Catherine didn’t move a muscle.
‘I want to analyse the level of wasp activity against the level of decomposition. The fresh stage, the bloated stage, the decay stage and the dry stage.’
Kim could verify from the unique aroma that Elvis had not yet reached the dry stage.
‘Is there a reason Elvis is under a tree?’
Catherine nodded as she pushed herself to her feet.
‘Bodies left in the sun tend to mummify. The skin becomes tough like leather, impervious to maggots.’
Kim was prevented from asking anything further as Catherine began to write. Kim watched the hand move across the paper but it was the joints that caught her eye. All four knuckles contrasted with the tanned skin. Each one of them was white with scar tissue.
‘You can speak,’ Catherine said.
The woman tried to write something and then shook the pen up and down.
‘You really do like your insects, don’t you?’
‘I am fascinated by their ability to survive. I only hope they never learn to communicate with each other.’
‘Why?’ Kim asked, finding the statement a little strange.
‘Because there are over a million species of insect and they represent more than half of all known living organisms. So if they ever managed to communicate with each other, we’re in big trouble.’
Kim had never thought of that. But perhaps Catherine had thought about it enough for both of them.
Catherine shook the pen again and then looked at Kim.
‘Do you…?’
Kim shook her head.
As Catherine spun it between her palms Kim glanced over towards the location she’d stood in just twenty-four hours earlier. There was no activity.
‘Have the techs gone?’
Catherine nodded. ‘Just before I got in this morning.’
Kim hadn’t been informed they’d finished collecting evidence.
She took out her phone and dialled Woody’s number.
‘Stone,’ he greeted.
‘The techs have gone, sir. It’s a pretty big area. I can’t believe they’ve finished combing it already.’
‘I know,’ he responded. ‘It was my instruction. They were called off first thing this morning.’
‘May I ask…?’
‘Not that I have to explain my decisions to you but a deserted terror cell was discovered in Digbeth yesterday afternoon.’
Ah, she needed no further explanation. That was a priority job. Every inch of an abandoned cell would be analysed. Over here, Kim was dealing with one person who was already dead. Clues in Digbeth could lead to saving hundreds if not thousands of people.
But just because she understood it didn’t mean she had to like it.
‘Okay, sir, thank you for letting me know.’
She ended the call before he could respond to her little dig about being kept in the dark.
Catherine glanced back towards the Portakabin that was only three hundred feet away and held up the empty pen.
‘I need to get…’
‘Can you send Bryant out?’ Kim asked. Her mind had already left Catherine and was heading back over to the crime scene.
Catherine nodded and headed back.
Kim took a few steps away from Elvis and his occupants and watched as Catherine strode back towards the office.
It took a very special kind of person to derive so much pleasure from the activity and habits of insects, Kim couldn’t help thinking.
Fourteen
‘You could have removed your jacket, Bryant,’ Kim said as he approached.
‘Happy the way I am, thanks.’
Kim shook her head. She had rarely seen him without a jacket outside of their squad room.
‘Get anything from inside?’ she asked, walking across the field.
‘In that amount of time?’ he retorted.
‘Well… something… anything… ’
‘And you found out what exactly?’ he asked.
Kim smiled. ‘Well, since you ask, I found out that Catherine appears to like insects more than she likes people. She has very curious scarring to her right hand and is not easily rattled.’
Bryant let out a breath. ‘All that without any threat of waterboarding?’
‘Yeah. Your turn.’
‘I found out the security guy’s name.’
She growled.
‘Okay, he lives half a mile down the road and although the place gives him the creeps it’s convenient. He used to work the doors, but the boss moved him here.’
‘Anything else?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, he’s supposed to do a full patrol every two hours but most nights he doesn’t bother and just signs the sheet off as checked.’
‘Fabulous,’ Kim said. ‘I suspect he’ll be doing his patrols now if he wants to keep his job.’
Bryant nodded towards the location of the crime scene. ‘So why the early withdrawal?’
‘Abandoned terror cell in Digbeth.’
Bryant sighed his understanding. ‘So are we forensics now as well?’
As detectives, he knew they became whatever they needed to be to get the job done.
They’d reached the other side of the field. She stepped across the brook and located the exact spot where Jemima had been dumped. The ankle-high grass had been flattened underfoot like a crop circle. A single trail had been trodden down the hill where the tech van would have been parked while they worked.
Kim stood at the crest of the hill. The land started rising in height about six feet from the path, climbing steadily for about thirty feet, before dropping down towards the entrance gate.
From where she stood, the direct route down to the path was quicker but steep, so the techies had walked along the brow until the incline had lessened, making it far less hazardous.
‘Unlikely there’s anything left to find, guv,’ Bryant said, using a handkerchief to wipe his forehead. Although the techs had left the area, a line of tape stretched the 150-feet gap between two trees.
‘But not definite,’ she said, walking past him but continuing to look down over the descent. The area behind them was meaningless now it had been examined but worse, trampled. And a line search wasn’t going to do any good with just the two of them.
But activity had occurred before her. The killer had parked his vehicle, extracted Jemima, dragged and carried her up the hill and then laid her down and killed her.
She walked another few steps to the east and then turned back.
‘Wait here,’ she said as she trod the path that the techs had made and arrived at the foot of the hill. She walked along the path until she was level with Bryant’s position.
She assessed that she was now at the shortest, most direct but steepest route from the path to the top.
‘Bryant, come down,’ she called.
By the time he reached her she had already found what she was looking for.
‘Look at the grass,’ she said, pointing to a flattened area a foot away from the path.
Bryant shrugged. ‘What am I looking for exactly?’ he said, stepping to the other side of the line.
‘This is his trail,’ she said, walking up the hill, following the line of flattened grass.
The route was not completely straight and where the route adjusted slightly, a circular indent was faintly noticeable in the grass.
As they continued to follow the line it was clear they were headed for the exact spot Jemima had been found.
‘What do you make of those other marks, guv?’ Bryant asked as they headed back down the hill.
Kim paused halfway down and lowered herself to the ground. She lay in the grass and adjusted her position until she fitted into the shape that had been made by Jemima’s body. Taller grass and nettles rose up either side of her.
‘Guv, is there any need…?’
‘It’s her head,’ she said, ignoring him. ‘As she’s being pulled along her head is bouncing around, freely.’
While she was be
ing dragged in a straight line Jemima’s head would have made no impact in the grass already flattened by her body but when her killer changed direction, even slightly, her head would have taken a second to catch up.
She was about to raise herself up when she heard a familiar voice.
Daniel Bate called to her from the bottom of the hill. ‘Hey, Inspector, is this a private picnic or can anyone join in?
She sat up. ‘Daniel, how many times do I have to tell you to—’
‘Piss off?’ he asked. ‘Not at all, Inspector, as I didn’t come looking for you.’ He looked up to the hill. ‘I think you’ll find I actively tried to avoid you.’
Good – they finally understood each other.
He stroked the head of Lola beside him. ‘Although it was worth it to hear you use my first name.’
Okay, maybe they didn’t. And she hadn’t noticed the slip.
‘Bryant, take photos,’ she instructed.
‘Of what?’ he asked.
‘Just take one of exactly where I am, then the line back up the hill and the top of the hill.’
He took out his phone and took a photo, trying to hide his smirk. Daniel didn’t even try.
‘Isn’t there somewhere you have to be?’ she asked him, making a move to stand up.
He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Actually, no, I’m quite enjoying myself.’
Kim responded with a sound of disgust as she placed her hands either side of her to push herself up.
‘Shit,’ she cried as her right hand met with something in the grass. It was the hand she’d cut almost to the bone on her last major investigation and which still gave her a little discomfort now.
‘What?’ Bryant asked, stepping forwards.
She reached down, gingerly, and retrieved the object.
‘What the hell is that?’ Bryant asked, as she held out the palm of her hand.
It looked to her like a hairgrip. White plastic covered the wire that shaped it. A brass-coloured motif decorated its centre.
She looked closer. The motif was a heart cut into two with a jagged edge. The section that had dug into her palm. It reminded Kim of a necklace that she’d seen somewhere that came in a pack of two and each person wore one half of the heart.
‘My missus uses something like that,’ Bryant said. ‘Without the heart, obviously, but it’s for holding her fringe back when she’s straightening her hair.’
Yeah, that was exactly what she’d been thinking.
Bryant took an evidence bag from his jacket pocket. She dropped it in and turned to Daniel.
‘Well, it’s been lovely to see you again…’ she reached down and patted the dog ‘… Lola.’
She smiled and turned on her heel.
Her mind was already focussed on the hairgrip. And getting it over to Keats.
But she’d learned much more than she’d mentioned.
She no longer needed to wait for the toxicology report to know that Jemima had been drugged. The only question remaining was with what.
Additionally, the knowledge that she had been dragged, probably by her ankles to the top of the hill, instead of carried, indicated to Kim that their killer was working alone.
Fifteen
Kim found the cold sterility of the morgue refreshing. The heat outside was already early twenties on what promised to be another heavy, humid day.
The hairgrip in Bryant’s pocket was still on her mind. At this point she had no idea if the object was even connected. It could have been lost by anyone.
A quick phone call to Jemima’s mother had ruled out their victim using any type of grip at all. She preferred her hair loose and her mother had said she wasn’t a heart embellishment type of girl. Only a simple elastic band, she had said, with a catch in her voice.
Keats turned as they entered.
‘Oh, Inspector, I am gladdened we meet again. Yesterday, our parting was—’
‘Not soon enough,’ she retorted. ‘Now must we really do this every time?’
He considered for a second. ‘Yes, I feel we must or people would get the idea we liked and respected each other.’
‘Not from me,’ she said, moving towards their victim.
Jemima’s body was covered by a simple white sheet that was just slightly tucked around her shoulders.
And that was one of the reasons Keats was allowed a little fun. It was the small things.
‘Shall we begin,’ Kim asked.
‘Already done. I made an early start. I have two new customers from a motorway accident on the way.’
He reached for the clipboard from the metal counter.
‘Okay, first thing to note. Her panties were on backwards. Not sure if that means something.’
Kim looked at Bryant who took out his pocket notebook.
‘Any sign of sexual assault?’ Kim asked.
Keats shook his head. ‘Unlikely. No bruising, no redness and no trace of semen.’
She nodded and he continued. ‘Cause of death was asphyxiation caused by soil blocking the airway. There was enough dirt to plant a small herb garden.’ He pointed to a plastic container the size of a takeaway tub. ‘That’s what we removed.’
Kim stepped over and held it up. She couldn’t imagine that volume of dirt forced into a person’s mouth.
‘We’ve sent off samples to see if there’s anything in there that can help.’
Kim nodded. ‘Anything else?’
Keats frowned. ‘Yes. There are no defensive wounds, but there is some bruising to the upper arms and more recently to the ankles.’
Keats pulled up the sheet around Jemima’s feet.
Kim immediately pictured her recent experiment at the site. She already knew.
She stepped to the end of the body and looked at her. ‘He dragged her up the hill,’ Kim said, forming her hands around the ankles. Her fingers matched the bruise marks almost perfectly.
‘He, Inspector? You’re already assuming it’s a male without the presence of sexual assault?’
Kim nodded slowly.
He shrugged. ‘Your suspicion may explain the fresh graze mark on the small of her back and the small pieces of gravel embedded in her skin.’
Kim lifted up the sheet and viewed the faint marks on the upper arms. ‘I think these are from when she was taken.’ She paused for another ten seconds. ‘And I’m guessing our guy is about five foot seven or taller.’
Keats sighed. ‘Inspector, you cannot possibly…’
His words trailed away as she removed her jacket.
‘Oh dear, you’re not staying, are you?’ he asked.
She stood beside Keats. His five-six stature fell three inches below hers.
‘Okay, now move me from here to the door,’ she instructed.
‘Excuse me.’
‘It’s simple enough, Keats. Move me from here to the door,’ she repeated.
Keats looked at Bryant who shook his head.
‘Must I stop this side of the door?’
‘Just do it,’ she snapped.
He shrugged and stood behind her.
‘Are you dead?’ he asked.
‘You wish, Keats. Not dead but let’s just say I’m pliable…’
‘Now that would…’
‘Don’t think about it, just do it.’
‘Okay,’ he said, placing his hands above her waist but beneath her breasts.
He began to propel her forwards towards the door. Like air from a tyre she let some of the rigidity fall from her legs. She stumbled and weaved. Keats’s hands moved all around her back and to her waist to keep her steady and moving.
She put the brakes on her feet just short of the doorway.
‘Okay, thanks,’ she said, returning to the starting point.
She turned her back on Bryant. ‘Now you do it.’
He stood behind her and she knew that the top of her head was level with his nose.
Instinctively he grabbed her upper arms and marched her forwards. She did the same with her gait but still she move
d at speed, propelled towards the door.
‘And what has that little role play told us?’ Keats asked.
‘Height,’ she said, pointing at the spot on her arms. She looked at Keats. ‘You are… umm… shorter than I am so you had to grab me around the middle. Bryant is taller and his natural instinct was to grab my arms and push me forwards.’
Bryant considered. ‘Either a male or a very tall woman.’
Kim conceded the point.
‘Well, if the floor show has quite finished, the stomach contents have been sent for analysis. Not easy to identify, just mush.’
Kim stood at the top of the metal tray. As she looked down she noticed two kinks in the front of the thin blonde hair.
She held out her hand towards Bryant. Like any assistant surgeon he knew exactly what she wanted.
The evidence bag landed in her palm. She held it forwards, towards Keats.
‘Not sure if this is anything…’
‘Where the hell did you get that?’ Keats asked, staring down at the bag.
He took it from her and turned it over to get a better look.
‘Near to where Jemima’s body was found,’ she explained, surprised by his reaction. ‘What’s the problem?’
Still carrying the bag, he moved towards the table in the corner. ‘I have a matching one here,’ he said, holding up an identical bag.
Kim was confused. ‘I didn’t see that yesterday.’
‘You wouldn’t have done, Inspector. I had to dig it out of her face.’
Bryant’s gasp preceded a veil of silence that fell between them. Kim knew they were all pondering the level of force required behind the blows to bury that object in her skin.
Eventually Keats broke the silence. He coughed before he spoke. ‘So time of death – I would say you’re looking at between one a.m. and three a.m. yesterday morning.’
‘Okay, Keats, is there anything else I should know?’
‘How to speak to people would be a start.’
‘About our victim,’ she growled.
‘Actually, there is one curious thing.’
He drew back the sheet gently and Kim’s gaze immediately rested on the handcuff ring that circled the thin wrist.
Play Dead: A Gripping Serial Killer Thriller Book 4 Page 7