The Silver Knot (Forest of Dean Investigations Book 1)

by T J Harris

  “Any idea what it could be?” asked Carver.

  “There is a small scratch in the nape of the neck just next to the cut line as well. I would say someone pulling or snapping off a metal necklace caused it. We can take a skin sample and look for trace elements, that would narrow it down.” Carver recalled the necklace that Brooks had described. He had said that she was wearing it when she left the house, but there were no items like it in her effects or in the car.

  “We didn’t find anything that would suggest a pattern of abuse.” Carrington continued. “No old bruising on the arms or torso, although her left knee is slightly swollen. We’ll dissect it to see what happened there, but it looks like an old injury.” Carver explained the dislocation that had led to intensive physiotherapy and Carrington agreed that the explanation made sense.

  “There was no obvious sign of sexual activity immediately before death.” Carrington continued. “No tearing or abrasion round the normal sites but we have taken swabs just in case.” He paused and looked up at Carver. “I think we are ready for the identification if that suits you Inspector.”

  Carver nodded.

  “Give us a few minutes and then I’ll meet you outside.” He opened a small drawer and drew out a blanket while Carver left the laboratory and headed back out towards reception, removing his apron and straightening his tie on the way.

  When he reached the small reception area, Brooks was waiting with his sister. He looked tired and old and his eyes were red. His sister was only a little shorter than her brother with the same kind eyes. Carver sat next to them and explained the identification procedure. The door swung open and Carrington joined them wearing a fresh clean gown. He shook their hands and gave sympathetic smiles then asked them if they were ready to see the body.

  They walked into the small viewing room. It had a row of chairs facing a curtain. There were sombre prints on the wall depicting sunsets and seascapes. The small group stood by the curtain in a row as Carrington pressed a switch in the wall and the curtain slowly opened. Behind it was a tall glass window, the other side of which was a small white room. In its centre stood a hospital trolley. The body of Helen Brooks lay on the trolley with a white sheet covering her to her chin. A pillow, that had been carefully positioned to cover her wounds, supported her head. Her eyes were shut and she looked at peace. Excepting for the red marks still evident on her face, she could have been sleeping.

  There was a pause before Brooks confirmed in a clear voice that it was indeed his wife on the trolley. He then turned abruptly and left the room, his sister in his wake. “Odd?” suggested Carver.

  “People respond in all sorts of ways, you’d be surprised.” replied Carrington. “Many people don’t want to see the body at all, preferring to remember them how they were, rather than how they end up.” Carver could appreciate that.

  He left the room and was surprised to find Brooks and his sister still in the reception area.

  “Inspector, can we talk?” Brooks asked him gesturing towards a collection of chairs arranged against the far wall.

  They sat down together. Brooks was quiet at first until his sister spoke. “Tony has been thinking about what you said yesterday. You asked if Helen had any enemies.”

  “Yes that’s right, has something happened Mr, sorry Dr Brooks?”

  “I’ve been going over it in my mind. I can’t believe it’s possible really, but the work she was doing was related to the energy crisis that she believed the UK is facing. The thing is, nobody really knows about it, but there could be a lot of money at stake, and a lot of political fall-out. With everything that has been going on since the Brexit vote, the falling stock markets, sinking pound and all that, the last thing the country needs right now is more uncertainty.” He looked Carver in the eye. “Not many people wanted to listen to what she had to say, but I really can’t think of any other reason for this to have happened. It’s possible someone wanted to shut her up.”

  “We looked at the presentation on her laptop which talks about a crisis. Was that what she was going to say at the energy conference?”

  “I think so, yes.” Brooks confirmed. “She’d run through the data with me, to double check it all. Basically she had done some calculations on energy availability for the next fifteen years and compared it to current investment levels. Her conclusion was that not nearly enough is being done to bridge the gap. Brexit potentially makes it even worse. She was forecasting widespread blackouts and massive hikes in energy bills to fund the catch-up. You can see why some people would want to keep that quiet, especially at the moment.”

  “Was this her personal opinion or was her company backing her?”

  “The company had sanctioned the work I think, but wanted her to tone it down a bit. They didn’t want to ruffle too many feathers and lose business in the sector.”

  “OK, Thank you Dr Brooks.” Carver said thoughtfully. “That’s very helpful, we will certainly look into that.”

  Brooks stood to leave, then turned back. “Did you find Helen’s necklace?”

  Carver had been afraid he was going to ask that. “I’m sorry no. She wasn’t wearing it when we found her and it wasn’t in the car.”

  “Well where is it? Do you mean someone took it, her killer…” his voice failed but before Carver could answer he continued, “Please find it Inspector, it’s very special to me. It was the last thing I gave her.” His voice broke again and his sister took his arm and led him back out into the sunshine.

  Carver stood motionless, deep in thought as he watched the siblings walk back down the concrete ramp to the road and then turn towards the car park. His mind was racing and not in a good way. The last thing he needed was a conspiracy theory complicating his investigation. He sighed and made his way back into the examination room, retrieving his apron and facemask on the way.

  The two scientists were waiting for him next to the body, which was back on the table where she had been when he first arrived, fully exposed once more. Carrington waited until he was standing with them. “OK, shall we take a look in her neck first?” He picked up a scalpel from a steel tray that Carver had not noticed until then.

  The room seemed to quieten as the pathologist began his dissection, like the hush accompanying the opening curtains of a theatre stage. But it was skin rather than velvet that was being pealed apart. Carver concentrated on the faint hum of the air conditioning and tried to remain dispassionate, separating the sights in front of him with the living woman that had kissed her husband goodbye only the morning before. His stare drifted up her face, away from the knife but caught her eye, open once more but mercifully unaware of the horrors being perpetrated just inches below. Carver looked away as fast as he could but the image had been burned into his brain. He squeezed his own eyes shut, but it made no difference, she was still looking at him, pleading with him. He balled his hands into tight fists, resolving to find the bastard that had done this.

  When he opened his eyes and looked back, Carrington had already exposed much of the front of her neck. “Her hypoid bone is badly fractured.” He announced. “That confirms the force applied, even in murder cases you only see that about a third of the time.” He continued his work with Angela assisting, passing him implements and then a clean bowl when he finally extracted her larynx. Carver was taken aback when her tongue followed the larynx out through the hole in her neck. It was still attached and made a sucking sound as it exited the wound. The two specialists conferred, poking the contents of the bowl, seemed to agree, then put it on a tray table and proceeded to dig deeper into the hole they had made in the woman’s neck. When they had finished the dissection and a further three bowls were lined up on the tray table, Carrington pulled off his gloves and summed up their findings for Carver.

  “We can now confirm that the cause of death was pressure obstruction to the carotid artery which prevented blood flow to the brain. There was little evidence of venous congestion in the root of the tongue confirming that she would have died quickly rath
er than from a slow tightening of the ligature. She could have been taken unawares or more likely the blow to the side of the head stunned her long enough for the killer to push her forward, wrap the ligature around her neck and pull it hard, using his knee to brace against the force. She would have lost consciousness within seconds and stopped breathing in less than a minute. After that death was inevitable.”

  They discussed the finer points for a little longer before Carrington moved to the next part of the examination. “Let’s crack the chest open.” He retrieved his scalpel and prepared to make the first long incision down the woman’s torso.

  “I think I’d better be getting back.” announced Carver. He had seen enough and doubted that the rest of the examination would yield anything further of immediate interest. He glanced at his watch; he had been in the room for nearly two hours.

  “Time flies when your having fun.” Angela winked at him. He could see why Goldberg referred to her as Apollyon, the Angel of Death.

  He thanked the pathologist who informed him that they would get stomach contents, check for other internal abnormalities and get the preliminary report to him by the end of the afternoon. The blood work and toxicology results would follow the following day.

  Carver said his farewells and headed back to the station.

  Chapter 6

  Carver called a briefing at 13:00, which just about gave him time to grab a sandwich and a coffee beforehand. He ate at his desk, working through his email inbox and clearing the non-case related issues from his desk. He considered that it was a good job there were not too many murders in his district or he would never get anything done.

  With the briefing underway, Carver had Moss go through the financial intelligence she and Reid had gleaned that morning. She seemed excited as she started running through the various facts and figures. “We’ve been able to confirm that Helen Brooks has worked at Engineering Analytics Ltd for five years, her last payslip and last years tax return show she was pulling down ninety-two grand before tax.” There was a hint of a whistle round the room. She smiled. “On top of that, the company car was brand new and worth thirty-five kay! It’s the top of the range GLA with most of the extras fitted.” She paused for effect. “The husband,” her voiced changed giving a clue what her thoughts were, but avoiding using the word suspect, “has worked at SEMSoft for 4 and a half years, and earns less than the victim at eighty five grand a year. However he does have share options worth sixty-five kay. The house is valued at just over half a million for the insurance. They have a mortgage for eight-five grand left on it. His car is personally owned and all paid for. It was bought two years ago for nearly fifty grand. Both have healthy pension plans but the main finding was,” she paused once again, “we’ve found a life insurance policy. It’s a joint beneficiary policy meaning it covers both of them, and it’s worth a quarter of a million quid.” She stopped and looked up inviting a response.

  “Sounds about right.” said Carver in a matter of fact tone, puncturing her balloon. “That would mean if one of them died, the other one could settle the mortgage and the change would just about cover a year’s income if they needed a break, nothing life changing…”

  “A quarter of a million!” Moss interrupted, “People get killed for a fraction of that.”

  “True, but not nice professional couples. It’s interesting but I don’t think it’s enough for a motive.” Moss’s shoulders dropped, she had convinced herself that she had unearthed a major clue and established a solid motive.

  “What else did you find, what about credit card usage over the last few months? Carver encouraged his dejected sergeant to continue.

  “They have five credit card accounts between them, all fairly active, but always paid off in full at the end of the month. One of them has a credit limit of eighteen grand.” The damage I could do with that, she thought. “Recent usage confirms much of what he told us about the weekend in the Lakes. We’ve got a payment to a Littlebeck Warren in Distington, turns out that’s the Guesthouse they stayed at. I called them up and they remember the couple. They must have made an impression because the owner referred to them as Tony and Helen. She gave the same response as the neighbours; nice couple, very friendly, that sort of thing. There were a few payments around Keswick, nothing remarkable.” she checked her notes. “Oh yes, but there was a payment for £37.90 at the Lodore Falls Hotel. I thought he said they just had tea?” Carver agreed it would be worth calling the hotel to confirm then allowed her to continue. “That’s about it, nothing for a boat hire though.”

  Hunter projected a large-scale map of the Keswick area onto the wall. He’d highlighted the credit card usage locations and traced a line between them. “Looks like there is a boat house just by that hotel.” He zoomed into the Google earth image. “Quite a small place, maybe they don’t take credit cards.” He suggested.

  “Give them a call, see if they remember the Brookses.” Instructed Carver before moving on. “Thanks Moss, now then how’s the hunt for our mysterious Mr Williams progressing?” He turned his attention to Pramanik who was sitting next to Rachel Hughes. The visiting sergeant nodded to the young DC next to him and she took over.

  “We searched the electoral roll and council tax databases and found a shortlist of twenty three Williams with the initial S which we narrowed down to twelve between the ages of eighteen and sixty-five. We have five with the first name of Sean. We have started a social media search, but have not been able to expand on this list yet. A Google search is useless for S Williams because we can’t get past pages about the tennis star.” She had control of the projector from her laptop now and showed the data they had been able to find.

  Carver ran his eyes down the list, which showed name, age, address and occupations for each of the dozen men shortlisted. It would take a lot of resources to track down and interview every one, and given the delicacy of the questioning, ‘were you having an affair with this murder victim?’ not an easy task. Suddenly a single word sprang out from the text: Physiotherapist.

  “Number eight,” he almost shouted. “What’s his story?”

  Hughes looked at her laptop then pressed a few keys. There was not much more detail but she summarised it anyway. “Number eight is indeed a Sean Williams. Lives in Ledbury. Works as a Physiotherapist in Cinderford, he’s 38 and a widower of five years.” she looked up.

  “Cinderford can’t be more than a few miles from where the body for found. Let’s start with him shall we? See if he’s the physio that Helen Brooks has been seeing for her knee. In fact I think I’ll ask him myself.” He resolved. “Moss, check the credit card data for a match with the practice he works at.” She noted it down before Carver moved onto the next item of interest. “Anything back from forensics yet?”

  DC Reid had been acting as the receiving officer. He leaned over to retrieve the laptop from Hughes and brought up a picture of the rope found in the car. “We have confirmation that the rope had traces of the victim’s blood and DNA on it. The rope itself,” he paused. “is an unusual type. Basically it’s known as Japanese Love Rope.” His statement made everyone look up. “Apparently” he stressed the word. “it’s used by bondage freaks to tie each other up during their sex play.”

  “It’s called Kinbaku.” All eyes switched to Pramanik.

  “Oh yes, and how come you’re such an expert?” Hughes prodded him. “I’m beginning to worry about you.”

  Slightly red in the face, Pramanik continued. “Purely professional interest I assure you.” he smiled. “No, we had a case last year, accidental strangulation during a BDSM session. The wife tied up her husband and left him for ten minutes to…” he made double quotation marks in the air, “think about what a bad boy he’d been.” He lowered his hands. “When she returned he was unconscious and had stopped breathing. The paramedics couldn’t revive him. She got a suspended sentence for involuntary manslaughter. We wanted negligent homicide but the CPS backed down. Anyway”, he continued, “the rope is normally made of silk, its
very soft and flexible, very low friction.”

  “Sounds unusual enough to be useful. If we can identify the brand and a supplier, that might lead us to the killer.” Hughes suggested.

  “Unfortunately it’s not as uncommon as you might think. It’s stocked in Ann Summers and places like that but there are loads of on-line suppliers, you can even get it on Amazon.” Pramanik raised his eyebrows as he delivered the news.

  “Perhaps you two can keep digging, see if it’s a special brand or something, you never know.” He paused taking a sip of his coffee. “I hesitate to ask, but was there any other residue found on the rope. Had it been used previously?”

  Reid answered for them. “No Boss, just traces of the victim’s blood which is a match for her DNA. Nothing else.”

  “OK.” said Carver moving on. “Who saw her boss at the analytics company?”

  “That was Hughes and myself Sir.” said Reid. “We spoke to a Dr Philips, he’s the managing director and was her direct supervisor. He confirmed that she did sometimes need to visit client’s laboratories, but when he got out her schedule it only showed two visits in the last eight months. Her expenses claims backed that up.”

  “I think I might need to have a word with him. It seems that some of the work she was doing might have not been received too well within the industry.” He outlined the suspicions that Brooks had raised before adding the words ‘Energy crisis – threat to public confidence’ in the Fear and Anger boxes of the FAGS board.

  The rest of the meeting was routine, Hunter spend half an hour explaining that the home computers they had recovered from the Brooks’s house contained nothing out of the ordinary and interestingly didn’t seem to have been used to access the on-line email dead-drop. The diary on both machines did however have eight paired entries of ‘Helen Away’ and ‘Visiting labs’. Five of them coincided with arranged dates in the dead-drop message history.”