Flawed Beauty

by Ernesto Lee

  The question is a test, of course, for the new girl on the team. With no intention of backing down or looking weak in front of a man she’s only just met, Terri confidently moves forward and kneels next to the body. Opposite her, Gladwell takes a knee next to DCI Blake. For a moment, he stares at Terri, trying to read her face, and then asks, “Are you sure, DI Marchetti? This is not the kind of image that you can ever quite forget.”

  Irritated by his insinuation that she doesn’t have the stomach for it, Marchetti reaches over and pulls back the plastic sheet herself to reveal the body beneath. With more than ten years of policing behind her, Terri has seen her fair share of bodies in the line of duty, but nothing could have quite prepared her for what she is seeing now. The detached and bloody part of Shreya’s face and lips has been pushed into her mouth and is now partially hanging over her chin. Above this, her cheek bones and nasal cavity are clearly visible beneath a bloodied mess of muscle and sinew.

  Suddenly nauseous, Terri lurches back and unintentionally blurts out, “Jesus Christ, what kind of an animal could do such a thing to another human being?”

  Gladwell carefully replaces the sheet back across Shreya’s face and quietly says, “I ask myself the same thing every day, DI Marchetti. This was no animal, though. This was something far worse.”

  Conscious of Terri’s distress, Erin helps her up and suggests that they all move outside to get some fresh air. “I think we’ve seen enough in here for now.”

  “Before we do, there is something else that you might want to see,” Gladwell offers. He lifts the sheet from the bottom edge and carefully rolls it up until Shreya’s body is fully exposed from the neck down. Some of the buttons are missing from her blouse. But Erin notes that the rest of her clothing appears to be fully intact.

  “Any sign of rape or sexual assault?” she asks.

  “The autopsy will be able to confirm for sure, but I don’t believe so at this stage,” Gladwell replies. “Her skirt and underwear are still in place and there are none of the usual signs of bruising or abrasions on the inner thighs that might indicate forced intercourse or sexual assault. Nor could I find any traces of seminal fluid anywhere on the body or clothes.”

  “So, what are we looking at?” Erin asks.

  “I’m not entirely sure,” Gladwell says, shaking his head.

  He then carefully opens Shreya’s blouse and points to the bloody daubs on the top of her breasts. “Some kind of calling card, or possibly just the sick ramblings of a madman?”

  Erin leans over for a closer look and then turns to Terri. “Flawed and Beauty?”

  “Or Flawed Beauty?” her colleague suggests.

  Erin nods. “Yes, you could be right.” Having seen enough, she asks Gladwell to cover the body and they leave the tent.

  Pleased to be back outside, Terri removes her mask and takes a deep gulp of the fresh morning air.

  “You doing okay?” Erin asks her.

  “I’m okay. Just pretty horrifying. I really wasn’t expecting it to be quite that bad.”

  “You want to take a quick walk to shake it off? I can finish up here with DI Gladwell.”

  Shaking her head, Terri replies, “No, that’s okay. This is what I signed up for, ma’am. I’m no good to you or the team if I can’t deal with something like this.”

  Erin nods her approval, and Gladwell suggests that they move out of the yard and into the alley. He leads them towards the back of a nondescript black panel van and pulls open the rear doors. “Ladies, if you would like to step into my office, we can talk a little more privately.”

  Blake and Marchetti take a seat on a bench, and following Gladwell’s lead, they lower their hoods. He also tells them it’s safe to remove their gloves. “My samples are all forensically secured, and I’m sure you will be more comfortable taking notes without those on.”

  Erin smiles and asks Terri to take notes of the conversation. Nodding, Terri opens her pocketbook. “Ready when you are, boss.”

  DI Gladwell is more than familiar with the routine and sits quietly waiting for the first question. When Erin suggests, instead, that he take the lead, he looks more than a little surprised.

  “Don’t look so worried, Malcolm. You’re an old hand at this. How about you summarize what you’ve ascertained so far, and we’ll ask our questions as we go along if there is anything you haven’t already covered?”

  “Um, okay. Well, firstly, and as I’ve said already, I don’t believe the young lady was the victim of a rape or sexual assault. There is no apparent evidence to suggest that. Nor do I believe this was a robbery gone wrong. Her handbag and purse were both present when I arrived at the scene. The purse still contained cash, credit cards and the victim’s identification.”

  “You believe the victim is Shreya Singh?” Erin asks.

  “I do,” Gladwell replies confidently. “Despite the injuries to her face, there is more than enough remaining of her facial structure for me to be sure.” Then looking to Terri, he says, “The eyes, in particular, don’t lie, DI Marchetti.”

  Terri nods and asks, “What about a time of death? Or an estimate of how long she’s been lying in that yard? Her injuries looked quite fre—”

  Gladwell cuts her off with a nod. “Very good. Yes, you’re right. The injuries are fresh. Rigor mortis is not yet fully complete, which means that she’s been dead for no more than six or seven hours.”

  Erin waits for Terri to finish writing and then asks, “So, a time of death anywhere between 10 pm last night and when she was discovered at just after six this morning?”

  “Yes, I think that would be a fair assumption,” Gladwell replies. “Last night was fairly mild for the time of year, so I’m confident that the onset of rigor mortis won’t have been overly affected by the air temperature in the early hours of this morning.”

  Gladwell waits to let Terri catch up and then says, “As for cause of death, I’m fairly certain it was a result of a direct blunt-force trauma to the right temple.”

  He removes his camera from the case and scrolls through the pictures taken earlier before offering the camera to Erin. “You see here? It’s very faint, but you can just distinguish the outline of a circle approximately an inch and a quarter in diameter.”

  The impression is faint, but visible. Unsure, Erin asks, “The head of a hammer?”

  Gladwell quickly corrects her. “Not the head, DCI Blake. But the face of a hammer I believe.”

  Terri looks up from her notes and nervously asks a question that she is secretly dreading the answer to. “And the injuries to her face? Do you think that was done pre- or post-mortem?”

  “Most definitely pre-mortem,” Gladwell replies, completely oblivious to Terri’s continued discomfort. “The volume of blood and patternation on her body and at the crime scene are clear indicators that this young woman’s heart was pumping strongly when those injuries were inflicted on her.”

  Terri shudders involuntarily, and suddenly aware of his insensitivity, Gladwell hastily puts away the camera and apologizes. “I’m sorry. I probably could have phrased that more delicately, DI Marchetti. I tend to get a little overly clinical and detached at times. It’s a coping mechanism for this job, I think.”

  Shaking her head, Terri says, “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I need to toughen up and find my own coping mechanism if I want to continue in this line of work.”

  Erin touches her hand sympathetically. “You’re doing fine, Terri. This is your first major case since joining the squad. And it’s perfectly natural to be sickened by what you’ve just seen. It’s what makes us human, and it’s what distinguishes us from the animal that did that to her.”

  “Okay,” Erin continues. “Let’s push on. What else can you tell us?”

  Gladwell reopens the aluminum case and takes out a small selection of glass tubes and evidence bags. He hands two sealed glass vials to DCI Blake. The first one contains a small fragment of terracotta pottery. “This was caught in the tread of one of the victim’s bo
ots. I’d already seen more broken pottery in the alley before going to the crime scene.”

  “Yes, I saw it as well,” Erin says. “You think there could have been a struggle in the alley prior to her ending up where she was found?”

  “That’s a strong possibility,” Gladwell replies. “On that basis, I did a forensic sweep of that area before you arrived. I found this little beauty just beyond the main body of pottery fragments.”

  He is pointing to the second vial. The item inside is so small that Erin struggles to see or understand what it is. She lifts it up to the light for a better look and shakes her head. “It looks like it could be a piece of glass or Perspex. What is it?”

  “Well, if I was a betting man, DCI Blake – which, of course, I am not – I would say that it is a splinter from a broken cell phone screen.” He hands Erin a small magnifier. “Look closely and you can just make out a slight curve on one edge.”

  Erin nods. “Yes, I think you’re right. I can see it. So possibly our victim or our perp dropped their phone during the struggle?”

  “Yes, but it’s unlikely to have been the attacker,” Gladwell suggests. “I think he would have had other things on his mind. It’s also possible, of course, that it was already there and has nothing whatsoever to do with this incident.”

  “I agree,” Erin says. “But let’s keep an open mind. Was a phone found in the alley or at the scene?”

  Gladwell shakes his head. “No. I swept the alley and crime scene thoroughly and it’s not like a phone is something inconspicuous or easily missed.”

  “I’m sure the database will be able to give us a match on which type of phone it came from,” Terri offers.

  “It’s from a Samsung,” Gladwell says. “I’m not sure which model, but definitely a Galaxy. I’ve examined enough phones in my time to know.”

  “Good to know,” Erin says. “This is good stuff, Malcolm. What else have you got?”

  Next, he hands Erin a selection of small evidence bags. “These are various fiber samples recovered from the victim’s body and clothing. I can’t tell you much about them until I get them back to the lab. These, though, certainly don’t belong to our victim. Her lashes are all her own.”

  The evidence bag he’s pointing to now contains what looks like two long eyelashes. “Are they real?” Erin asks.

  “No, as fake as they come,” Gladwell replies, shaking his head. I found them on what was left of her right cheek. I wasn’t sure at first, but on close inspection, there are very small traces of glue on the end of each lash.”

  Terri makes a note and then points to the last two bags. “And those?”

  Gladwell takes the two bags back from Erin and holds them up to the light. Each bag contains a standard police-issue evidence swab. Both samples are small but easily recognizable to Erin and Terri.

  “That one looks like lipstick,” Erin says. “Is the other one mascara or eye shadow?”

  “Hard to tell without proper analysis. But definitely make-up of some kind.”

  “The victim’s?” Terri asks.

  “No. Completely different to what our victim was wearing, DI Marchetti.”

  Confused, Erin asks, “So, where did you take the samples from?”

  “From the victim,” Gladwell replies. “I found the lipstick trace on her right ear. The other sample I took from her right cheek. Although barely visible, on close inspection, the coloration stood out a mile from her own make-up.”

  “Easily passed from person to person if they were hugging,” Terri suggests.

  “Yes, that’s a possibility,” Gladwell concurs. “We keep an open mind, though. Don’t we, DCI Blake?”

  “We do. That’s the golden rule,” Erin says humoring him. “Anything else we need to know, Malcolm?”

  Gladwell is already packing away his samples and shakes his head. “Nothing else significant for now. I’ll get this little lot back to the lab and see what I can find out. I’ll be in touch as soon as I have anything.”

  Erin offers her hand. “Thanks. You’ve been a great help and most thorough as always, DI Gladwell.”

  “Always a pleasure, never a chore, DCI Blake.”

  He then offers his hand to Terri. “And a pleasure to meet you, DI Marchetti. I hope this hasn’t been too traumatic for you?”

  The question is another test. Keeping a straight face, she shakes Gladwell’s hand. “Traumatic enough, but great experience and very informative. Thanks for your consideration, DI Gladwell.”

  . . . . . . . .

  Back outside and safely out of earshot, Terri turns to Erin and shakes her head. “You said he was eccentric, but, seriously, that guy needs to get out more. And what was that comment about you having a very distinct shape and way of standing? He looked like he was mentally measuring you up for a coffin or a body bag.”

  Both women start to laugh, until Terri spots a familiar figure pushing his way through the cordon. “Speaking of weirdos, look what the cat has dragged in.”

  DS Tony Bolton looks like he has either come straight from the pub or straight from his bed. He is unshaven, his suit is crumpled, and he has a seriously bad case of bed head. When he gets closer, the smell of alcohol on his breath is almost overpowering. Doing his best to look alert, he consciously puts a spring in his step when he sees Blake and Marchetti.

  Ignoring Terri completely, however, he smiles at Erin and asks, “Where do you want me, ma’am? You want me to rally the troops for a house-to-house, or I could—”

  Irritated, Erin raises a hand to cut him off. “That won’t be necessary for now, Tony. We have everything under control here. You can call around, though, and make sure that the full team are in the office for a briefing at eleven.”

  Knowing full well he is in the doghouse, and eager to please, Tony innocently offers a lift to the station.

  Dumbfounded by his stupidity, Terri says nothing, but now even more displeased, Erin sharply dismisses the offer. “That won’t be necessary, Sergeant Bolton. DI Marchetti has her car. We’re going for breakfast, and then I’m going home to shower and change before the briefing. I strongly suggest that you do the same. But in a taxi. Do I make myself clear, Tony?”

  With the point made loud and clear, Bolton skulks away and pushes through the now very large crowd pushing against the cordon.

  “Something needs to be done about him,” Terri says.

  “Yes, I know,” Erin agrees with a nod.

  “I mean it, boss. It’s not good for team morale to have him so openly hostile to me. And did you see the state of him just then? He looked like a hard-drinking throwback to the seventies. What kind of impression does that give to the rest of the te—?”

  “Okay, you’ve made your point, Terri. And I’ll deal with it. His annual appraisal is due within the next couple of weeks.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Terri tuts. “I’ve been dreading it. What do I say to a subordinate that doesn’t respect me and barely even acknowledges my existence?”

  “You won’t need to say anything, Terri. It would be unfair to ask you to appraise him after just a few months working together, along with his obvious hostility and resistance to your appointment. It’s on me this time around.”

  Shocked but relieved, Terri asks, “Are you sure, boss? Won’t that piss him off even more if he thinks he’s being singled out for special treatment?”

  “Maybe. It depends how I spin it, though. I’ll figure something out.”

  “Okay, well, thanks anyway. That’s a big weight off my mind.”

  “Don’t mention it,” Erin says with a grin. “Breakfast is on you. Come on. I’m gagging for a coffee.”

  The same young constable from earlier pulls back a barrier at the cordon to let them pass. He also helps to clear a path through the crowd, which, in common with all major crimes, now contains large numbers of the gutter press all eagerly clamoring for a quote.

  One of them is particularly insistent and roughly thrusts a small digital recorder towards Erin’s face. �
�DCI Blake, any comment for our readers? Is this the work of a serial killer? Is there a serial killer stalking Merseyside?”

  He looks familiar, but Erin can’t quite place or put a name to the face. Ignoring him, she pushes the recorder aside. Undeterred, the journalist pushes forward again. “DCI Blake, did he disfigure her face?”

  The first rule of dealing with questions from the press is never to be caught off guard or with your pants down. This particular question, however, is so unexpected that Erin is momentarily stopped in her tracks.

  Feeling exposed and vulnerable, her natural inclination is to ask how the journalist knew about the disfigurement, but that would be a mistake. Sensing a problem, Terri steps in front of her to take control. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is an ongoing investigation in its initial stages, and for obvious reasons, we are not at liberty to make any comment at this time. Thank you for your understanding.”

  Turning away, she urges Erin forward through the crowd. When Erin glances back, the same journalist is staring at her with a smug look plastered all over his face that says to her, “I was right, wasn’t I?”

  Chapter Three

  By 11.20 am, more than thirty detectives and uniformed officers have assembled in the briefing room. Terri and DS Bolton have also managed to pull together a basic ops board detailing all currently known information and possible lines of inquiry, which, in all fairness, is very little at this point.

  DS Bolton takes a seat at the front of the room, and Terri calls DCI Blake to let her know everything is ready for her.

  “Are all of the team present?” Erin asks.

  “And some,” Terri confirms. “We’ve got a full house, boss. We’ve also been graced with the presence of Chief Superintendent Anderson. He’s currently sitting quietly at the back of the room. Is that anything to be concerned about?”

  There is a very slight pause before Erin says, “No. I called him earlier to give him a quick update. He said he might pass by if he was free. Let everyone know I’m on my way please.”