Blood Money

by J M Dalgliesh

  “Now that’s a dysfunctional relationship if ever I saw one,” Hunter said.

  “Not a lot of love lost there,” Caslin agreed. “I wonder why?”

  “Let’s find out,” Hunter replied.

  Chapter 6

  Caslin entered the pathology lab finding Dr Alison Taylor leant over her desk reading through some paperwork via artificial light.

  “Things must be important to have you working over the weekend?” he said, playfully.

  “Good morning, Nate. You’re right. There does seem to be a little tension surrounding this one doesn’t there?” she replied, standing and removing her glasses. Indicating to the body, lying on the mortuary slab, she crossed the short distance to it with Caslin coming alongside. “The cause of death was a combination of asphyxia and venous congestion. The deceased’s body was more than adequate to apply the fifteen-kilo weight required to act as the constricting force. The ligature compressed the Laryngeal and Tracheal Lumina which in-turn pressed the root of the tongue against the posterior wall of the Pharynx. Ultimately, this led to a blockage of the airway. The rapid rise in venous pressure within the head was caused by the tension exerted onto the jugular veins. Only two-kilos of weight would be sufficient.”

  Caslin leaned forward inspecting Kuznetsov’s still form, “Well, I’ll take your word for it, Alison. The marks around the neck are distinctive?” Caslin asked, indicating a wide, yellowish area a little over an inch wide.

  “A few hours after death, the area of tissue affected by the ligature can assume the discolouration along with a texture of aging parchment,” Dr Taylor explained. “The depression in the skin is narrower than the ligature itself, encircling the entirety of the neck apart from where the knot was located. You’ll note the thin line of congestion, the haemorrhage, above and below the groove at various points on the neck?”

  Caslin observed where she was indicating, “That tells us what?”

  “Whether there’s a suggestion of post-mortem hanging or not.”

  He cast her a sideways glance, seeking clarification, “Is that a possibility here?”

  “I’ll get to that,” she inclined her head. “First off, let me tell you what I can say with certainty.”

  “Go ahead,” Caslin said.

  “The paramedics brought him down when they arrived, removing the noose. Therefore, I’ve had to make some assumptions regarding how the knot was tied, the rope attached and so on. I have had a conversation with Iain, at the scene, to limit the number of those assumptions. Now, the course of the groove, defined by the noose, tells me the knot was tight to the skin of the neck on the left side of the head. The impression left by the rope is at its deepest and nearly horizontal, on the side of the neck opposite to the knot. As the ligature approaches the knot the mark turns upwards towards it. This produces an inverted ‘V’. The apex of which corresponds with the site of the knot. The ecchymosis… the bleeding under the skin, coupled with the abrasions on the surrounding tissue, are suggestive of suspension taking place while he was alive. I’ve sent a sample of the underlying tissue to the lab for a microscopic analysis, in order to test for any reaction within the tissue,” she explained.

  “That will confirm it, either way?” Caslin said.

  “Patience, Nathaniel,” Dr Taylor admonished him. He smiled, mouthing a silent apology. “I have an issue surrounding a lack of rope fibres present on the victim’s hands. I would expect to find them in the case of a suicidal hanging, although never in a post-mortem hanging. You should press Ian Robertson for an analysis of the rope and its relationship to the beam.”

  “Relationship?”

  “The beam will show evidence of whether the rope was moved up, as in when the body was elevated after death as opposed to the rope moving downwards from above, as the body drops. The latter is obviously what you’d expect to see in the event of a suicide,” she confirmed.

  “What about defensive wounds or signs of a struggle?”

  “There are scratches around the neck, indicative of clawing at the ligature as one might expect to find. There’s no indication these were injuries more conducive to having resulted from an assailant perpetrating the act, than from a suicidal person having a change of heart. I did however, find significant levels of saliva at the angle of the mouth. This pairs well with death by hanging. The glands would have been stimulated by the ligature, leading to increased salivation. I’ve found no other significant injuries that might extend to defensive wounds.”

  “How about insignificant ones?” Caslin asked.

  Dr Taylor smiled, “I found grazes on his right elbow and the corresponding shoulder blade. They were recent. Soil samples, taken from the outer layer of his running kit, imply he took a tumble at some point earlier in the day. Even with the frozen ground, if the area was shrouded by trees or vegetation it would still have been soft enough to mark.”

  “Apparently, he was out for his morning run around the estate.”

  “He may well have slipped. They are not severe injuries but worth investigation in my view.”

  “We’ll walk the route and see if there’s a tie in,” Caslin said, thinking aloud. “Anything else?”

  “Nothing to suggest foul play, no,” she replied.

  “So, where are you taking this if suicide is the likeliest outcome?” Caslin asked.

  “I never said that,” Dr Taylor smiled, crossing back over to her desk and returning with a file. Opening it, she moved to her wall-mounted light box. She pressed the power switch and Caslin came alongside as the neon-tubes flickered into life. Arranging three X-ray scans next to one another, Dr Taylor pointed to the first. “I take these routinely, looking for any obvious signs of violence. In a case of hanging, victims over the age of forty are prone to the fracturing of the larynx. Less so, if they’re younger.”

  “So, if you’re over forty, you’re past it?” Caslin joked. “Terrific.”

  “Only in matters of being hanged, until dead,” Dr Taylor replied, with a grin of her own. Caslin smiled. It had been some time since they had been able to share anything but a professional conversation. Internally, Caslin hoped she had forgiven him for his pathetic attempts at maintaining their now defunct relationship.

  “Silver linings.”

  “The X-rays,” she said, indicating them with her index finger. Caslin refocused his attention. “I found no fractures, either to the larynx or any other part of the body to suggest a violent strangulation and let’s face it, who willingly allows themselves to be asphyxiated?”

  “Unless of course, they are unconscious,” Caslin said.

  “True,” Dr Taylor agreed. “Although, a deadweight is far harder to suspend in an atypical hanging, where the body is fully elevated. Particularly, if disguising a homicide as a suicide.” Caslin cast his eyes over the remaining two images. Both were X-rays of the upper body.

  “Now, having led me all this way, you’re going to tell me you found something that blows all of this ambiguity out of the water, aren’t you?”

  Dr Taylor laughed, “Take a look at the next two. This one,” she pointed to the third image along, “is a close up of the second.” Caslin looked and although he could see they didn’t appear correct, he couldn’t say why. Dr Taylor interpreted his expression and elaborated. “Look at the vertebrae, at the top of the spine but the base of the neck.”

  To Caslin, the area looked like a mass of white and he couldn’t make out any breaks or artificial objects present, “Help me out. What am I looking for?”

  “Ankylosing Spondylitis,” she confirmed. Caslin looked to her, raising an eyebrow in an unspoken query.

  “I think I’ve heard of that,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “It’s something to do with inflammation of the joints, isn’t it?”

  Dr Taylor nodded, “Very good, Nathaniel. Yes. It causes the vertebrae and lumbosacral joint to ossify due to inflammation. As the disease progresses it can lead to the vertebra fusing together. It’s often painful, particularly as it develops and ca
n affect seemingly unrelated areas of the body. The legs, hips, and in forty percent of cases, the anterior chamber of the eye. Mr Kuznetsov had quite an advanced condition, judging by the medication I found in his toxicity-screen along with what Iain Robertson confirmed was back at the house.”

  “His medication?” Caslin questioned, for clarity.

  She nodded a confirmation, “The main symptom for us to consider in this scenario is the restriction of his movement.”

  “It was significant?” Caslin asked.

  “Iain confirmed the knot used was a reef. For him to tighten that knot so close to the skin, at the rear of his neck, would be something of a challenge. Not least because he is right-handed and the knot was tightened-”

  “On the left-side,” Caslin finished for her.

  “Exactly. There is the possibility that the knot moved as the slack of the rope was taken up but I see no evidence to confirm that.”

  “Are you saying he couldn’t have done it?”

  Dr Taylor held up a hand, “I’m afraid I can’t be so definitive, Nate. However, I’m confident enough to say that in my opinion, he would have found it very difficult and to envisage him doing so is problematic at best.”

  Caslin considered everything Dr Taylor had told him, churning the key points over in is head. Her findings caused concern.

  “You throw up something of a dilemma for me, Alison,” he said. “You’re not doubting the cause of death but whether he was capable of actually carrying it out. Could his medication have given him enough respite from the pain in order for him to manage it?”

  “Absence of pain doesn’t negate the fusing of the vertebrae though,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not convinced he would be able to raise his hands across and behind him, to sufficiently tighten the knot. It isn’t a case of pain. It’s more a physical impossibility.”

  “Which brings us back to why someone would not fight to survive. Basic human instinct dictates you’d react, wouldn’t you?”

  Dr Taylor nodded emphatically, “One of the first symptoms would have been a loss of power and subjective sensations such as flashes of light and ringing or hissing in the ears. At that point the survival instinct would override everything else and a conscious person would react. If the pressure continues however, intense mental confusion soon follows and all power of logical thought disappears. By then, he would’ve been unable to help himself even if the notion occurred. There follows a loss of consciousness.”

  “Any sign of a sedative in the tox-screen?”

  She shook her head, “I found nothing that leads me to believe he wasn’t conscious during the asphyxiation.”

  “How long would it have taken?” Caslin asked, walking back over to the body and looking intently at the ligature markings as if hoping to see something they’d missed.

  “Had we found a fracture in the cervical vertebrae death would have been instantaneous but even in this case, it still would have been rapid. Perhaps three to five minutes.”

  Caslin thought on it, “That’s a long time for a conscious man to be subdued without a struggle, especially without leaving an indication of having done so. Could we be looking at a professional?”

  “If it’s a murder, then I would expect nothing less,” she said, thinking aloud. “They barely left a sign they were ever there. In this scenario, I would add that circumstantial evidence becomes of paramount importance.”

  “Sadly, that doesn’t bring a case to trial,” Caslin said despondently, “and rarely a suspect to the interview room.”

  “Unfortunately, you’re not going to be able to prosecute anyone off the back of my report. With that said, I would doubt very much if a coroner would rule anything but an open verdict, on this one. Of course, we must consider the possibility that he didn’t fight because he chose not to.”

  Caslin glanced at her, “That this was an assisted suicide?”

  Alison nodded, “If he couldn’t do it himself but wanted to. It’s possible. He wouldn’t be the first.”

  “Thanks, Alison,” Caslin said. “You’ve given me a headache that I don’t see an easy cure for.”

  “You’re welcome, Nate,” she replied. “It’s good to see you. It’s been a while.” Caslin smiled. She was right. He had been keeping his distance to avoid any chance of an awkward meeting. Alison, on the other hand, hadn’t exhibited any similar concerns and now he felt foolish. That wasn’t a sensation he either cared for or wanted to experience.

  “I know,” he began, “I guess… you know how it is, right?”

  Alison smiled warmly, “Don’t worry, Nate. Besides, sometimes things happen for the best. There’s no need for you to avoid me.”

  He nodded in a relaxed manner as if he was surprised she felt the need to bring it up. He wasn’t convincing. Having mumbled a brief request about her sending him a copy of her finalised report, Caslin left pathology and headed out to his car.

  There was something about Alison’s demeanour that struck him as odd. Not out of character as such but not in keeping with how she usually came across with him. Resolving to give it more thought later on, should the opportunity arise, he pushed it from his mind. Reaching the steps to the building, Caslin trotted down them and into the car park. The wind had dropped today, ensuring the morning was far warmer than it had been in recent weeks.

  Turning his thoughts to the demonstration of the previous day, he realised it was merely a warm-up to the main event of the coming weekend. The next march was scheduled for that very afternoon, with the anti-fascists lining up at midday in the shadow of York Minster. The emotionally charged warriors representing either side had to wait until they’d finished the working week before they could make their feelings known.

  The plans of the far-right, those expected to cause any potential unrest were not yet known. Since arriving in the city, they had broken up into smaller groups, presumably to confuse the police and make tracking them more difficult. So far, they were being proved right. Taking out his phone, he called Hunter. She picked up within three rings.

  “Sarah, where are we with Kuznetsov’s security?”

  “Not very far, sir,” Hunter replied. “I’ve been onto the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs but they’ve not been forthcoming. I was passed around several departments before I got through to anyone even remotely interested.”

  “And what did they give us?”

  “Still waiting on a call back, sir.”

  Caslin sighed, “I suppose that was to be expected. All right, get onto Europol and see if any of the names are tagged.”

  “Way ahead of you, sir,” she said triumphantly. “We got a hit on three of them. Two are low-level Brodyag or-”

  “Foot soldiers,” Caslin interrupted, “each with a speciality that they bring to the team.”

  “You’ve come across these types before then?”

  “Yes. Go on.”

  “Those two have records detailing their arrest in an alleged protection racket in the south of France. Although no charges were brought against them. They were subsequently deported, three-years ago.”

  “And the other?” Caslin asked.

  “Your friend, Vitsin.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “He’s also popped up on the radar of the Gendarmerie. He was an Avtotitet, a captain or brigade commander, aligned with the Mikhailov Bratva, based in Rostov-on-Don, Southern Russia. Intelligence had him at a more senior level running a Sovietnik or support group. There was some kind of investigation surrounding bribery of state officials and he went to ground.”

  “I would’ve thought that was par for the course when it comes to Russia,” Caslin said, reaching his car and unlocking it.

  “Most likely the bribe was not enough or there was some kind of internal power struggle with Vitsin coming off worse. Either way, he reappears six-months later in Montpellier, France. The French came across him and he was visible enough for them to document his comings and goings for a while at least, before he again, disappe
ars from view.”

  “Until now,” Caslin said, putting his key in the ignition and firing the engine into life. “Keep digging, Sarah. I’m on my way back to Fulford Road. I reckon this isn’t going to be as cut and dried as some people might have hoped.”

  “I will, sir but before you go there are a couple of things.”

  “Okay, go on,” Caslin said, sitting back in his seat and leaving the car ticking over in neutral.

  “Firstly, we’re a bit thin on the ground today. The DCI has had to allocate a lot of the team to today’s protests. Management are worried it’s all going to kick off.”

  “Might do,” Caslin said. “What’s the second thing?” Hunter didn’t speak. Caslin checked his phone to make sure the call was still connected. It was. “Sarah?” he asked again, hearing her breathing at the other end of the line.

  “There’s no easy way to tell you this, sir.”

  Caslin eyes were drawn to a young family passing by. Focusing his attention squarely on the call, he asked, “What is it, Sarah?”

  “It’s Sean, sir. Your son.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s in detention. Here, at Fulford Road.”

  “Don’t be daft.”

  “Sorry, sir. He was picked up in a raid last night, carried out by the Drug Squad.”

  “Last night?” Caslin said, incredulous.

  “Yeah. Apparently, he didn’t have any ID on him and lied about his name, age, everything. Understandable I guess, seeing as who his father is. They’ve only just found out downstairs.”

  Caslin’s head dropped and he rubbed fiercely at his forehead with his one free-hand. “Oh, for fu…” he let the words tail off.

  “I’m sorry, sir. Should I let Karen know?” Hunter asked carefully, referring to Caslin’s ex-wife. Caslin took a deep breath and took a moment in an attempt to gather his thoughts, exhaling heavily before answering.