by Val Penny
“I suppose. We're not so very different, when you look at it that way.”
“It's just that my job is not as far up the social ladder as you would like.”
“Oh, come on, Tim, I'm not a complete snob. Give me some credit!”
“And, of course, my father is not the easiest man in the world. Even yesterday, when I called round to see how he was after the break-in, he just about bit my head off!”
“Stress, probably.”
“He was only filling in his insurance claim form. I can’t see that being so very stressful. Maybe you're right, though.”
“Of course I am!” Sophie drained her glass of soda water and lime. “Let's have one more before we pick up dinner on the way home.”
“G & T this time?”
“No, pet, I'm feeling a bit thirsty after all that activity today.” She grinned at him. “I'll stick with the same.”
“No problem, I'm going to have another pint, then shall we go for Indian or Chinese?”
Chapter Nine
Hunter did not generally look forward to attending a post mortem. However this one was different, as he did look forward to seeing Dr Meera Sharma. For that reason, he was smiling.
“You look happy, Sir?” Rachael observed.
“If we're lucky, we should find out how that poor woman died, Rache.” Hunter hoped this explanation sounded plausible. He thought it better not to reveal the true source of his chirpier mood. But as they went into the post mortem examination room, the smile on Hunter's face fell. There was no sign of Meera. Instead, her colleague, Dr David Murray, was back in harness; the second doctor (as required by Scottish Law) being Dr Aiden Fraser.
“Ah David, Aiden, good to see you both,” Hunter said, trying to sound convincing. “I hear congratulations are in order, David. Mother and baby well?”
“Indeed they are, Hunter. They are both fit and well. I'm exhausted, but they are fine.” The medic smiled happily. “We've called her Rosie.” Samantha's scene of crime photos were laid out all over the shelf to David's left. As he studied Meera's initial report, Hunter and Rachael went through to the pathologist's room. They put on the head covers, shoe covers, goggles, masks and gowns that were hanging up for them. The odour in the mortuary hit them full in the face.
“Is this whole outfit really necessary for us?” Rachael asked.
“Yes, unless you want to risk contracting AIDS, or some other virus lurking in the victim's bone dust,” David Murray replied as he pulled on his protective gloves. “Meera did last night for me, so I'm covering for her today. It's only fair. Let's have a look at your lady.”
“I don't remember the smell being this bad,” Rachael whispered to Hunter as they put the white tunics over their clothes.
Hunter nodded in agreement. “I know. It doesn't matter how many of these things I have to attend, they never get any better.”
They stood together, a bit back from the table, but close enough to witness the work undertaken by the pathologist. They watched and listened as David started dictating into a head-set.
“The victim was white, female, aged approximately 45, height 156cm. Right side of face shows evidence of animal attack, post mortem.”
“What would do that, David?” Hunter asked.
“Hmm. Probably foxes, maybe even cats or dogs, I'd guess. I understand the grave was very shallow.”
Rachael nodded and pulled a face.
“She wouldn't have felt anything, DC Anderson. She was dead when it happened.”
“I know. It is just awful to think about, and looks so horrible under these lights.”
David Murray went on.
“Red hair turning white, light eyes, hands rough: probably used to manual work.” He held up the left hand of the corpse. “Wedding ring, evidence of rheumatoid arthritis in the hands, feet and knees. Dirt under the nails, bruises around the neck, on the arms, particularly right arm, and on the thighs.” Murray paused and looked up at Hunter.
“Assuming she was assaulted before her death, perhaps her assailant was left-handed,” he said. “The left femur and left tibia are broken too.” David pointed to marks around the breaks, to the victim's neck and to the discolouration he had seen. Then he paused and took up a pair of large, sharp scissors.
Rachael winced, but she continued to watch closely.
“What caused the breaks? Was that part of the assault?” Hunter asked.
“Could be. More consistent with severe impact, you know, like a car accident or a fall from a height. There were no signs of a struggle where the body was found?”
“No, none. No blood either. She was in a shallow grave, but her head had been uncovered by the time we found her.”
“So was her leg,” Rachael added.
“Ah-ha. Well, at first sight there don't seem to be any severe wounds that would cause a lot of bleeding. And certainly, she could not have moved herself after that leg was broken. It looks like she had been assaulted elsewhere. In fact, my guess is she was dumped after the assault, and probably died in situ without regaining consciousness.”
“What makes you think that?” Hunter asked.
“Cessation of circulation and loss of muscle tone after death has allowed blood within her veins and arteries to settle under gravity.” David paused and looked over at Rachael and Hunter. “I don't know what broke the limbs, but it is a major injury. It’s almost as if she was dropped onto her left side and couldn't save herself.”
David moved the corpse to show them the areas coloured pink and purple in those areas of the body that had been lowest as the victim lay in her shallow grave.
“Pitiful,” Hunter said.
David went on. “In a body lying on its back, as this one clearly was, the back would show hypostatic discolouration, except for those areas compressed by direct contact with the firm surface of the ground. The blood has pooled around her back, but see how her buttocks and shoulder blade regions that were pressed down show a difference? Look at the blue lips, fingertips and toes too. The extremities always tell tales.”
“Can you tell by that how long she has been dead?” Rachael asked.
“Not accurately, Rachael. In relation to post mortem hypostasis, the settling of the blood in the tissues due to gravity is an even worse indicator of time of death than rigor mortis.”
“Oh, I thought that helped too,” Rachael said.
David shook his head. “It does help, but not with the level of accuracy you need. Entomology provides a much more accurate timeline.”
“Entomology?” Rachael's expression was blank.
“It's the study of bugs: insects, arachnids, centipedes, millipedes, and so on. The biology can be applied forensically to criminal matters. It can detect drugs and poisons, determine the location of an incident and find the presence and time of the infliction of wounds. So let me see what the creepy crawlies tell me about your lady here. And I'll check her lungs to see if she was still alive when she was buried. She'd been lying in that hollow, roughly covered by the earth, for several days, I'd guess.”
“Dr Sharma seemed to think so,” Rachael said as she screwed up her nose and looked over at Hunter. He shrugged.
“See the muscle tissue here?” David began. “It begins to lose its stiffness after about 36 hours, and within about 72 hours of dying, the body's rigor mortis will subside.” He lifted an arm of the corpse, which dropped immediately to confirm his point. “Certainly no rigor in this one.” He poked about in the corpse, then used tweezers to pick up a small creature.
“What happens is that as the cells in the body die, bacteria begin breaking them down. Enzymes in the pancreas cause the organ to digest itself. The body soon takes on a rather gruesome appearance and smell. Gases such as methane and hydrogen sulphide build up. Then the lungs expel fluid through the mouth and nose. Insects and animals certainly notice this.” The pathologist paused. “In fact, a human body provides sustenance for a whole host of creatures, and it's a great place for insects to lay eggs. A fly tryi
ng to find its way in this crazy, mixed-up world can feast well on a corpse, and then lay up to three hundred eggs on it that will hatch within a day. Then, maggots. These are the larvae that emerge from these eggs. They are extremely efficient and thorough flesh-eaters. See the size of this one?” He waved the bug at the detectives. “The evidence of these maggots here — their size, and the stage they are at — is what gives me the timescale of this woman's death. She has been dead about five days.”
He put the tweezers down with satisfaction. “Now I'm just about to detail her clothing for evidence purposes. So, I will give details of the body from the outside in.”
Rachael grimaced.
David went on to speak again into his headset. “The victim carries no identification. She is dressed in blue jeans, brand: George at Asda; green t-shirt, brand Basics from...” David paused.
“Primark,” Rachael interjected. “The boyfriend cardie is from Primark too. I got one a couple of years ago. Same style, different colour.”
“Thanks. Sky-blue, boyfriend-style cardigan with pockets from Primark. Paper tissue in right pocket. Victim right-handed? White bra, F&F from Tesco; white pants, also F&F.” David looked up. “Aiden, can you have the clothes examined for skin, DNA and any relevant soil samples?”
“No problem, David,” replied Dr Fraser.
“Now, I'm going to start the internal examination,” David said.
Hunter spoke. “David, could you swab the victim for DNA and see if there is anything useful under her fingernails? Perhaps you could also take fingerprints for us?”
“Of course. I'll do that now.”
“Rachael, could you take these away and order those tests for me?” Hunter asked. “And maybe David could take a few photos for identification purposes, and you could get those circulated ASAP?”
“Sure, of course Boss,” Rachael said, as David took his camera out. “I'll email the photos to the office.” Intensely grateful to Hunter for giving her the opportunity to leave, she almost skipped out of the room.
Hunter watched the rest of the post mortem alone, but even he closed his eyes when David sliced the traditional Y-shaped incision from the top of the dead woman's chest to her pubis. He did not know the woman. He did not even know her name. But he watched with growing sadness while David carefully completed his work. Hunter felt a rage rise in his chest. Nobody should have a death like this: violent, alone, unknown.
This poor soul hadn’t even been reported missing. Nobody seemed to care about her. What a desperately sad end, Hunter thought. It was horrific what some folk did to others.
At the end of the process, David told Hunter that the bruises on the woman's neck were not self-inflicted, but were not the cause of death. This victim had suffered abuse over a prolonged period. There was evidence of one rib and one finger that had been broken in the recent past and not set properly, probably due to not receiving any medical attention.
Several bruises were of different hues, suggesting she had suffered them over a period of time. She had also been hit forcibly with a heavy, blunt instrument. Or perhaps she had been run over. David confirmed that the blow had certainly knocked her out.
“Nevertheless, I think it was exposure to the November weather and hypothermia that had dealt the final blow to this poor soul. I doubt she regained consciousness to do anything to save herself.” He made his conclusions quietly. “She may well have been hit elsewhere, but there is evidence of a lump with blood around it on her head and defence wounds on her hands, see?” David invited Hunter to come forward, and they looked at the back of the victim's skull.
“She was dumped where you found her soon after the final blow was dealt. No sexual interference, no rape. But she has had at least one child. The dirt under her nails may well contain DNA from her abuser.” He looked over at Hunter. “I'll send that off for you and get it expedited?”
“Aye, please, David. Any more you can tell me?”
“Budget, high-street clothes. No ID on the body or in the pockets. No socks or tights. Old shoes too.”
“We haven't found a handbag or purse either. No idea who she is. Nobody even reported missing. What a miserable end. Poor bitch.”
“Yes, well. I'll write it all up for you. It will be with you tomorrow, but probably late
afternoon.”
“Thanks, David. If you think of anything else in the meantime, give me a call. Congrats again on the baby. Lovely news. Oh, and regards to Chrissie too, of course. I'm glad she and the baby are keeping well.”
Hunter left, brooding about the solitary evening ahead of him. The blustery November cold did nothing to improve his mood. He had hoped to talk Meera into a quiet drink, maybe even a curry, as he left the examination. Instead he headed for Tesco to buy a microwave meal for one. It was not the same.
Chapter Ten
Hunter scanned the car park as he got out of his old Toyota. Here he almost always saw someone doing something for which he could nick them. He never did, of course, but he enjoyed crime-spotting. All part of the job. No such thing as an off-duty copper and all that. Oh yes there was! And right now, he was definitely it.
He wouldn't need a trolley; a frozen meal for one and a couple of cans of lager would fit easily into a basket, even if he did make an impulse buy of a pint of milk or a sharing bag of cheese and onion crisps. Hunter strode out of the dark of the car park heading towards the lights of the store.
He passed a group of lads. Hunter guessed they were about fourteen, maybe fifteen, smoking cigarettes and swilling cider by a recycling bin. Oh, to be young, Hunter thought, and walked on past a car with no blue badge parked in a disabled space. Bloody thoughtless!
Then Hunter caught sight of the portly figure of someone he knew all too well: Billy Hope. Or, as the man’s nephew had referred to him, Robbin’ Hope.
As a retired city councillor, Billy Hope had a veneer of respectability to cloak his murky reputation. He was uncle to the inimitable Jamie Thomson and brother-in-law to the patriarch, Ian Thomson - proud father of said Jamie and brother of the bold Billy's wife Edna. Ian had been convicted of a raid on a bank in George Street a few years back. It was widely accepted across the thin blue line that Billy had been involved too. Involved right up to his neck. But nobody had proved that. Yet.
No way was Billy up to any good, so Hunter thought he would just go over and let Billy know he was there. Ask after Jamie, that sort of thing. Hunter smiled to himself. That nickname ‘Robbin' Hope’ Jamie gave to his uncle was telling. No family discount, apparently. Ian wouldn't like that when he came home from the big house.
“Billy! Hey, Billy! Got a minute?” Hunter shouted across the lines of cars.
Strange. Today, Hunter thought, Billy looked different. Even more furtive than usual, looking around, as if he were on edge. Perhaps he was looking for somebody, or maybe on the lookout. Hunter saw that Billy looked puzzled. He could not tell if he was speaking to someone in the car near him or looking over the top of the vehicle, but Billy was sweating profusely. Strange, on such a damp and chilly evening. Billy's face was flushed. His eyes were staring. He did not smile or wave in sarcastic recognition as he usually did when he met Hunter. He was just there in the damp, busy car park, his rotund body leaning against a car. Hunter increased his stride as he focussed on Billy. Then everything happened at once.
A car roared past Hunter and sped straight at Billy, hitting him full-on. The hefty guy soared right up into the air. There was a sharp whack as Billy's skull cracked on the tarmac. It was a miracle that the car missed the vehicle near Billy. Then the car accelerated and tore off into the night.
Hunter stared open-mouthed. A light-coloured 4x4. Looked like a Land Rover. Hunter memorised the registration number but could not take time to write it down. Billy might be bad, but Hunter went to help. He jogged over to the man. No such thing as an off-duty copper. True. Sad, but true.
Hunter felt disorientated; silence seemed to surround the scene. Realisation and car fumes made him gag. Hu
nter's shirt was sticky with sweat. Billy's shirt was sticky and darkening. It was a big car. And fast – much too fast for a car park. It had raced straight at Billy, then had sped up after impact. Hunter doubted it had been an accident.
Billy lay on the ground. Blood dribbled from his ear, around his skull and poured from his side. His body had taken the brunt of the hit. His head had taken the brunt of the landing.
A woman screamed. A baby cried. An old man threw up over his shoes.
Hunter identified himself as police to the gathering crowd. “Any doctor here?”
No reply.
“A nurse?”
Silence.
Hunter got out his phone and called for any backup he could get, then turned to the boys who had been smoking by the bins. “Run into the store and get them to shout out their first-aider, will you, lads?”
“And do the cops a favour?” the biggest one said. “I don't think so!”
“No, you’re not doing me a favour. I am not the one lying on my back on the floor bleeding like a stuck pig, am I? Now go!” Hunter shouted.
The boys ran into the supermarket, probably as much to get away from Hunter as to help the victim. Hunter was joined by a member of the Tesco staff who began to put his elementary first aid skills into practice. But even to an untrained eye it was clear that Billy was way beyond help.
Hunter knelt, surrounded by people but completely alone. It felt like an eternity before he heard Jane Renwick's clear voice.
“I need you all to move back. Come on now, move back. Everybody move back now and make room. Bear, Mel, move everybody back at least ten feet. Now!”
Bear used his body mass and began waving everybody back, while Mel Grant went to get Tesco staff to help. She instructed them to form a cordon of shopping trolleys to keep the inquisitive public at bay. This was probably the most interesting thing the trolley collector had done all week, Hunter thought. The lad looked so proud and took photos of his work, presumably to share later on Facebook and Instagram. Tesco supplied staff so that potential witnesses did not leave.