by M A Comley
She arrived at the station and stepped out of the car as her partner drew up beside her. “Morning, Jack. Good barbecue last night?”
He smiled and locked his car. “It was, actually. I even managed to stay sober this time to enjoy it.”
They walked into the station, Sally keyed in her security number, and they both entered the inner sanctum that would be their cosy home for roughly the next eight hours. “That’s a bloody miracle for you. How’s Teresa doing? She must be getting big now. When’s the baby due?”
“She’s a bit temperamental at the moment. We can blame that on her hormones, I suppose. The baby is due to make an appearance late October, so about four weeks from now.”
“That’ll soon be upon us.”
As he and Sally climbed the stairs to the first-floor incident room, Jack said, “The docs have hinted that she might need a C-section, not sure she’ll be properly formed enough to have a traditional birth.”
Sally winced. “Ugh… too much information, matey. Especially for someone who has never had the inclination to have children.”
“Why is that?” Jack asked.
Sally turned to look at him. It was unusual for her partner to ask such a personal question of her. “Gosh, now you’ve put me on the spot. Would you believe me when I say I don’t feel as though I’ve got a maternal bone in my body?”
He exhaled a large breath that puffed out his cheeks and nodded. “I can totally understand that, from a male perspective anyway.”
She frowned and asked with a straight face, “Are you saying I’m masculine?”
His mouth opened and shut a few times as though he were imitating a goldfish taking in air, as he quickly searched to find a suitable response.
She dug him in the ribs with her elbow as they pushed open the incident room doors and walked through them. “I was joking. Your face is a picture!”
He growled. “Well, I’ve seen the damage you can do to people who offend you.”
She winked and pointed a finger at him. “You’d be wise to remember that in the future before trying to wind me up.” Turning to the members of the team already seated at their desks, she asked, “Where are we? Anything new developed overnight?”
The team bade her good morning. Then Detective Constable Joanna Tryst pushed back her chair and approached Sally, carrying a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” Sally tilted her head to the side.
“A new case, boss.”
Sally read the details aloud so her partner could hear. “A woman’s body was found near Easton, just off the A47, around seven this morning by someone on their way into work. Do we know how long the body had been lying there before it was discovered? Silly question, I’ll ask the pathologist when we get there. I take it the Scenes of Crime Officers are already at the location, Joanna.”
“They are indeed. That’s all the info I can give you anyway, boss.”
“You ready to take off, Jack?”
He shrugged. “Might as well get it over with. Do we know how the woman died? Hit and run or something else?”
“Not sure, is the honest answer, sir,” Joanna replied with a shrug.
“Okay, not to worry. We’ll shoot over there and get the investigation started. Carry on clearing up the backlog of paperwork from the recent cases we’ve solved, chaps and chapesses, until we return.”
Sally and Jack rushed out of the building and drove the fifteen-minute journey in relative silence. When they arrived, the crime scene situated on the country lane had been sectioned off, and uniformed police already onsite had set up a detour. Sally nodded at the police constable who smiled and lifted the tape for her and Jack to duck under.
Simon Bracknall, the local pathologist, was already there, assessing the scene and organising his team.
“Hello, Simon. Can you share any info yet?” Sally asked, smiling.
He turned to look at her and, with a twinkle in his brown eyes, said, “I think we’re dealing with a murder.”
“Really? What gives you that idea?” she asked, her question laced with sarcasm, as she studied the amount of blood surrounding the victim’s corpse.
“Let’s get this marquee erected ASAP, lads. Looks likely we’ll have a downpour soon.”
“All right if I take a closer look?”
“Sure.” Simon crouched alongside Sally and pointed to the indents in the young woman’s skull.
“Ouch! Can you tell how many times she was struck?”
Simon tutted. “A rough guesstimate would be a dozen or so.”
“So, this was an intentional attack, not just a spur-of-the-moment attempt, like to mug her or to hijack her car?”
“Obviously not, because the victim’s car and handbag are still here.”
“Thanks for pointing that out. It’s still early in the day for me.” She groaned inwardly at the pathologist’s swift putdown.
“You’re welcome.” He stood and strolled over to the victim’s vehicle. “My take on the scene is that someone rammed the car from behind and forced her off the road.”
“Crap, why didn’t she keep on driving? Why did she pull over and get out of the vehicle?”
“Good questions that we need to find the answers to, Inspector.”
Sally nodded. “Any idea what the time of death was?”
“Well, the body was discovered around seven this morning by the gentleman over there.” He pointed to a man sitting in his car, looking bewildered. “I’m inclined to think this took place around midnight. Of course, I won’t be able to give you a definitive answer until I’ve carried out a full examination on the body back at the lab.”
“I’ll have a word with him in a moment. Do you think she was killed instantly? What I’m getting at is, do you think she suffered before she passed?”
“After receiving quite a few blows to the head, I think her life would have been extinguished pretty swiftly. I hope so for her sake. Otherwise, she would’ve suffered a slow, lingering death. I’m happy to go with the first assumption in this case. Let’s concentrate on getting the body covered, and then I’ll be able to give you a proper summary of what we’re dealing with.”
“Thanks. I’ll wait over there with my partner. Hang on a sec—did you say the woman had ID on her?”
Simon walked to the back of his van and held out a plastic evidence bag, which contained the woman’s small handbag. He withdrew the contents with his gloved hand and opened the woman’s driving licence. “Gemma Whiting. Looks like she was a short distance from home, as her address is on this road, farther up this way, towards the village.”
Sally motioned for Jack to take down the information, which they would chase up as soon as Simon gave them the low-down on the victim’s demise. “Get on to the station, Jack, see if we can get a head start on things, like if the victim was married, that sort of thing.”
“Will do.” Jack found a quiet area away from the hustle and bustle and rang the station.
Sally returned to the victim and shook her head. “Why? What secrets are you hiding, young lady?”
“Secrets?” Simon asked, looking puzzled. “What makes you think that she has any secrets?”
“Come now, Simon; it’s an easy assumption to make, considering the force of the attack she has sustained, in my experience anyway.”
“Maybe you’re right. It does seem to be a very personal kind of attack and with the added scenario that neither her car nor her bag was removed from the scene.”
“Well, I’ll make sure this case is investigated thoroughly, as I always do. No one’s life should end in such a despicable way at such a young age.”
“Agreed. Here we go. The tent is finally up. Please join me, Inspector.”
Simon had always been a very courteous sort of chap, unlike other pathologists Sally had worked with over the eight years she’d been on the force. Most of them, though not all, were so far up their own backsides that it blocked the sun out on a daily basis. Simon was different; maybe his heritage had a lot
to do with the way he dealt with people. Being a Scot and a Jew couldn’t have made life easy for him.
Jack returned from making his call, and he and Sally followed Simon into the tent. Sally was aware that giving Simon a few minutes of observation and thinking time before she bombarded him with questions was wise. Sally folded her arms and studied the victim. Her heartstrings stretched to the max. The woman, who could have been no more than thirty years old, was slim with wavy chestnut-coloured hair that framed a bloody, contorted face. Sally imagined that the victim had been prettier than the average woman on the street. She appeared to be well-dressed, and her outfit was not at all provocative, so Sally doubted the woman’s clothes had contributed to the attack, unlike other recent investigations.
“Okay, let’s see what we have. Karen, take some shots before I turn the victim over, will you?” Simon instructed one of his colleagues.
A young Scenes of Crime Officer angled a camera at the body from her position close to the victim’s feet and fired off several shots before moving to the woman’s head and taking another ten shots or so. Then she nodded at Simon and retreated to continue with her task of collecting evidence of the area a few feet away from the body.
Simon gently pushed the body onto its side and studied the open wound to the rear of the head. “Ouch! I’m surmising this was the fatal blow. To me, the attack was borderline extreme. Her attacker could possibly have been outraged about something.”
“It seems impossible to even consider that such brutality would come about from a mere car accident, right?”
“My sentiments exactly. Her face took the brunt of a few blows, too, as if someone was trying to obliterate the woman’s beauty.”
Sally twisted her head this way and that, observing the injuries, trying to figure out if the victim had tried to ward off the attack. “What about defence wounds, Simon?”
The pathologist rocked the corpse back onto the ground then examined each of the victim’s arms. “Nope, nothing.”
“So, I’m thinking that she was maybe struck from behind with the first blow and then set upon in a violent and frenzied attack. Am I right?”
Jack coughed slightly. “Is that plausible?”
Sally shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s what we’re trying to ascertain. What are you thinking, Jack?”
“Just that it wouldn’t make sense. Look at her position to the car. If her vehicle was shunted from behind and she got out of the car to have a go at the other driver, she wouldn’t walk backwards towards the person, would she?”
“Good point. So?”
Jack leaned over to observe the corpse and pointed at the victim’s jaw. “What if the first blow was to her jaw? Someone took a swing at her with a heavy object and knocked her off balance then carried on with the attack.”
Sally’s eyes narrowed as she ran through the scenario in her mind. “If the incident took place around midnight, it would’ve been pitch-black, right? What if the attacker placed their headlights on full beam, momentarily blinding the victim? She probably didn’t even see the weapon before it struck her. That’s my best guess anyway.”
Simon and Jack both nodded. Simon inspected the jaw closely; it moved freely in his hand. “Broken. I suspect your assumption may be right after all, Inspector.”
“Anything else you’d care to share with us before we get off, Simon?”
“Not that I can think of. All the wounds are either head or face related. Wait a minute—there’s a faint bruise appearing on her chest, around the heart area.”
“Okay. Jack and I are going to shoot off. We’ll question the witness and send him on his way then report the death to the victim’s family, if that’s all right with you?”
“Why wouldn’t it be, Inspector? Go. I’ll continue with the preliminary exam here and then move the victim to the lab for a PM. Do you want to sit in on that one?”
“Would you mind if I didn’t? I’d like to question the family members ASAP.”
“No problem with me; you know that. Good luck with your investigation. I’ll get my report to you as soon as I can.”
Sally and Jack left the tent and headed towards the witness.
The man, still looking shell-shocked, got out of his vehicle when he saw Sally and Jack approaching him.
Sally flashed her warrant card. “DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman. You are?”
He held out his hand for Sally to shake. “Michael Meldrew. This is such an appalling thing to stumble upon.”
“I appreciate that, Mr. Meldrew. I promise not to keep you long. Can you tell us what happened?”
He shook his head. “I set off to work as normal, decided to take the scenic route this morning, never dreaming that I would encounter this. That poor woman.”
“Did you see any other vehicles in the area?”
“No, nothing. I never usually do at this time of the morning, to be honest, Inspector.”
“Do you recognise the victim? Sorry, her car?” Sally asked, pointing at the victim’s vehicle.
“I’ve seen it around, yes. I couldn’t tell you who it belonged to, though. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. Well, I don’t want to hold you up any longer than necessary. Thank you for having the patience to stick around and wait for us. Would it be possible for you to give us an official statement now? Is that convenient for you?”
“Of course. Any help I can give, I will.”
“Jack, get the constable to take down the statement, will you?”
Her partner set off to collect the constable. While the constable began taking down the statement, Sally and Jack walked back to the car.
“Poor bloke. Not the most pleasant of things to find en route to work. Looks like we’ll have to take the long way round to call in on the family home,” Jack observed needlessly as they hopped back in the car.
“It’ll add a few miles on the journey, Jack. No great hardship really. Stop being a grouchy grandpa.” She chuckled when she saw her partner wince out of the corner of her eye.
“You can go off some people, you know.”
CHAPTER TWO
On the trip to the victim’s house, Sally instructed Jack to chase up the information about the victim she had requested from Joanna.
Jack reeled off the details as Sally pulled into the drive and parked the car. “Gemma, married to Mark Whiting. He’s a butcher.”
Sally shot round to face her partner. “Is he now?”
Jack tutted. “That doesn’t mean a thing, boss.”
“I know. Just winding you up, Jack. Right, let’s get this over with.”
After Jack rang the bell, they waited a few seconds. Sally flashed her ID at the blond man who answered the door. “Mr. Whiting? I’m DI Sally Parker, and this is my partner, DS Jack Blackman.”
“Thank God! Have you found her?”
“Your wife?”
“Of course. I reported her missing last night.”
“I think we’d better come in, Mr. Whiting.”
He pushed the door back against the wall and allowed them access. Sally and Jack followed the distraught man through the house into a kitchen, where a cute little girl wearing a pink pinafore dress and matching pink shoes was sitting at the table, eating a bowl of cereal. “This little cherub is my daughter, Samantha.”
“Sorry, Mr. Whiting, is there any chance we can have this conversation alone? My partner can watch over your daughter.”
His agitation showed in the form of a grunt, and his eyes rolled up to the ceiling. However, he relented after a few seconds. “In here.” He bent down beside his daughter and held her hand. “Daddy won’t be long, sweetheart. The nice policeman will sit with you until I return. All right, pumpkin?”
“Can I talk to him? Mummy always tells me it’s not good to talk to strangers, Daddy.” The girl’s long blonde eyelashes fluttered rapidly as she eagerly awaited her father’s reply.
“If the nice policeman wants to talk to you, then yes. In this instance, I�
�m sure Mummy would allow you to talk to him.”
“Oh, goody.” Samantha pulled out the chair next to her and patted the cushioned seat with her tiny hand. “Here, sit beside me, Mister. What’s your name?”
Jack looked bewildered at the thought of spending time with the chatterbox child, but he succumbed and sat next to the child while Sally left the room with her dad.
Mr. Whiting invited her to take a seat on the sofa as he closed the door to the modern living room, which was spotlessly clean and tidy, considering there was a little one in the house.
“Samantha is a real sweetie. How old is she?”
“She’s five. She has her moments, but yes, most of the time she’s an adorable little angel. She takes after her mother. What news do you have for me on Gemma, Inspector?”
The man was still standing, his elbow resting on the mantelpiece above the open fire. “Perhaps it would be better if you sat down.”
He hesitated for a moment or two then dropped into the leather easy chair on his right, his forearms resting on his thighs and his hands clenched together. “Is she in hospital? Has she been injured in a car crash?”
She found it odd that he would suggest his wife had been in a car crash, then chastised herself for thinking along those lines. Wouldn’t the majority of folks think the same? She chewed on the inside of her mouth then delivered the news that she feared would rock this man’s world for years to come. “I’m sorry, Mr. Whiting. It is regrettable that I have to inform you that Gemma is dead.”
His eyes widened, and his mouth hung open. Eventually, he found his voice. “What do you mean she’s dead?”
“Again, this is difficult for me to say, but it looks as though your wife was murdered last night.”
He jumped to his feet and started to pace the floor. “What? Murdered? Who would do such a thing?” His shaking hand swept over his face and covered his eyes as the tears began to fall. His shoulders shuddered. “My God, who would do such a thing? To Gemma, of all people? She was gentle, compassionate, a beautiful person, and wonderful mother. Jesus, how am I going to tell Samantha that she’ll never lay eyes on her mother ever again?”