The Trophy Taker

by Sarah Flint

  Dr Crane cleared his throat and continued.

  Charlie watched fascinated as he worked his way along every part of Susan Barton’s body, from her head downwards, measuring and describing each of the injuries. He also noted several blunt trauma marks on her hip and elbow, possibly from being dropped on to a hard surface. He would finish with the largest wound to her torso and chest cavity.

  At times it was hard to bear, particularly when the doctor checked for any signs of sexual assault, but it had to be done and they all knew it. There was no time for squeamishness.

  When he got to her left hand, he noted again the absence of the ring finger and bent forward so his face was close.

  ‘Fourth digit on left hand missing. On examination it appears that the skin around the amputation edge is clean cut, rather than jagged. I am of the opinion that the finger has been severed with a sharp implement that has cut through the finger in one motion. There doesn’t appear to be any sawing type marks that would indicate it has been removed with, say, a blunt knife or saw blade. Was there much blood?’

  Charlie nodded. ‘There was a fair bit where the hand was lying.’

  ‘Well, I’ll examine the amputation point in more detail when I’ve finished the main examination but if there was a reasonable amount of blood around the hand, it’s fair to assume that the finger was severed while she was still alive. If she were already dead there would only be a small amount of leakage.’

  Charlie winced at the thought. Dr Crane looked towards her.

  ‘Although a relatively small part of the body, there are two arteries feeding each finger. If she was alive when it was removed, the blood would continue pumping and it would be excruciatingly painful. All injuries to the hands are particularly painful due to the abundance of sensors on the skin surface.’

  He stopped talking as they took in his last words. After a few moments he moved up parallel to the main wound.

  ‘Right, now to the thoracic site. The skin appears to have been cut open quite neatly with a sharp implement and the edges peeled back.’

  ‘Like unwrapping a present.’ Charlie was trying to picture it in her head.

  Reggie Crane turned his head towards her and smiled. ‘Yes, you could say that. Your killer seems to have some knowledge and experience of the human body, although I suppose most people know where the heart is situated. He’s marked the area with a large cross and then peeled each flap back to get entry. He or she is well-equipped and well-organised. Ribs one to six on the left-hand side have been cut, again quite neatly, by the sternum and pulled back so the thoracic cavity is exposed. If your victim was still alive while this was done, there would have been a huge amount of blood loss. We’ll measure how much blood is left in the body when we can and that should determine the answer.’

  ‘There wasn’t too much at the scene.’

  ‘Well, in that case, hopefully she was dead when he opened her up. I’ll carry out further tests of the organs surrounding the heart and should know further when this is done. I gather the heart was found nearby?’

  ‘Yes, it was.’

  ‘Right, I have it here. Maybe now would be a good time to take a look.’

  He moved across and lifted a heart from a separate work surface.

  ‘We’ve already taken a sample of DNA from it and it matches the victim’s. We can safely say it is Susan Barton’s heart.’

  He bent down over it with a scalpel and moved the outer skin of the organ gently. A hole opened up. Following its path, he turned the heart on to its side and saw an exit hole out from its rear. He indicated to Charlie who leant over to better see. It was fascinating.

  ‘Neat. It appears; and again I will need to do further tests, that your victim was probably killed with a single, sharp, pointed implement which went straight through her heart, puncturing the left ventricle. It would have been quick. With its main muscle taken out, the heart would have stopped beating almost instantaneously. Any blood pumped from the heart before death would have probably remained within the cavity, even when the chest was opened up.’

  He placed the heart carefully back on the surface and returned to the body.

  ‘The area where the aorta and pulmonary artery meets the heart appears large and jagged, as if the heart has been ripped out. I’ll see if I can find the ends of the blood vessels left in the body and see if they too appear to have been cut or torn. There might still be bits of the pericardium; the protective sac around the heart, attached to the ends of them.’

  Reaching down into the bloody cavity, he moved his hand about carefully, trying to locate the surrounding blood vessels.

  Charlie continued to stare, transfixed with what the pathologist was doing. She watched as his look of concentration was replaced with a curious frown.

  ‘There appears to be a foreign object in here,’ he said quietly. ‘It feels hard, like it’s made from metal.’ He started to lift the item up out of the hole. ‘I think we’ve found one of your missing pieces.’

  He placed the item down next to the body and wiped it with some surgical tissue. The band of gold glinted in the fluorescent light.

  ‘Fucking hell,’ Hunter mumbled. ‘That’s got to be Susan’s missing wedding ring.’

  Chapter 12

  ‘So, we have a victim who last spoke to her daughter, Emma, at about 7 p.m. and had no other contact with anyone after that time that we know of. She didn’t mention she was seeing anybody, or going out, or indeed having anyone to visit.’

  ‘And there were no signs of a break-in at her house.’

  ‘So, how the killer managed to get her from her home to the cemetery is a mystery at the moment.’

  Hunter and Charlie were running ideas across the interior of the car as she drove towards Harris Academy. They always did this. Hunter liked to see if she was on the same wavelength as him. Normally they were.

  The post mortem over, they now had a good basis on which to work for the cause of death. They had yet to have full reports from Dr Crane on some of the exact details, including the toxicology report, the time of death and the exact sequence of events as far as could be predicted, but they knew pretty much how. They now needed to find who.

  ‘So, did someone entice her out, or did she have a visitor that she voluntarily let in to her home?’ Hunter rubbed his hands across his face.

  ‘Or someone with a key?’

  ‘And with a motive?’

  They both knew who they were talking about.

  ‘What we all seem to agree on is that it’s personal.’ Hunter continued. ‘Why would a killer do the sort of things to a random stranger that he or she has done to Susan? Bind her, gag her, cut her finger off, rip her heart out, throw it away nearby and then leave the wedding ring where her heart should be. You’d think with that sort of weird shit, it’s got to be someone she knows, someone who hates her, for whatever reason.’

  ‘Or someone who loves her? People do weird shit when they can’t have what they want.’

  ‘True. The trouble is who? Susan had a wide circle of friends. Even putting Mickey to one side for a moment, there could be any number of suspects. She must have hundreds of friends or associates, and if Mickey Barton does have one thing right, a lot of those in education or religion do have pretty bloody strange beliefs.’

  She laughed at his prejudice. Coppers, particularly of his era were on the whole, not particularly religious, rarely university educated and markedly right wing. They dealt with harsh practicalities, rather than allowing their minds to roam into the worlds of spirituality or theology; although this was changing a little with the latest batches of forward-thinking graduates.

  ‘Well we’ll soon see how many unusual people she’s worked with. We’re at Harris Academy now.’

  Hunter checked his watch and chuckled. ‘And they’ll all be sitting down to their houmous and chickpea salads as we speak.’

  *

  Harris Academy where Susan Barton worked was situated down the hill from Crystal Palace, the area
of which was named after the large, cast-iron and plate-glass structure that had been transported there for the Great Exhibition in the eighteen hundreds. The Victorians had been delighted with the building that shimmered and shone as the sunrays bounced and flickered over the glass. However, after a huge fire had razed the building to the ground, nothing was left to show for the magnificent structure other than its name. Now it was better known for the athletics track and swimming pool that hosted athletes and swimmers from all over the world, and a rather dilapidated dinosaur park.

  The school, a large mixed-sex comprehensive school and previously maintained by the local council was now an academy. It housed over a thousand children from eleven to eighteen years of age and had a reputation for achieving outstanding results. The staff, were numerous, eclectic and motivated. On the whole they wanted what was best for their students and worked hard to assist each young person to reach their potential, or at least that was what was said in promotional literature. The actual reality was slightly less glowing, considering the run-down state of the building.

  Charlie manoeuvred the police car into a small overcrowded car park at the rear of the main block and they weaved the way towards the reception round several empty bike sheds and a mobile classroom, which had evidently been there for years and lacked any sort of mobility.

  The reception was staffed by an elderly man with the stiff, formal bearing of a Victorian gent. She couldn’t help thinking that he might have been better suited to the age when The Crystal Palace had been around.

  ‘Can I help you?’ He looked up at them curiously over thin, silver-framed glasses.

  ‘We’d like to speak to the headteacher if we may?’ Hunter responded formally, much to Charlie’s amusement. She wasn’t used to him being so polite.

  ‘Have you an appointment?’ He didn’t wait for a reply. ‘If you don’t have an appointment the headmaster won’t be able to entertain you.’ It sounded more like a rejection to a tea party than a refusal to allow a meeting.

  Hunter reverted to form, pulled out his warrant card and thrust it towards the man. ‘I’m sorry if it’s not convenient but it is important. I need to speak to your head teacher about one of his staff.’

  ‘What about my staff?’

  The question came from an eccentric-looking man, who had just broken into a jog as he approached the reception. He was in his early sixties, of medium height but portly, with a pot belly, squeezed into a bright mauve waistcoat. His head was bald on top but framed by a valence of long, thin hair that fell on to his shoulders in untidy grey clumps. He was carrying a small trilby hat, which, on stopping, he placed over his bald spot.. He reminded Charlie of the mad hatter from Alice in Wonderland.

  Hunter held his warrant card out again and the man squinted at it, before offering him his hand.

  ‘Detective Inspector Hunter, good afternoon! Vincent Atkins, the head teacher. Nice to meet you. You’d better come through. Thank you George.’

  He nodded towards the receptionist, who pursed his lips and frowned.

  Charlie introduced herself and held her hand out. Vincent Atkins shook hands before taking a few paces forward and ushering them both into a large orderly office, set back from the reception. The whole room was spotlessly clean and tidy, everything in its place. Several gilt-edged photograph frames held images of the headteacher proudly posing in mortar board and gown. He’d clearly continued his education for as long as possible, an academic, whose whole life revolved around academia.

  ‘You said you wanted to speak to me about a member of staff?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hunter was taking the lead on this conversation. ‘Susan Barton. Did she work here?’

  ‘Yes, she’s head of the languages department, but she’s not here today and she didn’t turn up for work yesterday. I was calling her most of the day. It’s very strange. She doesn’t normally go absent without first letting me know…’ He stopped as the fact that Hunter used a past tense obviously registered. ‘Why? What’s happened to her?’

  Charlie watched as the colour drained from his cheeks. He took his hat off and closed his eyes.

  Hunter lowered his voice. ‘A body was found in the early hours of Monday morning, which we’ve now had confirmed as Susan. We believe she was murdered.’

  ‘Oh my God, no, not Susan.’ Vincent Atkins sat down heavily on his seat. He looked to be close to tears. ‘Why would anyone do that to Susan? She was the sweetest, most friendly, softly-spoken lady you could hope to meet; always looking at the positive. The kids all love her. They will be heartbroken.’ He dabbed at his eyes with a cotton handkerchief, similar to the style that Hunter himself used. ‘As am I.’ He blew his nose hard on the hankie, unconcerned about the noise it made. ‘I did wonder what was up when I couldn’t get hold of her… And I heard that a body had been found. But I never thought it could be her. Why would it be?’ The question hung in the air for what seemed like ages, while he shook his head and frowned.

  ‘Have you any idea who might want to do her harm?’

  ‘No, no idea at all.’

  ‘Are there any of the staff here or students that have had an issue with her? Any bad feelings? Any crushes? Any relationship issues?’

  ‘Students will always have issues with teachers, but aside from a few minor welfare concerns, I’m not aware of Susan having had any problems. And my team all seems to get on pretty well. There’s sometimes the odd disagreement, normally about policy or practice, but other than that, no problems that I know of. Will you want to speak to the staff?’

  ‘Yes please, particularly those who worked directly under her leadership. They might be able to shed some light on any issues she may have encountered.’

  He leant forward and pressed a button on the desk. ‘George, could you see which members of the language department are having their break and ask them to come to my office please.’

  A muffled reply but within minutes there was a knock on the door and two members of staff walked in. One was a young woman, with long dark hair, swept up on to the top of her head and held with a white, floral hair grip. She was slim and pretty and wore what appeared to be a black wrap-around designer dress and black low-heeled ankle boots. A sky blue neck scarf, decorated with tiny white flowers was tied loosely around her neck. She looked effortlessly stylish.

  Holding the door open for her was an older man, in his late fifties. He was a bear of a man; a few inches off six foot, heavily built, with a head of dark hair that hung over his forehead in an untidy fringe. A full beard and moustache that were verging on untamed graced the lower half of his face and he wore dark-rimmed, rectangular glasses that peeped out from between the masses of hair. A brown tweed suit, matched with a cream cotton shirt and bottle green tie completed his look.

  ‘Come in please, Sophie, Daniel. Thank you for getting here so quickly. This is Detective Inspector Hunter and DC Charlotte Stafford from the Metropolitan Police.’ He turned to the two teachers. ‘And this is my French teacher, Miss Sophie Pasqual and Latin teacher, Mr Daniel Roberts. Are any of the others available?’

  Daniel shook his head. ‘Sorry, they’re on various other duties but we can pass on a message. What’s the problem?’

  Vincent Atkins pulled out his handkerchief again, running it through his hands. ‘I’ll come straight to the point. It’s Susan. She’s been murdered.’

  Sophie let out a gasp. Her expression was one of complete shock and disbelief. ‘Oh no, it cannot be true.’

  ‘The officers here have just told me.’ Vincent put a hand on her arm. ‘They need to speak to us all to see if there is anything we can help with. Anybody that we can think of that might want to hurt her?’

  ‘Of course, of course. But there is nothing I can think of. She was always so nice.’

  Charlie looked towards the young woman, her eyes wide and full of tears and nodded. ‘There might be something, anything you remember once you’ve got over the shock. We’ll let you come to terms with the news first and somebody will come back lat
er in the week when you’ve had time to think, and take your statement.’

  The Latin teacher cleared his throat, removed his glasses and gazed towards the headteacher. ‘Have you made a statement yet?’

  Vincent Atkins shook his head almost imperceptibly. ‘No, Daniel, not as yet. I’ve only just heard the news myself.’

  ‘And, you are all right?’ Sophie looked towards him too.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m fine. Shocked obviously. I’ve known Susan for many years. She was a valued member of the team.’ He turned and smiled towards Charlie and Hunter. It was apparent he wasn’t going to elaborate any further.

  Charlie looked from one member of staff to the next. There was something strange about their interaction. Some matter that was not being aired openly. Her interest, previously dormant, was now aroused. She was aware that the Latin teacher was watching Vincent Atkins closely. They knew something and she wanted to know what. Moreover, she suspected that Daniel Roberts already knew she had worked this out.

  ‘I can come back later and take statements from them all.’

  She looked at Hunter, who appeared slightly bemused by her sudden declaration. She wasn’t normally the first to volunteer for the more mundane statement-taking chores. He didn’t disagree though.

  She turned to the three teachers.

  ‘I’ll give you a ring and arrange it for the next day or so. I will need to know as much as you can remember about Susan; when you last saw her, what she might have said, any worries she told you about; so we can start to piece together who might have done this to her.’

  Daniel Roberts nodded back at her, his expression warm but still unreadable. Sophie Pasqual pulled out a tissue and dabbed at the corners of her eyes carefully, while Vincent Atkins rubbed his hard with the handkerchief.