by Sally Rigby
There was a knock at the door, and the officer she’d seen earlier walked in. She got up and walked over to him.
‘DS Price,’ he said. ‘We spoke this morning.’
‘Yes. I recognise you. Do you need my help?’ The DCI must have changed her mind.
‘Not exactly. Have you told the students about Millie Carter?’ he asked.
‘Yes. Just now.’
‘We’d like to speak to them. Is there somewhere we can do that?’
‘There’s an empty class next door. Go there and I’ll send them in.’
She waited for them to leave and went back to the students.
‘That was the police. They’d like to speak to you about Millie. They’re in the class next door.’
They all shuffled out of the classroom, apart from Lisa who remained seated, her face pale. George moved and sat next to her. ‘Were you very close to Millie?’ she asked gently.
‘We were in the same hall of residence in our first year. Our rooms were next door, so we saw a lot of each other back then. I moved in with my boyfriend in our second year, and she lived with several girls in a flat in town.’ Tears filled Lisa’s eyes, and George passed her a tissue, which she used to wipe her eyes and then scrunched up in her hand.
‘Did you see Millie socially?’
‘Not really. I tend to hang with my boyfriend and his friends. I’d sometimes see her at parties, or in the pub, but we haven’t been out together in a long time. We mainly caught up during lectures and tutorials or for a coffee. I can’t believe she’s not here.’ Tears streamed down her face, and she wiped them away.
George patted her gently on the hand, unsure whether putting her arm around Lisa’s shoulders was appropriate. Physical displays of emotion always left her uncomfortable.
‘Why don’t you call your boyfriend and ask him to come and meet you? You don’t want to be alone at a time like this.’ It was all she could think of to suggest.
‘I can’t believe I’ll never see Millie again.’ Lisa’s shoulders slumped.
‘When did you last see her outside of classes?’
She couldn’t sit back and wait for the police to come up with something.
She wanted to help.
She needed to help.
The fact she found the body. The fact Millie was her student. It had to mean something.
Millie’s death, the way she was posed, was definitely a signature. If she could find out more information, she might be able to come up with a profile to help the police and catch the bastard who’d done it.
To make sure they didn’t hurt anyone else.
Lisa was silent for a moment. ‘I think it was the weekend before last. She was at a party I went to.’
‘Where was it?’
‘A house on Lloyd Road. It was a student party.’
‘Which students?’
‘Honestly, I don’t know. There were hundreds of people coming and going. We only stayed an hour and then went onto another party. You know what it’s like.’
‘But you definitely saw Millie there?’ George persisted.
‘Yes.’ Lisa nodded. ‘She was standing with a couple of other girls. We didn’t talk; I just noticed her across the room.’
She didn’t pursue it, because Lisa was so upset. What she needed now was more information about how she died. Hopefully Claire would help.
After Lisa went next door to speak to the police, George called a taxi to take her to the mortuary. She had time as her next class wasn’t until one. She’d been to the mortuary several times and had once sat in on an autopsy. Before studying forensic psychology, she’d gone into medicine, intending to become a surgeon like her father. But it didn’t work out. With hindsight, she was pleased, because she’d found her true vocation.
The taxi dropped her off, and she walked into the new state-of-the-art mortuary which adjoined the local hospital. She headed down the wide, mildly antiseptic smelling corridor and pushed open the double door. Claire was seated at her desk in the office area. ‘Hello, how’s it going?’
‘Hectic,’ Claire replied, standing and walking over to greet her. ‘Did we have a meeting?’
‘No. I just popped in to ask you about Millie Carter. The girl found by the river this morning.’
‘You know I can’t discuss it with you.’
George had forgotten what a stickler for the rules she was. Much like herself. But that wasn’t going to stop her from trying. She wanted justice for Millie.
‘She was one of my students. I was the one who found her.’
‘I’m sorry. But I still can’t talk about the case with you. You know that,’ Claire said, shaking her head.
‘I understand. Can you confirm it was murder?’
‘What made you ask? Did you spend time looking over the body?’
‘Not really. But I noticed the way it was posed. It was unnatural, especially if the death was natural causes, suicide, or through a drug overdose.’
‘Yes. She was murdered,’ Claire confirmed. ‘And that’s all I can tell you.’
More than she officially knew before, which was a start.
She was just about to thank Claire when the door opened. They both turned to see who it was. Walker. Just the person she didn’t want to see at the moment.
‘Hello, Dr Dexter. Dr Cavendish, what are you doing here?’ Walker arched an eyebrow.
‘I called to see Dr Dexter.’
‘What about?’ Walker asked.
Should she tell her the truth? She expected it wouldn’t go down very well. ‘Dr Dexter guest lectures for me. I came in to discuss when we’ll next be seeing her.’
Claire stifled a snort by turning it into a cough. George shot a warning glance in her direction.
‘And you couldn’t do that on the phone? Or via email? Are you sure you weren’t here trying to find out about Millie Carter?’
George tensed. ‘I realise Dr Dexter can’t divulge any information.’
‘Good. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving, I have the case to discuss with Dr Dexter.’
‘I’ll call you later, Claire,’ George said, turning to leave and refusing to acknowledge Walker’s comments.
‘Do you feel better after that?’ Claire Dexter asked.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ Whitney replied, trying not to smirk.
She didn’t appreciate Dr Cavendish attempting to muscle in on her case.
‘Yes, you do.’ Claire rolled her eyes upwards. ‘Right. You want to know about our victim. She’s over here.’
She followed Claire into the autopsy suite, the intense sterile hospital smell assaulting her nostrils. They headed over to one of the stainless-steel tables where the girl was lying. A big Y-shaped incision, which had been sewn up, covered her chest. Claire walked up close to the victim and turned on the directional light, illuminating her body.
‘See here?’ Claire pointed to purple marks on the victim’s neck. Four on the right and one on the left. ‘These bruises are from the strangulation. The killer was left-handed.’
‘Yes, I see them,’ she replied.
‘And these red dots on her eyelids. It’s what we call petechiae. Again, a symptom of strangulation.’
‘And that’s what killed her?’
‘Yes.’
Whitney shook her head in disgust. It made her sick what people could do. ‘Time of death?’
‘According to the rigor, I’d say between ten and two Sunday night. Also, the body had been moved. She wasn’t killed where she was found.’
Whitney wasn’t surprised. There had been no signs of struggle at the crime scene. Also, no signs of the body being dragged.
‘Any sexual assault?’
‘Bruising around the vaginal area is consistent with the victim being raped. No semen. He would’ve worn a condom. There was soap residue on the body, indicating she was washed down after, hence no other sign of trace evidence, like pubic hair, in that region.’
Whitney honed in on the marks around the
victim’s wrists. ‘Anything on the ties? We know they tied her up from the photo left on the phone.’
‘If you look at the marks left on the wrists, they were from plastic cable ties, the sort you can buy in any DIY store.’
‘Any chance of being more specific? Can we identify the make of tie?’
‘Not possible, I’m afraid. I’ve examined under the nails for trace evidence. Skin. Fibre. Anything that might have accumulated under there, indicating signs of a struggle when she was taken. But there’s nothing. The ankles were also tied, only more loosely and leaving only slight abrasions. I’d say laces were used. The sort found in trainers.’
‘Make?’
‘Again, impossible to identify.’
She fought down the frustration. The lack of evidence. The positioning of the body. It all pointed to a cold and calculated attack. They were the worst crimes to solve.
‘If there are no signs of struggle, then it’s likely she knew her attacker,’ Whitney suggested.
‘It seems so, yes,’ Claire said. ‘I’ve looked at her stomach contents. Her last meal was strawberry jelly and vanilla ice cream. With chocolate sprinkles.’
‘The sort of food you give to children at parties.’ What sort of deranged mind would feed that to their captive?
‘I found traces of ice cream and several sprinkles an inch up her nasal passage, which leads me to conclude she’d been force fed and he cleaned her up, missing what wasn’t visible.’
‘How long before she died had she eaten?’
‘Judging by the breakdown of the food, I’d say about three hours.’
‘Is there anything else I need to know?’
‘I’m waiting for the results of the blood test, from toxicology. I’ll forward them once they’ve arrived.’
‘Thanks. Let me know if Dr Cavendish comes sniffing around again. I don’t want her interfering in my investigation.’
Whitney trusted Claire not to leak information, but she wanted her to know she wouldn’t tolerate any interference.
‘Up to you. If it was me, I’d be glad of her help. She’s very well respected in her field. I’m sure she could be of great benefit to you.’
‘Has she helped in police investigations before? I haven’t heard, but you may know different.’
‘I’ve no idea. I’m giving you my opinion based on her academic work,’ Claire replied.
‘You’re entitled to your opinion. But good old-fashioned police work will catch the bastard who did this.’ She didn’t need a fancy education to do her job properly.
Chapter Seven
‘Okay,’ Whitney said to Ellie, once she’d returned to the incident room. ‘Where are we on the CCTV?’
‘I’ve accessed footage from the cameras covering roads into the university and also those on the campus, but so far there’s nothing of note on there. Although there’s still a lot more to go through,’ Ellie replied.
‘And the victim’s friends?’
‘We’ve had better luck there. I went through the list of contacts in her phone and checked out her social media accounts. Her boyfriend’s name is Nathan Harris, and judging by the photos and comments, Millie had been seeing him for a couple of weeks. According to the university database, he’s twenty-two and a third-year law student. He should be in class at the moment. He comes from Dorset and lives with four other males in a student house in Stanton Road. Number twenty-three. Here’s a photo of him from the university records.’ She handed it to Whitney, who placed it on the board next to the photo of Millie.
‘Good work.’ She turned to Matt, who was standing close by. ‘Go to the university and pick him up. We’ll interview him here.’
‘Yes, guv,’ Matt replied.
‘Frank. You and Sue go to Stanton Road in case he’s at home. If he’s not there, see if you can persuade any of the occupants to let you in for a look around. It will save having to wait for a search warrant.’
Time was crucial in murder investigations.
‘What if there’s no one there?’ Frank asked.
For a seasoned officer, Frank could be infuriatingly dense. She didn’t want to spell out everything, preferring her team to work on their own initiative.
‘I’ll leave that to your discretion. If you’re at all concerned and think you’ve heard something worrying from inside, then you know the drill. Go and investigate.’
Whitney’s concern was the longer they left the boyfriend at large, the more time he’d have to destroy any evidence. If they went by the rule book every time they came across something, investigations would be seriously hampered. She realised it had to be counter balanced with the need to have everything watertight for court, but there was always a way around things without crossing the line.
‘Guv,’ Frank replied.
‘I’ll see you later. I’m due in with the DSI to discuss the press conference.’
She left the room and headed to Jamieson’s office. The door was shut, so she knocked and waited for him to answer. She could hear him on the phone, his pompous voice coming through loud and clear.
‘Enter,’ he called out. ‘Won’t be a moment,’ he mouthed to her once she’d walked in.
Watching him, she wondered how he’d ever cope if he had to chase someone on foot. He was considerably overweight, his shirt buttons straining against his protruding stomach. Much of the increase had occurred since joining the force. The result of spending most of his time behind a desk. She guessed it wasn’t helped by all the lunches and dinners he had to attend. That was why she’d decided to stick at DCI. She had no desire to be tied to a desk. It would drive her bat-shit crazy.
The call Jamieson was on sounded personal, possibly his wife. She’d no idea whether he was married, divorced, single, or whatever. It sounded like he was making arrangements for dinner out that evening. Lucky for him, murder cases didn’t interfere with his social life. She had choir rehearsal later but doubted she’d make it, which was annoying seeing as singing was her one release. The choir were rehearsing for a big concert to be held later in the month. She’d been asked to sing a solo, which was flattering, though she’d be a bag of nerves on the night.
‘The press conference,’ Jamieson said, dragging her back from her thoughts.
‘Yes, sir. When is it?’
She’d already sussed how much he enjoyed doing them. The abduction of a ten-year-old boy a month ago was proof. Her team had successfully found the child within twenty-four hours of him going missing. At the press conference, Jamieson acted like he’d coordinated the whole operation and single-handedly carried out the rescue.
He clearly believed being in the public eye was good for his image. He’d also cleverly avoided being centre stage on the ones which were likely to have negative feedback. Then he’d step aside for someone else to take the flack.
‘Sixteen hundred hours. I want you with me.’
Just what she didn’t want. It was pointless having her there seeing as they had nothing of note to report, other than they were following all lines of enquiry and for anyone with information to contact the incident room.
‘Might not be possible. I have an interview lined up.’ She hoped that would get her off the hook.
‘We have someone already? Good work, Walker.’
Praise … from him? What was going on?
‘Nothing concrete, sir. We’re bringing in the boyfriend for questioning,’ she replied.
‘Well, I’m sure you can leave him for a while when we meet the press,’ Jamieson insisted.
‘We really don’t have anything to say to the press at the moment, other than there’s been a suspicious death on the university campus and we’re progressing with our enquiries. It really doesn’t need both of us. My time is better spent elsewhere.’
Jamieson’s right eye twitched. She’d already learnt it wasn’t a good sign and braced herself for the onslaught.
‘I’m not asking whether you think it’s a good idea. I’m telling you I want both of us there. We have
to instil the belief the public can trust us to do our job properly and we’re working hard on the case. At the moment, thanks to you, our research shows they don’t hold us in very high esteem.’
‘From one incident? I find that very hard to believe.’ She should let his words wash over her but was annoyed he wanted to involve her when she was so busy.
‘Your fuck up wasn’t the only one. Meet me here fifteen minutes before the conference. That’s an order.’
The only other issue she was aware of wasn’t anything to do with the running of a case. Another DCI had been caught taking a bribe from one of the newspapers to give up information on a case. He’d been set up.
‘Sir.’ She walked out of his office and went back to her office, stopping at the vending machine for a packet of crisps and a can of cola, as she’d forgotten to have lunch.
After she’d been back at her desk for half an hour, Matt walked in.
‘Nathan Harris is in the interview room.’
‘Great. How is he?’
‘So far, he’s been very cooperative. He seems in shock over the victim’s death. When I arrived at the university, he’d only just found out. He didn’t object to coming with me.’
‘Okay. Let’s see what we can find out.’
They walked into the interview room, and Whitney quickly assessed Harris. Matt was right; he appeared shocked and there were red rings around his eyes as if he’d been crying.
Harris stood when they entered the room and Whitney was surprised at how short he was; at least six inches shorter than the victim. It was unlikely he could’ve carried Millie to where her body was left.
‘Mr Harris. I’m DCI Whitney Walker. Thank you for coming in. We’d like to ask you some questions.’
‘Do I need my solicitor?’ he asked.
‘That’s up to you,’ Whitney replied. ‘You’re legally entitled to one. Do you think you need one?’
‘No. I’ve nothing to hide. But I know what can happen in situations like these,’ Harris replied, no longer appearing so distressed.