With the information she'd gleaned from Oliver's parents, she had an inkling that he wouldn't have enjoyed camping. He'd gone to great pains to assure his mother after his excursion into the woods the previous weekend that it had not in fact been his idea of fun, and it had been a point she had laboured to Harriet when she'd spoken to her. But the person who had brought him here had done so because the place meant something to them. The person responsible for his untimely end was comfortable in the woods, that much Harriet was certain of.
"What do you think?" Drew asked, his voice a low whisper.
"Tell me why you're whispering?" Harriet asked, her gaze tracking over the trees that surrounded them.
Drew shrugged next to her. "I don't know, I suppose it feels like the right thing to do."
"But why?"
He sighed and raised his hand as though he was about to jam it back through his hair, but the sight of his glove brought him up short. "Maybe I'm acutely aware of the dead child below us," he said, his voice harsh with unspoken emotion. "Why do you want to know?"
"Because everyone is behaving the same way." She glanced over at Drew, and even though his mask covered most of his face, she could tell from the expression in his eyes that he was struggling. "Are you all right?"
He shrugged. "Are you?"
Harriet smiled behind the mask. "I suppose it's a stupid question to ask given the circumstances." When he didn't answer, she inclined her head in the direction of the scene. "Shall we see if we can get a closer look?"
Drew answered by moving ahead of her. They followed the path laid out by the SOCOs and Harriet was at least relieved to reach the bottom of the hollow without once slipping on the uneven surface.
"Seems like the pathologist beat us here after all," Drew said. Harriet didn't need him to point Dr Jackson out, especially as he was the one barking orders to the others under his authority.
"Have you been in to see him yet?" Drew directed his question to the pathologist who stood outside the white tent.
"Who said you lot could come down here?" Dr Jackson asked. Harriet didn't need to see his expression to know his hostility was nothing more than a facade. It probably inured him against the suffering he witnessed on a daily basis. It was likely nothing more than an affectation he'd developed years ago as a coping mechanism.
"The same person who said you were free to move the body." Drew folded his arms over his chest, causing the material of his suit to stretch precariously across his broad shoulders.
"Well, I don't want you to touch anything," Dr Jackson muttered. "Give you lot an inch and you'll take a bloody mile."
"When have I ever come into a scene and touched things?" Drew's voice rose with incredulity.
"Do you want to see him or not?" Dr Jackson's question instantly brought Drew up short.
"Fine."
Harriet observed the exchange from a distance, and as Drew made a move toward the tent, she told herself to follow. In spite of her brain's instructions, she found her legs refused to cooperate.
"Are you coming?" Drew's question carried across the hollow.
"I just need a moment," Harriet said. She took a deep breath as Drew shrugged and followed Dr Jackson into the tent. She'd been so careful to keep her distance from the case. It would be far too easy to become wrapped up in the intricate tragedy of it all. The death of a child was something most people would struggle with, and it made sense that she would fall prey to the same feelings as everyone else involved. But if she gave into it, then she would be more than useless to Drew and the team. She would be nothing more than a liability, and Drew deserved better than that.
"This is just like every other case." Her voice was little more than a whisper, the words sounding more and more like a murmured prayer rather than the pep-talk they were supposed to be. What waits for you in the tent, you need to separate yourself from it. The little boy that was is gone, but the person responsible is still out there. Get a grip, Harriet. It struck her as a little odd that the voice inside her head sounded suspiciously like that of Dr Connors; then again, he was certainly capable of compartmentalising himself from his patients. Protecting himself against the pain and suffering he was privy to. But it still didn't sit well with her that there were still things to be learned from a man like him.
Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over the plastic steps on the ground—laid out by the SOCOs to denote the safest route to the body. Her hands shook as she pulled the tent flap back. Her view of the scene was impeded by Drew, and she released the breath she'd been holding.
"From the discolouration I can see around the boy’s mouth, it seems possible suffocation was the cause of death..." Dr Jackson glanced up, his gaze snagging on Harriet's as she stepped around Drew's frame.
Her eyes travelled down to the small shape which lay on the dirt. Harriet recognised him from the pictures Mrs Poole had shared with her when she'd spent time with the woman. He lay on his side in a foetal position, his arms wrapped around a brown teddy-bear that was clutched to his chest. Despite the unnatural pallor of his skin, and the eerie stillness of his body if they had been anywhere else, Harriet might have found herself convinced that the boy was merely sleeping instead of the terrible truth of the matter.
"DI Haskell, are you quite all right?" Dr Jackson's question pulled Harriet from her own thoughts and she glanced up at the tall man next to her.
"Drew?" She touched his arm gently, and he started. When he looked down at her, Harriet could see that his eyes were just a little too wide, the pupils dilated beyond what might have been considered normal. Harriet had seen it before in others who were suffering from a state of shock.
"If you're going to get sick, can you do it somewhere else?" Dr Jackson said, managing to sound both irritated and bored at once, which to Harriet's mind at least was somewhat impressive.
"Drew, do you need a moment?" Her question appeared to reach him, and Drew straightened up as he blinked rapidly.
He clenched his gloved hands, forming fists that hung uselessly by his side. "I'm fine, Dr Quinn." The coldness of his voice didn't surprise her. People reacted in all manner of ways when they were struggling to process a situation.
"I haven't been sick at a crime scene since my first day in uniform," Drew said sharply, directing his ire at the pathologist who was still crouched next to Oliver Poole's body.
"Well, it's nice to know I can still be surprised," Dr Jackson said drily. He returned his attention to the boy's body. "From the bruising visible on his wrists, I'd say it's consistent with ligature marks. And there's a residue around his mouth, while I can't be certain I'd hazard that it's possible he was kept bound and gagged. I'll have it tested, but I'd imagine it's going to come back as consistent with something like duct-tape or the like."
"Is there any signs of..." Drew said hoarsely before he cut off and coughed.
"If you're asking if there are any signs of a sexual assault, then I'm afraid I can't answer that at this moment, DI Haskell. Until I get the body back for a post-mortem, we won't know anything for certain."
"Oliver," Drew said sharply.
"Excuse me?" Dr Jackson seemed only half interested as he continued to examine the body in situ.
"He's not a body," Drew said. "His name was Oliver Poole."
Dr Jackson straightened up, the crack of his knees oddly loud in the veritable silence of the crime scene. "I'm aware that you feel a connection to this boy, DI Haskell. I won't tell you how unhealthy that is, but please don't lecture me on my job. If I want pointers from you, then I'll ask. Until then, I'd ask you to keep your thoughts to yourself."
Drew opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Harriet touched his arm. The expression in his eyes was one of utter betrayal before he turned on his heel and strode from the tent, letting the plastic flap shut behind him.
"I'd half expected you to be the one blubbering all over this scene," Dr Jackson said, his attention once again riveted on the boy.
"Why?"
"
Well, you women get more involved in these things. It's simple biology."
Harriet smiled behind the mask she wore and chose to ignore the insult dressed up as a compliment. "Does the scene strike you as odd in any way?"
"In what way?" Jackson snapped to attention, and Harriet could practically see him bristling.
"It's all so careful."
"You mean the idea that our man is forensically aware?" Something in Dr Jackson's statement took her by surprise.
"You seem certain a man did this?"
Dr Jackson guffawed, the sound only barely muffled behind the white mask that concealed most of his face. "I think it's the only logical explanation."
"Why, because women are supposed to be more maternal, nurturing even? You don't think a woman, or another child would be capable of a crime like this? We only have to look at some of the most heinous crimes in recent memory to know that anyone is capable of murder, even children."
The expression in Dr Jackson's eyes was sympathetic. "Look at where we are, Dr Quinn. Do you really think anyone other than a man could have got the body in here? There are no drag marks. The nearest you can get a car to this spot is a mile and a half and I should know, I had to walk it."
She nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you're right."
"Of course I'm right. You don't need to be a psychologist to know that it's men who commit crimes like this. And when you add the physicality of the crime to it, then it's more than clear. A woman, or another child couldn't be responsible for the murder."
She couldn’t argue with him on that score. Even Drew had struggled to make it to the crime scene. If you added a body to the scenario, it became infinitely more difficult.
“I suppose you’re right,” Harriet said.
“You’ll find, I’m correct about most things. Now, can you tell your partner that I’ll call as soon as I have a report to share?”
Harriet knew a dismissal when she heard one. Nodding, she stepped out of the tent, the image of Oliver Poole clutching his teddy-bear imprinted on the inside of her eyelids like indelible ink. As she made her way from the hollow, Harriet knew it would be a long time—if ever—before she would be free of the horror of today.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Harriet emerged from the clearing and quickly stripped out of the Tyvek suit. "Have you seen DI Haskell?" She caught the attention of the PC who had signed them into the crime scene, but he shook his head and she found herself back at square one.
From the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar face among the small crowd which had gathered at the outer edge of the perimeter. Hurrying up the side of the embankment, Harriet caught up to the female officer as she prepared to leave. "You're DC Nicoll, right?" Harriet struggled to catch her breath, little clouds of cold air puffing out in front of her face and obscuring her vision. The cold air made her lungs burn, but she had no doubt that it was a blessing for the forensic team. However, traipsing around in the woods at any time of the year was definitely not her idea of fun.
The woman in front of her raised a quizzical brow in her direction. "And you are?" She had the familiar Yorkshire burr that meant she had grown up in the area.
"Dr Quinn," she said, holding her hand out. "Most people call me Harriet."
"I don't think Oliver Poole is going to need a doctor," DC Nicoll said gruffly. She wrapped her arms protectively around her thin frame, as though she expected a body blow.
"I'm not that kind of doctor," Harriet said. "I'm a forensic psychologist and I--"
"I've got nothing to say to you," DC Nicoll said brusquely, before she started to tramp back through the woods.
"Actually, I was hoping you could give me a lift back to the station," Harriet said, hurrying after the detective constable. "I came with DI Haskell."
"So you can go back with him then."
Harriet smiled and glanced down at the ground. "I think there was a little misunderstanding. I think he already left. And maybe this way we can have a little chat."
"I already told you, I don't have anything to say to you." DC Nicoll huffed out a breath and her shoulders dropped. "But I suppose I can give you a lift."
"Thanks--" The other woman didn't wait for Harriet to finish speaking, and instead took off once more through the trees. Harriet followed a couple of steps behind and when the detective constable paused to examine one of the tree barks, Harriet followed suit.
"Is there something there?"
"Not anymore," DC Nicoll said. "I mean there was. When we were called out the first time, this whole place was covered in reflectors. You know, the kind you get on a bike."
Questions bubbled in Harriet's mind, but she bit her tongue. If she allowed her excitement to get the better of her here and now, she would lose any opportunity to question DC Nicoll about the body Oliver Poole had discovered.
"That seems a little odd," Harriet said thoughtfully.
"That's exactly what I said," DC Nicoll said, glancing back over her shoulder. "Everyone else thought it was just kids, but it's weird even by the standards of children. And then to find a body out here..."
Harriet smiled encouragingly. "It must have been quite a sight when you came out here that first night. The torches would have lit them all up at once."
"They looked like eyes," the DC said. "Lots of pairs of eyes."
"The reflectors were put up in pairs?" Harriet's curiosity was well and truly piqued.
"Yeah. Oliver mentioned something called Owl Man. We figured it was some kind of urban legend in the area. It was the reason they were out here that night. Thought they could track the Owl Man back to his lair..." DC Nicoll stared off into the distance. "Instead, Oliver found a body. And now he's dead and we have no leads."
"Owl Man, did that come about before or after the children went missing twenty years ago?"
The DC's gaze raked over Harriet. "You'd get along with my sergeant. He thinks it's all connected, convinced that it's one and the same case. Not that we've got anything to prove that."
"Did you get an ID on your body?"
Nicoll nodded. "Yeah, Jack Campbell." There was a haunted expression in the other woman's eyes that Harriet recognised only too well. "We went to see Jack's mother... Marjorie," DC Nicoll shook her head. "I don't know why I'm telling you this."
"Because we both want the same thing, and it helps to talk about these things."
The DC nodded before she jammed her hand into her pocket. "I suppose so. I don't really come from a family of talkers." She smiled apologetically.
"That's all right," Harriet said. "I didn't exactly come from a talkative family either. What did you learn when you spoke to Jack's mother?"
"I don't know how she has hung on all these years." DC Nicoll closed her eyes. "She blames herself. Thinks her son died because of her."
"Why would she think that?" Harriet asked, unable to hide the interest from her voice.
"Jack Campbell had something known as Di George syndrome--" the DC paused as though waiting for Harriet to interject but when she didn't she continued, "--it made him vulnerable. Before he was born, he suffered a brain injury. His mother said he would have had the mental age of a very young child." She sighed.
"And you think there's a connection between Jack Campbell's death and the children who went missing?"
"I don't think it, I know it," DC Nicoll said. "And so does Jack's mother. You see, Jack liked going to scouts, the same scouts that the three kids attended. They went missing a short time before we now know he was murdered." Harriet couldn't help but notice the animated look on the DC's face as she spoke. "They were friends. And before Jack disappeared, there was an altercation between him and one of the parents of the children. It was how we were able to identify him. The parents of the missing kids at the time were certain Jack was somehow involved."
"And what do you think?" Harriet kept her voice level.
"Listening to Jack's mother, I don't see how it's possible." DC Nicoll shoved a hand back through her hair. "He was vulnerable,
maybe even more so than the kids who went missing at the time. And somebody took him out into these woods and they beat him to death." There was no escaping the passion in the DC's voice and Harriet fought not to get caught up in it. "Coincidence is one thing, Dr Quinn, but I'm not sure I can say this is just a coincidence anymore."
"Do you have an evidence to suggest everything is connected?"
DC Nicoll glanced down at the leaf mould beneath her feet. "I've got Marjorie Campbell's diary of events from the time."
"Would you mind if I took a look at it?"
"Shouldn't you be focusing on the Poole boy's case?"
"Who says I'm not?" Harriet said. "If you're right and these are all connected then by looking over the diary I am working on the case." She could see the hesitation in DC Nicoll's face. "I just want to help. And Jack Campbell deserves justice too."
Her words seemed to reach the other woman, and the DC nodded. "Fine. When we get back to the station, I'll let you look it over. But I need you to understand something."
"What's that?"
"I'm going to get to the bottom of this case, no matter what I have to do to get there."
"I can understand that," Harriet said. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm not going to stand in your way. If we don't speak for those who can't, then who will?"
DC Nicoll nodded. "Good, I'm glad you understand."
Harriet smiled and followed her the last couple of steps back to the car. She did understand, but it also worried her. The DC was emotionally invested, and it was Harriet's experience that in a case such as this solving it wouldn't feel like a win. With so many lost lives, nothing would ever feel like a win, and that could so easily destroy a person. She just had to hope that it wouldn't take DC Nicoll down too.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Hunting the Silence: The Yorkshire Murders (DI Haskell & Quinn Crime Thriller Series Book 4) Page 21