clothing not being removed,’ said Mike.

  ‘Possibly,’ said Charley watching Neal strategically shuffling a body bag to the dead woman’s side.

  ‘And, now back again,’ Charley said, helping the others to roll her back into the bag this time. It felt like such a momentous moment when the body was sealed within, and hopefully evidence with it.

  With the ground beneath Charley’s feet trembling, and the noises that told her there was an imminent arrival of another train overhead, a thought came to her, and she searched around for a cup or a bowl, something that if the victim had been begging at the train station, she could have used as a receptacle for coins, but, there was nothing.

  She reflected that for some homeless people, shop doorways were their only shelter. She felt sorry for them. Unbeknown to others, she had often bought a homeless person a hot drink, given them a bar of chocolate, or a bottle of water, and on occasions, she had removed her gloves and socks, and had given them to the homeless person to help stave off the cold.

  In the twenty-first century, people should not be living on the streets – it was inhumane.

  ‘I hear the postman that discovered the body suggested to the officer who obtained his first account, that he thought he had seen her before, and that perhaps she may be a homeless person who could usually be seen begging outside the Medway Bakery on the High Street,’ said Mike.

  ‘If she was homeless, wouldn’t she have all her belongings with her?’ said Annie.

  ‘And if so, where are they?’ asked Charley.

  Chapter 4

  Charley and Mike turned to follow the private ambulance with the body inside, along the gravel walkway, careful to sidestep the few puddles left by the previous night’s downpour.

  ‘The postman,’ said Charley, turning to Mike. ‘How do you think he was so sure it was the homeless woman who sat outside the bakery? You couldn’t see her face, or her hair, for the boulder.’

  The pair stopped for a moment, facing each other. ‘Maybe he recognised her clothing, or there was a rogue strand of hair on show? You’ve got to admit that that pink colour is quite distinctive,’ Mike scoffed.

  ‘He needs questioning about it, nonetheless,’ Charley said. The SIO paused, a thought having just popped into her head. ‘Will you call in at the bakery on your way back to the station? Just get an idea as to whether the postie’s assumptions could be right about seeing her before, sitting outside? That distinctive pink hair is, like you say, the perfect focus for appeals, and possible witnesses.’

  Mike shrugged his shoulders, amiably. ‘I guess it’s as good a starting point as any. She could be very well-known around there.’

  ‘If she is, I’ll extend the search parameters to incorporate the area between the bakery and where she was discovered, for obvious reasons.’

  Both stood silent, alone with their thoughts for a moment or two. They looked back to the wider scene. Neal had been joined by members of his team, suited and booted, who were presently examining, swabbing and photographing the boulder and the area surrounding it.

  Mike nodded towards the gap in the nearby dry-stone wall which resembled a missing tooth in a row of perfect teeth. Her eyes followed his focus.

  A thought raised her spirits. ‘Whoever lifted it might have possibly left skin debris?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Mike said, as he discarded his body suit into the evidence bag provided for him, at the exit to the outer scene.

  The DS continued to walk on with his hands in his trouser pockets. The breeze was brisk but refreshing, and it felt good to feel the cooling wind in his face.

  Various tamper-proof bags, with labelled exhibits collected from the roadway sealed inside them, were being put into the back of the CSI van, ready for transportati
on to the property store, in the Incident Room. Sergeant Peters leaned against the van, parked next to Charley’s car, eating something from a napkin.

  Charley looked at her watch and back at Mike. ‘Time’s getting on, I’ll see you back at the nick for a briefing,’ she said. As she approached Sergeant Peters she raised her voice in order to be heard. ‘The scene needs to be kept secure until after the searches are completed. I’ll leave it in your capable hands to arrange perimeter security, and to pass my instructions on to whoever takes over from you at the end of the shift.’ When she opened her car door, and sat inside, Charley looked up at Peters. Her tone changed to a menacing one which made him stand up straight. ‘Nobody crosses the line without my permission, and I mean nobody. Understood?’

  Peters stood straight and gave her a salute. ‘Message received loud and clear, boss,’ he mumbled through a mouthful of sausage roll.

  Leaving the old access road to the railroad tracks, where the rest of the vehicles were parked, she thought back to the corpse. Seeing another human treated that way repulsed her, and truth be told it never got any easier to cope with, but, she couldn’t and wouldn’t show emotion in front of the team. Her feelings had to be suppressed, she had to remain professional for the sake of the victim. She was the boss, the Senior Investigative Officer on the enquiry, and therefore she had to lead by example. The eyes of the team were upon her for leadership, and that is what she must always show.

  With deliberate effort, and a tear in her eye, she concentrated on the road ahead. Once again that day she thought of her team in London, whom she had left behind after the Titus Deaver trial, still finding their colleagues violent death hard to deal with, and she silently prayed for all victims of crime and those who were left to mourn. This latest corpse was someone’s daughter, someone’s friend.

  The day was warming a little, and her apprehension gradually eased as she travelled and the sky brightened. She looked forward to meeting the Home Office pathologist at the post-mortem, and hearing his thoughts after his examination of the corpse. Whilst it was ideal, and seen to be good practice, to have the pathologist in attendance at a scene, Charley was a realist and knew that it wasn’t always possible. The pathologists, like everyone else in the emergency services, were stretched to the limit.

  Back at the station old faces and new waited, in anticipation for the briefing to start, and all eyes were on the SIO as she stood talking to Detective Ricky-Lee who was holding a see-through plastic exhibit bag in his raised hand.

  ‘They’ve found a sleeping bag, a hundred and fifty yards from the body. It’s dry, and the condition suggests it hasn’t been there long,’ he said.

  Charley eyed his prized possession with interest. ‘If it belonged to her, Forensic will be able to confirm it for us pretty quickly,’ she said. ‘Has it been unzipped, turned inside out and have you made sure that there is nothing stuffed inside that might assist us?’

  Ricky-Lee’s face told her otherwise.

  ‘Do it,’ she said. ‘And then send it to Forensics.’

  Charley was well aware that forensic capabilities and computer databases were at the forefront of the investigations, but the seasoned detective’s gut-feeling would always be required to select items at a scene that they thought would bring them results.

  With the body registered at the mortuary, Annie had returned to the office. A nod from the young detective constable on her return, told Charley all was as it should be.

  Silence prevailed the instant Charley stood at the front of her team.

  ‘A woman, likely between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, was found dead this morning at 04.47 on Viaduct Street. The victim was partially clothed, and her features destroyed with a boulder in what we can assume is an attempt to delay identification. Initial findings suggest the body was moved to its final resting place, and therefore cause of death is still unknown. We’re waiting on the pathologist’s report to confirm. The hands of the victim have been swabbed, nail scrapings taken, and clippings from all finger and thumbnails secured,’ said Charley, to her captive audience. ‘This allows the samples and her hands to be scanned quickly, and her fingerprints to be checked on the automatic fingerprint retrieval system. If she is known to us, identification will be swift. At this stage, identifying the victim is our priority.’

  Conversely, if she wasn’t known to the police, then her identification would have to be made by other means such as someone reporting her missing, followed by visual identification, which may however prove impossible in this case, and then DNA, or odontology.

  ‘DC Connor has anyone fitting her description been reported missing? DS Blake, could we talk to locals in the vicinity of the crime scene and see if anyone recalls seeing our victim alive, and if so when?’

  In the audience several pens began to write.

  ‘None of this will impact on the pending post-mortem, or the intense searching of the scene and surrounding area. However, a quick identification would help the progress of our investigation, and allow immediate lines of enquiry to be more focused. It may assist us in tracing her relatives, and also her attackers, giving us the added ability at that stage to secure evidence against those responsible quickly, before it’s either lost, or destroyed.’

  Charley felt empowered. Every decision that was made on an investigation was hers alone, and that was what Charley had been trained to do.

  Questions ran around her head as she spoke, and she guessed she was not the only one wondering, ‘What made this woman the target of such a brutal attack?’

  * * *

  Back at the scene Charley’s instruction for a fingertip search of the area was ongoing by a POLSA team. Only time would tell if anything seized during the fingertip search, that appeared to be discarded, was of relevance.

  Every single item, whether it be chewing gum, cigarette butts, ring pulls, would be recorded and retained, so that at a later date, they could be revealed to any future defence team, to comply with Data Protection laws, which was the devil in the detail of the police prosecution file.

  Sitting in her office, Charley pondered over what she had witnessed at the scene. Her concentration was so deep, thinking about the finer details she had witnessed, that when a knock came at her door, she jumped. It was Mike.

  ‘We’ve not had a hit in our fingerprint database yet, but five staff from the bakery confirm knowing a woman fitting the description of our victim,’ he said enthusiastically. Charley invited him to sit down opposite her. ‘Apparently, she has been sitting outside their business premises for long periods of time for some weeks.’

  ‘Do we have a name?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Did you get any statements?’

  ‘It was lunchtime. They were busy. I told them that someone would be back to take them later today.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Keep me updated.’

  As Mike walked out with a spring in his step, Annie walked in with a mug of coffee.

  ‘Sit down,’ said Charley. ‘Show me your hands.’

  Annie frowned. ‘My hands,’ she said, splaying her hands on the desk.

  Charley scrutinised her fingertips one by one. It was her turn to frown. ‘Thought so,’ she said.

  ‘Thought what?’ said Annie.

  Charley showed Annie her hands. ‘That your fingernails are in no better shape than mine.’

  Annie looked puzzled. ‘Come again?’

  ‘Our homeless victim had lovely clean, manicured fingernails. Don’t you think that’s odd?’

  Annie’s eyes lit up. ‘Did she really? I was too busy looking at her Prada, Project Earth reducing waste trainers. I’d die for some of them.’

  ‘Why, are they in demand?’

  ‘I don’t know if they’re in demand, but they’re out of my budget.’

  ‘How much?’

  ‘Six hundred quid a time.’

  Charley blew out a long breath. ‘Perhaps she stole ’em?’

  ‘Maybe, but now I come to think
about it, what of her hair as well? It was neatly cut, she didn’t have discoloured roots, it wasn’t faded.’ Annie was philosophical. ‘Blood-soaked but not faded.’

  Charley was thoughtful. ‘Not what you’d expect had the victim been living on the streets, as is suggested.’

  ‘She might have been made homeless only recently?’ offered Annie. ‘We shouldn’t assume,’ she said, getting up to leave Charley with a smile on her face. When she got to the door Charley called her back.

  ‘Make sure the HOLMES team have the Divisional database for all the CCTV outlets in the town centre will you please, and we’ll need to seize the recording devices. The ones closest to the body being an obvious priority for viewing.’

  Mike appeared at the opposite side of Charley’s office door, as if in a hurry. He indicated to Annie to step back.

  ‘I’ve got an update for you,’ he spoke excitedly. ‘We have a positive result from her fingerprints.’

  Chapter 5

  ‘Cora Jones, born 1st Feb 1985,’ said Mike. ‘However, she changed her name to Cordelia Le Beau for some unknown reason…’

  ‘That makes her thirty-four. What else do you know about her?’

  Mike acknowledged the question with a swift flourish of his notebook and a grin. Just as quickly he resumed his sombre tone. ‘I knew you’d ask me that. Truth is, not a lot. Cordelia, as she is now known, has previous convictions, including one for assault,’ Mike consulted his notes. ‘The victim was an elderly woman. The offence took place at a private care home where she was employed as a care worker. Apparently, according to our intel, she wasn’t the only one prosecuted for the offence. It says here that she was responsible for assaulting an elderly resident causing actual bodily harm, and also was responsible for giving the lady a black eye. However, according to another report, in Ms Le Beau’s defence, the elderly lady was known to be violent, and noted for being difficult to deal with.’