Perfect Remains

by Helen Fields

  An hour later DS Salter was waiting in the corridor to accompany Callanach straight to the Chief. Ava was already there with a woman he hadn’t met before.

  ‘DI Luc Callanach, this is Dr Ailsa Lambert, Edinburgh’s chief forensic pathologist. I don’t think your paths have crossed yet.’ DCI Begbie did the formal introductions.

  It was only when Ailsa Lambert stood up that Callanach realised how tiny she was. Less than five foot tall, he guessed, and stick thin. She craned her neck up to see his face better and stuck out her hand.

  ‘I was at the warehouse after you, I’m afraid. Caught me mid-autopsy, hence the delay. But Jonty Spurr spoke to me about you.’

  Begbie coughed politely and motioned at Callanach to sit down. ‘Well, Ailsa, I thought we’d review both cases together. I know how busy you are but I prefer my teams to know what’s happening in each other’s camps in case we have to transfer officers between cases. Where would you like to start?’

  ‘Thank you, George.’ She smiled graciously, opening a folder on the tablet in her hand. ‘The baby case, I think. Awful tragedy. Both infants healthy other than the hypothermia that led to their deaths. I’ve spoken to the paediatrician who confirms the surviving child was also injury free. Apparently the baby is now doing well. I know you thought there’d been some mix up with the DNA, Ava, so I had the technicians double-check the results. Those came back the same again, so I asked for them to be reviewed by a professor I know. You were both wrong and right.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Ava said. ‘Was the blood a match for Lucy Costello’s DNA or not?’

  ‘It was, as far as the lab would normally cross-reference the markers. Usually they check between fifteen and twenty points of a person’s DNA and this gives an incredibly high level of certainty for positive DNA evidence. On closer study, they found four mutations called Single Nucleotide Polymorphisms. In plain terms, there were four almost imperceptible differences between the DNA on file for Lucy Costello and the blood found on the baby’s skin. This means that although the blood did not come from Lucy Costello, it could only have come from one other person. A monozygotic twin. She must be identical, or the DNA would have been distinguishable within the first set of tests.’

  ‘Lucy has a twin sister?’ Ava started texting as she spoke. Callanach knew he’d be doing the same – getting one of the detective constables to find a name and any accessible records. ‘But neither of the parents mentioned anything …’

  ‘Did you not see anything at the house?’ Begbie queried. ‘No family photos?’

  ‘We didn’t have a chance to go in,’ Ava replied. ‘Our suspect, Lucy, was at school so we went straight there. By the time the doctor confirmed she hadn’t given birth and the school backed up her alibi, we had no cause to enter the property.’

  ‘The parents didn’t mention a twin sister when we were with them. They must have had their suspicions that we were talking to the wrong daughter,’ Callanach said.

  ‘Has John Costello made a complaint yet, sir?’ Ava asked Begbie.

  ‘No,’ the DCI confirmed.

  ‘Lucy’s father more than suspected,’ Ava said, her face reddening, ‘he damned well knew. That was what all his posturing was about. I’ll find out which school she’s at before speaking to the parents again. Thanks, Ailsa. Do you mind if I scoot? I’ve got to get my team together.’

  ‘Off you go, dear,’ Dr Lambert said. ‘And give my best to your mother.’ The pathologist kissed her on each cheek before Ava ran for the door. Callanach wondered how small Edinburgh’s community of the great and good was, that the chief pathologist should be friends with a DI’s mother. No wonder Ava thought her team disliked her privileged upbringing.

  ‘Right then, Luc,’ Ailsa said, assuming the air of a matronly aunt and changing folders with a swipe across the glass. ‘The remains in the barrel. Definitely human. Fragments of the pelvis confirm that the subject was an adult female. The bones, or what pieces were left, were too badly decomposed and altered by the chemicals for DNA testing but the hair caught in the rim of the barrel belonged to your missing person, Jayne Magee. Not a great surprise, if your face is anything to go by.’

  ‘Sadly, it’s not,’ Callanach said. ‘How long did it take for the body to decompose?’

  ‘Our findings are less reliable than usual as most of the liquid seeped into the floor, but I’d say two days. The compound had been prepared to maximise the speed of dissolution. If whoever did this hadn’t added just the right amount of water, we might still have some soft tissue.’

  ‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll notify the family and prepare a press release. Thank you, Dr Lambert. I appreciate how quickly this has been processed.’

  ‘There was one interesting thing,’ she added. Callanach stopped packing away his notebook. ‘The teeth. They weren’t all present, not that we could find. The ones that were in the barrel are damaged but intact enough for us to have the forensic odontologist check them against Jayne Magee’s records. He’s certain they’re a match but we’ve only got teeth from the lower jaw. The upper teeth were either missing or completely dissolved.’

  Callanach made notes as he considered what that meant. ‘How could the upper teeth have dissolved when the lower teeth were only slightly damaged?’

  ‘A good question,’ she said. ‘Not only that, but why would the teeth retrieved not have dissolved to the same extent as the bones, which was almost absolute?’

  ‘Do bones and teeth normally dissolve at the same rate?’ he asked.

  ‘Not exactly the same, but given how thorough he was with the chemicals I’d have thought they should have suffered more damage than they did. It’s a conundrum. We’re doing some tests to check the breakdown rate but that’s likely to take a few days. I’ll get back to you.’

  Callanach left the pathologist and the Chief talking crime rates and politics. He had to speak to DS Lively first and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t have to go far to find him. Lively was sitting in Callanach’s office with a tweed-suited white-bearded gentleman Callanach didn’t recognise and another man in a clerical collar. Tripp was looking distinctly nervous by the door and had obviously been waiting for him.

  ‘I did say we should wait in a conference room. I’m so sorry …’ the constable said.

  ‘And I said that in the circumstances you wouldn’t mind,’ DS Lively interrupted. His red eyes and lank hair painted a picture of too little sleep and self-care. His voice was strained but he was keeping the volume and the language to more acceptable levels than their last encounter. Not for his benefit, Callanach thought. The men he’d brought with him commanded more respect than he.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Tripp,’ Callanach said. ‘You can go.’ Tripp looked more relieved than annoyed at being dismissed, and disappeared. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Luc Callanach, but I’m sure you already know that.’ He extended a hand to each stranger.

  ‘This is the Reverend Canon Paul Churchill who worked with Jayne,’ Lively said. ‘And Professor Edwin Harris. We’re here to talk about the next steps in the investigation.’

  Callanach took a breath. It was normal for involved parties to want an explanation. What irritated him was Lively’s rallying the troops without warning.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant, but the victim’s family has not yet been informed about yesterday’s events so this discussion is premature.’

  ‘Let me stop you there,’ Professor Harris said. ‘I understand the procedures. I worked with law enforcement for a number of years. Reverend Paul spoke to Jayne’s family last night so that’s not going to hamper us.’

  ‘You spoke to her family? Without police officers present who’ve had specific bereavement training?’ Callanach turned to stare directly at Lively. ‘When all you have is conjecture. It’s a blatant breach of protocol. You know that’s a disciplinary matter, right, Detective Sergeant?’

  Harris raised a hand between Callanach and Lively to break the stand-off. Lively redirected his gaze to t
he professor. Callanach continued to glare at his sergeant.

  ‘Detective Inspector, let’s not get hung up on who said what and when. We’re both professionals and there is a high statistical likelihood that the remains do indeed belong to the Reverend Magee. In the circumstances, I’d have hoped you might take a rather more practical approach. The main concern is that time is of the essence, and I’m here to help.’

  Callanach recognised a blind-siding when he was getting one. ‘And what help, exactly, are you offering?’

  The Reverend Paul stepped in and the speech took on the feeling of a well-rehearsed sketch, with the professor dropping his head in what Callanach sensed was a rather false show of embarrassment.

  ‘Professor Harris is a world renowned and respected profiler, DI Callanach. He’s retired but still lectures internationally and has written books on the subject. He’s also been a faithful member of our congregation for numerous years and was well acquainted with Jayne. The professor has offered his assistance and the church is happy to pay, to move forward what DS Lively has told us is a frustratingly stagnant investigation at present.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s not appropriate,’ Callanach said. ‘You would need access to restricted information and profiling after only two murders isn’t generally done.’

  ‘DCI Begbie said he’ll grant security clearance as Professor Harris worked with the department previously. As long as St Mary’s is paying, we’ve got the go-ahead,’ Lively said.

  ‘We were supposed to be having a meeting about this later today,’ Callanach replied.

  ‘The Chief said I should make sure you were up to speed. I already have Elaine Buxton’s mother’s consent to release her files to Professor Harris.’ Lively presented it as a done deal.

  ‘I’d like access to all the information immediately,’ Professor Harris assumed command, his credentials having been presented. ‘And an office would be useful. It’ll save a lot of time if I don’t have to move around too much.’ He stroked one side of his nose as he talked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, his smile completely self-assured. The man wasn’t asking permission.

  ‘I’d prefer to have that meeting with the Chief before I authorise the release of information,’ Callanach said. ‘And there are other matters that need my urgent attention. I appreciate you coming in, gentlemen.’ He stood up and walked between them to open the office door.

  ‘You know, Inspector, the sooner I assess the evidence, the sooner I can say who you should be looking for,’ Harris said, smile still in place but voice firmer now.

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ Callanach replied.

  Lively was purple but the Reverend put a calming hand on his arm and spoke just loudly enough to make sure Callanach would hear his words.

  ‘Don’t trouble yourself, Matthew. I’ll speak with the Chief Inspector personally.’

  They made their way down the corridor with Harris loudly proclaiming the dangers of lost time. Callanach grabbed his phone and dialled Ava’s mobile. He needed information and a sounding board before he spoke to the Chief.

  ‘Ava, can we talk?’

  ‘I’m getting into my car in three minutes. If you’re in it too, you can have my full attention on the way to St Gabriella’s High School. That’s the best I can offer,’ she said. He grabbed his jacket and ran.

  Chapter Twenty

  Callanach only just made it to the car before Ava pulled away, his foot still hanging out of the passenger door as the tyres squealed. He tried not to visibly hold on to the sides of his seat as she drove and concentrated on asking the questions he needed answering.

  ‘What do you know about Professor Edwin Harris?’ With anyone else he might have worried about diplomacy but Ava was proving to be the sort of police officer who cut to the chase.

  Ava took her eyes off the road for a split second. ‘The man who looks like God dressed for stag hunting?’ Callanach laughed, entirely unexpectedly, and the tension broke. The speedometer needle dropped a notch and he relaxed his grip on the seat. ‘He retired before I became a DI but he was involved in a couple of cases I worked as a detective constable. How come he’s crossed your path?’

  ‘I’ve been offered his help. Only the definition of offered means I have to take it whether I like it or not. He’s heavily involved in Jayne Magee’s church. The Chief has already been persuaded to agree because it’s free. If I say no and there’s another murder, I’ll be public enemy number one.’ She took a hard right that had Callanach’s cheekbone against the window for a second.

  ‘Then let me play devil’s advocate. This is free advice from a man who worked with the police for a number of years. Why would you not want it and what have you got to lose?’ Callanach jammed a steadying knee up against the passenger glove box.

  ‘I’m not convinced a profile is going to take us forward and I’m worried it could lead us in the wrong direction. The worst-case scenario is that we ignore people we should regard as suspects. Also, Harris is personally involved. He’s going to want to get results to appease the church and that may mean he tries too hard to find answers where there are none.’

  ‘So let him consult, provide a profile then ignore it,’ Ava said.

  ‘I don’t think I have much choice about that. What I really want to know is if I can trust his professional judgment.’

  ‘Your gut has already told you not to. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you to follow your instincts,’ she said, glancing at her watch. ‘Damn it,’ she hissed at a red traffic light.

  ‘No, but I suppose I was hoping you’d reassure me that my instinct was right.’

  ‘He’s got your back up because he enjoys the process too much. He doesn’t just look like a child’s drawing of God, he acts like he is one. I felt the same thing the first time I heard him talk in a briefing. He was so self-congratulatory. Every good police officer I know spends their time worrying that they haven’t got it right, haven’t worked hard enough, that they’ve missed something. His whole being oozes the opposite.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Callanach said. ‘That was exactly what I needed to hear.’

  ‘Pleasure,’ she said. ‘Only, be smart. He’s been around long enough to have the ears of a few of the top brass. It’s part of what gives him his attitude. Steer clear when you can. If I were you, I’d let the Chief deal with him. You can thank me properly by having my back. It’ll be reassuring to have a senior ranking witness to the complaints I’m about to attract.’ She drove into St Gabriella’s school for the second time. Through the rain, the place looked deserted. Callanach followed Ava to the reception area.

  ‘Can I help you?’ a woman offered with more disapproval than was necessary. It really did feel like being back at school.

  ‘DI Turner,’ Ava said flashing her badge, although there wasn’t any doubt that the receptionist was well aware who she was dealing with. ‘You’re the last school on record as having Felicity Costello as a pupil. Is she attending currently?’ Before the woman could answer, a door opened at the back of the office and a man appeared.

  ‘Information relating to our pupils is highly confidential. Can I ask if you have the proper authority?’ he asked. He was squirrelly, twitching defensively and attempting to cover it with a strained smile. Callanach longed to tell him to stay still.

  ‘I do,’ Ava replied, handing him the paperwork.

  ‘Then I’d ask for time to contact the school’s lawyers and have them scrutinise it. I shouldn’t like to be accused of failing to do my duty properly.’

  ‘Sorry, your name is?’ Ava asked.

  ‘Justin Currie,’ he said. ‘Head teacher.’

  ‘This is a serious investigation, Mr Currie, and whilst you’re at liberty to contact the school’s legal representatives I would like access to Felicity Costello’s files straight away.’ Ava’s voice was flat but there was no mistaking her insistence. Currie’s smile began to falter.

  ‘It can take time to locate each student’s file so if you’d take a seat,
I’ll look it out.’ Ava had no intention of taking a seat and Callanach knew it. The head teacher had exceptionally poor people-reading skills if he believed he was going to get away with anything other than following orders.

  ‘Whilst you are at liberty to contact the school’s lawyers, your receptionist should not notify any other party about our enquiries, I hope that’s clear. DI Callanach and I will accompany you,’ Ava said.

  Currie’s smile had stopped fading and was nowhere to be seen. For a second, Callanach thought he might protest but the man’s emotional intelligence finally kicked in and he recognised the brick wall he’d hit.

  ‘In here,’ he said, pointing through to his office.

  Currie’s office was all soft leather, walnut furniture and plush carpet. On the wall above his desk, in a lavish gilt frame, was a picture of a younger version of the head teacher kneeling before some past Pope, although Callanach wasn’t sufficiently good with religious miscellany to be able to recall the pontiff’s name.

  Two large filing cabinets stood beneath a window with a view over the girls’ playing field, which today was an abandoned sea of waving greenery. There was no mistaking the benefits of working in the private education sector. Currie walked to the cabinet on the left and opened the top drawer labelled A to D.

  ‘Remarkably easy to find, in fact, Mr Currie. I’ll take it from here.’ Ava’s hackles were up. Whatever reason Currie had for pretending to need time to locate the file, it certainly wasn’t to assist the police. Ava pulled two files from the drawer, both labelled Costello, and identified Felicity’s.

  ‘May I enquire what you’re looking for?’ Currie asked. Ava didn’t answer. She was already flicking through the contents, concentrating on finding the information she needed.