‘I’d been so sure that I would nosedive into the mud. And how highly amused the instructors would have been,’ Charley continued. ‘Ex-Army. I’m sure they tried to frighten me to death, but being a thrill-seeker, once I’d done it, I wanted to repeat the process over and over again, much to their surprise.’
‘Where will I do the training?’
‘In a worked and excavated quarry, consisting of steep inclines, a mixture of shallow and deep water troughs, slippery sided slopes and serious axle twisters, as well as a mesmerising blast howling through the trees. And the highlight for me – but the nightmare for others, apparently – is the bridge.’
‘So, the murderer could have driven on this rough terrain if they had the ability and the vehicle to drive off-road?’
‘Absolutely!’
‘What’s the Holme Valley Mountain Rescue Team doing here?’ Annie queried, slightly surprised.
‘To rescue me, I hope! Rural policing comes with its advantages. It’s a team effort, from many different sources and types of organisation. We rely on the goodwill and professionalism of local volunteers who know the area and the community well. Refreshingly, once they know that they can rely on you to make decisions, you’ll be accepted and respected, whatever your gender.’
Annie looked puzzled. ‘But why wouldn’t we all know we can trust you? After all, you’ve been chosen to head crime in the division.’
‘Sadly, common sense does not always come with a title, or rank. You’ll learn m’girl.’
Fortunately, near to where the body was hanging was a narrow stone opening, which meant that those in attendance didn’t have to clamber over the ancient dry-stone wall. The crime scene supervisor, Neal Rylatt, arrived with a scenes of crime officer. Already suited and booted, along with three others, they could be seen walking sheep-like towards them, in the opposite direction from where Charley and Annie had come, but on a direct route from the main road. Their approach had obviously been thought out by their leader.
Neal could be seen turning around periodically. ‘DON’T wander off the given path,’ Charley heard him say. ‘We need to preserve what evidence we can, while we can.’ His attention was also on the skies above them and on the distant landscape.
Now suited and booted herself, Charley halted a couple of feet from the corpse. The magnificent, centuries-old tree was strengthened by man-made supports. Her eyes locked in on the dangling body, which was hanging from a low, sturdy branch. The dead person was almost white except for the lower extremities which were red with blood. Charley turned towards Annie.
‘Does it remind you of anything?’ she questioned, thoughtfully.
‘An upside-down red-hot poker plant?’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ said Charley.
‘Well, it can’t be suicide, hung by the feet,’ said Annie.
‘Do you think we are looking for a murderer who is big and strong enough to get the body into that position then?’
‘No, not necessarily.’ Annie considered the question for a moment. ‘Not if you throw a rope over the branch to enable the weight of the body to be hoisted over. The other end of the rope could then be secured to a lower branch.’ She excitedly pointed to the rope secured on a lower, shorter stump she found at the back of the tree.
‘From a practical point of view, I think it’ll be easier for us to lower the body once we’re ready, rather than fetching ladders and cutting the rope,’ Charley said, voicing her thoughts as she studied the scene.
All those gathered in the outer cordon were deathly quiet, waiting for Charley’s instructions and hanging on to her every word. She turned her head and lowered her ear to a faint tapping noise. Silencing those around her with the raising of her hand, she listened intently and when it came again, her eyes sought its source, spotting drops of blood periodically hitting the plastic sheet beneath the body.
‘Confirmation for me, and you Annie, that this is not the scene of the murder, but a dump site,’ she said. ‘My experience tells me that if this person had been killed on site by slitting the throat, there would be much more blood present.’
Charley’s trained eyes scanned the head. As much as the eyes bulged, so the tongue protruded. She shook her head and pointed to the tree netting that covered the trunk of the body, trussing it up like a Christmas tree. Her eyes asked the question.
‘Easier for transporting, I guess,’ said Annie.
‘I think it’s very obvious that someone has given this scene a great deal of thought, don’t you? What I want to know now is when was it put here, how and why?’
Annie grimaced. ‘The body reminds me of an animal hanging in a slaughter house.’
‘Me too. And the reason the animal is hung is so that the blood drains. But the blood hasn’t run from the body here because it’s already drained somewhere else.’
‘It almost feels sacrificial.’
‘Maybe it is. A golden rule I learnt a long time ago, Annie, is always keep an open mind. As investigators, we must never assume anything.’
As the experienced scenes of crime officers busied themselves taking photographs and videoing the scene, Charley explained to Annie why it was absolutely essential to document a crime scene.
‘Why do you think her boots are on the wrong feet?’ asked Annie.
‘I don’t know,’ replied Charley. ‘Do you think it’s relevant? They might have fallen off, or been taken off at some point. It might be nothing more than someone rushing to put them back on.’
‘But why would you bother putting boots back on the dead body?’ said Annie.
‘Why, indeed?’ Charley said, thoughtfully.
Through the netting it could be seen that the dead person was wearing a fluffy white jumper and a short leather skirt.
‘Shelter and protection of the scene is imperative,’ said Charley. She looked up to the darkening skies. ‘And I think immediate action needs to be taken, don’t you?’
‘Really?’
‘The biggest enemies of the CSI are extreme temperatures, wind, humidity and precipitation. Once Neal is satisfied the inner scene has been protected, we can lower the body into a body bag. Would you have them untie the rope around her ankles here?’ Charley added.
Annie looked puzzled. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’
‘Because you could potentially lose evidence. Perhaps a fingerprint of the killer could be secured from inside that knot. Or, maybe they cut themselves and bled, or shed a hair or two. We might be lucky enough to get DNA, so no, we remove the rope at the mortuary where we have the best chance of securing any evidence present.’
‘The private ambulance is on its way,’ came the message over the airways.
Annie studied Charley. ‘How come you’re so calm? You didn’t rush me over the moor, even though I know I held you back, and now you’re taking your time explaining it all to me. Surely there is something more pressing?’
‘I would smile, but there’s probably a zoom camera about somewhere by now, filming us.’
Annie looked from right to left and all around. ‘You’re having a laugh?’
‘Not at all. My advice to you is never let your guard down. As innocent as it may appear, there is always someone ready to trash the enquiry and sadly, in my experience, a would-be friend might be a foe. Truth is, as the SIO there is no point in killing yourself to get to a murder scene. The body is going nowhere. The most important thing for you, as the person in charge, is to make sure that the scene is kept sterile. Once that’s done, it can be unwrapped slowly, ensuring no minor detail is overlooked. Evidence should be gathered at every stage of the enquiry, if possible, and that evidence will hopefully connect the killer to the scene and to the body, in time. A bit of luck plays its part in the capture of a murderer, or so people say. But I don’t think it’s about luck; it’s about being thorough, seizing what the scene yields and dismissing nothing as inconsequential. For that small something could become a crucial, relevant bit of evidence at a later stage. I don’t know if you’re
aware, but we are also obliged, owing to data protection regs, to record, retain and reveal to any future defence team everything we seize at the scene, whether it is used as part of the enquiry or not. The relevance will be up to a defence team to decide, not the prosecution. We, the police, are duty bound to give total disclosure. The defence, however, are not legally obliged to do likewise. And whilst disclosing the evidence might be a long time in the future, the process has to start from the outset of the enquiry: day one and all the data recorded. Got it?’
Charley stooped down to look more closely at the clenched right hand of the deceased.
‘You think she might be holding something, don’t you?’ said Annie.
‘Rigor mortis has set in. I’m not going to try and force the fingers apart,’ said Charley.
‘Probably have to break them, to open them up,’ said Neal, overhearing the conversation. ‘Do you want me to do it for you?’
Charley showed him the palm of her hand. ‘I think the mortuary would be the right place to do that, don’t you?’ The old-timer smiled knowingly.
Neal took plastic bags from his pocket and secured them around the dead body’s hands, tying them at the wrist.
Charley nodded her approval.
‘The last thing we want is for anything to be lost in transit, isn’t it?’ Neal said.
Chapter 3
The sight of a corpse had never scared Charley; instinctively, she was aware the soul had gone. Perhaps it was the legacy of growing up on a working farm and spending time with her father at the slaughter house, which had certainly prepared her for post-mortems: the dead body a shell, another tool for the investigation.
‘Say goodbye, Charley.’ Jack had made her kiss the dead’s hands at family funerals; he always kissed them goodbye. ‘It’s the last chance you’ll get on earth to physically touch them,’ he said. When he saw Charley’s mother turn her nose up in disgust, he would have an argument ready for the more religious of the two. ‘Mary lovingly held her son’s body in her arms when he was returned to her from the cross.’
Funerals were the only other time Charley wore red lipstick, and when her beloved grandpa had died, she’d kissed his head and left an imprint of her lipstick on his silver hair. Mother said she was brave. Truth was, she was a realist.
It had been two hours since the macabre discovery. Charley stood beside Annie. The pair looked down at the body that had now been lowered to the ground.
‘D’ya know, I don’t think I want to be cremated when I die,’ said Annie, wrinkling her nose. Her eyes found Charley’s. ‘Tell me, who the hell in their right mind would choose to end up as a pile of ashes amongst the scraps of bone the fire doesn’t burn, eh? Nah, tell ’em to let the worms eat me up.’
Charley looked from Annie back to the body and considered the younger woman’s words.
‘But there’ll be blowflies laying their eggs in you before the maggots get their turn.’
Annie pulled a face. ‘Maggots before the worms?’
Charley’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yep, and stage-three maggots travel en masse – they’d have a good old attempt at eating you up before the worms even got a look in.’
Annie’s eyes were wide. ‘Really?’
‘And maggots generate a lot of heat, so they move around quite a lot to keep cool – in between eating you up that is.’
Annie swallowed hard. ‘Why’s that then?’
Charley was momentarily distracted as her eyes sought, beyond the upland solitude of the blanket peat expanse, the warmth of the red-roofed village that had been her home. She became transfixed by the ridge upon ridge of purple heather stretching as far as her eyes could see over moorland which held the deep, secret valleys she’d explored since her childhood. From experience, however, she was more than aware that all that glistened here was not gold and that, in just a heartbeat, this area of outstanding beauty, peace and tranquillity could morph into an unforgiving, wet, wild and dangerous place, even for those who knew it well. She turned to Annie.
‘Well, it’s a double-edged sword for a hungry maggot. If they stay on the edge, they’re more likely to get eaten by a bird, but if they’re in the centre of the decaying body too long, they might get cooked.’ Charley slowly turned towards her colleague as she spoke, to see Annie shaking her head as if dismissing the gruesome image that had just popped in. The younger woman lowered her head slightly. ‘I’ll bear it in mind when I do my final bidding.’
‘In the meantime, he’s gonna need some assistance,’ said Charley, pointing a gloved finger in the direction of the driver of the private ambulance, who was failing dramatically in his attempt to reverse the vehicle onto the moorland.
Annie scowled. ‘He’s got no chance, has he?’
Charley raised her eyebrows and slowly shook her head before tilting it to indicate that Annie should head over there.
Annie’s eyes were wide. ‘What, you want me to go help the grim reaper?’
‘Give the chap a break. That vehicle isn’t capable of driving over this terrain.’ Charley stuck the toecap of her boot into the rutted grass at her feet to illustrate the point.
Mr Grundy, dressed in a dark suit, a tie and a white shirt, got out of the vehicle and slammed the driver’s door shut. He held his head high and proceeded to stagger on the uneven path to the rear of the vehicle. He placed his soft hat upon his head. A shard of sunlight caught the highly polished black paint when he flung the back door open with purpose. As he walked towards them, Annie appeared to become transfixed with the little man. He had a large head and very short legs, which trotted him up onto the grass peaks, through ever-increasing levels of thick mud and over hidden sump holes, as he proceeded slowly over to them. He was holding a black carrier. It bumped against his legs, obviously too heavy for him.
Annie rolled her eyes at Charley. ‘Does he always walk like he’s got a broom handle stuck up his arse?’ Her facial expression became one of dislike as she took in the loud grumbling and groaning of the man trying to negotiate his way, clad in unsuitable footwear and shin-deep in the heather, over an unidentifiable path studded with rocks only too keen to trip him up.
Charley could see the dents appear at the sides of her mouth as Annie attempted to suppress a smile. ‘Just make sure he takes the feet,’ Charley whispered in Annie’s ear, pointing towards the dead body.
Her warning was met with a puzzled expression.
‘Sweet Jesus, please tell me it’s not messy,’ Mr Grundy said, followed by a huff and a puff. He stooped down to pick up the shoe from which his foot had become separated in the peat bog at the entrance to the inner scene. He raised the back of his hand to his round, red face, his forehead streaming with perspiration.
A loud shout alerted them to the arrival of two Operational Support vans, which now joined the static convoy and the private ambulance.
‘Saved by the cavalry!’ declared Annie, with a nod towards the suited and booted officers that quickly disembarked.
‘Indeed!’ Charley watched as, within minutes, the body was lifted from the scene, with the due care, attention and respect that a deceased person deserved.
Those accustomed to carrying people over rough terrain, whether dead or alive, trod the moorland with the minimum of effort, such was their fitness, ability and level of training. Mr Grundy tottered on in their wake, somewhat relieved and extremely grateful for their assistance. Arriving at the open door of the private ambulance, the transporters of the dead carefully slid the bagged body on its stretcher into one of the four airtight compartments.
‘Feet first,’ said Mr Grundy. ‘The dead must always travel feet first.’
‘Why feet first? whispered Annie to Charley.
‘It’s more practical. Dead bodies are liable to leak fluid out of the nose and the mouth. Believe me, if you’ve not experienced it yet, it’s not very nice. Keeping the head higher than the torso prevents it.’
Annie pulled a face. ‘So, if we’re carrying a body down steps, it’s always feet first?
’
‘Most definitely.’
Annie looked puzzled. ‘So why has nobody ever told me that before?’
A moment later, Charley knew from Annie’s change of expression that the proverbial penny had dropped.
Neal laughed. ‘Because, they’d be quite happy for you to take the shit…’
‘Ah…’ Annie said, rather slowly, her eyes lifting skywards. Charley knew she didn’t need to explain that her more experienced colleagues would have found the situation highly comical.
‘Thanks for that. I’ll bear it in mind when I’m asked to help move a corpse.’
Wilkie Connor and Ricky-Lee joined them.
‘What you got to smile about?’ asked Ricky-Lee.
‘That I’m not in her shoes,’ said Annie, jerking her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the private ambulance, its doors still ajar.
Since the ambulance was mainly used for transporting corpses, its interior was plain, with steel ribbing forming the shell. The container shell itself had a rusty primer coat of paint.
‘Who’s going with the body?’ asked Annie, with about as much enthusiasm as she would have if she had been asked to suck eggs – she detested eggs.
‘Well, we’ll need someone to go with it for continuity purposes,’ said Charley.
Annie blanched, appearing to hold her breath, expectant. There was a pause.
‘But not you,’ Charley concluded. ‘I need you with me.’
Payback Page 5