Corpse Road

by David J Gatward

‘You know as well as I do, sir, that the reason offenders reoffend is because we just send them back to their homes, back to the streets they grew up on, to hang around with the very same people who helped get them in trouble and land them inside.’

  Swift, Harry could see, was starting to get flustered. Good, he thought, served the nosy bastard right.

  ‘Last place Ben should go is back home,’ Harry continued, really getting into the swing of it now. ‘He’s got nothing there other than trouble. Here, though? Here, he’s got hope, a chance, you know?’

  ‘No, I’m not sure that I do,’ Swift blustered, walking away from Harry now, clearly having had enough of the conversation, at least enough of where it was now leading.

  ‘Remember that week I arrived?’ Harry asked.

  ‘How could I forget?’ Swift replied, mouth grimacing on a razorblade smile sharp enough to draw blood.

  ‘I met those two wild swimmers down at Semerwater,’ Harry said. ‘Ended up giving it a go myself, you know? Bloody cold it was.’ Harry smiled at the memory of it, the sensation causing him to shiver even as he spoke. ‘I mean, my testicles disappeared so far up inside that they didn’t come back out for at least a week, but other than that, the experience was fantastic.’

  Swift backed further away with that comment, but it only served to have Harry push on, to really hammer the point home.

  ‘I remember thinking,’ Harry continued, relishing the impact his words were having, ‘as I floated in the lake, my balls gone, and my skin screeching with the pinpricks of pain from the cold, I remember thinking that it was what Ben needed, to be there, in that lake. He needed to be somewhere that wasn’t where he’d always been. Somewhere that he could start again, start afresh, and be nowhere near any of that bollocks that had put him in prison in the first place.’

  Swift had reached the far wall of the room and had nowhere else to go, so turned around to face Harry. ‘Surely you’re not serious, though?’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be right for him. I’m not sure he would, well, fit, if you know what I mean? We’re not used to people like that around here.’

  ‘People like what?’ Harry asked.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ Swift said.

  ‘Yes,’ Harry said, pausing just long enough to allow the silence in the room to become just painful enough. ‘I do.’ Then, for the first time since the conversation had started, he turned up the menace in his voice, slowly moving over towards Swift and making full use of his physical presence, his messed-up face. ‘But Ben’s no different to anyone else, to you, to me. He got dealt a shitty hand, didn’t know how to deal with it, that’s all.’

  ‘All of this is moot,’ Swift said, dodging past Harry to walk back into the centre of the room. ‘I’m sure you won’t be here much longer, anyway. Probably have time to crack this little murder and then that’ll be it, you’ll be off. It’s for the best.’

  Right then, staring at the flustered Swift, Harry knew for the first time since arriving in the dales that he would be very happy if he was allowed to stay on permanently. It wouldn’t be just to annoy Swift, but that would most definitely be the icing on the proverbial cake.

  The office door swept open and Harry saw a wave of relief wash over Swift with such force the man visibly shook.

  ‘Morning, boss!’ Matt said, strolling in, then as he saw Swift, added a rather unenthusiastic, ‘es.’

  Harry nodded a hello back.

  ‘I can come back in a bit?’ Matt suggested, his eyes darting from one superior officer to another. ‘Not a problem.’

  ‘No, it’s fine,’ Swift said, resting his mug on a table then heading to the door. ‘I’m going to grab a little bit of fresh air anyway. You know, help clear my head before the day!’

  And with that, the man was gone.

  ‘He’s not easy to like, is he?’ Matt said, staring at the space Swift had, just a second or two ago, occupied. ‘You both looked very serious. Something up?’

  ‘Nothing to worry about,’ Harry said. ‘How was your evening?’

  ‘Oh, you know, shite television, glass of wine, the usual.’

  ‘You heard anything from Gordy at all?’

  ‘I’m sure we’ll receive a postcard,’ Matt said. ‘It’ll be one of those recipe ones,’ he added. ‘Not that anyone really needs to know how to make haggis. And even if they did, I’m not sure I’d trust the recipe on a postcard where the photo is clearly from the 1920s.’

  The conversation petered out then, and both men took to staring at the board or wandering around the room, apparently deep in thought. Harry, for one, was happy when the rest of the team started to turn up, particularly when the furriest and newest member of the team bounded in. Harry dropped down on his haunches and Fly raced over to jump up at him and lick his chin.

  ‘You’re going to ruin that dog for me, you know that?’ Jim said, watching his pup attack Harry. ‘He’s going to be a working dog, you know that, right?’

  Smiling, Harry stood back up, with Fly under his arm. He ruffled the hair on the dog’s head, which resulted in yet more licking. ‘He’ll be fine, I’m sure,’ he said. ‘And it’s a good job no one in the team is allergic, right?’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ said another voice, only it wasn’t one Harry had been expecting to hear. Not yet, anyway, and certainly not in person. He peered around Jim and there, standing in the doorway, was Rebecca Sowerby, a briefcase in one hand. And before he knew what he was doing, he was waving at her with one of Fly’s oversized paws.

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘Yours?’ Rebecca asked, moving past Jim and up to Fly. She scratched the little hound’s head and he scrambled from Harry’s embrace to try and get to her, his tongue a weapon of slobbery affection.

  Harry gestured to Rebecca, to see if she wanted to hold Fly, and to his surprise not only did she take him, she reached out for him, flipped him onto his back in her arms, and tickled his stomach, much to the dog’s delight.

  ‘Not mine, no,’ Harry said, more than a little bemused. Usually, by now, both he and the pathologist had taken swipes at each other.

  ‘He’s mine, actually,’ Jim said, reaching over to take the pup away from the pathologist. ‘I’ll go and put him out in the truck for a while.’

  ‘Don’t do that on account of me,’ Rebecca said, and Harry was pretty sure he heard genuine disappointment in her voice.

  ‘Oh, I’m not,’ Jim replied. ‘Everyone’s daft with him anyway, so it’s probably best he has a bit of time to himself and grabs a nap. I’ll fetch him back in a while.’

  As Jim left, Jen arrived, face flushed red.

  ‘You look like you ran here!’ Harry said. ‘I was going to do the same, you know, it’s just that I wanted to get here extra early, so I’m going for a run later on.’

  Jen shook her head, both in answer to Harry’s question, and also in despair at Harry’s poor excuse for not running. ‘Is my face red?’ she asked. ‘It is, isn’t it?’

  ‘A little,’ Harry replied. ‘By which I mean, on a scale of one to ten, where one is a glass of milk and ten is a beetroot, you’ve pretty much bathed in the stuff.’

  Jen slumped down into a chair. ‘Takes me ages to cool down sometimes,’ she said. ‘Have you not noticed before? And has anyone got the kettle on?’

  ‘Yes, I have.’ Harry nodded. ‘But I usually politely avoid mentioning it. Jim?’

  Jim had just arrived back in the office from dropping Fly out to his Land Rover. ‘Kettle on?’

  Harry winked a, ‘Yes’.

  ‘You? Polite?’ Rebecca said, as the crackle and hiss of the kettle warming up joined in the conversation. ‘Can’t say that I’m convinced.’

  ‘I can be polite!’ Harry said, doing his best to sound wounded and failing, and also wondering if this more approachable pathologist was here to stay, or if she would soon be replaced by the considerably more spiky version now that Fly was gone.

  Jen, Rebecca, and Jim just stared at him. Matt was at the board and gave no i
ndication that he was listening, as he stood, staring, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

  ‘It’s not that you’re not polite,’ Jim said. ‘No, it’s just that you’re, well, you’re straight. Yes, that’s it. You get to the point. No messing around. No bullshit.’

  ‘Yes, that’s it,’ Jen said. ‘You’re a bit blunt maybe, but not rude.’

  ‘Blunt, that’s it, on the nail,’ Jim said, agreeing with Jen.

  ‘What they’re trying to say,’ Matt said, turning from the board to drift across into the conversation, ‘is that you don’t talk bollocks, boss. And it’s appreciated.’

  ‘See, I said I could be polite,’ Harry said, as though Matt’s explanation was enough.

  ‘Polite?’ Matt said. ‘Oh, you’re not polite! Not at all. Good God, no! You’re one of the rudest blokes I’ve ever met! But you don’t talk bollocks, and that’s good. We like that. Helped you fit in right from the off, to be honest.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a win,’ Harry decided. ‘Now, where’s Jadyn?’

  ‘And Swift?’ Matt asked.

  ‘He’s gone for a walk,’ Harry said.

  ‘I hope it’s a long one,’ Matt mumbled, which was a good job really as, right at that moment, Swift entered the room. He walked straight up to the pathologist, ignoring everyone else.

  ‘Good morning, Ms Sowerby!’ The man’s voice dripped with simpering adulation. ‘Were we to be expecting you? If so, I wasn’t informed.’

  The DSup glared momentarily at Harry. Harry, however, kept his face impassive, or as impassive as a face like his could look, which wasn’t easy. Generally, his face gave the impression of being in a permanent rage, and that wasn’t just down to the scarring, either. Harry had eyes on him which could, in a beat, give a stare that would send a wolf running.

  ‘No, you weren’t,’ Rebecca said. ‘But something else came in yesterday and I ended up somewhat delayed. I thought I would come over today and go through what I found, and to see if I can be of any further help.’

  ‘Any particular reason?’ Swift pressed. ‘For this offer of further help, I mean?’

  ‘I’m just doing my job,’ Rebecca replied. And there it was again, Harry noticed, the edge to the woman’s voice.

  Harry remembered what her mother had told him in confidence about Rebecca’s awful experience at university, how it had changed the direction of her life. He had little doubt that it had something to do with her being here now.

  ‘Thank you,’ Harry said before Swift had a chance to do so himself. ‘It’s very much appreciated.’

  ‘I’m not making a habit of it, though,’ Rebecca said.

  ‘Of that I’m sure,’ Harry said. Then realised his tone was back on the offensive, so he quickly said, ‘I do have something I need to ask you though, about something found at the crime scene—’

  ‘Later, Grimm,’ Swift said, cutting Harry off with all the tact and care of a rusty scythe through a limb. ‘Shall we get on?’

  ‘That’s what I was doing,’ Harry said, but Swift ignored him.

  ‘Now that everyone’s here,’ Swift continued, ‘I think that the best way to get things started is to hear from the pathologist. Ms Sowerby?’ He stepped back from where he was standing, up and in front of the team, and gestured to the space he had previously occupied, almost as though he was implying huge generosity by giving it to her.

  Rebecca Sowerby stood up. ‘Firstly, we’ve yet to find any fingerprints or other DNA from the evidence collected at the scene, other than what belongs to the victim. Which I know is not what you want to hear.’

  ‘Not a surprise, though,’ Harry said. ‘The whole thing looked planned. I can’t see the person responsible being careless enough to leave anything behind that could be traced back to them.’

  ‘The blood on the tent is the victim’s,’ Rebecca continued. ‘We found a hat at the scene, which we assume was Kirsty’s. It was soaked in her blood as well, so it could be that it was used to write her name. The stab wound was from a single thrust of a bladed weapon. From the shape of the wound, it looks to be double-edged, a dagger of some sort.’

  ‘Aren’t they illegal?’ Jadyn asked.

  ‘To carry out and about, but not to own,’ Harry said. ‘Most knife crime involves kitchen knives, not military-style daggers.’

  ‘Why’s that, then?’ Jadyn asked.

  ‘They’re cheaper, easier to get hold of, simple as that.’

  ‘Anything from all of the camping equipment?’ Jen asked.

  ‘Nothing,’ Rebecca said. ‘It was all new, looked like this was the first time it had been used. Any residue on it, soil or whatever, was from the site where Kirsty had set up her tent. She was clearly there on her own.’

  ‘What about the car?’ Matt asked.

  ‘Well, you know about the tracking device. Other than that, there’s not that much really. Fingerprints are mainly the victim’s. Any others we found are being checked, though most of those are the deceased’s husband, which is no surprise. A mobile phone was found and the team has managed to unlock it. However, they’re waiting on a request sent to Facebook to access her social media accounts.’

  ‘But that’ll take ages.’ Jadyn sighed.

  ‘Not anymore,’ Rebecca replied. ‘We used to have to put in a Mutual Assistance Legal request via the Government, to access any data at all, and that could take anywhere from six months to two years, which was a nightmare. Now, though, there’s a Bilateral Data Sharing Agreement with the US, so it should only take a few days.’

  ‘And you think they’ll do it?’ Jadyn asked. ‘Hand it over, just like that? I thought social media companies were all up their own arses about invasion of privacy or whatever.’

  ‘Last year,’ Rebecca explained, ‘over ninety percent of all requests resulted in the provision of data, so I think we’ll be fine.’

  Harry was listening intently. He knew everything the pathologist was saying to be accurate, but he was worried that any request for data would take too long. It always did. They needed all the information they could get their hands on right now, not in a few days’ time or, even worse, a week or two.

  ‘What about around the site?’ Jen asked, getting everyone back to where Kirsty’s body was found. ‘Any signs of how the killer managed to get to Kirsty without her knowing?’

  ‘The Corpse Road is a well-used footpath,’ Rebecca explained. ‘We found plenty of footprints from that day, but nothing stands out.’

  ‘This isn’t sounding very encouraging,’ Swift said. ‘Was there nothing at the site to link back to the husband?’

  ‘Only the photographs,’ Rebecca said. ‘The burned ones. But they have nothing to do with him as such. He just happens to be in them, that’s all.’

  ‘I still think that gives us a good spotlight on motive,’ Swift said.

  ‘What about those little plastic balls?’ Harry asked, pulling the evidence bag from his jacket pocket. He caught the pathologist’s eye and handed it over to her.

  Rebecca held the bag up for a moment, staring at the contents, before speaking again. ‘When we found these at the crime scene, we hadn’t the faintest idea what they were. But then, during the autopsy, something came to light.’

  Harry and the team watched as Rebecca stood up and opened her briefcase. She then removed a file from it and asked for something to attach its contents to the board. Jen handed her some sticky tape.

  ‘These,’ Rebecca said, sticking a number of photos on the board, ‘are bruises on the victim’s body.’

  Harry stared at the grim photographs, the flesh in them pale, broken only by small, round marks the same size as the plastic balls.

  ‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Jim said. ‘I know I said yesterday about them reminding me of toy guns I had as a kid, but no toy would do that.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Rebecca said. ‘No toy would. And these were not done by plastic balls shot from a toy gun. Well, not in so many ways, anyway.’

  ‘So, how exactly did those balls m
ake those bruises, then?’ Matt asked, confusion written in the lines on his face.

  Harry was starting to get an idea as to where Rebecca was going with this, but he kept quiet. He had a feeling that if she was going to say what he guessed, then with Swift in the room it was better coming from her, if only to add credibility.

  Rebecca pointed at one of the photos, her finger just at the edge of a bruise. ‘To cause this mark, a plastic ball like the ones found at the crime scene would have to be travelling at well over five hundred feet per second.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Matt huffed.

  ‘Definitely not a toy gun, then,’ Jim said.

  ‘No,’ Rebecca agreed, then held up the bag containing the plastic balls which Harry had given her. ‘To fire one of these at that speed? The only way to do it is to use an airsoft gun. The legal limit is just over five hundred fps, or feet per second.’

  ‘A what now?’ Jadyn asked.

  ‘Airsoft,’ explained Rebecca. ‘It’s a competitive team shooting sport where opposing teams act out different wargames or battle scenarios. You eliminate opposing players by shooting them with these from replica guns.’

  Jen laughed. ‘You mean grown-ups running around playing war?’

  ‘I mean exactly that,’ Rebecca said and added some more photos to the board. ‘These are the kind of guns we’re talking about.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Jim said. ‘They look real!’

  Harry stared at the photos along with the rest of the team. He could identify a good number of the guns in the photos. Some he’d even used the true, real-life versions of, and the memories of being out in theatre were still there with him, just below the surface. But he pushed them away and focussed on what was being discussed.

  ‘They’re supposed to,’ Rebecca said. ‘They can’t be converted into real guns, and unless you like your gun to be bright blue, then you have to have a licence to own one, but yes, they do look real.’

  Harry leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows on his knees, head down. ‘So, you’re saying that what we’re dealing with here is someone who thinks they’re some kind of soldier, right?’