It was a job for the truly patient as now parts of her body and long auburn hair were starting to become visible. Although the temptation was to pull the last few bags off her body, DC Angel knew that the evidence gathered now might be invaluable in solving the case.
While scene of crimes took photos and labelled and moved bags, DC Angel considered the victim. She had the pale waxy look of the recently dead. DC Angel had to suppress a feeling of deep sadness that this girl had been dumped here like this. She wasn't sure, but she thought there was bruising on the left side of her face, disappearing into the hairline. Her headphones, tiny white buds were still in, with the cable looped over the back of the ear before it disappeared beneath her. DC Angel made a mental note to keep an eye out for the mobile phone that should be on the other end of that wire.
The victim was young, probably late teens. With a shock DC Angel realised that meant she was probably around ten years younger than her. But those ten years spanned a lifetime in most people's lives – from carefree teenager to professional woman. And, thought DC Angel, it was a path that this girl would never take.
Trying to be more professional, she had a proper look at the scene. Tiny clutch bag on a gold chain, short skirt and glittery top together with discarded high heels all indicated that she'd been going out for the evening. The owner of the sportswear shop confirmed that he'd locked up and checked the yard at six last night and there had been no body.
Haines watched her taking everything in, then said, 'What are your first thoughts then?'
'First thoughts? It's a bit early for that, isn't it?'
'Never too early for a first pass at the crime scene. We've got techs and a pathologist and a whole host of experts to come along later with the evidence. So you can be wrong, but I'd like to know what you think immediately.'
'Preliminary hypothesis then,' DC Angel said as she walked back to the main road. She was glad of the distraction, the chance to be logical amid such an emotional scene. 'Most of the pubs and clubs are that way.' She pointed right. 'And there's a big residential area to the left. We'll have to wait for the pathologist to give us a time of death, but based on where she was found and what she was wearing, my best guess would be between ten pm and two am. She'd be walking home from a good night out and the streets would be quiet, especially around here in a more commercial area. With a bit of luck, once we've got an identity, we can put together an itinerary of her last movements and see if I'm right or not.'
'Sounds about right to me. Most murders are fairly straight forward. Our first job will be to see if she turned down any of the hot-blooded young males of Bradwick.' They walked back down the short alley to have another look at the victim. 'Judging by the way she was dressed, I'd say that finding a rejected boyfriend would be top of our priority list.'
'You can't say that, sir!' She spun to face Haines. Any thought that he was her boss was eclipsed by her outrage that he'd say such a thing. 'Haven't you done any courses on sensitivity and victim blaming?'
'First off, I'm not blaming the victim.' He stood his ground, turning to face her. 'There's no way on earth that anyone, young or old, male or female deserved to die in this way. But the fact remains she was young and pretty and dressed as if she was out on the town. It follows logically that she would have attracted some attention. All my comment really shows is that I have a low opinion of the young men of Bradwick. Unfortunately that's the product of many years of experience.' He paused for breath. 'As for the sensitivity, well, again, if you put the years in, you'll find your own way to cope. I prefer to say things as I see them.'
'I suppose you might have a point,' she said grudgingly. She knew she had already made assumptions based on her clothing. She still hoped she wouldn't develop such a thick skin.
Their argument ended when another black sack was removed and Angel had to subdue a gasp. Right across the victim's neck was a straight red mark, so dark it was almost purple. All her attempts to remain dispassionate were futile. Who would do such a thing to a teenage girl? She knew the perils of second guessing the pathologist but it did look like they had a clear cause of death.
She turned to look at the pathologist, Dani Price, who gave a brief nod, but there was a warning look in her eyes. Yes, she'd seen the mark but she was reserving judgement.
'Right then, body's all clear. Over to you.' The SOCO who'd had the painstaking job of removing the bags had finished. DC Angel knew that somewhere in a lab, every one of those rubbish sacks would be analysed.
She watched the pathologist examine the body. I've known GPs who were less gentle with the living, she thought wryly. She was taking her time, manipulating the body, checking for vital signs and rigor mortis. When she had the hair swept back, she called for close-ups of the left side of the face. DC Angel was nearly overwhelmed with pity for the poor girl.
There was a shout from a corner of the yard, followed by a flutter of flash photography and then one of the techs brought DC Angel a clear plastic bag. Inside was a Samsung mobile phone with the screen smashed. She peered through the plastic and saw that it wasn't just smashed, it was destroyed. This wasn't one of those cases where there was a crack but you could continue using it, there was actually a hole in the screen. She turned it over and saw that there was a slight bulge on the back opposite the hole. Turning it sideways, she saw the frame was bent as well.
She started to fill in the evidence form. Hopefully the technical boys would be able to get some data back from it although she didn't hold out much hope. Although it was only a phone, it had suffered violence. She didn't ascribe to ideas of psychic residue, but the yard suddenly seemed close and oppressive. In the last few hours someone had come here and acted out their anger, their rage, and destroyed a young life and their phone. She knew that her main job now was to work out why and who. And to put the horrible feelings far from her mind.
A shadow fell across her and she turned to see her boss, DCI Haines. 'What have you got there?'
'Presumably it's the victim's mobile phone.' She held it up to show him. 'Although it doesn't look like we'll get much back.'
'Wow.' Haines took the phone and held it up to the light. 'Someone really did a number on this.'
'Presumably our attacker.'
'Yes.' He passed the phone back. 'Enter that into evidence.' He had a quick look around the scene, all the technicians still working away. 'Right, I've had a quick look at the scene, so I'll head back to the office.' He caught the questioning look that DC Angel shot him. 'Listen, I'm not one of those mysterious TV detectives who needs to be on the scene to pick up some feeling of the crime. I don't put myself in the mind of the killer. Anything I need to know from the scene will be reported to me by the SOCOs and the pathologist.' He walked up the alley, then stopped and peered at the pavement. He waved over a uniform. 'I want this pavement cordoned off, twenty yards each side of the alley, then a fingertip search. I reckon she was overpowered here on the pavement, then dragged into the alley. She died somewhere between here and the yard most likely.'
A sudden wave of sadness swept over DC Angel. No matter how hardened she had become during her time in the police, she still had feelings. Last night this girl had been walking home, either listening to music or chatting to friends when she had been swept into a nightmare she didn't escape from. It was as sudden and unfeeling as a car accident.
As the morning wore on, the machinery of sudden death moved into motion. The hospital mortuary van arrived with a couple of orderlies to remove the body. Something changed, lifted slightly in the atmosphere once the body was removed. Whoever she was, she had been a silent accusatory presence demanding answers, justice.
Now, the whole yard belonged to scene of crimes officers. Haines had already gone back to the office to start the investigation. DC Angel knew all about the first twenty-four hours and how it was a vital period to gather evidence over. On the other hand, she needed time to process and decompress. On instinct she decided to walk back to the station, then return at lunch or
after work for her car.
She was walking down a terraced street when she heard a door open behind her. It was still early morning and the area was deserted. She tensed for a moment and spun around. Her hand found her baton. She recognised the figure approaching and breathed a sigh of relief.
'Lukas!'
Lukas Mills was the only person in Bradwick that had known her when she was growing up. He was a link to her past and it made her nervous. But she was very fond of him so she tolerated him.
Somehow, he'd got wind of where she was living and made his way down here. She'd known him since school where they'd both been outsiders. He was still beautiful in a wasted, rock star way. High cheek bones, blue eyes, natural blond hair. But she knew how dangerous he was. A childhood of low boundaries and easy success had set him up for an adulthood descent into drugs and mental illness. Now he drifted around from squat to sofa, busking and scrounging for the money he needed.
'Angel! I thought it was you.' He moved closer, saw her frown at his words and corrected himself. 'Sorry, sorry, it's Emma isn't it?'
She nodded her thanks, taking in his appearance. He was only slightly dishevelled so was probably staying somewhere with a working shower, she thought, though he'd obviously been up all night.
'What you doing up so early?' he asked.
'Work. Crime happens at all hours. Have you eaten?' When he shook his head, she continued. 'Walk with me then, I'll sort you out something.' They walked on into the main part of Bradwick. She marvelled at the ease of his life. He might not have money or security, but that gave him freedom. He could stumble out of his house at half seven in the morning and just walk off. No one to explain to or to worry about him.
She also found it slightly uncomfortable that he was only wearing a loose vest over tracksuit bottoms and trainers. As he walked, she caught glimpses of a shoulder blade or the curve of his shoulder as the garment moved. He had random, swirling tattoos which only enhanced the intimate nature of the experience. He stepped into the light and she saw blond stubble on his chin, just visible in the bright light. He had that early morning feel to him that she found attractive, whether it was from waking with a man in her bed or from staying up all night.
She lengthened her stride until she was just ahead, but still able to talk to him. Soon she had installed him in a cafe on the high street that did a decent vegetarian breakfast. She left some money with the owner and promised to pop back later to collect her change. It was one of the old-fashioned perks of being a police officer.
As she walked back to the station, she thought about Lukas. She had a genuine fondness for him and was also attracted to him. But she also knew that he was a dead weight. If she got into a relationship with him, he would drag her down. She had clarity about this – if she was with him, then within months she'd have descended to his level without any hope of elevating him to hers.
As she climbed the steps up to the Victorian frontage of the police station, she banished all thoughts of Lukas from her mind. The team had a major enquiry now and she needed to be ready to start the long job of finding out who the victim was and who had wanted her dead.
Chapter Six
Haines bustled his way importantly into CID. The official guidelines were full of the golden twenty-four hours. Was he using his as best he could?
He knew what the protocol was. They had already found a missing person that was reported in first thing this morning. If this was right, then they had a seventeen-year-old victim. In reality, whoever it was, he had to call together a Major Investigation Team. Without waiting for the formal report from the pathologist; it would be a miracle if it wasn't a murder.
There was only one thing that he wanted to do now and that was to get on the phone and find a contact in West Midlands Police. Someone who he could get on with and who would work with him. He could see the shape of the problem now. Despite his initial misgivings, he liked the idea of Billy sending in one of his own to work undercover. It simplified his operation and removed him one step from the risk. But he was aware that he needed to get up to speed on the current intelligence. If a name was reported back to him, he had to know who they were and where they fit into the current organisation.
This was what he wanted to be doing. Intelligence-led policing. Keeping the lid on the drug menace. He was almost unique among his colleagues in that he enjoyed collating the monthly crime figures. These numbers showed how well he was serving his community. The more he kept things under control, the better the stats.
His firm belief was that the drug trade had to be controlled. From the use of illegal narcotics a tide of other problems flowed. Users were responsible for all sorts of crime from muggings all the way through to vehicle theft. As well as that, they were the fuel that kept the brothels and the trade in illegal immigrants going. Drugs caused anti-social behaviour and drove down property prices.
So, he knew he had to control the drug gangs. But he couldn't ignore the murder of a seventeen-year-old girl on his patch. He hoped fervently that in the next few days they'd round up a likely suspect – probably a boy who was mooning over her or had been otherwise jilted. Then he'd be able to get back to solving Billy King's problems and keeping Bradwick safe.
With a heavy heart, he placed a call through to Diane, the station admin manager to start establishing an MIT. She had already heard on the grapevine that a body had been found and the emergency suite on the fourth floor was being readied. He could move his office up there, with his laptop, and the phone could be redirected.
It would be a good chance to see if DI Hargreaves was ready to step up to the job of being in charge. The next chance he got, Haines decided to brief his DI and tell him he'd have day to day control of CID while he was running the MIT.
He went back to his desk to trawl through the computer system. He soon found the missing person report for seventeen-year-old Mazey Taylor – Haines shook his head when he saw the spelling. She had gone out yesterday evening and never returned home. The on-duty officer had assured the parents that she was probably out at a party or something and assured them that if she wasn't in touch by the morning then they would start a search.
Rob Haines shook his head. This was bad news to hand to any parent anywhere. He knew he had a phone call to make even if he didn't want to.
'Hi Jem, it's Rob,' he said. He hadn't even convinced himself he sounded bright and breezy.
'Rob, what's up?' His wife's voice was tight with tension.
'Not the kids, it's fine.' He understood her concerns immediately. He took a breath. 'We have a body, a murder.'
'Okay then. I know the drill by now. Lots of long nights and a distracted husband.' She paused again. 'But there's something else isn't there Rob?'
'Yeah, our victim looks like she's a seventeen-year-old girl.'
'How are you holding up?'
Rob wanted to assure her that he was a seasoned police officer. It didn't matter that his own daughters were only a few years past seventeen or that he could see the parallels between them and his victim dispassionately.
But he also knew how perceptive his wife was. And what he couldn't get away with. 'Yeah, not too bad. I keep telling myself to be rational. I know Abby and Charlie are both safe and there's no way that even if this was the beginning of a serial that they'd be in the right area.' Both his daughters had left home, one to Cornwall, the other to Bristol. He was glad they weren't in Bradwick where he'd worry over every report but he sometimes wished they were closer so that he could keep an eye.
'Even so, I'll get in touch, just to make sure.'
'And when you do...'
'I'll drop you a text.' Jem paused for a moment. 'Is there any point in asking when you'll be home?'
'You can ask, but this isn't the only case to land on my desk this week.'
'Thought so.' Her words sounded resigned but there was a lightness in her voice. After over twenty years as a policeman's wife, she knew better than to complain about the hours. Besides, he was only weeks away
from a desk job, so she could wait.
When the call was over, he sat back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He thought about resources. Something like this was likely to be a boyfriend or ex-boyfriend. Probably listened to too much gangster rap and was all about his woman disrespecting him. What the investigation needed was a way to get into her social circle. Getting her friends talking could unlock this case.
He frowned over the top of his monitor at the open-plan area beyond. He saw the blonde hair of DC Angel. Something tickled in the far reaches of his memory so he called up her file. He was right, she could add definite value to this investigation. He made up his mind. He'd lead the MIT and take DC Angel with him. She could talk to any witnesses, deal with sobbing relatives. He'd request as many officers from other parts of the force as he could. He'd need family liaison and exhibits officers if nothing else. He'd also use a lot of civilian staff to update the computer and uniforms for the footwork.
If he was careful, he could keep his team intact under Hargreaves, sorting out the details ready for when Billy King came across with the information. And, he thought to himself, justifying his decision, DC Angel was meant to be on a fast track so this would give her experience of a major investigation. It didn't matter that she was young, he was doing what he should. He also made a note to talk to all of CID. Emphasise the benefits of tying up the drug deal. He knew he had ambitious detectives who would love to get onto a murder investigation.
Well, he'd tell them that they could do that next year. There'd always be another case. Murder cases were double-edged swords – a positive result wasn't always guaranteed and you could be forever remembered as a member of the team that failed to catch a killer.
And, as an overriding concern, he owed it to Hargreaves to work closely with DC Angel and sound her out. He couldn't be handing her over as an unknown quantity. With all this is mind, he crossed the open space. 'DC Angel, with me.'
The Retirement Party Page 3