by Helen Phifer
‘Can you stand here and make sure no one goes inside until we get another CSI here to process it? Please.’
He nodded.
‘Thank you, I appreciate it.’
She followed Ben, leaving the possible scene in safe hands. A cold feeling settled over her: this was a whole new level of scary. They needed to find this killer, and fast, because something told her he wasn’t going to stop after this. If he thought he’d got away with this killing, what was to stop him from striking again? Just how safe were the residents of Rydal Falls if there were some crazed killer stalking people before breaking into their homes?
A white Mercedes GLS turned into the street. Its tinted windows and private registration, Dec 40, made quite an impression on Morgan. She kept telling herself one day she’d drive a car like that. She watched, wondering who was getting out. If it was the DCI then she was definitely sticking it out in CID until she made her way up the ranks. A tall, sandy-haired man got out and waved at her. Realising it was Declan, the pathologist, she grinned and waved back. He was really cute and down to earth for someone who spent most of his days with the dead. Not to mention he drove a very nice car.
Declan busied himself getting suited up while Morgan walked up to the cordon to sign him in. He had a heavy metal case in one double-gloved hand. Morgan held the tape up for him to duck under.
‘Good morning, Doctor.’ She realised she didn’t know his surname. Ben referred to him as Dr Death. She couldn’t call him that. She didn’t know if he was aware of it and didn’t want to upset him.
‘Good morning, Morgan, what a fine one it is. Well it was fine, until your control room called me out here. I was supposed to be taking a few days’ leave. Do you want to talk me through it?’
They carried on walking towards the house, and she realised that she liked him even more. He didn’t act like she was still green under the collar. He was treating her as if she was a seasoned detective.
‘I think I’ll let my boss do that. I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. Not this early in the day.’
Declan smiled. ‘Wise answer, but I think you’re more than capable of explaining a crime scene to me and don’t let anyone tell you different. Some of these coppers are a bit old school, like to go by the book and all that. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I get it, I really do. But I like to listen to the people who know what they’re talking about. I see from your current style of dress you’ve been in to the scene, which more than qualifies you to talk to me about it.’ He lowered his voice as he turned and stared in the direction of the DCI, who was signing himself into the scene. ‘Now take Tom, lovely guy. Knows his stuff, but watch: he’ll come and try to tell me what’s going on. Only I’m not going to be interested in what he has to say at the moment, and do you know why?’
She whispered. ‘Because he’s only just arrived and hasn’t seen the body.’
Declan reached out and clapped her on the back. ‘Exactly that, your insight is invaluable. So, Morgan, can you please talk me through it?’
She glanced back at Tom who was in the process of walking towards them. Declan carried on walking towards the garden gate.
‘Don’t worry, he’s not coming in here. He’s not got a shred of protective clothing on. Any moment now he’s going to be intercepted by Ben. And there he goes; he’s like a dancer with those moves.’
They both watched as Ben realised where Tom was heading and began striding towards him to stop him.
‘How did you know?’
‘I’ve been doing this far too long. So, Morgan, lead the way and tell me what’s happened.’
She began to relay exactly what had happened since her arrival. They made their way upstairs to the room where Gabrielle’s body was and where Wendy had just finished photographing the scene. She stuck her thumb up at Declan.
‘Excellent timing, you can come in.’
Morgan didn’t; she stood at the threshold to the room watching as Declan stepped inside and paused at the foot of the bed taking in the scene. He placed the case on the floor next to him and walked around to the side of the bed where Gabrielle’s face was turned. He let out a loud tut; his head shook from side to side.
‘I’m sorry we have to meet under these terrible circumstances. I’m going to have to take some samples, Gabrielle. It’s not very nice, but I’m sure you won’t mind because we need to find whoever has done this to you.’
Declan spoke quietly to the woman on the bed, the soft lilt of his barely there Irish accent giving his voice an almost poetic quality. Morgan felt her eyes begin to tear up. Declan opened his case and began to remove everything he needed. She watched as he took the victim’s temperature and the ambient temperature of the room. He worked swiftly and methodically, first taking tapings for trace evidence from her skin, then combings of her hair, facial hair and pubic hair. Footsteps came up the stairs and Morgan turned around to see Ben. He stood behind her, watching Declan work. Declan had a pair of tweezers and was plucking hairs from the same areas and slipping them into evidence bags, writing on each one before moving on to the next. He took swabs from her mouth, teeth, genitals and the deep wound around her neck caused by the rope. Finally, he took scrapings from underneath her fingernails, which were short and painted white. When all these were safely stowed in his case to be sent off for analysis, he began to do a cursory examination of the body. Rolling her gently a little to look underneath her, Morgan let out a gasp at the angry red-blue bruising all over her back.
Ben asked him. ‘What can you tell us, Doc? How long has she been dead?’
‘Well, she died in bed. I know it looks obvious, but the hypostasis on her back confirms it.’ He turned to look at Morgan and she shrugged.
‘What is that?’ She didn’t know what that meant and wasn’t afraid to ask him; she’d prefer he explained it than not have a clue what he was talking about.
‘Hypostasis or more commonly called lividity is what makes her back look as if it’s badly bruised. It’s not; it’s where the blood pools once the heart has stopped beating. Can you see the areas of white on her shoulders and buttocks? That’s because she’s been pressed against the mattress. In those areas the blood vessels have been squashed flat and couldn’t fill with blood. If she had died elsewhere and her body moved, it would be in a different area. As for time of death, rigor has passed: putrefaction begins three to four days after death. That green discolouration on her abdomen is where it usually appears first, just next to the appendix.’
Morgan was still intrigued. ‘Why?’
‘Our gut is full of bacteria and it’s usually contained quite nicely inside of it, whilst we’re breathing that is. Once we die the little critters make a break for it, using the blood vessels as a kind of internal tube train system to run riot around the body. This is when the body is slowly turning to liquid and gas, which is what causes this delightful smell.’
A bluebottle flew in through the open bedroom door and tried to settle on Gabrielle’s face. Declan shooed it away. ‘This room must have been pretty airtight. I’m surprised there’s no insect infestation already, considering she’s been dead a minimum of three to four days. This little beggar must have smelt her. We need to shut the door until she’s moved; otherwise, she’s going to be crawling with them in no time.’
Morgan shuddered at the thought.
Ben shouted down the stairs to the officer outside. ‘Shut the front door.’ There was a loud slam as the front door was closed.
Declan continued. ‘Cause of death looks like strangulation; there’s a clearly defined deep, sharp groove around her neck caused by a ligature. Have you got that?’
‘No, it wasn’t there.’
‘Well judging by the markings, I’d say you’re looking for a piece of rope similar to the ones binding her hands and feet.’ He gently lifted one of her eyelids open. ‘Yep, that’s confirmed. Can you see the tiny pinpoints of blood on the inner lining of the eyelids? Those are petechial haemorrhages, caused by strangulati
on.’
Ben stepped closer to take a look; Morgan didn’t.
‘I’m not sure why your man took the rope away from the neck yet left the ones tying her to the bed, but I imagine you have your ideas. I’m happy for the body to be moved to the mortuary if you are. It’s going to need a bit of extra care. I don’t think the skin is ready to explode yet, but it could when you try to move her. Much better to be safe and take precautions. I’d prefer her to arrive at the mortuary as intact as possible.’
Morgan grimaced. How did he do this day in, day out and with such a lovely manner? He must be a saint.
FIVE
Morgan and Ben supervised as the undertakers arrived to remove Gabrielle’s body to the mortuary. She was wrapped in a cotton sheet and then placed into a black body bag, which was sealed with a yellow tag. Much to Morgan’s relief, Gabrielle hadn’t exploded or lost any of her skin. She hadn’t been able to say whether she’d pass out or not if that had happened. The two men from the undertakers had been so gentle with Gabrielle that she found it touching watching them work. Both of them were middle-aged, possibly had daughters the same age. What a difficult job to do, she thought, they must see some tragic sights. Working with the dead every day, you would think they’d be hardened to it. Yet there they were, talking in hushed tones and telling Gabrielle what was happening and where they were taking her whilst blinking back tears. She wondered where her parents were; no doubt they would need to speak to them as soon as they could. She couldn’t imagine coming back off a nice relaxing holiday abroad to discover your daughter had been murdered in her own bedroom. It didn’t bear thinking about. Who would do such a thing? It was evil, cold and in her opinion very calculating. The killer had taken his time and planned this so he was undisturbed. Now it was up to them to follow up on every lead and clue as to why they had chosen Gabrielle as their victim.
They went outside and, along with the officers and PCSOs still at the scene, bowed their heads as the undertakers wheeled the trolley holding the body bag to the waiting private ambulance. Gabrielle Stevens looked tiny inside the black bag. Morgan wondered if it was claustrophobic being wrapped in a sheet then zipped into a heavy-duty bag; even if you were dead, would you know what was happening?
‘Give you a penny for your thoughts?’
She turned to Ben and shook her head. ‘You don’t want to know what I was thinking.’
He smiled. ‘No, but I bet it’s pretty similar to what’s going on in my head. Come on, we need to remove these sauna suits, tidy ourselves up and go speak to her parents.’
‘I was afraid you were going to say that. I don’t know if I can. I feel so sad and angry at the same time.’
‘Good, so you should. I’d be worried if you weren’t fazed by it.’
She hoped he didn’t think she was being soft, but she couldn’t help it. This was how she felt; if in ten years’ time she was still doing this job, she knew she would still feel this way about tragic, senseless losses of life. If she didn’t, then it would be time to call it a day.
They walked to Ben’s car. Wendy passed them brown paper evidence sacks for the protective clothing they were wearing. At the boot of the car they undressed. Morgan’s shirt was clinging to her back and her hair was stuck to her head. The quick make-up job she’d done before leaving the house hours ago was non-existent: only red marks across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose were visible where the mask she’d been wearing had dug into her skin. Ben didn’t look much better: there were dark circles under his armpit. Luckily, his head was shaved so he didn’t need to worry about his hair.
‘I feel like a sweaty, yucky mess. I can’t go and speak to Gabrielle’s parents looking and smelling like this.’
‘Yes, you can. There’re some tissues in the back of the car, blot yourself down. They aren’t going to care what you look like. All they care about is what we can tell them and do for them.’ He leant across and sniffed her. She pushed him away in horror.
‘Besides, you don’t smell. Well maybe there’s a hint of decomposition lingering in your hair. But her parents have seen the worst thing they could possibly see; they can probably still smell it as well. That image is never going to be pushed from their memories.’
Morgan nodded. ‘Where are they?’
He pointed to a house at the opposite end of the street. ‘A family friend.’
He began to walk towards the house and she had no choice but to follow.
As they got nearer to the front door, where a PCSO was standing by the gate, Morgan felt her pulse begin to race. She didn’t want to face them but she knew she’d have to. She owed it to them and to Gabrielle to do her best, and she knew she would.
Ben knocked and walked inside, until a voice shouted: ‘In the kitchen.’
They walked towards the room where the voice had come from. Sitting inside it were a couple whose faces were so ashen they looked grey, in stark contrast to their tanned arms. The woman who had called them in was standing at the kitchen counter dropping tea bags into a teapot. She spoke first.
‘I’m Sue; this is Charlotte and Harry, Gabby’s mum and dad.’ She stopped speaking, her hand flying to her mouth and she turned away from them. The couple looked to be in shock; both of them had a look of disbelief etched across their faces. Their eyes were wide open and they both stared at Morgan, who realised she was probably a very similar age to their daughter. It was Ben who broke the silence as he pointed to a chair.
‘Do you mind if we sit down?’
They shook their heads. Morgan slipped onto the chair and tried to smile at them without it being too much. Sue placed the teapot on the table and some mugs; there was already a jug of milk and a sugar bowl. Along with a plate of untouched chocolate digestives.
No one spoke until Sue said: ‘Tea is really good for shock. I’ll be mother.’
She poured out four mugs of tea, passing them around. Gabby’s mum shook her head. They waited until she’d finished and Ben began to speak.
‘I’m so sorry for your loss. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must be feeling. Do you need a doctor, someone to come and check you’re okay, maybe give you something to help you settle?’
They didn’t say a word, but Harry shook his head.
‘We need to ask some questions, find out a bit about Gabrielle’s background so we can start speaking to her friends and find out what her last movements were.’
‘Gabby, not Gabrielle. She didn’t like being called by her full name,’ Charlotte whispered. ‘She turned twenty-three last week; how old are you?’
Charlotte was staring at Morgan.
‘I’m twenty-three.’
‘Did you know Gabby?’
She shook her head. ‘No. I’m sorry.’
Harry reached out for his wife’s hand and gently clasped it in his.
She continued to speak. ‘I thought maybe you would have gone to the same school or college. Gabby couldn’t decide what she wanted to be when she was growing up. First it was a police officer, then a nurse; she ended up working in The Golden Ball. I hated her working there; she should never have gone there.’
Ben nudged Morgan. She realised that Charlotte had struck up a conversation with her and not him and he was happy for Morgan to take the lead. She felt as if there was a tennis ball lodged in the back of her throat, it was so hard to speak.
‘Did Gabby have trouble whilst she worked there? Why didn’t you like it?’
‘Do you know that pub? You must do. I bet the police get called there all the time. It’s rough, full of kids who drink far too much for their age and with no ambition to get a real job. Not to mention the alcoholics and drug dealers. That’s what happens when you’re open all day and sell cheap beer.’
Harry shook his head. ‘You can’t say that. Gabby liked working there. You don’t know those people.’
‘I can and I will, you know it too. She spent far too much time hanging around with the losers in there. It would be a good place to start asking questions. Wh
o would do this to my beautiful girl? She didn’t deserve this; we don’t deserve this.’ Her voice began to quiver as the tears began to roll down her cheeks.
Harry nodded. ‘Did they, was she? Oh God.’ He buried his head into his hands and began to sob.
Ben gave him some time before he reached out his hands and took hold of both of theirs.
‘We don’t know. We won’t know anything until the post-mortem. I’m sorry I can’t tell you much at the moment because I don’t know myself, but I can tell you that my team will not stop until we find out who did this to Gabby. We will find them and bring them to justice.’
Charlotte never took her gaze off Morgan. ‘I want you to find him and when you do make sure he has to look you in the eyes because of what he’s done. As soon as you find this monster, I want to know who he is. I don’t want you to keep anything from me. Do you promise? You come straight here and tell me his name.’
Morgan felt as if it was hard to catch her breath. The room was spinning and it was far too hot in this small kitchen. The smell of the tea in the mug in front of her was making her feel queasy and she wanted to run out of this house, out into the front street and get away from here as fast as she could. Instead, she gulped, nodded and answered.
‘Charlotte, I will do everything I possibly can. When we find him, I’ll be the one to arrest him and read him his rights before we lock him up and throw away the key.’
‘Good.’
Morgan couldn’t look at Ben. She didn’t know if she’d just overstepped her mark but she knew that she was speaking the truth. She would hunt down whoever did this, slap handcuffs on him and enjoy every single minute of it.
‘Can you give us a list of Gabby’s closest friends? We need to speak to them. Do you know the passwords for her phone, laptop, and iPad? It would be a big help,’ Morgan asked.
Sue got a pen and notepad out of a drawer and placed them on the table in front of Harry, who pushed them towards Charlotte. He looked at Ben.
‘I don’t really know. I didn’t take much notice. Charlotte knew Gabby’s friends, her personal stuff. You write them down, love.’