Corpse Road

by David J Gatward

  Opening the passenger door, Harry was greeted by a small flash of white and black, which leapt at him and attacked his face with a wet tongue and oversized paws.

  ‘What the bloody hell . . .?!’

  ‘Oh, right, yes, about that,’ Jim said, climbing into the driver’s seat. ‘This is Fly, my new Collie pup.’

  Harry grabbed the dog with both hands and slipped himself onto the passenger seat, slamming the door behind him. ‘And it’s with us why?’

  ‘He’s ten weeks old,’ Jim said, ‘so I’m getting him used to being out and about with me, like. He needs to spend as much time with me as possible so that he sees me as boss.’

  Harry stared at the small, overly friendly ball of fur, which was now sitting on the storage box between him and Jim. Its tail was wagging so hard that its backside kept sweeping round and sending it to tumble off and onto his lap.

  ‘And how’s that going for you?’ Harry asked, as Jim sparked the engine to life.

  ‘Not too bad,’ Jim replied, rolling the Land Rover forward to head down through the marketplace and on to their destination. ‘He’s a good lad. Keen. Bright. But a right soppy bastard as well.’

  As if on cue, Fly leapt at Harry’s face with his massive paws. Harry caught him before impact only to have his hands licked with frantic enthusiasm.

  ‘Sorry,’ Jim said. ‘I should’ve asked first if you’re okay with dogs.’

  ‘Oh, I’m okay with them,’ Harry said, ‘but I don’t think it’s general police practice to turn up at a crime scene with a puppy. Sniffer dogs, yes. Puppies, probably not.’

  ‘I’ll be leaving him in here,’ Jim explained. ‘He’ll just go to sleep in the footwell.’

  It was pretty clear to Harry that sleep was the last thing on Fly’s mind, as the dog swiped at him with his left paw, so he grabbed the pup and shoved him down to sit at his feet. Much to his surprise, the dog sat down quite calmly and didn’t even try to get back up. Instead, it chewed the toes of his boots.

  ‘They’re bright dogs,’ Jim explained. ‘Too bright, to be honest. He’ll be easy to train.’

  Harry reached down and ruffled the hair on Fly’s head. The dog leaned into it, clearly very happy, before trying to nibble his hand.

  ‘So, have you got any more to tell me other than what Matt just filled me in on?’ Harry asked as Hawes gave way to rolling countryside the colour of ink beneath a clear night sky lit by stars.

  ‘Female, mid-thirties,’ Jim said. ‘Found near a tent. Matt reckons she was walking the old Corpse Road from Keld to Grinton. It’s a popular path.’

  ‘The what road?’ Harry asked, fairly sure he must have misheard what Jim had said.

  ‘Corpse Road,’ Jim said again.

  ‘And just what in God’s name is that?’

  Jim dropped a gear to accelerate up a hill. ‘Back when folk used to have to take their own dead to church to bury them, and before the church in Muker was built, the nearest church was in Grinton, so that’s where the path finished,’ he explained. ‘It’s a nice walk. About sixteen miles, I think. An easy one to do over a couple of days.’

  ‘So when was this, then? It’s not still done is it?’

  ‘No, it was centuries ago,’ Jim said, a laugh curling the edges of his reply.

  Harry wasn’t one for giving much truck to the notion of bad omens, but the fact that a body had been found on a place called Corpse Road struck him as more than a little ominous.

  ‘How long till we get there?’

  ‘About another twenty minutes,’ Jim said. ‘Then we’ve a bit of a trek at the other end, up the beck along Gunnerside Gill. It’s pretty special. My dad used to sing a song about the place.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Likes a bit of folk music,’ Jim explained. ‘There’s a local group, called Fourum or something. Still around I think. He used to go see them play in the local pubs.’

  They were over the other side of the hills now and coming down into Swaledale. The night was still dark and Harry wasn’t exactly looking forward to walking along a footpath before the sun was up to show them the way.

  ‘Don’t suppose you’ve got a torch?’ Harry asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, I bought a couple,’ Jim said. ‘There’s always one in here anyway, and I grabbed another on the way out. That’s something else you should probably think about getting for yourself. The roads around here are pretty dark come evening and in winter it’s full dark. Pretty unnerving if you’re not used to it.’

  A few minutes later and they were zipping along the bottom of the valley, the road a thin grey line stitching together fields and hamlets.

  ‘I’ll have to bring you out here during the day,’ Jim said, as they wound their way at last into the small village of Gunnerside. ‘The King’s Head pub is fantastic.’

  Jim pulled the Land Rover to a halt on the left in front of a large house which Harry could see in the headlights had a small red post box set in the wall.

  ‘We just head over the bridge,’ Jim said, gesturing with his thumb behind them. ‘The path follows the beck. Right, you climb out and I’ll keep a hold of Fly.’

  Harry handed the dog to Jim and climbed out of the vehicle and spotted just a little way off the smallest village green he had ever seen in his life. On it sat three wooden benches facing inwards. It was dotted with flowers and he was sure that in the bright light of day it was actually rather pretty.

  ‘Come on, then,’ Jim called out, walking round to meet Harry at the back of the Land Rover and handing him a torch. ‘It’s a bit of a trek, so the sooner we get cracking the better.’

  Harry followed Jim and soon they were heading down a path which, as Jim had said earlier, followed the beck up into the moors. To their left, the beck chuckled and giggled its way through the rocks. It was dark and gloomy, overhung with trees on the bank, but after a while, the path wandered away from the busy chatter of the water to make its way through low fields and stone stiles.

  Neither man spoke as they walked, and Harry did his best to rid his mind of thoughts of his father, and what the man had said on the phone, wanting to have a clear head to deal with whatever was waiting for them at the end of their journey.

  Further on, Harry spotted what he assumed were the ruins of the mines Jim had mentioned. The land here was scarred still, the wounds of long ago carved deep into the ground, gashes and grazes of gravel and grit riding silent rifts down to the beck below.

  Rounding a corner on the path, Harry spotted lights ahead. ‘That’ll be where we’re heading then,’ he said.

  ‘That’ll be it,’ Jim replied. ‘Come on, we’ll be there in ten I reckon.’

  As they drew closer, Harry saw that not only were there a number of people milling around waiting for them, but also a vehicle, which was yet another Land Rover, however, this one was kitted out with rescue gear, including, Harry guessed, a stretcher, plenty of first aid, and whatever else the team had decided was needed for this particular call out.

  A figure strode over to meet them.

  ‘Now then, boss.’

  ‘Detective Sergeant,’ Harry replied, as DS Matt Dinsdale came to stand before him, handing him some PPE for what was to come. He nodded towards the vehicle. ‘I see you took the easy way up.’

  ‘Not me,’ Matt replied. ‘Only enough space in it for a few of us, the rest had to walk. Not a bad little stroll though, is it? Though, there are better reasons to go for one.’

  Harry caught the sombre tone in Matt’s voice and glanced over his shoulder, spotting some cordon tape glinting in the torchlight. ‘So, what have we got, then?’

  ‘Best you follow me,’ Matt instructed.

  Stepping in behind the DS, Harry and Jim walked past the rest of the mountain rescue team and on towards the reason they’d been called out in the first place. Ducking under the tape, with gloves now on and a face mask hooked behind his ears, Harry was soon staring down at the kind of scene usually reserved for horror movies.

  ‘Bl
oody hell . . .’

  ‘Yeah,’ Matt said. ‘Not much I can add to that, if I’m honest.’

  Chapter Six

  Blood was the first observation to thrust its hideous way to the front of Harry’s mind because, as they slipped quietly through the rough grass, he just couldn’t take his eyes off it.

  ‘Jim?’ Harry’s voice was low, gruff, and sombre, the awfulness of what was in front of them reaching inside him and twisting his gut.

  The PCSO, who was still behind the cordon tape, glanced up at Harry.

  ‘I need you to be Scene Guard,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll take it from here with Matt.’ Then he added, ‘And I’m not asking because I don’t think you can handle this, okay? The opposite is true. In fact, I’m pretty sure that you can handle it as well as any of us, but I need someone back there to keep an eye on things. Okay?’

  ‘No problem,’ Jim said, and Harry could see the steely look in Jim’s eyes telling him he wasn’t just fine with it but understood the responsibility and the seriousness of what they were dealing with.

  As Jim turned to leave, Harry said, ‘And make sure no one comes through that cordon tape without your say-so, you hear? You’re in charge and don’t let anyone tell you any different. You’re my gatekeeper and I want this by the numbers. Divisional surgeon first, then the photographer, then everyone’s favourite pathologist and the rest of the scene of crime team, okay?’

  Jim gave a quick, casual salute, then turned away and headed off back towards the rescue team.

  ‘Right, then, so who was first on the scene?’ Harry asked, turning his attention to Matt, if only to add a pause to the proceedings, and to give him a moment to compose himself. He wasn’t exactly in a hurry to get any closer to the carnage in front of them and could already see more than enough of it, even though they were still a few metres away.

  ‘Actually, I was,’ Matt said. ‘I’m a fast walker, you see, not that you’d know it from looking at me, right?’

  Harry, a little surprised at this minor revelation, saw Matt tap his belly. It wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination, but he had a point. He was a man who looked built more for a stroll than a march. But looks were often deceiving, and that was something Harry knew about better than most, he thought, scratching at the scars on his face as though suddenly bothered by the pain from the wounds, which had faded long ago.

  ‘You?’

  ‘Well, yes and no,’ Matt said. ‘I mean, I was first in an official police capacity, but the actual first on the scene was Adam Bright.’

  ‘So, you weren’t actually the first on the scene at all, then.’

  ‘Second,’ Matt said. ‘That’s a silver medal in the Olympics.’

  ‘This isn’t the Olympics.’

  ‘Yes, but if it was, I’d be up there on the podium, getting my medal, and you’d be cheering, all proud, like.’

  Harry liked Matt, but there were times when he had an unshakable urge to slap him. This was very much one of those times.

  ‘Right now, the only thing you’re close to getting is a boot up the arse,’ Harry growled. ‘So, how’s about we get on with the job in hand, eh?’

  ‘Sounds like a plan,’ said Matt.

  ‘It’s not a plan, it’s procedure,’ Harry said, keen to get on, the chill of the night starting to bite into him. ‘Right, now then, so this is how you found the scene, yes? Nothing’s been moved or disturbed?’

  Matt shook his head. ‘I cordoned the whole site off immediately. Didn’t want to risk having any of the rescue team wander where they shouldn’t.’

  ‘What about this Adam Bright bloke you mentioned?’

  ‘He didn’t touch a thing.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘You can ask him yourself, but yes, I’m sure.’

  Matt gestured back at the rest of the rescue team, who were currently all standing around the rescue vehicle warming themselves with quiet conversation and mugs of tea poured from large, metal flasks. Harry saw that Jim was with them and not just talking but taking notes. That lad is certainly keen, he thought.

  ‘He waited for me because he knew this was a police thing,’ Matt explained. ‘Not just a rescue.’

  ‘So what about the initial call, then?’ Harry asked. ‘Who was it?’

  ‘Adam’s younger brother,’ Matt said. ‘He was heading back from the pub I think, saw lights up on the hill and spoke with his brother. Adam lives near Gunnerside so he ran up here to check, seeing as he was close while calling it in.’

  ‘Lights?’ Harry said. ‘I just assumed this was a nine-nine-nine.’

  Matt shook his head.

  ‘No phone call,’ Matt said. ‘Just a flashing light.’

  ‘And that was enough?’

  ‘Considering what’s in front of us, it really wasn’t,’ Matt said. ‘Sadly, it was too little too late.’

  Harry wondered how much time passed between the flashing light and the scene in front of them.

  ‘I’ll want a chat with this Adam then as soon as we’re done here.’

  ‘I’ve already told him that,’ Matt said. ‘He’s expecting a chat.’

  Harry moved closer towards the tableaux of horror, aware now of the growing scent of death. It always surprised him how quickly the stink of it would infect the air. It was worse when a body had suffered trauma severe enough to sever limbs, crush skulls, rip open a person’s torso. And here, as far as he could tell, the body was intact, but the blood, that was enough. The metallic tang of it was slipping around them now and growing ever stronger the closer they got to the victim.

  ‘Jim tells me this is an old Corpse Road,’ Harry muttered, his voice quiet and sombre.

  ‘That it is,’ Matt replied. ‘You think this was done here because of that?’

  Harry didn’t answer immediately, his mind still trying to take it all in. ‘Whether it is or not, I don’t know, but it certainly makes it all the more sinister, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, it does.’ Matt sighed.

  ‘So, why didn’t she use her mobile phone?’ Harry asked. ‘A woman out here on her own would have one with her, surely, right?’

  ‘Not always,’ Matt said. ‘Not that we know yet, so we’ll just have to wait to see if the CSI bods find one, but a lot of folk head out into the hills without their phones because that’s the very reason they’re going out into the hills in the first place. You know, to leave all that bollocks behind for a while. I do it myself now and again, just to have some bloody peace! And the last thing you want if you’re trying to get away from it all is to be constantly checking social media or your emails or getting phone calls.’

  ‘I feel like that just sitting down to grab some lunch,’ Harry said. ‘If it’s there, you’re always checking the damned thing.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Matt agreed. ‘Daft really, isn’t it? I mean, you don’t sit at home and get up every five minutes to go and check if someone’s at your door, do you? So why do we feel the constant need to keep checking our phones?’

  Harry took a few more steps, pulling himself to a stop when he was just a metre or so away from the body. Close enough, he thought, to see what was what, but not so close that the pathologist, Rebecca Sowerby, would have reason to complain.

  ‘And you’re absolutely sure she didn’t call the police?’

  ‘No one’s told any of us otherwise. Poor lass must’ve been in a right state, and to end up like this? Whoever did it, they’re a bloody animal.’

  Harry was listening to Matt’s voice, but his attention was now fully on the scene before him. He was also forcing all thoughts about the call from his supposed father from his mind; he would deal with that at the right moment, and that wasn’t now.

  For Harry, these initial observations, these first minutes at a crime scene before anyone had disturbed the site, they were always useful. He had, over the years, come to feel as though what he was doing in such early moments at a murder scene was very much akin to stepping into an art gallery before the public was allowed in,
albeit the kind no sane person would ever want to visit. This was a private viewing of someone’s handiwork, and it was his chance to view it and assess it without his thoughts being contaminated by the words and suggestions and ideas of others.

  The woman, Harry noted, was laid on her back, her dead eyes open and staring at the night sky, her legs and arms outstretched. She was fully clothed, which suggested that she hadn’t been raped, but that was never a certainty, not until the autopsy had been done. She was barefoot and the wound to the front of her neck, just above the collar bone, was clearly visible. Harry could see that something had been thrust into it, just above the collar bone and blood covered her torso. What exactly, he couldn’t say, again something which would become clearer at the autopsy. Regardless, Harry knew enough about violence to know that she had not died well, if such a thing could ever be said of dying at the hands of another. It would not have been quick, her lungs filling up with blood, suffocating her.

  Harry forced himself to keep on with the observations and to not dwell too much on the nightmare that had been endured by the victim. He spotted a torch near the woman’s left hand, no doubt the one she had used to signal for help. He glanced then over at the tent and saw that it, like everything else inside it, looked brand new, hardly used at all. There was an empty wine bottle just inside the door, a stove, a pan—the remnants of her last meal no doubt.

  ‘You think she drank that all by herself?’ Harry asked.

  Matt looked to where Harry was pointing.

  ‘Looks like there’s only enough kit for one,’ Matt said. ‘One sleeping bag, one rucksack, so I guess so.’

  ‘Unless there was someone else and they cleared off after?’

  Matt offered nothing, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with Harry’s thoughts.

  ‘And what are your thoughts on that?’

  Harry’s focus was back on the body, his left hand raised to point not at the wound to the neck, but what had been carved into the woman’s forehead. He remembered then, Matt telling him about it on the phone. The warning hadn’t made it any easier in the viewing.