by Clare Revell
The phone in his pocket vibrated and he tugged the handset free. A text from Isabel. What had happened? Maybe she needed him and that would be his way out of the hole he’d dug for himself. He swiped to open the message.
As always her message started with a smiley face.
On way to postmortem. Sent you an email with huge New Wine list attached. Hope exams went/will go ok.
Meh. Prob failed but that’s life. Will check email later. How many pages we talking here? How many do we need to get it down to?
A row of half a dozen grins and cheering emojis, with clapping hands followed.
Zander grinned. Someone was happy. Did that mean she’d spoken to DI Holmes about their little problem?
What’s that in aid of?
Done it and twenty pages to answer your question.
Done what?
Spoken to the DI as you said. Also done the list. 650 people from this area going. 350 of them female. will trim it further tomorrow.
Hope exam goes OK.
He sipped his coffee, staring out of the window.
You already said that. As I said, failed. Thinking about ditching last exam and going to the autopsy. Rather be at the beach.
LOL. You and me both. Should do it. Rolled up trousers, knotted hankies for hats, striped deckchairs, ice cream cones with flakes, the works.
Zander laughed at the mental image that produced. He could remember Gramps sat on Margate beach like that when he was a kid. He rapidly sent a text full of crying with laughter faces.
When we catch the Slayer we'll do it.
Sounds like a plan. Go do the exam. if you've already failed, you got nothing to lose. Just go fail some more. New rule. Have to fail three times a day or we fail at failing.
You're silly.
Yup, that's my middle name. Isabel Silly York.
Better go. Doors opening. Laters.
Zander turned off his phone, slid it back into the named plastic bag, and finished his coffee. Setting his cup on the tray by the coffee machine, he joined the others queuing to get back into the hall. He placed his phone into the box held by the woman on the door and retook his seat. He put his pen on the desk and shrugged out of his jacket. The papers were handed out, placed face down on the desk, just like in school.
“OK, ladies and gents. You have one hour and fifteen minutes. You may start now.”
Around him papers rustled as they were turned over.
Zander didn’t move. As always, he spent the first five minutes of the exam in prayer. Then he turned over the papers and picked up his pen.
~*~
Isabel stood in the observation room. It had started to rain as she’d stepped off the bus and judging by the thunder she could hear, it probably was still raining.
Arend glanced up at her. “How are you doing up there?”
“Better than last time,” she said wryly. “I’m upright, and I haven’t thrown up yet. Mind you, I haven’t eaten either.”
“It does get easier.”
“Let’s hope so. Do you have the tox screens back?” She scanned her notes.
“On victims one and two, yes. Nothing untoward or that we weren’t expecting. I have a copy of the report here for you. This is the same duct tape as before. And we’re back to the black marker pen for the word guilty.”
“Did you ever track down the make of pen?” Isabel glanced down at the coroner, keeping her gaze away from the body on the table.
“Bog standard felt tip pen from any newsagent, I’m afraid. Also looks like the same make of matching expensive underwear. No labels.”
Slightly disappointed, Isabel scribbled notes. “What about the time of death?”
“When was she found?”
She flicked back in her notebook. “3:50 AM. They made the call then. They said she was still warm, but didn’t attempt CPR as it was an obvious crime scene.”
Arend snorted. “And they call themselves first responders. Time of death is three forty-five.”
Isabel’s head shot up. “Seriously?”
“Yes, why?” He frowned.
“Because the two officers who found her said they arrived on scene at three forty-five and the dog went straight to her.”
“Hence the messy crime scene. The Slayer was disturbed. He didn’t have time to wash her like the others, and clean up.”
“Could they have revived her?” Isabel’s stomach turned. Her eyes burned. Was Brit’s death avoidable?
“Most likely, yes.”
Several angry words rushed though Isabel’s mind as she sank into the chair and buried her head in her hands. “I wanted to be wrong,” she whispered. She sat for a moment, and then scribbled in her notebook.
“The dress is made from the same towelling as before. It’s Egyptian cotton.”
“Like bath towels?” She rose and moved back to the window overlooking the morgue.
Arend nodded. “Exactly. In fact, from the looks of it, they probably were originally. Or bath sheets.” He paused. “Interesting.”
Isabel glanced up from note taking. “What?”
“It appears I’m right. There is part of a label here in the seam.”
“Can you free it?”
He picked up a pair of scissors. “One second.”
Isabel waited impatiently for Arend to free the silk from the towelling seam. “Well?”
“Hang on.” He finally freed it and looked up. “You want this?”
“Please.”
Arend glanced at his assistant. “Can you photograph it, and then bag it please? I’ll check back on all the others’ as well. It’s a bath sheet. Two of them to be precise.” He named the brand.
“Two of them per girl? That’s a lot of towels. Either he has an accomplice, or he can work a sewing machine.” She scribbled fast as Arend turned to the autopsy proper, praying desperately she wouldn’t throw up this time. Her mind wandered back to the underwear. It was seriously doubtful the girls all wore the same make and colour. Perhaps the Slayer made them change and he’d bought that as well.
4
The autopsy finally over, Isabel headed out into the pouring rain. She was surprised to find it still thundering. It was hardly likely to be the same storm, so perhaps it was a second. Maybe the heavens themselves were ranting and raving and mourning the senseless and needless deaths of four young women, one of whom could have been saved had those idiot cops who’d found her attempted resuscitation.
Isabel reached the bus stop to find she’d missed the bus by four minutes. She tugged up her coat collar, deciding to walk—stopping at the first shop selling umbrellas she came across. Thunder rolled again. At least it was farther away this time.
A black car drove past then pulled over. The window opened and Farrell leaned across. “Can I give you a lift home, Izzy?”
“No, thank you.” She answered quickly. “I’m not going home. I’m not going far.” OK, that wasn’t true, but she didn’t want to be anywhere near him, never mind in a confined space. He obviously hadn’t received the PIN yet or he was flagrantly breaking it.
“Really?” He had the I-don’t-believe-a-word-you’re-saying look on his face. The raised eyebrow, slight curl of his lip, all sent shivers down her spine.
“Yes. I’m still on duty and working. Thank you for the offer though.” She glanced down. “You’re on a double red line, by the way. That’s a no stopping zone. Want an on the spot fine?”
Farrell scowled, raised the window, and drove away.
Isabel gripped her bag and headed into the nearest shop. Fortunately, it sold umbrellas. She picked one up and paid for it. Lime green clashed wonderfully with her jacket, but she really didn’t care. Perhaps it’d start a new fashion trend. She left the shop and headed back into the rain. She reached the crossing and pressed the button to change the lights. She started across and was nearing half way when she noticed Farrell’s car parked in the layby. He had the mirror angled and was watching her.
Sighing, she dived into the drapers and
looked at the car. He wasn’t planning on moving anytime soon by the look of it. She shook her head and crossed to the counter. “Hi,” she beamed at the assistant. “Do you sell towels?”
“We do. What are you after?”
Isabel pulled out her ID. “White, Egyptian cotton bath sheets. A specific make.”
“You need the department store on Headley Road for those. It’s their own make.”
Isabel smiled. “Thank you.” She headed to the door and put the umbrella up. Farrell still sat in his car. Angling the umbrella downwards, so she could avoid him, Isabel walked quickly, her shoes letting in the rain water.
Farrell got out of his car and ran across the road, dodging the traffic.
Isabel walked faster. The back of her neck prickled. She ought to be safe in public, but it didn’t seem that she was.
“Izzy, wait,” Farrell called.
A red car pulled up beside her. “Isabel, get in,” Zander ordered. “You’ll drown. Or Farrell will catch you up.”
Isabel collapsed the umbrella and climbed into the car. She blew out a long breath, hands trembling now that she was safe. She dropped the brolly to the floor by her sodden shoes, easing her feet out of them. “Thank you.”
“Welcome. Thought you said you’d spoken to the Guv about Farrell.”
“I did, but I’m assuming the Guv hasn’t had a chance to talk to Farrell yet. Can we go now?” She changed the subject. “How did the exam go?”
Zander glanced at her, and then gave Farrell a glare as he drew level with the car. “There’s always next year. How was the postmortem?” He began driving as Isabel fastened her seatbelt.
“I didn’t throw up or pass out,” she said, allowing the small measure of pride to show in her voice.
“Congrats.”
“Thanks.” Isabel drew in a deep breath and shoved her hands through her wet hair. “The coroner’s putting the time of death at three forty-five. The same time those cops arrived and found her. A full five minutes before they called it in.”
Zander shot her a sideways glance.
“And before you ask, yes, they probably could have revived her. It explains why the scene was a mess and her feet weren’t clean like the others were.”
“Also the car they saw leave. Need to try and trace it.”
“With no plates?” Isabel shifted close to the door. A habit she couldn’t stop. She trusted Zander with her life, but it was just safer not to get too close to the driver.
“CCTV will give us the make and model. Then, we just track it via the traffic cams.” Zander pulled up at a stop sign and checked both ways. The rain stopped and the sun came out. “But first we need to get you into dry clothes.”
“I’m fine. Brit was also wearing the expensive red lingerie. I don’t think it’s a coincidence like the other blokes think. I want to try and trace it. It’ll be hard without the labels, but I’ll see what I can do. The gowns the girls are wearing are made from two bath sheets sewn together. There was a label left in this one. Only one shop in town sells them, the department store on Headley Road, so we need to go check that out.” She looked at her watch. “Tomorrow, as it won’t be open much longer. At least not by the time we get there.” She sneezed.
“Bless you.” Zander reached into his jacket pocket and handed her a tissue.
“Thanks.” Isabel took it.
“Dry clothes, hot bath, and hot drink before you do anything else.”
“I need to get these notes filed first. That’s way more important than drying off.”
“Look.” He glanced at her. “If you catch your death of cold…”
“I’ll never speak to you again,” she shot back quickly. “Deal?”
Zander laughed. “Sure, why not? Sounds good to me.” He indicated left. “Actually, I think your gym bag is still in the boot, so you can shower and change at work.”
“Fine. If it will shut you up for five minutes,” Isabel grumped, watching the traffic behind them in the mirror.
“I don’t want you getting sick is all. What’s up?”
“We’re being followed. Humour me, and take the next right.”
“OK, but it’s rush hour. You’ll keep seeing the same car behind us.” Zander nevertheless did as asked, turning a sharp right with not much warning. “Well?”
Isabel kept her eye on the traffic behind. “He’s still there. And it’s Farrell’s car. I’m guessing he’s not taking ‘go away’ for an answer. Anyway, I spoke to the DI earlier and got the ball rolling on the PIN. He’s serving Farrell with the papers himself, so hopefully this will stop.”
“Unless he’s just plain disregarding them. In which case I will quite cheerfully sling his sorry behind in jail and toss the key in the bin.” Zander swung into a side street. “Hold on.” Three side streets later, Zander shot onto the main road and accelerated quickly. “Has he gone?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.” Zander drove to the nick and parked in his usual spot. “At least he can’t follow us in here.” He jumped out and headed around the back of the car.
Isabel got out and picked up her umbrella. She opened and closed it several times, shaking the water from the lime green fabric.
Zander laughed. “That clashes with your coat.”
“That’s why I bought it,” she retorted. “Plus no one will steal it.”
He snorted. “You got that right.” He held up her gym bag. “Take this and go change. I’ll see you upstairs.”
“Yes, sir.” She fired off a mock salute. “Swap you one wet umbrella.” Before he could argue, she thrust the lime green brolly into his hand and hurtled inside.
She had to admit it was nice to be out of wet clothes and the hot shower did wonders for her nerves. She shoved her wet things into a carrier bag before stuffing them into her gym bag. Isabel rubbed her hair dry with the towel, and then shoved that into the bag with her wet clothes. She bent over and stuck her head under the hand dryer to take the worst of the dampness out of her hair.
Why would the Slayer wash the girls’ feet? Had he walked them to where he was leaving them and he was trying to remove some evidence? Or was there some significance in the foot washing? She’d have to look it up.
She stood upright, taking care not to hit her head on the dryer, and ran her fingers through her hair. It would have to do. Isabel threw the rest of her things into the gym bag and headed up to the squad room. Zander was in with DI Holmes, so she dropped her bag by her desk and sat. She swung her chair to face the screen.
She turned on the computer monitor. Hitting her usual search engine, she looked up foot washing. It was usually done by priests on Maundy Thursday as a sign of humility and following Christ. Not just in Catholic churches, but it was also a tradition amongst Anglican, Middle Eastern, Jewish, and East European churches. Some even called it a form of baptism—
Isabel froze. Form of baptism? Wait…the girls were dressed in baptismal robes. Communion followed by foot washing. First confession, then baptism. She wrote furiously as the dots joined in her mind. Guilty, forgiveness. Another connection to the commandments and the whole forgiveness issue.
Something almost mouldy assailed her senses. Had Zander left his socks under his desk or something? Or maybe some rancid food got left in the bin. She glanced at her inbox. A brown paper parcel sat there, taunting her. It hadn’t been there before she’d left.
She reached out and grasped the package and turned it over. Her name and address had been handwritten, the postmark was smudged, and the stamp was a new one. No return address though. Without a second thought, Isabel opened the packaging and took out the Styrofoam box. She tugged off the lid and gazed down in horror. Bile rose and she screamed, dropping the box.
The bloody contents spilled onto her desk, covering all her notes and files.
~*~
Zander flung the Guv’s office door open at the first scream. He raced across the squad room, DI Holmes at his heels. “Isabel? What’s wrong?”
He halted by he
r desk, concern flooding him at the amount of blood on her desk. “Isabel? Where are you hurt?”
She turned away, pale, shaking, heaving. She pointed and then leaned over the wastepaper basket.
Zander followed her finger. “Oh…” He swallowed hard, wanting to grab another bin and throw up as well.
A tongue lay on Isabel’s desk, partly concealed by the box it must have arrived in. Common sense told him the liquid blood was fake, as blood congealed fairly quickly, but that didn’t diminish the horror in any way. Gently he put his hands on her shoulders. “Come away.”
DI Holmes pulled out his phone. “This is DI Holmes. I need SOCO up here ASAP.” He covered the phone. “Take her to my office.”
“It was sitting in my in tray.” Isabel put a hand over her mouth, retching again.
Zander held the bin for her, desperately trying not to throw up himself. He didn’t blame her in the slightest. No doubt she’d think this a sign of weakness, but far from it. “Best get Arend Van Houten over here as well.”
DI Holmes nodded, dialling the phone again.
Isabel straightened. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Zander reassured her. “The Guv and I want to do the exact same thing.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Trust me, it’s a close thing.”
DI Holmes covered his phone. “Go sit in my office, Isabel. Zander will make some tea and bring it in. I’ll check with internal mail again. For now, I want this room taped off.”
Zander looked at him, keeping his gaze averted from Isabel’s blood coated desk. “What we really need are cameras in here. Not stepping on your toes, Guv, but at least we’d know who’s delivering this stuff.”
DI Holmes nodded. “I’ll arrange it.”
Three white clad SOCO officers arrived, along with a couple of uniformed officers with crime scene tape.
DI Holmes looked at Zander. “Never thought I’d see the day when my squad room became a crime scene.”
Zander winked. “Social media fodder,” he began going for his phone. “Might make the cop humour page.” His fingers hovered over the keys. “That moment when your own squad room becomes a crime scene in your current murder investigation.”