by Joy Kluver
‘Yes, of course.’
Bernie winced as she saw the bloated torso with maggots everywhere. She got up and held the door open for Alice as she went flying out of the room.
Worth tutted. ‘Does anyone else need to leave?’ He paused for a few seconds, waiting for any answers. ‘Good, then we’ll continue. Until we hear back from our forensic experts, which, fortunately, DI Noel has already started to sort out…’
Bernie knew he wasn’t praising her.
‘…we won’t be any closer to identity. I believe DS Allen has been looking at missing persons?’
Kerry stood up. She stared at DCI Worth and the photo behind him on the screen, unfazed by both. ‘Yes, sir. I have five possible leads at the moment but I’ll wait for the post-mortem report before I do any more. Although the jewellery may help.’
‘Thank you, DS Allen. Dr White has suggested she may have been outside for perhaps five or six days but, of course, that doesn’t mean she died at that time. She may have been held somewhere else and killed there before being dumped. She may have been in a freezer for the last six months for all we know.’
Not if those dirty feet are anything to go by.
‘Obviously,’ Worth continued, ‘we can’t get an image out in the media of her but a vague description and a picture of the dress would be a start. We’ll get DC Hart to look at that when she gets back – find out where the dress is from and look for an online picture of it we can use. Same with the shoes. If you could jot that down, please, DI Noel.’
Bernie held in a sigh; she hadn’t realised Deputy SIO was a secretarial position.
‘In fact, I was hoping Jane Clackett would be here for this meeting. I did ask her to come along. Media coverage is going to be crucial to this investigation.’
‘I’m sure we can pass on all the relevant details to her,’ said Bernie, wondering if Jane from the press office had deliberately not turned up. Although not the best of friends, they were united over their dislike of DCI Worth.
Worth scowled. ‘Even so, if I ask someone to a meeting, I expect—’
There was a knock at the door and a thin woman dressed completely in black, with a sleek black bob and bright red lips came into the room.
‘I’m sorry I’m late, DCI Worth,’ said Jane Clackett.
‘Have you come straight from a funeral? Is that why you’re late?’ asked Worth.
Jane’s eyes narrowed as she took the seat next to Anderson ‘I’m late because I’ve been dealing with the press about a tip-off for a dumped body. Apparently the boy who found her wasn’t as completely traumatised as you may have all thought because he was perfectly capable of tweeting the local rag. So, again, I’m sorry I’m late but I’ve been doing my job, sir.’
Bernie covered her mouth to hide her smile. Only Jane would be brave enough to take on Worth.
‘I was just explaining, Jane, that media coverage is going to be crucial in helping us.’
‘But of course, DCI Worth. And I’m already on to it. I’ve told Clive Bishop over at the Salisbury Journal he’ll be the first to know details when we’re ready to release them.’ She gave him a winning smile and then turned it round to Anderson.
‘And it’s lovely to see you back, Dougie. We’ve missed you.’ Jane crossed her black-clad legs slowly. A few months ago that would have annoyed the hell out of Bernie but now she felt they were welcome to each other. Both schemers and manipulators – they were the perfect match.
Bernie wanted to laugh as she saw Anderson shift uncomfortably in his chair. She also sensed Worth’s impatience.
‘We need to get a move on now. We don’t have time to waste. DCs Taylor and Parris. I want you to check out CCTV. Look at stations on that line. Had she been on a train and then followed and dragged into that wooded area? Maybe she accepted a lift? Had she been to any bars and clubs? Today’s Thursday so look back to the weekend and Thursday and Friday of last week as well.
‘DS Allen, use the jewellery to narrow your search on Missing Persons but let’s also be aware this woman may not have been reported missing yet. Maybe her friends and family think she’s away. So, Jane, as soon as we know more about the clothing, I want you to release that info. I’m going to stay here and coordinate things until it’s time for the post-mortem. Nick White is planning on doing that later today. He’ll text me the time.’
‘Sir? What about me?’ asked Bernie.
‘Yes, me too,’ said Anderson.
‘Well, you two can go and have a little friendly chat with the teenager who found her and remind him why we don’t like the press being tipped off.’
4
Anderson headed towards his car.
‘No. We’ll take mine,’ she said. ‘You don’t know where you’re going.’
He paused, gripping his car keys in his hand. He turned round slowly.
‘I believe there’s a little something called satnav. I wasn’t sure how good your wrist is these days, since we haven’t spoken for a while.’
Bernie hated Worth for pairing them together.
‘It’s fine,’ she lied. Her wrist had been smashed with a hammer by a suspect five months before. She still got the occasional twinge, something that should pass if she did her physio exercises – as if she had the time. ‘Besides, satnav is a bit hit and miss round here. Makes more sense for me to drive.’
Anderson continued the stand-off. He hated backing down.
‘Detective Sergeant Anderson, we really do need to get going.’ She pressed the key fob and the doors clicked open. She sat in the front seat and waited. She looked in her rear mirror as he walked slowly towards her car. Despite herself, her body still lurched when he opened the door and got in. The attraction hadn’t faded completely. She closed her eyes for a few seconds.
‘Ready to go, ma’am?’
Bernie opened her eyes and nodded. She started the engine and then pressed the button to wind down the window. She needed the air.
They drove in silence. Bernie expected Anderson to quiz her about the case and the scene but, instead, he stared out of the window. He was probably memorizing the journey so he would be able to come back without her. They drove underneath the railway line that ran close to the scene.
‘Not far now,’ she said after they’d been driving for twenty minutes. ‘The problem is getting round all these fields.’
‘Does the farm we’re going to belong to Ron Willis?’
‘No, Ron’s farm is north of the railway. We’re south of it here. It’s a small farm with pigs. That’s all I know. Matt dealt with the family.’
‘Clearly not well enough if number one witness went and blabbed to the press. Bloody kids these days – living their lives on social media.’
Bernie laughed. ‘Careful, you sound like a grumpy old man.’
‘Not really. I prefer living in the real world, not the virtual one.’
Bernie thought back to the social media search she had done on Louise Anderson. She’d found her on Facebook. There wasn’t a single reference or photo of her husband until the divorce came through. And even then she didn’t mention him by name. ‘It’s done,’ she had written, ‘I never have to see him again.’ Bernie thought maybe it was less about living in the real world for Anderson and more about not wanting to leave damning evidence behind.
She flicked the indicator switch and then turned right down a small track.
‘This is the Moffatts’ farm. Craig is the son. He’s fifteen. From what Matt told me, he’d been walking the dog when he found her.’
‘If she’s been there for several days, why didn’t he find her before?’ asked Anderson.
‘He’s been ill for over a week. A bad stomach upset. First time this morning he felt well enough to go out. I guess this will set him back a bit.’ She looked across at Anderson as they pulled up outside the red brick farmhouse. ‘Please let me handle this. I know what you’re like.’
Anderson feigned surprise. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Oh yes, y
ou do. You’re too abrupt at times. You can take notes.’
A dog barked as they approached the door – a large German Shepherd chained to a post on a long lead. An odour of manure and pigs lingered in the air and Bernie heard grunting from a few yards away.
‘I want to see the scene after this,’ said Anderson.
Bernie looked down at his designer suit and shoes and smirked.
‘Just as well the rain was light earlier. We have to trek across a field first before heading into the woods.’
She knocked at the blue front door, paint peeling to reveal red underneath. A tired-looking woman in scruffy clothes opened it. Bernie showed her warrant card.
‘Mrs Moffatt? I’m Detective Inspector Noel and this is Detective Sergeant Anderson. I know you saw one of my colleagues earlier but we need to ask Craig a few more questions. May we come in, please? We’ll need either you or your husband to be with him.’
The woman sighed. ‘I suppose so. John’s feeding the pigs so I’ll do it. But Craig’s still in shock. I think he’s going to need counselling.’
The woman led them into a darkened lounge where a teenage boy lay on a brown leather sofa, a blanket up to his chin.
‘He can’t stop shivering. He was already ill but this has set him back badly,’ said his mother.
Bernie thought of her own reaction after seeing the body. She didn’t think the lad was making it up. But if he was this bad, how did he manage to tweet the newspaper?
They sat on two matching leather chairs, either side of the sofa. Both were cracked and faded. Bernie took the seat nearest the boy’s head.
‘Craig, I’m Detective Inspector Noel but you can call me Bernie, if you prefer. I know you spoke to another officer this morning but we have a few more questions if you can cope. If it gets too much then we’ll stop. Is that OK?’
Bernie saw a slight nod of the head.
‘Right, can you tell me what happened this morning?’
Craig coughed a little. ‘Erm, I’ve been ill but this morning I felt well enough to walk the dog. That’s my job. Normally I’d take him before school but as I wasn’t going in today, I took him a bit later.’
‘So what sort of time?’
‘It was about eight o’clock.’
Bernie saw Anderson writing down notes in his notebook.
The boy coughed again. ‘I usually take him over to the woods. He likes to chase the squirrels up the trees. Anyway, this morning, he was going loopy. He kept running off and then barking. And then he’d come back to me and do it all again. I knew he’d found something, probably a dead animal, but I didn’t think too much about it. I’m still not feeling that strong; I didn’t want to clamber through the bushes. And then he came back with a shoe. A woman’s shoe.’
Craig paused. He put his hand to his mouth. His mother disappeared and quickly returned with a bucket and a glass of water.
‘Just in case, love.’ She turned to Bernie. ‘He’s kept nothing down since this morning.’
Bernie nodded. ‘It’s all right, Craig, take your time. Maybe try a sip of water.’
A few minutes passed and then Craig, very pale, continued.
‘Then Blaze ran off, barking madly, so I went after him. And then I saw—’
Craig grabbed the bucket and heaved. His mother stroked his head and murmured, ‘It’s OK love, it’s OK.’
Bernie looked across at Anderson. She gave a little shake of the head. There was no way he had tweeted the newspaper. She gave Craig a bit more time to recover.
‘Well done, Craig. You’ve had a terrible shock. If it makes you feel any better, I’m not great seeing these things either. I’m just wondering, and you might be able to answer this, Mrs Moffatt, are you aware of anyone coming down here at night, or even during the day over the last week or so?’
Mrs Moffatt shook her head as did Craig. ‘We’ve not noticed anyone we weren’t expecting and the dog would probably have heard. He barks when anyone comes. We got him because someone tried to steal some of our pigs.’
‘If you do think of anything then just let us know. One other thing. Craig, you’re clearly not well. Have you been on your phone today?’
The boy looked puzzled. ‘No. I’ve been here on the sofa since this morning. My phone’s been on charge in my room.’
‘So how did you manage to tweet the Salisbury Journal about finding the body then?’
‘What? I haven’t done anything like that.’
Bernie turned her head at the faint sound of scurrying in the hallway. She glanced at Mrs Moffatt, who sighed.
‘Wait a minute.’ Craig’s mother got up and went to the lounge door. ‘Laura Anne Moffatt. Get in here now.’
Bernie saw a sulky-looking girl with a high ponytail sidle round the door.
‘Have you been on Craig’s Twitter account again?’ asked her mother.
Laura looked down at the floor. ‘Maybe,’ she muttered. ‘Why?’
‘Why? Because this police officer wants to know.’
Bernie saw Laura’s eyes flicker towards her and then Anderson. The girl’s gaze stayed on Anderson.
‘How old are you, Laura?’ asked Bernie.
‘Twelve.’
Bernie sighed. The girl looked older. ‘And do you know how old you have to be to be on Twitter?’
‘Thirteen.’
‘And do you know why that is?’
The girl dragged her eyes away from Anderson to Bernie, a smile on her face.
‘Yeah. Our form tutor, Mr Gardener, had one of your lot come into school to give us a lecture.’
‘Hey,’ said Mrs Moffatt. ‘Don’t be rude to the detective inspector.’
Laura’s eyes met her mother’s. She glanced down and fiddled with her necklace, stroking the owl pendant.
‘I tweeted it. I thought it was cool.’
‘Well, it wasn’t,’ said Bernie. ‘Thankfully, someone at the paper got in touch and it was removed. But we have no idea how many people may have seen it. This is a murder investigation, Laura. It’s very important to preserve evidence and we’re careful about what we release to the press. We don’t want to alert the person responsible unless we have cause to do so. Do you understand?’
The girl nodded, her eyes downcast.
Bernie looked back at Craig. The skin in his face had gone slack. She reached out and felt his neck for a pulse. It was erratic.
‘Anderson, get an ambulance. If he’s not keeping anything down he might be dehydrating.’
Mrs Moffatt came over to her son. ‘Oh, Craig. I hadn’t realised you were so bad.’
‘Don’t worry, Mrs Moffatt. The paramedics will put a line in and start him on fluids. Is your husband around?’
‘He’s out in the field. I’ll call him.’ She dashed out of the room.
Bernie looked at Laura, still skulking by the door.
‘Laura, do me a favour. Get rid of any social media accounts you might have. Wait a year and then sign up again and make sure your mum is a friend.’
Bernie checked Craig’s pulse again. She wasn’t surprised he was in such a state. The image of the young woman in the woods would stay with them both for quite some time.
5
Bernie helped to shut the ambulance door and then waved goodbye to Mr Moffatt and Laura as they followed in their car. The dog barked as they left.
‘Oh God, what’s going to happen with the animals?’ she asked.
‘I heard Mr Moffatt on the phone. He’s got someone coming over. Now they’ve gone, can we please go over to the scene?’ asked Anderson, impatience in his voice.
Bernie wondered what it was like to be demoted; for your natural instinct to lead to be curtailed. Anderson was still ill at ease with being a sergeant rather than an inspector.
He’d already started to walk across the field, towards the police vehicles. More had arrived since earlier that morning, including the pathologist’s black ambulance. It wouldn’t be long before the body would be moved.
She walked quic
kly to catch up with Anderson. The light rain had given way to warm sunshine. Summer had, unusually, continued into October. She regretted not leaving her jacket in the car. She’d be warm in the forensic suit, her third one of the day.
They suited up at the outer cordon and were signed into the crime scene log. Uniform were searching the surrounding area looking for anything of significance. They walked a little way on a path and then Bernie led Anderson off-track past trees and bushes until they could see the white tent ahead of them.
Anderson lifted a gloved hand to his nose. ‘Ugh, I can smell that from here.’
‘Wait until you get inside the tent.’
Bernie heard a familiar voice as she approached – Dr Phyl Bridger. Bernie had attended a lecture Phyl had given to police in the summer and had then spent a couple of hours afterwards discussing the merits of forensic entomology with her over a cup of coffee. She pulled back the tent flap.
‘Phyl, I thought I could hear you. I would say it’s nice to see you but…’
A woman with rosy cheeks and glasses looked up. ‘Yes, I know what you mean. One day our lives will cross in a more pleasant environment. Like a pub. In the meantime, I have a whole host of little helpers here.’ She pointed to an array of pots with various insects and larvae.
‘Do you think you’ll be able to help with time of death?’
‘Well, temperatures are above the seasonal norm at the moment, so I think things have accelerated a little from what you would expect to get in autumn. I’ll know more when I get all my samples back to the lab and I can look at the weather data.’
‘But if you were to hazard a guess now?’
‘Bernie, you know better than to ask me that.’ Phyl Bridger waved a finger in mock anger. ‘However, based on the warmer weather and the fact she wasn’t buried, I would say around five or six days, but don’t quote me on that just yet.’
‘That fits in with what Nick White thought too. So maybe last Friday.’
Anderson coughed behind her.
‘Oh sorry, I forgot to introduce Detective Sergeant Anderson. This is Dr Phyl Bridger, our entomologist.’