by Mark Romain
Big green signs appeared giving advance route information for the major junction ahead: Commercial Street and Aldgate were off to the left, the City lay straight ahead; Old Street, Holborn and Islington could be reached by turning right.
Dillon glanced back over his shoulder. “We’re almost there now, Jack,” he shouted.
On Tyler’s instructions, the flashing lights and siren were turned off.
Following the map, Dillon directed Bull to turn left into Commercial Street. A few seconds later he ordered another left turn, this time into Quaker Street. And there, up ahead, were all the parked emergency vehicles and a foreboding looking police cordon.
“We’re here,” Bull said.
“Don’t expect a tip,” Jack replied, massaging the back of his neck.
◆◆◆
The Omega pulled up next to the line of blue tape, which marked the perimeter of the police cordon, about ten yards from the site entrance. Tyler noticed several reporters lingering nearby, like vultures awaiting their next meal.
“Stay with the car, Steve,” he instructed.
As he and Dillon got out of the car, a flustered looking young constable rushed over to them from behind the police line.
“I’m sorry, sir, you’ll have to move your car. You can’t stop here. We’re trying to deal with an incident.” Terry Grier was beginning to lose patience with all the reporters and other busybodies that had been arriving since this incident began. He was reaching the stage where it was fast becoming an effort to remain polite. He figured that these two were probably more media types, although the slightly shorter one looked more like a minder than a reporter. Whoever they were, they weren’t staying there.
“It’s alright son,” Dillon said, producing his warrant card. “Murder squad. I’m DI Dillon. This is DCI Tyler. Who’s in charge here?” The two detectives ducked under the outer cordon and continued towards the site entrance without waiting for a reply.
Grier, who was completely caught out by the unexpected move, had to rush to get back in front of them. He gave them a flustered account of the situation as they walked. “Sir, your Chief Superintendent is already here. He’s just inside the entrance with Inspector Speed, the Incident Manager. The FME’s been and gone, and the forensic people are well into their act. I think they were just waiting for you to arrive before removing the body.”
He received a curt nod from Tyler in reply. Grier felt awkward and inadequate next to these men. Their quiet confidence, and the unspoken air of authority that they radiated was intimidating.
As they strode through the site entrance Tyler spotted Holland some way off to his left, already kitted out in a white paper suit. He was standing next to a uniformed Inspector who also wore a white paper suit, although he had slipped out of the upper half and wore it with the arms tied around his waist. What the effect lacked in style it made up for in terms of comfort and practicality. Both were drinking coffee. Holland waved to them and indicated that they should stay where they were.
It was highly likely that the perpetrator had gone directly from the gates to the body deposition site. As a precaution, the ground between the two points had been designated as the common approach route, and it would be kept sterile until it had been forensically examined. Hopefully, if the first responders hadn’t already trampled it into oblivion, this would prevent any physical or forensic evidence that the killer had inadvertently left there from being obliterated or contaminated.
A strict log was being maintained of all persons entering the crime scene, their reason for doing so and the duration of their stay. Special entries would be made in a separate column for any person crossing the red tape into the inner cordon where the victim remained in situ.
Anyone entering the inner cordon, which was where Tyler and Dillon needed to go, would be required to wear white evidence gatherers suits like the ones currently worn by Holland and the lab team.
A few minutes later, Holland joined them. He shook Tyler’s hand warmly. “Morning Jack, Dillon. Sorry to spoil your day off, but I think you’ll both agree it was necessary,” he said sombrely, nodding over towards the dead girl.
“It’s okay, sir, we understand,” Jack replied.
Tyler both liked and respected George Holland. He knew that the man was as smart as they came, and was famous for having a ‘can do’ attitude, even in the face of great adversity. Holland got the job done, whatever it took. Most of all, he was intensely protective of those who worked for him. Holland motioned for the uniformed officer to join them. The man quickly slipped his arms back into his suit and negotiated the common approach route.
“This is Inspector Speed, one of the first officers to arrive on scene. He’s also the Incident Manager, and he’s done everything that could be done to preserve the scene. Without a doubt, he is the best person to fill you two in on what has happened, thus far.” Holland nodded to Speed.
“Thank you, sir,” Ray acknowledged the senior man. He nodded to a SOCO standing near the outer cordon perimeter. The woman immediately came over with a bundle of paper suits, thin paper masks to cover mouth and nose, and plastic shoe covers. Without a word, she handed them to the two new arrivals. Tyler and Dillon began to slip them over their street clothes.
“Thank you,” Holland said, dismissing her with a grateful nod.
“So, what can you tell us then?” Jack asked, zipping up his paper suit.
In clear, concise terms Ray Speed ran the two murder squad officers through the known chain of events. He gave a detailed account, omitting nothing of importance. His summary of events included the watchman’s evidence, the doctor’s findings, and his own observations.
Tyler was impressed. The two detectives had questions, lots of them, as Speed led them to the body.
“Who else has been near the body, and did they wear paper suits and overshoes?” Jack asked.
“Only me, Nick Bartholomew, DC Kevin Murray and the FME have been inside the yard. Nick and I did walk through the common approach route, but we didn’t know what we had at that point and we were acutely conscious that there might be someone in need of urgent medical care. Only the doctor and I have come into physical contact with the body. I’m sorry; none of us were suited and booted. The paper suits and overshoes only arrived with the CSM There were none available at the nick.”
Jack grimaced. He would have been happier if everyone who had entered the yard had worn the white coveralls and plastic overshoes, but it was done now and there was no point in crying over spilt milk.
“What about gloves?” Jack asked next, meaning white rubber gloves. Hopefully, no one had touched the body, or anything else within the scene, without first donning them.
“We all wore two pairs of latex gloves, sir,” Speed informed him. At least there had been a plentiful supply of those readily available.
Jack nodded, impressed. A lot of uniform supervisors he knew would have only told their troops to put one pair on, not realising that moisture produced by the hands has a tendency to seep through the thin rubber after only a few minutes.
“Is it likely that she was murdered elsewhere and then dumped here?” Dillon asked.
“I don’t think so. The blood patterns, and the sheer amount of it, make that unlikely in my opinion, but the forensic guys will have to confirm or disprove that in due course.” Speed was slightly uncomfortable answering these rapid-fire questions. He felt like he was being put on the spot. Now he appreciated why Mack had been so reluctant to commit to a time of death earlier on.
Some arc lighting had been rigged up near the body to illuminate the scene for the forensic team. They were waiting patiently to begin a detailed search of the area in which the dead girl lay. They had been ordered not to start until Tyler had been able to conduct his own examination of the girl. After that, her head and hands would be bagged and the corpse would be protectively wrapped to preserve evidence, and then she would be removed to the local mortuary. The body would then be tagged and put in cold storage to awai
t a special post-mortem the following morning.
As Jack looked down at the lifeless figure in front of him, he felt himself filling with anger. He absently wondered if his face reflected the shock that he felt inside. The injuries were utterly horrific. He studied her poor face. The skin looked waxy, almost translucent. The blue eyes had already lost their liquid and were flattening out. There was a look of pain and confusion on her once pretty features.
He wondered what she had felt, what she had thought, in her last moments. Had she known her killer? Had she been so drugged up and spaced out that she hadn’t been aware of anything?
Tyler tried hard to concentrate on the scene, to take in every detail to be dissected later. He could almost sense the killer’s presence here, like an unpleasant aura, a lingering residue from the earlier violence and mutilation.
Jack wished that he and Dillon could be left alone to absorb everything that the crime scene had to offer without interference or distraction. He needed to develop a feeling for what had happened here in the early hours of the morning, and that meant spending a few minutes alone with the corpse, just listening to what it had to tell him.
Knowing it couldn’t be, Jack forced himself to ignore everyone else and take a closer look at her. After a moment or two, his eyes found themselves drawn to the marks on her jaw. Although not particularly obvious at first glance, due to the mask of blood that caked a large portion of her lower face, there was definitely something of interest there.
“What do you make of those blotches on the side of her jawline, Dill?” he asked his partner, eager for a second opinion.
Dillon reluctantly moved nearer. He hated getting too close to dead bodies. It wasn’t so much the sight that bothered him. It was the smell. Death, he had learned a long time ago, had a particularly unpleasant smell all of its own. The whiff that drifted up from the poor girl’s exposed innards, as he leaned over her, reminded him of the smell from his local butcher’s shop.
The white mask he wore performed a dual purpose: first, it prevented the inhalation of airborne viruses. Dried blood containing Hepatitis or Tuberculosis could be reactivated if it came into contact with the wet mucous membranes in the nose. Second, it prevented him from accidentally leaving his DNA at the scene via a cough or sneeze. As useful as it was, though, the mask did nothing to lessen the reek of Tracey’s innards.
“I don’t know, Jack. Bruising, maybe?” he offered with a shrug.
“Yeah, that’s what I think.” He turned to face Inspector Speed. “Who’s the Crime Scene Manager?” There was a trace of urgency in Tyler’s voice as he asked the question.
“Um, CSM Calvin, sir,” Speed informed him, quickly plucking the name from memory.
“Sam Calvin? Excellent! Get him for me, would you.”
“Of course,” Speed replied, quickly looking around the site for his quarry.
“What are you up to?” Dillon asked after Speed had left them alone.
“You’ll see in a minute, but I wouldn’t get too excited. It might just turn out to be nothing.”
Sam Calvin materialised at their side a few moments later, a clipboard in one hand and an empty exhibits-bag in the other. His sombre expression betrayed his annoyance at being dragged away from a half-completed index of exhibits. His face relaxed as he recognised Tyler, and his expression changing to one of curiosity.
“Hello, Jack. What are you doing here? I thought you were with the anti-terrorist mob.”
Tyler smiled, raised his hands and gave a carefree shrug as if to say: ‘Nobody ever tells me anything, either’.
“I got myself promoted to DI a few years back. The Commander thought it would be good for my career to have a change. He was right, of course. Being a DI on the Branch wouldn’t be anywhere near as much fun as being a DS was. More admin and less action, you see. So, I moved over to AMIP and I’ve been there ever since.”
“I see,” Calvin frowned. “So, what can I do for you? I’m a little tied up right now.” He raised the clipboard and empty bag to illustrate his point.
“I’m sure you are, Sam. Tell me, have you examined the body yet?”
“I’ve had a brief look, why?” Calvin answered, a frown creasing his large forehead.
“Have you seen the bruises on her lower jawline?” Tyler asked.
“Yes, I did. I’ve got a pathologist on standby, but I didn’t want to let my chaps disturb anything until you guys have had a proper look. What’re you thinking Jack – I mean, sir?” he said, correcting himself to accommodate Tyler’s higher rank.
“Jack will do fine, Sam. Look, about those marks. He obviously grabbed her from behind to leave marks in that position, right?” he asked, pausing to check that the other man was following.
“That sounds about right. Go on,” Calvin encouraged.
“Well, the point is that he touched her. If he wasn’t wearing gloves then he’ll have left prints. Have you fingerprinted her skin yet, Sam?”
Calvin shook his head emphatically. He had a developed logical and very methodical routine which had taken years to perfect. He saw no reason to break with that tradition now.
“I know where you’re coming from Jack. They bang on about this on the SIO course but there’s no point in dusting her face.” Calvin’s tone was too dispassionate for Jack’s liking, as if the girl lying before them was merely a lab specimen on which they were about to conduct an academic test.
“We should at least try,” Jack said, forcefully.
“I’m not being awkward,” Calvin explained, “but even in optimum conditions prints on skin only usually last about an hour or so. She’s obviously been here a lot longer than that, you can tell from the livor mortis markings on the bottom of the body.”
Livor mortis, or hypostasis, usually sets in about five or six hours after death. When the heart stops beating gravity takes effect and the blood, about eight pints of it, gradually settles in the lowest areas of the body, causing a distinctive dark reddening to appear there. However, if the body is moved soon after hypostasis has set in – up until about ten hours after death – the blood, which has not yet fully congealed, will relocate itself to the part of the body now nearest the ground. This results in a white blotching effect appearing amongst the lividity markings. When this telltale blotching is present it provides investigators with early evidence that the body has been moved since death and that there is at least one other crime scene that they should be searching for.
There were no such marks on this victim.
“Just humour me, okay,” Tyler said.
“Well, you’re the man running the show,” Calvin said grudgingly. He could tell from the look on Tyler’s face that there was no point in arguing. “I’ll need my kit. Back in a jiffy,” he said to no one in particular. Dillon watched his white-suited form as he marched back along the sterile path.
“Bit of a wet blanket, isn’t he?” he said, wondering why Tyler had been so pleased to hear that Calvin was working the scene. So far, he hadn’t said or done anything to impress Dillon.
Jack smiled. “Well, I wouldn’t go out socialising with him, but I’ll tell you this: there aren’t many who can recover physical or forensic evidence at a crime scene like Sam Calvin.”
“Really?” Dillon’s voice was thick with doubt.
When Calvin reappeared, he was carrying a large metal case. Holland had tagged on behind, intrigued by the sudden flurry of activity around the victim.
“Sir,” Tyler nodded respectfully.
Calvin knelt down and opened the case. He donned a pair of white fabric gloves, followed by two pairs of latex gloves before removing a brown envelope. It contained a stack of cards, similar in texture to standard photographic paper. He removed one and pressed it, glossy side down, against the side of the victim’s face. He held it in place for three seconds exactly, looking stoically from Tyler to Dillon while he counted out loud. Then he lightly dusted the five-inch by seven-inch card with aluminium powder, which he applied with a thick brush.
>
“Well?” Tyler asked eagerly.
“I’m sorry Jack, it’s not good news. Like I told you, it’s been too long.” He held up the card for them to see.
“I’ve got the shape of two fingers but none of the actual swirls or ridges that make up a print.” Calvin bagged the card and slipped it into a pocket inside the case.
“Well, thanks for trying, Sam. We’ll be out of your way soon. I’ll speak to you later when you know exactly what you’ve got,” Tyler said, making no attempt to conceal the disappointment in his voice.
“Sure thing,” Calvin replied, pulling off the latex gloves. “Let me know when you’re finished and I’ll send the pathologist over.” He shook their hands before retiring to his growing pile of evidence bags, all of which required indexing.
Tyler returned his attention to the victim, aware of Dillon beside him. Tell me your secrets, he implored her. Holland and Speed remained a step or two behind. No one spoke for a while.