Picture Her Dead (Rhona Macleod)

by Lin Anderson

Rhona expected a barrage of questions as they made their way back through the foyer, but Liam seemed to have been struck dumb. When they reached the shop, Rhona called the manager across. Carol’s default expression of exasperation melted into concern when she saw Liam’s white, frightened face.

  ‘What’s happened? Did you find the girl?’ she asked Rhona.

  ‘No, but we found someone else.’

  9

  The crime-scene manager had made the decision to use the fire exit as their main entry point. That way, access could be restricted and a mobile incident unit parked at the rear of the building instead of on Dumbarton Road.

  The occupants of the neighbouring flats were having a field day, their windows offering them a bird’s-eye view of the proceedings. No doubt the comings and goings of crime scene personnel would end up on YouTube. The decision had suited Carol Miller too; she’d been spared the need to shut up shop while the body was forensically examined and removed.

  A shaken Liam had gone home, promising to let Rhona know if he had any word from Jude. In return, Rhona had said that under the circumstances she would officially report Jude missing, since the last place she’d been seen had turned out to be a crime scene.

  ‘There’s still a chance Jude will turn up unharmed,’ she’d assured Liam as he’d left. ‘Don’t give up hope on that.’ When he hadn’t looked convinced, she’d gone on: ‘She left the building. Someone will have seen her. With the degree of interest this case will generate, people will come forward. And the police will be reviewing all security-camera footage from the surrounding area.’

  Liam had left, shoulders hunched in worry.

  When Chrissy arrived, Rhona had given her a brief resumé of how the body had been discovered, including the presence at the scene of Jude’s footprint. Normally Chrissy would have been intrigued at Liam’s reappearance and eager for more information, especially since the story now involved a missing girlfriend and a dead body. However, she’d clearly not yet forgiven Rhona. Rhona watched as Chrissy struggled with this dilemma, eventually settling for a straight question.

  ‘And there’s no sign of this Jude yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK.’ Chrissy finished pulling on her boiler suit. ‘Let’s take a look.’

  The staircase leading from the fire exit was no longer in shadow, and below them arc lights now revealed the foyer in all its glory. Despite the dust and decay it was still an impressive sight, and Chrissy momentarily forgot her huff.

  ‘Wow! My mum’s always going on about how amazing the Olympia in Bridgeton was. Now I know what she means.’

  The double doors to the balcony stood open. Beyond, a team of SOCOs were working their way through the rows of seats. Rhona led Chrissy to the projection suite, which had been cordoned off and was guarded by a uniformed officer. Rhona asked if R2S had been requested to map and photograph the locus, and was told that Roy Hunter was expected at any time.

  As they picked their way across the metal treads and into the spool room, the foetid smell grew stronger. Chrissy raised her mask before following Rhona into the cloakroom. The arc light in here was trained on the brick wall, and Rhona indicated the cavity halfway up.

  ‘There was no sucking noise when I removed the brick, and no sudden rush of stronger odour.’

  ‘So the brick was already loose?’

  Rhona pointed at a small pile of broken mortar. ‘I would say someone had scraped at it fairly recently.’

  ‘Jude?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  Chrissy crouched on one of the metal treads already in place and put her eye to the hole. ‘The smell’s not fresh. It’s been in there a while.’

  In the early stages of human decomposition the smell of putrefaction would be overwhelming, sometimes even for a seasoned professional. It began at around 10 degrees centigrade but favoured a range of 21 to 38 degrees. Any higher a temperature tended to retard the process, drying out the body fluids.

  This body had been held in a confined and airless space, the atmosphere warm and dry, which explained the mummified eyes.

  By the time Roy arrived, they’d numbered the bricks ready for removal. He took his time, surveying the wall with interest and not a little pleasure. It wasn’t every day he was called to a scene like this and it was obvious he relished the prospect.

  ‘How do you want to play this?’ Rhona said, finally.

  ‘I suggest I put a probe through and we capture as much as we can before we remove any more bricks. That way you can view the interior without disturbing anything. With the HDR camera you’ll get up to thirty different exposures. We can start in darkness and then gradually bring all the detail on screen.’

  ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Roy set up the camera on its tripod, attached it to his laptop then eased a probe through the aperture. The first exposures began in darkness, gradually lifting to light.

  They began to make out a narrow alcove. Against the lower half of this were the collapsed remains of a naked body. As the exposures lightened, they saw a mesh of silvery spider webs. The light from the lens provoked a flurry of activity amid the inhabitants and a long-legged spider took flight, escaping through the aperture to fall on to Rhona’s hand. She shook it lightly to the floor, where it scuttled off at great speed, and focused back on the screen.

  ‘Looks like the deceased was male,’ said Chrissy. ‘What’s that across his chest?’

  ‘Some kind of harness?’ replied Rhona. The camera moved slowly upwards to glint off a semicircle of silver spikes. ‘And a studded collar.’

  ‘OK, I’m beginning to get the picture,’ said Chrissy.

  The scalp and hair had detached from the skull and slid forward to partially cover the eyes, as Rhona had seen when she’d first peered through the hole. Now she could also make out the exposed cranium. It looked intact, with no obvious evidence of trauma. The human skull varies in thickness, with a thicker frontal area and the temporal region thinner and therefore more vulnerable to fracture.

  ‘No obvious evidence of a fractured skull. Can you come down a little lower to the mouth?’

  Roy did so.

  ‘The tongue’s still attached, and it’s protrusive,’ she noted. ‘Can you focus on the neck?’

  This was more difficult due to the collar. Roy moved the camera about.

  ‘I can’t see a ligature.’

  ‘Unless the collar acted as one.’

  ‘OK, let’s take another look at the torso.’

  The collapsing body had slumped at the waist, the legs folded sideways, the abdomen obscured by the bent legs. There were no obvious puncture holes from bullets or sharp implements in the brown-black leathery skin.

  As they reached the lower half, the left hand came into view. It had broken free of the wrist, and now lay across the remains of the left knee.

  ‘Hold it there.’

  Rhona studied the image closely. The hand was shrivelled and dried out. Hanging loose on the forefinger was a chunky tarnished silver ring, but what interested her was the mangled state of the fingernails.

  ‘Can you find the right hand?’

  The camera scanned slowly across the torso.

  ‘Stop there.’

  The right hand was visible now, propped against the back wall.

  ‘Give me a close-up on the fingernails, please.’

  Roy zoomed in. Those that had not detached were also badly broken, several of them to half their normal length.

  ‘So, what d’you think?’ Chrissy said.

  ‘No blunt-force wounds to the head. No obvious ligature, no weapon holes visible. A protruding tongue and damaged nails and fingers.’ Rhona paused. ‘I’d hazard a guess and say he suffocated trying to claw his way out. Which might account for the loosened brick.’

  ‘You mean the poor bastard was walled up alive?’

  ‘It’s a strong possibility.’

  ‘What is?’ a disembodied voice called from the next room. The suited figure of DI Bill Wilson eased through the
aperture. Rhona watched his reaction as the smell hit him.

  ‘Minging, isn’t it?’ Chrissy offered helpfully.

  ‘Not as minging as that burned body in the skip, or the remains we fished out of the sewage farm.’ Bill came for a closer look. ‘Any ideas on how long it’s been in there?’

  ‘We’re working on it. Rhona thinks he might have been walled in alive.’

  ‘So not an accident or suicide?’

  ‘Not unless he laid the bricks himself from the inside. The body’s shrunk and collapsed as it decomposed, but it must have been upright when it was put in there, otherwise the space is too narrow to accommodate it. Can you magnify the left hand again?’

  They waited as the shape of the hand became more defined.

  ‘That looks like a metal nail head between the lunate and scaphoid bones of the palm.’ Rhona turned to Roy. ‘Can we take a look at the wall behind, say two thirds of the way up?’

  The camera tracked as requested, then moved horizontally across the wall.

  ‘There,’ Rhona stopped Roy. There was a mark in the plywood that looked like a nail-hole, surrounded by a circular stain.

  ‘I think he was nailed to the wall.’

  Chrissy and Rhona adjourned to the projection room. The next stage would be for Roy to remove a few bricks at a time, repeating the process of 360-degree spherical high definition video capture using different lights to highlight the presence of various substances, including blood and semen. He would also video the back of the bricks before they were removed. All of this took time, which meant they could take a break.

  ‘I spotted a café across the road. You coming?’ Chrissy offered.

  Rhona quickly nodded, hoping the invitation meant she had at least started on the road to forgiveness.

  They emerged on to a sunlit Dumbarton Road, busy with shoppers. Chrissy led the way across the street to the café. It proved a bit of a find, serving fresh baked goods.

  Rhona ordered a giant cherry scone with her latte and Chrissy went for something even more substantial, a roll which appeared to have every possible filling in it. Silence reigned while Chrissy demolished it.

  ‘OK,’ she said finally. ‘I haven’t forgiven or forgotten. So don’t think I have.’

  Rhona remained silent, which seemed the safest option.

  ‘But from now on, I want to know if you’re plotting anything.’

  ‘I’m going to the Poker Club tonight.’

  ‘What?’ Chrissy looked astonished. ‘But why?’

  ‘Petersson wants to speak to Brogan.’

  ‘About the shooting?’

  Rhona nodded. It was as much as she was prepared to reveal, forgiveness or not.

  ‘Why are you going?’ Chrissy said suspiciously.

  ‘He asked me to,’ Rhona lied.

  ‘What if Brogan recognises you?’

  ‘How could he? He’s never seen me.’

  Chrissy mulled this over, all the while scrutinising Rhona through narrowed eyes.

  ‘Petersson didn’t ask you. This was your idea, wasn’t it?’ Chrissy knew her too well.

  ‘Let’s say we came to a mutual understanding.’

  Chrissy made an indignant sound that was identifiably Scottish. Their gazes locked, and Rhona wondered which of them might be classed as the more stubborn. It was a close call.

  ‘OK.’ Chrissy drew herself up. ‘I won’t tell Bill about this excursion, if you promise to tell me what happens.’

  Rhona couldn’t help but be impressed. Chrissy was an expert at going for the jugular.

  ‘OK,’ she conceded.

  Chrissy nodded, well pleased.

  Rhona quickly changed the subject, before any further compromises were extracted.

  ‘Once Roy’s finished, I’d like you to go over the projection suite while I process the body.’

  Chrissy wrinkled her nose in disgust. ‘Fine by me.’

  She might be vocal about smells, but she wasn’t squeamish. At eight months pregnant she’d been in the burned-out skip Bill had mentioned, scraping the remains of an arson victim from its walls. Rhona’s forensic assistant was formidable in more ways than one.

  They paid the bill and headed back. Judging by the number of customers, either the charity shop was doing a roaring trade or there were a lot of rubberneckers looking for an update on the dead body found on the premises.

  Roy Hunter met them by the mobile unit.

  ‘All finished in the box. I’ll start on the foyer and balcony.’

  Rhona nodded her agreement.

  ‘I spotted a footprint in the projection suite. It had the initials JE on the sole,’ Roy added.

  ‘Thanks. Chrissy will deal with that.’ Rhona chose not to fill him in on Jude’s visit for the moment.

  Leaving the outer rooms in Chrissy’s capable hands, she went into the cloakroom, pulled up a chair and sat down with her notebook, intent on recording her initial reaction and observations.

  The collapsed remains had been fully exposed now, and the bricks removed and taken to the laboratory for further study. In the brightness of the arc lamp, the patches of mummification were more identifiable. The hands in particular had survived well. To retrieve fingerprints, she could attempt to cut off the upper level of skin. Alternatively, she could remove the fingers entirely and soak them overnight in a Photoflow solution to help her achieve a print.

  She decided on the second method, but elected to leave the removal until the post mortem. She didn’t want to introduce any contamination, and if she bagged the hands before transportation they should survive unharmed.

  Before she disturbed the body any further, Rhona began taking her own photographs to study later, building up a picture of the victim as she did so. Slim and of average height. Most likely male by the width of the shoulders and hand size.

  Having recorded and photographed all the details to her satisfaction, she set about testing the stain on the back wall. She folded a small circular piece of card in half then half again to form a point, using it to scrape a little of the substance. Presumptive tests were based on the ability of haemoglobin present in blood cells to catalyse the oxidation of certain reagents. In this case the resultant pink indicated the presence of blood, backing up her suggestion that the victim had been nailed to the wall, later breaking free in an attempt to claw his way out.

  When she’d processed the torso, Rhona turned her attention to the hands. She dealt with the detached left hand first, as it was more easily bagged for transportation. The right hand was trickier. She feared at one point her attempts might result in the whole body collapsing further. The head she processed last, carefully swabbing the remains of the mouth. Satisfied, Rhona finally sat back on her haunches.

  There was no good way to die, but this end struck her as particularly ghoulish. If given a choice, being buried alive would have been her worst option. The idea of coming to, in a confined space, knowing there was little air, little time and even less hope of rescue fed into her own claustrophobia. As a murder method it suggested a particularly sadistic killer. Or was it a sex game that had gone one step too far?

  The shop manager had said that her staff never came up here; in fact, most people didn’t realise there was anything left of the old cinema. Jude had been the first person to ask for access since Carol Miller had been working there.

  There were only two ways to get in here as far as Rhona was aware; through the shop using Carol’s key, or via the fire exit which had to be opened from the inside. Rhona was also puzzled by the layout of the cloakroom itself. She’d entered via a hole in the wall of the spool room. Usherettes wouldn’t have had to go through the projection suite to reach their cloakroom. So how had they got in here normally?

  The most likely explanation was that the alcove had been the original entrance, boarded up some time later. Roy’s recording and the resulting floor plan would hopefully show if that were the case.

  Which led to the issue of the body’s removal. Transporting it undamaged th
rough the hole to the spool room wasn’t a possibility. The better option would be to remove it intact from behind, if they could work out how to get round there.

  She stood up to stretch her legs, conscious that she was both thirsty and hungry. The warmth in the room, topped up periodically as the heating for the charity shop roared into action, had left her feeling dehydrated, much like the body she was studying.

  ‘I thought you were going out tonight?’ Chrissy squeezed through the hole.

  ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  ‘Eight!’

  ‘Time flies when you’re having fun.’ Chrissy looked as though she meant it. ‘I found three footprints besides the “JE” one. I’ve taken casts.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  This was the question Chrissy had been waiting for. She held up a bagged silver object, the size and shape of a small mobile phone. Rhona waited for her to explain.

  ‘A digital voice recorder,’ Chrissy said triumphantly. ‘And I’d take a wild guess and say it’s Jude’s, because there’s a sticker on the back with her initials.’

  Bill had taken up residence in the mobile unit and was currently engaged in drinking a mug of tea. A triumphant Chrissy handed him her prize on entry, before demanding to know if there were any decent biscuits. While her assistant raided a box of Jaffa Cakes, Rhona explained to Bill why she’d come to the cinema in the first place.

  ‘And this Jude disappeared how long ago?’

  ‘Forty-eight hours now.’

  ‘Liam reported this?’

  ‘He tried yesterday, but was told it was too early and to come back later.’

  ‘And she definitely hasn’t turned up?’

  ‘Liam hasn’t called or texted, so I assume not. There’s something else odd about Jude’s visit here. When Liam came looking for her, the door to the projection suite was locked. He broke it down, worried she might be stuck inside. The manager can’t explain who might have done that after Jude left, or why.’

  ‘That’s Jude’s recorder,’ Chrissy piped up through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘See the initials?’

  ‘Liam said she initials everything, even the soles of her shoes.’

  Bill pulled on a pair of latex gloves, extracted the recorder from the bag and pressed the play button. Nothing happened.