by Michael Wood
‘No. Ranjeet left to meet his parole officer about half an hour ago.’
‘I thought Aaron was dealing with that.’
‘Erm … yes. I just heard Ranjeet was going.’
‘Ok. Keep me posted.’
‘Will do. Listen, Matilda,’ Sian began, moving her keyboard and looking at the folder. ‘I’ve received …’
‘What? What have you received?’ Matilda asked when Sian fell silent.
‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter. It can wait.’
***
Matilda hung up. She’d gone to her car to make the private call. When she looked up out of the windscreen, she saw DC Finn Cotton standing by her car, patiently waiting.
‘Is everything all right?’ she asked as she stepped out of the Range Rover. He looked ill.
‘I’ve never attended a post-mortem before,’ he said, barely opening his mouth.
‘I thought you were at the one with DI Brady the other day, the prostitute found in Stanley Street.’
His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. ‘No. DI Brady sent me back to Stanley Street to knock on a few doors.’
‘You mean you were sick?’
He swallowed hard. ‘I’m afraid so.’
‘Ah. Well, I’m sorry to say this, but this one isn’t going to be an easy one to watch. I mean, none of them are, but when they’re on children, well …’ She looked at him. He was petrified. She cast her eyes up and down his slight frame. ‘Fortunately, you don’t look too heavy. I should be able to carry you back to the car no problem. Come on, follow me.’
The unnatural light of the autopsy room was stark, intrusive and headache inducing. There were no windows to let in light from outside and the sound of air conditioning and extractor fans was a constant hum of annoyance. The ceiling was low, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. It was cold. It was quiet. It was grim. Death stalked the hallways and lurked behind every corner. The bank of refrigerators either side of the long corridor added to the macabre mood.
‘I don’t think I can do this,’ Finn said quietly to his boss.
‘You don’t have a choice, I’m afraid. This is part and parcel of the job. You’ll have to attend a great deal of these in your career; you may as well start with a bad one.’
Matilda showed Finn where to go in order to suit up. Matilda was an old hand at this and, to her, the oversized green scrubs, the gloves, face mask and wellington boots slipped on with ease. Finn kept everyone waiting.
Finn’s role was as exhibit officer. His relief at not being in the main autopsy room was palpable. He was in the anteroom where he would record any evidence that was found on the body.
In the main room, a single table was welded to the floor. In the middle, Keeley Armitage’s small body was covered by a white sheet. At the back of the room, a workbench contained all the tools Adele would need to perform the post-mortem.
The sheet was removed, revealing Keeley’s naked body. She looked younger than nine years old. She was pale. Her skin was smooth and soft. She didn’t look real.
The photographer stepped forward and began taking pictures of the child from every angle while Matilda, Adele, and the pathological technician, Lucy Dauman, stood to one side.
‘When you’re presented with a child, you really begin to question why you decided to do this job,’ Lucy said to no one in particular. ‘I mean, any murder victim is upsetting, but a child. She’s nine years old for crying out loud. What could she have possibly done to someone to make them kill her?’ Her voice broke and she wiped away a tear with the back of her hand.
‘You can’t think like that, Lucy,’ Adele said. ‘It’s incredibly sad what’s happened to her, but we’re helping to find out who did it so they can face justice. We’ve been here so many times before. We know to keep our emotions in the locker. This is just any other post-mortem.’
‘It’s not, though, is it?’
‘I’m sorry, Lucy, but it is. It may sound harsh and insensitive, but if you keep thinking of the person they used to be, it will eat away at you.’
Within seconds of Adele inserting the scalpel to begin making the traditional Y-shape from behind each ear to meet at the breastbone, a thud was heard from the anteroom. Finn had fainted. A technician helped him out of the room, and another stepped in as exhibit officer and the post-mortem continued.
Matilda didn’t usually struggle with post-mortems, but she couldn’t get what Lucy had said out of her mind. It was difficult to leave emotions at the door and see the victim as an object. She wouldn’t be doing her job justice if she didn’t have sympathy for the person who had been killed. Only a cold-blooded psychopath could approach the autopsy of a nine-year-old with icy disdain. She watched Adele out of the corner of her eye, searching for any signs of humanity. She didn’t see it in her face, which was partially covered, but she saw it in her shaking hands as the scalpel cut into the flesh. As she recorded her findings into the microphone hanging from the ceiling, her voice was distinctly higher than usual, and she had to keep swallowing to compose herself.
Despite the digital autopsy showing no bones were broken during the strangulation, Adele needed to be certain. There had to be a complete dissection of the neck which included the full removal of the larynx including the hyoid bone, with the tongue still attached. They were individually examined for signs of contusion and haemorrhage.
Matilda stood well back from the table to allow Adele, Lucy, and the other technicians space to move freely around.
‘I shall now begin examining the body for evidence of sexual assault,’ Adele said into the microphone.
Keeley’s legs were spread open wider and Adele stepped back to allow the photographer to visually record any evidence. There was a remote chance there could be semen present which would help Matilda in tracking down the perpetrator. How long ago Keeley was assaulted would determine how old the sample was and whether it was any use to test. This part of the post-mortem would be more intricate and precise.
In order to check a victim for evidence of sexual assault, dissection of the pelvis involved removing all of the pelvis organ en bloc. The pubic bones were sawed a few centimetres on each side and the perineum deeply dissected to remove the vagina, rectum, anus, uterus, tubes and ovaries for a more detailed dissection. Adele was looking for any signs of haemorrhage or contusions. She found them. She looked up at Matilda and their eyes met. It was the first time Matilda had ever seen Adele cry during a post-mortem.
***
‘I’m so sorry,’ Finn said as he sat in Adele’s office with a mug of water in his hands.
‘Don’t worry about it. You’re not the first person to faint at a post-mortem and you certainly won’t be the last.’
‘Does it get any easier?’
Matilda thought for a moment. ‘No. It doesn’t. You need to become hardened, though. Find a way that works for you to be able to get through these, because you’ll be attending a lot more in your career.’ She looked up and saw Adele approach. Her face was grim. ‘You head back to the station. I’ll be along later.’
He placed his mug carefully on the table and walked out with his head down.
‘He’s a nice lad,’ Adele said.
‘Yes. Once he’s lined his stomach with steel, he’ll be fine. Go on then, give me the worst.’
‘I’m sorry to say that the digital autopsy was correct in its findings. Keeley was indeed sexually assaulted, on more than one occasion. However, she wasn’t assaulted on the night she was taken. These are old injuries that haven’t quite healed.’
‘Please tell me there were semen samples or a hair or something.’
‘I’m afraid not. I can tell you that Keeley wasn’t drugged.’
‘How do you know? I thought toxicology took weeks to come back.’
‘Haven’t I shown you my new toy? Follow me.’ Adele led Matilda out of her cramped office and into the main autopsy suite.
At the back of the room was a neatly arranged table with all the equipment required for a
post-mortem. Adele picked up a sealed foil packet and tore it open. She removed a small piece of plastic, no bigger than a credit card and showed it to Matilda.
‘It’s called Intelligent Fingerprinting. See this little pad here? This is the application pad. We press all ten fingers on the pad firmly for five seconds each. Give me your hand, I’ll do a practice on you.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. It doesn’t hurt.’
‘Isn’t it a waste of resources?’
‘I’ve opened the pack now. I may as well use it. Not nervous or anything, are you? You haven’t been sniffing coke or injecting yourself with heroin lately?’
Matilda proffered a sarcastic smile then held out her hand. Adele pressed her fingers firmly on the pad then closed a protective window over it when she’d finished.
‘Usually I’d record all your details on the back, but as this is just a demonstration, I won’t bother. This innocuous looking machine is actually very high-tech,’ she said, moving over to a small and unimpressive looking piece of kit. ‘It’s called the Reader 1000. I open the drawer, insert this wee cartridge, press a few buttons and within ten minutes I’ll know whether you’re a coke head or not.’
‘That’s all it takes, ten minutes?’
‘Yes. It will tell me if you have any drugs in your system. If so, we’ll do a full toxicology and that’ll take the usual couple of weeks to come back. However, if this little puppy says there are no drugs present, there’s no need to do a tox screening and waste all that time waiting.’
‘So, you did this on Keeley and found no drugs.’
‘That’s right. I’ll include the printout in my report.’
‘That’s amazing.’ Matilda smiled, suitably impressed.
‘I know. There aren’t many of these in the country; we’re one of the lucky ones.’
The reader signalled the results were ready. Adele looked at the screen. ‘Your secrets are revealed. According to this you spend your evenings smacked off your tits on nose candy, drinking Baltic tea and singing the hits of The Manhattan Transfer.’
‘Your machine isn’t all it’s cracked up to be as it was Jefferson Airplane last night,’ Matilda smiled.
Adele ejected the cartridge and handed it to Matilda. ‘You may keep this or destroy it. Your choice.’
‘Thank you. My own personal drug test.’ She placed it in her pocket. ‘Listen, going back to the sexual assault thing, can you tell how long ago these injuries were inflicted? Are we talking years or what?’
‘Not years, no. There’s bruising and bleeding. The hymen has been torn and there are abrasions on the vulva. They’re not old, but they’re not new either.’
‘You’re not helping.’
‘I’m sorry. If there was a date stamped on the hymen, I would have told you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry. It’s just … I don’t want to ask the questions I need answers to.’ Matilda took a sip of her coffee and pulled a face at the cold liquid. ‘Sexual abuse of a child is usually from someone she knows and trusts: an older sibling, uncle, father, grandfather, favourite teacher, neighbour. I have three suspects: a child rapist who is no longer in prison and seems to have disappeared, his brother who was Keeley’s teacher, or her father.’
Chapter 34
‘DC Deshwal?’
Ranjeet looked up from the dated glossy magazine he was bored of reading. A small, well-turned-out woman in a dark grey suit stood in front of him with her right hand out.
‘I’m so sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve only just been told you were here.’
Ranjeet had been waiting for almost half an hour. ‘That’s fine,’ he smiled.
‘I’m Poonam Asan. I’m Calvin Page’s parole officer. Would you like to follow me?’
Ranjeet followed the tiny woman as she clacked down the corridor to her office. She kept looking back over her shoulder and smiling at the DC. She opened the door to her office that was no bigger than a cubbyhole.
‘I’m sorry about the mess,’ she apologised again and pointed to Ranjeet to take a seat in front of her desk which was laden with cardboard files and an old, chunky laptop in the middle. Poonam sat in her seat with a deep sigh. ‘So, how can I help you?’
‘What can you tell me about Calvin Page?’
She rifled through a pile of files on the edge of her desk before pulling one out. ‘You’d think these would all be on computer, wouldn’t you? Calvin Page was released on January 14th this year after serving six years of a thirteen year sentence.’
‘He was only sentenced to thirteen years after raping three girls?’
‘The case involving the third girl was thrown out of court at the trial due to a lack of evidence.’
‘Even so …’
‘I know,’ Poonam interrupted, holding up her hand. ‘I just deal with the aftercare. I’ve nothing to do with sentencing.’
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to imply …’ he waffled. ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘Blimey, let me see,’ she pushed the file to one side and turned on her laptop. ‘The office may not be paperless, but I try to be as much as possible. My whole diary and schedule is on here. It’s a bit slow, sorry.’
‘Did you speak to Calvin about his crimes? How was he?’ he asked while waiting for the computer to come to life.
‘One of the reasons for his early release was because he showed remorse for his crimes. While in prison he went through several courses of therapy and treatments. He was a model prisoner.’
‘What was the motive for his crimes?’
‘Wouldn’t you know that?’ she asked with a hint of a smile.
‘I know what it says in the files. I wondered what he said after six years in prison.’
‘Calvin has an attraction to young girls,’ Poonam said, leaning forward on the desk and folding her arms. ‘Actually, I should probably say that in the past tense. He knows what he did was wrong. He knows how he felt is wrong and he has been treated accordingly.’
‘So, what are you saying, he’s suddenly cured?’
‘Not suddenly, no. His treatment is ongoing. He has regular therapy sessions and takes medication to contain his feelings and emotions. He is also on the sex offenders register for life and is banned from ever working with children. Ah, here we are,’ she said, looking at the laptop. ‘Now, the last time I saw him was Thursday 12th of April.’
‘Really? Why so long ago?’
‘Well, I had to cancel our next appointment as I was on my honeymoon. The appointment after that was the 12th of June but Calvin cancelled because he was ill.’
‘How did he let you know he was ill?’
‘He sent an email.’
‘You didn’t speak to him?’
‘No.’
‘So, how did you know he was ill?’
‘Erm … well, I didn’t,’ she said.
Ranjeet rolled his eyes. ‘And the appointment after that?’
‘I couldn’t fit him in until late July.’
‘And you didn’t see him then either?’
‘No. He emailed asking for permission to attend a wedding in Brighton.’
‘Jesus!’ Ranjeet uttered.
‘Look, do you have any idea how busy I am? I’m doing the work of three people. The parole office is seriously understaffed and underfunded.’
‘Shouldn’t you have alerted police to Calvin as a no-show?’
‘No. As far as I was concerned, he wasn’t a no-show.’
‘You haven’t seen him since April. It’s now September. What address do you have for him?’
She looked down at her laptop. ‘I have an address in Malton Street in Pitsmoor,’ she said, sheepishly.
‘Really? We have a house in Hillsborough. Malton Street is where his brother, Sebastian, lives.’
‘Yes. He said he couldn’t settle in Hillsborough. He didn’t like living on his own so he was moving in with his brother.’
‘But we have that property under surveillance. He hasn’t been s
een anywhere near that. Do you have any further contact details for him?’
‘I have a mobile number and an email address,’ she said, not making eye contact with Ranjeet.
‘May I have those?’
‘The thing is … when you called asking to see me, I phoned Calvin and sent him an email.’
‘Go on,’ he prompted.
‘The phone kept ringing out. It didn’t even go to voicemail.’
‘And the email?’
‘Bounced right back.’
‘Shit.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and rested her head in her hands.
‘So, you have no idea where he is and no way of contacting him?’
‘No.’
‘He’s a convicted paedophile and you’ve left him go off-grid since April.’
‘I haven’t purposely—’
Ranjeet stood up and left the room, slamming the door closed behind him. He’d liked Poonam on sight; she was a very attractive woman and was wearing a sweet smelling perfume. He sympathised with her for being overworked but she should have alerted police to Calvin being unreachable. He would not like to be in her shoes when Matilda found out.
***
Sian, Rory, and Scott were having a break in the HMET suite. Scott made the them all coffees while Rory rifled Sian’s snack drawer for chocolate. Sian was finishing a phone call.
‘The Armitage family are known to social services, but that’s only because of Riley and any help they may need for him,’ she said, hanging up.
‘Are we really suggesting Craig raped and killed his own daughter?’ Scott said, sniffing the milk before pouring it into the mugs. ‘He works two jobs; seven days a week. He raises all that money for charity. He’s had the house modified to accommodate Riley. He’s like the perfect father.’
‘There’s no such thing,’ Sian said.
‘What about your Stuart?’ Rory asked.
‘Where do I start? He dropped Belinda twice before she was even one year old. He left Anthony at the park and came home with a different child. He laughed when we were called in to school by the head when Danny set off a fire extinguisher in the middle of an assembly. I could go on.’