The family’s worst fear would shortly become reality. Their son dead. And at this stage a lot of unanswered questions. Why? Who? When? Where? He would also have to tell them how their child had died, but not yet. He needed to tell them of the discovery before they heard it through the media. He briefed the FLOs as to the situation at the canal and what would happen later in the day, then he went into the Spencers’ house. Martin and Sarah were open-mouthed, just waiting for news, reminding him of hungry chicks in the nest waiting for food. Their faces were ashen with lack of sleep, worry and distress. Inside they sat and then Dylan broke the news. As he spoke, tears rolled silently down their cheeks. Sarah hugged her daughter Jane to her.
‘Oh, my god no,’ Martin cried. ‘Where is he? I want to see him.’
‘The boy’s body, which we believe is Christopher, is being taken to Harrowfield mortuary. You’ll be able to see him there. I’m afraid you’ll have to make a formal identification,’ Dylan told them. Sarah cried quietly. As she tried to stand, her legs buckled and she almost dropped Jane. He didn’t want to tell them Christopher had been hanged. He knew that he would have to break this harrowing detail at some point, but he could only do that once the facts had been established and the time was right. When is there ever going to be a right time to tell them that? Dylan wondered. Once again he found himself trying to console a destroyed family, attempting to soften the impact as best he could. He drew on all his experience in dealing with situations such as these. But in his heart, deep down, he knew that no matter what he said or how he said it, all they wanted was Christopher back.
‘Let me assure you both that once I’m in possession of all the facts I will hold nothing back from you. You have every right to know.’ He knew how difficult it was, the not knowing, but asked them to be patient while enquiries were being completed to establish what had happened and how Christopher had died.
‘I will update you later in the day and, apart from seeing Christopher; you will be able to go to where his body was found if you want.’ Dylan was careful not to say ‘died’ as it was unlikely in his mind that he was killed there. The post mortem would hopefully enlighten him as to what had taken place.
He headed back to the mortuary. Once there he met up with Larry, the scenes of crime officers, Andrew and Mike, and the on-call pathologist, Professor Shirley Wright. Dylan had met her before on other cases. He was glad it was Shirley; he had a lot of time for her.
‘The lad had played football for the school. They won and he scored their two goals. Strangely enough I saw him there, but that’s another story. After the match, he’d waited for his dad, in the usual place. Dad had a flat tyre and was late. When he got there, Christopher had gone, which was totally out of character. A digital photograph of the boy has been taken in situ.’ Dylan handed it to Shirley.
The examination began. Some rounded object, the size of a golf ball or thereabouts, had caused the injury to the right rear of Christopher’s head.
‘It was a forceful blow,’ remarked Shirley. ’It would have rendered him certainly semi-conscious if not unconscious and it has caused a massive hairline fracture to the skull.’
The circular impact mark was measured and found to be two inches in diameter. Petechia, burst blood vessels, covered the whites of the eyes. The noose was carefully cut from around the boy’s neck and preserved. The dark coloured substance around and in his mouth was discovered to be excrement.
‘Ugh,’ murmured Shirley, as it was swabbed and scraped into containers. Was it human? Only time would tell. The smell of the mortuary had taken on the overriding smell of faeces, which rose above the normal distinctive smell of death. This was not just murder. The killer was leaving a message. But why?
‘It appears that he’s lost part of the brace from his upper front teeth. Some of it is intact, but the majority is missing. There has been bleeding and bruising, which suggests that it was ripped out by force, either by something or somebody.’ Shirley continued Christopher’s post mortem. He had not been sexually assaulted and his internal organs were all normal. He had been a healthy young boy prior to his death.
‘Cause of death, strangulation by ligature,’ Shirley announced, as she meticulously recorded weights of organs, and took blood and other routine samples. ‘After the blow to the head he would have been unconscious, but the strangulation, the hanging, is what killed him.’
As Shirley washed her hands, she turned to Dylan. ‘Best of luck with this one, I hope you catch the perpetrator pretty quick. If I can be of any help, well, you know, don’t hesitate.’
Dylan watched the little boy’s body being prepared for formal identification, the swollen, protruding tongue carefully pushed back into his mouth. Only hours ago this lad had been a star, on top of the world.
He was always appreciative of the way the mortuary attendants took such care with their preparation for viewings. Looking at the young lad placed on the slab, Dylan thought how like a doll he was, almost Pinocchio-like. But this doll wasn’t about to come to life. Some people say when the soul leaves the body, only a shell remains. It certainly gave Dylan that feeling.
Alarm bells were ringing for Dylan. Christopher Spencer’s head injury was very similar to that sustained by Daisy Hind, and his body had been left on display, too. Lunchtime. Time to consider strategy and resolve issues. Examination of the sports bag suggested one yellow and white striped football sock was missing, or lost.
A new policy book had already been started and given the operation name, Larkspur. Daisy’s incident was named Foxglove. Names were given to ensure operational security so there was no mix up between incidents.
There were two extended scenes that required careful fingertip examination, according to Dylan. They were the football pitch area, including the entrance where Christopher would have waited for his dad, and the disposal site by the canal, where the body was found. There was the usual collation of CCTV, the search of the changing rooms and the school locker belonging to the little boy. Malcolm Meredith was the teacher who had taken them for football that day; he would need to be interviewed at length. As far as they knew, he was the last person to see Christopher alive. Schoolfriends, Dylan needed a list of schoolfriends. The list of actions to be completed continued to flow from him, ready to be recorded on computer once the location of the incident room was established. He would run the enquiry from Harrowfield, on the floor below the Daisy Hind murder enquiry.
Dylan stood in the doorway to the new incident room. It contained rows of desks with blank-screened computers. At the front was a dry-wipe board where important details could be recorded and seen by everyone, saving hours of repetitive questions or checks. Empty for the moment, ironically it was like a school classroom.
Enquiries organised, he and Larry met up with the bereaved family for the identification of their son, and told them of their findings.
‘Missing at the moment is Christopher’s mobile, possibly a football sock, and part of the brace from his teeth.’ Dylan told them. This was a difficult time for them; not only had they suddenly lost their only son, but he had also been brutally murdered.
‘How does anyone come to terms with such heartbreaking news?’ Dylan asked Larry.
‘God knows. Their life won’t ever be the same again, that’s for sure.’
They both knew from experience that this was only the start of the family’s misery, and it would be protracted. As if the death was not enough, they would have to endure the investigation, with its peaks and troughs and, if it was successful, the additional trauma of a trial.
Dylan sat with Larry, the family liaison officers and the Spencers. Their family had grown and now included Christopher’s grandparents. Martin and Sarah Spencer had been to the mortuary, seen Christopher, and formally identified him. It was surreal; they were in deep shock. In his own way Dylan tried to make things easier.
‘Christopher was hit over the head and it is very likely he was rendered unconscious immediately,’ he told them. He went on to
tell them the facts, as he knew them, unpleasant as they were.
‘Christopher’s attacker or attackers put a rope around his neck and hung him over the bridge, which strangled him. That was the cause of death. He was not sexually assaulted in any way.’ He hoped this would distract them from the thought of strangulation. They did not move. Their facial expressions were frozen. After a moment’s silence, Granddad Frank cleared his throat.
‘What monster would do this to a young lad? Who could be so evil? Get me the bastard’s name. I want to know who he is.’ He started to cry.
‘Was it older lads … do you … think? Was … he bullied?’ asked Sarah, spluttering her words out as she struggled to understand. ‘They really, really hurt him, didn’t they?’ She started sobbing uncontrollably. Martin held her tight to him.
‘He looked so lonely in the hospital,’ he said as tears ran down his ashen face. ‘If only I hadn’t had that flat tyre … the first time he’d scored; he was on such a high when I spoke to him. You don’t think … it had to do with that do you? I told him I was so proud of him. I should have gone to see him play, then this wouldn’t have happened. It’s all my fault.’
‘Hindsight is a wonderful thing, don’t blame yourself, it’s not your fault.’ But Dylan knew blame was one of the first emotions, along with denial. ‘The enquiry will be tireless, I can assure you of that. There’ll be all sorts of rumour, speculation, and gossip. Don’t, whatever you do, listen to any of it. If you need to know anything, ask one of the team or me. Clive and Fran will stay with you and I’ll personally keep you updated with any developments as they happen. Is it possible, do you think, that Christopher could have lost or left behind one of his football socks?’
‘The kit was almost new; it had name-tags sewn in every piece. He was so careful, and he was proud of his football kit, he wouldn’t have … no, no way,’ Martin said.
‘Officers will have to go through Christopher’s room, I’m afraid. It’s routine, no stone will be left unturned and neither will anything be left to chance. Do you think the flat tyre was a puncture? Had you noticed it before, Martin?’ asked Dylan.
‘To be honest, I don’t really know. I’ve put the spare one on now, so it’s in the boot. If only I’d got there on time, it wouldn’t have happened. I let him down.’
‘We’ll take the tyre away for examination. It’s likely it was just coincidence, but we’ll have a look.’
Under Dylan’s instructions any exhibits, however irrelevant they might seem, would be kept. They might prove to be of no relevance to the investigation, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
Over the next few weeks, Dylan knew he would be seeing quite a bit of the Spencers. Their lives would be turned upside down and their background scrutinised. It was necessary for the investigation to show that they were not involved in the murder. The public could then concentrate on helping find the killer or killers. He would discuss the media with them, explaining how they would be used as part of the investigation. He would suggest that, in the next day or two, if they felt strong enough, they should consider a press conference. In his experience, it always seemed to boost an appeal. He apologised for all the things they were going to have to endure, but if it helped catch Christopher’s killer or killers, then in Dylan’s opinion anything was worthwhile.
He hadn’t told them about the faeces in Christopher’s mouth. There was plenty of time for that in the future. He would tell them before any inquest or court case, but at the moment he felt they had endured enough.
He asked them to think of any arguments or upsets Christopher had had, any incidents of bullying, anything at all, no matter how insignificant it might seem, that had happened over the past days or weeks. Before leaving, he asked if they had a recent photograph of Christopher, one that they really liked. In the coming days and weeks he would be headline news, sadly for the wrong reasons. Sarah reached into her purse and took out a photo. She looked at it, then held it tight to her chest before handing it over, trying to control her breathing.
‘That’s a real good one. Everybody says so. He’s such a good lad,’ she said proudly. Dylan made his apologies. He needed to get on.
Back in the station with a warm drink in his hand, he rang Jen. He spoke to her about the murder and told her what a horrible sight it had been. She told him to make sure he ate, let her know when he was on his way home, and not to forget that there was another day tomorrow.
She sat still when she replaced the receiver, thinking about what he’d been doing all morning and what he’d seen. It sounded like something most people only saw for an instant, briefly, or in a horror film. Where on earth did he get the strength? Another family’s child taken and killed. All eyes would be on Jack to catch them, and quick.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning Professor George Rutherford performed a second, independent post mortem on Daisy Hind that took two hours. The first one was bad enough, thought Dylan, but the second is like rubbing your fucking nose in it. With Christopher’s to deal with as well it was horrendous.
‘Thank you, Dylan, I’ve no further need of the body. I’ll drop a letter in the post to that effect for you this evening so that the coroner can release it,’ confirmed Professor Rutherford.
It? thought Dylan. The professor had just totally dismissed Daisy as a person and it made Dylan sad. He had, however, raised no matters of concern or disagreement with Judith Cockroft’s findings, so Dylan expected the coroner to open an inquest within the next few days.
Back at HQ, Dylan ensured that there was a team looking at Harrowfield Middle School. He needed details urgently. The school might have helpful information regarding Christopher Spencer. What about the football teacher at the game, what could he tell them? What did the school know about him? He scribbled notes on a pad as thoughts ran through his mind. What about the night security man who found him? The enquiry moved ahead, CCTV in the area had been collected between the two locations; he wondered if it showed anything. Dylan felt frustrated. He was at the match and yet he couldn’t recall any of the spectators. Maybe the murderer was one of them. The thought really pissed him off.
This was such a vile crime that it would create ripples of fear not only in the immediate community but around the county as well. The press conference was scheduled and he knew that they would want access to the family, but he wouldn’t allow that yet. They would sensationalise the hanging and he couldn’t control the story. He could only give them the facts and appeal for information. Maybe the family would be ready by Monday. He was aware that these days more and more families were used in press conferences, but he saw this as impacting the public to gain sympathy, rather than the public seeing a detective sitting there reading the facts. People would hopefully think there but for the grace of god. This was a normal family, just like theirs.
Now late, but satisfied the enquiry was up and running, he made for the car to go home. He felt exhausted, but his mind still raced. So many things whirred around his head: did older boys, bullies, attack Christopher Spencer? If so would he expect more injuries? Did Michael Meredith, the football teacher have any involvement? His mind continued to chase around. The drive home was slow, as he fought with himself to keep awake. He wound the windows down, languishing in the cool breeze. Home. The relief was immense as he turned off the engine and slumped in his seat with a huge sigh escaping his lips. He’d made it.
‘Hiya, mate,’ he said as he opened the front door and Max greeted him. He stroked the dog’s head. ‘My faithful friend.’ He smiled, despite his mood. Jen wandered down the stairs.
‘I’ll make you a drink, love. You go straight up,’ she said yawning, ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
‘No thanks, I’m so tired I feel sick.’
She planted a kiss on his lips. He dragged his legs up the stairs and knew that he would be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, a sleep that would be fitful as his mind refused to rest.
The weekend had flown; there was nothing
new from the investigation, although the machinery of the incident room was up and running at full capacity, and the lines of enquiry for the detailed investigation were now prioritised. It always took around seventy-two hours to put the foundations of an incident room into place. Detectives were being selected for specialist roles such as exhibits, FLOs and telephone enquiries. The HOLMES team, immediately active, knew what was required and supplied any information that came in, along with a constant source of coffee for Dylan. The remaining detectives on the team were direct enquiry officers, front line staff that went out visiting witnesses, dealing with suspects, and ultimately interviewing the killers. There would be daily meetings and briefings to share information, to learn of new developments and to hear of the main drive for the day. The evening debrief was to collate and disseminate the results of enquiries, usually around eleven hours after the start of the day. Everything was continually recorded: the SIO with his own policy book, and a duplicate log created on the HOLMES enquiry account. Morale and drive were needed, and on a daily basis he or his deputy would attempt to motivate the team. This was easily done when there had been a forensic update or a breakthrough, but became harder as the investigation wore on. The well-worn adage that the next or last action may be ‘the one’, was always reinforced. In other words, the next call could be the missing link.
Dylan had worn musical ties, socks, and even brought a singing Santa into the incident room to lighten the atmosphere. He had a good sense of humour, which he displayed whenever he got the chance. Dylan told officers at the beginning of every enquiry: ‘I expect one hundred per cent commitment and professionalism.’ True to his word, if anyone was found slacking or causing embarrassment to the enquiry, they would be removed immediately and would never work on a major enquiry again.
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