“We need the identity of this girl, ASAP. If we can’t identify her from dental records, we’ll need Wyn Sealander to work his magic again.” Yvonne walked over to where DC Jones chatted with SOCO. “Callum, can you check mis per records covering the last two years?”
“Will do, ma’am.”
She returned to the pathologist. “Roger, was her throat was slit, as the set-up by the killer implies?”
“It’s possible. Striations on the neck vertebrae suggest they took the knife right the way through to the bone. With the help of anthropology, I should be able to tell you whether someone attacked her from the front or from behind.”
“Thank you, Roger.”
“Oh, also, the photographer got three-dimensional images of two footprints.”
“That's good news.” Yvonne walked to the cordon and removed her plastic suits. “I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Ma’am?” Dewi took her used suit and placed it in a pile with his.
“This victim was more recent. I hope I’m wrong, but this could be the buildup to something much bigger. This killer wants attention and will work his butt off to ensure he gets it. I mean, drilling every bone in a person’s body, not once but twice, then threading all of them together with wire. We are talking days and days of constant toil.” She looked Dewi in the eye. “We’ll make sure he gets a lot more attention than he bargained for.”
The door opened, and she stumbled in surprise.
“Don’t tell me. You need my help.” Wyn grinned at her, once more barefoot, his shirt, open at the neck.
“How did you…?”
“I saw you from the window.” He pointed to the pale-blue, Victorian frames with their imperfect glass. “I wasn’t sure it was you, at first. I was staring at the view, with a mug of tea. I saw a car pull in and wondered who it was.”
Yvonne smiled. “What would you have done if I had fallen flat on my face, when you opened the door?”
“Why, I’d have picked you up and dusted you down.”
The DI cleared her throat. “We need your help. Someone left us another set of remains.”
“Were the bones cleaned and strung together again?”
She nodded. “They’re with the lab. The perp buried the body sometime within the last twelve months. Someone unearthed it, just like before.”
“So, they killed this one after Nicole.”
“Yes.”
“And you’d like my help to reconstruct her face.”
“I ought to say, she has missing teeth. We think the killer extracted them, after her death, to make identification more difficult.”
Wyn sucked his top lip. “Hm… It makes shaping the mouth area tricky. Knowing whether the teeth were straight, sticking out, or going inwards, is a big help. It helps me to get the bite right. However, it shouldn’t affect the overall likeness too much. I think we’ll be okay.”
“We’ll have the skull with you as soon as we can.”
Wyn hesitated.
“Is that all right?” Yvonne tilted her head.
“I’ll be away a few days. I'll get on with it as soon as I'm back.”
“No problem. That should fit in nicely.”
“Since you’re here, would you like a brew? The kettle’s not long boiled.”
She gazed out of the window at the rain pounding the road outside. “Do you know what? I'd like that. Thank you.”
“So, what made you become a police officer? Do you like working grisly murders?” Wyn handed her a steaming mug of tea and led her to a battered leather sofa at one end of the room.
“I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I left school.” Yvonne plumped down on the sofa. “And, if you’d told me I’d spend most my working career hunting serial killers, I think I’d have run a mile.”
Wyn laughed. “So…?”
“I’m fascinated by mysteries and mysterious things. Not having an answer doesn’t feel right. I have to know.” She took a sip of tea before continuing. “I remember reading about Jack The Ripper, as a girl, and being frustrated that they never solved the case. That, and cases like Rachel Nickell, had me wondering if I could do something. If I could help the victims and their families.”
“So, you became a police officer.”
She stared into her tea. “A sudden, or violent, death is devastating for all involved. I became a police officer and told myself that I would work a case and never stop until I solved it.” She sighed. “I have a vivid imagination. I see the victims in their last moments, crying out for help. I have a need to catch the killers and see them punished. We owe them that — the victims of crime. Someone believed they had the right to take away someone else’s most treasured possession — their life. I can’t bear for that to go unpunished. Wow, sorry.” Yvonne grimaced. “Off on one.”
“It’s okay. It’s a safe space.” Wyn chuckled. “Besides, I'm interested.”
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“What got you into reconstructing faces?”
Wyn shrugged. “I started out in fine art — painting, drawing, dabbling in photography. I always felt like something was missing. I couldn’t put my finger on what that was. Then, much like yourself, I watched a documentary about facial reconstruction being used to resurrect dead people. Give them back their face, so to speak. Help identify them. Something went off in my head and I applied to Dundee University and got onto a course. I retrained and here I am, helping you.” He continued. “A lot of my work comes from crime and I go where the money is. A guy’s got to eat.” He rubbed his chin. “Like you, I find it rewarding when my work helps solve cases. I give the victims life again.”
The words ‘playing God’ flashed through Yvonne’s mind. She didn’t give voice to them. Instead, she gulped more of her tea and turned her gaze to the rain outside. “We’re very thankful you retrained,” she said.
They passed The next few minutes in a comfortable silence. Both finishing their tea whilst watching the rain and listening to it patter on the skylight.
When they had finished, the DI rose. “We’d better get back to work.” She walked to the door. “I’ll be in touch when you return.”
Wyn smiled. “I’ll look forward to it.”
8
No let up
Twenty-three-year-old, Sharon Sutton secured her bike to the railings near Harry Tuffin’s petrol station, in Churchstoke, a small town on the Powys-Shropshire border.
She opened the panier and took out her purse, ready to buy a drink and sandwiches.
“Hello. Can you help me?”
A vehicle had pulled over on the road ahead. The driver was holding up a map and shrugging his shoulders, a confused look on his face.
She placed the purse in her shoulder bag and ran to the car. “Are you lost?”
He scratched his head, his cheeks reddening. “I think I am. I’m looking for this place.” He put a finger on the map.
She couldn't see where he was pointing. “What’s it called?”
“Er, I’m not sure how to pronounce it.”
“Let me look.” Sharon moved in closer as the driver opened the passenger door for her to better view the map.
“There…” He pointed again.
Sharon peered at where his finger tapped the paper. It was the middle of nowhere.
Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her headlong into the vehicle and rubbed something noxious in her face with a cloth.
Everything became a blur, and she passed out.
He sniffed the acrid air, allowing it to tease the hair in his nostrils until he sneezed. The smell of burning irritated the membranes of his nose as the bit drilled into the bone held by the clamp and stand. He lifted his hinged, close-work lenses and blew at the hole, flicking the lenses back in place to examine the tiny corridor. The fruits of his labour.
He released the bone from the clamp, replacing it with another, all the while humming ‘Yellow’ by Coldplay, the tune off-key, licking the film of vaporise
d material from his lips, as he recommenced drilling.
Below him, on the polythene-covered floor, the rest of the remains. Cleaned-up bones positioned as in life. The essence of the woman.
Several days he had applied himself. And, now laid out in all its glory, the prepped scaffolding ready to take the wire which would once more articulate it.
He grabbed the roll, unwinding just enough before snipping it with cutters. He resisted licking the end before threading it through the pre-made holes and winding it together to finish the connection.
In a far corner of the room, a metal bin contained the cooked-off flesh. Pig food. It stank. He didn’t like it. Later that night he would get rid.
“Shall we dance?”
The bones clacked together as he grabbed both wrists and hoisted them. He whirled his macabre partner round the room, polythene crackling beneath his feet, his hands sweaty inside latex gloves. The humming, louder and more off-key. His glazed eyes wide and unblinking. The skull of his dance partner, angled backwards. Her bones clacking time with the music in his head.
He continued for several minutes in this fantasy. A room full of people. Admirers of a couple at one and in motion. All staring at them. Wanting to be them.
He whirled her around, her backbone against his torso, his voice taking on a menacing growl. “You're stepping on my toes? Why are you stepping on my toes?” He twisted one wrist behind her back with his right hand, whilst he rammed his left forearm into her throat. “You watching him? Is that it? I’m not good enough? I’m never good enough for you.”
He turned her back around to face him, his gloved hand gripping her lower jaw. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re imagining. Don’t think I don’t know you’ve been there in your head.”
Yvonne couldn’t believe what she'd heard. A tight knot developed in her stomach. Her worst fears, realised.
Dewi put an arm out to block her from seeing the remains. He shook his head. The colour had disappeared from his face. “It’s not pleasant, ma’am.”
She nudged his arm aside. “Murder never is, Dewi.”
“But, this-”
“Please, Dewi. I want to see for myself. Anyway, I want to speak to Tozer.”
“He’s over there, next to the body.”
She donned plastic suit and overshoes and made her way through to where Will Tozer and the SOCO personnel were working.
“We meet again.” Tozer’s looked pale, as though he was about to throw up.
In front of Yvonne, the victim sat propped against one of the standing stones of Mitchell’s Fold Stone Circle - a Bronze Age monument, on Stapeley Hill, with views far into the distance, in every direction.
Will stood at her shoulder. “It looks like someone strangled this one. Broken hyoid bone. It’s the same signature. Bones stripped, drilled, and pieced back together again with wire.”
“Is the pathologist here?”
Tozer nodded. “He’s over there.” He touched her arm. “Don't go there.”
“Why?”
“Her flesh is…” He grimaced. “The killer removed it from the bones and left it in a heap next to them.”
Yvonne shook her head. Words failed.
Tozer toe-poked the ground in front of him. “He’s becoming more confident.”
The DI nodded. “A different MO. A girl killed and processed, not buried and excavated. This is not a good development.”
“It’s a nightmare. The clothing is covered in blood.” He pointed. “That’s the rest of her, there.”
Yvonne walked over to the pile of flesh, tossed in a heap. Her torso convulsed. She turned and threw up her entire stomach contents. “Oh, God. Sorry. Sorry.” She wiped her mouth with the back of her gloved hand, her face drawn.
“It won’t take long to discover who she was.” Will pointed to the bright yellow t-shirt with the smiley-face logo and jeans, in which the perp had clad the skeleton.
Dewi was back at her side. “Callum and Dai think they have come up with a likely candidate.” He checked his notes. “A missing woman, twenty-three years old, name of Sharon Sutton. She vanished ten days ago.”
“Sharon Sutton.” Yvonne knelt by the remains. “So young…” She rose to her feet, turning around and scanning the trees. “Okay, you bastard, you got our attention. You can stop with the killing.”
She turned to Deli, gritting her teeth. “I want the exact circumstances of her disappearance, ASAP. Where she was, who she was with. Everything you can get.”
“Will do, ma’am.”
Hanson pointed to the jaw. “The killer removed none of this victim’s teeth.”
Yvonne clenched her fists. “He didn’t need to. He wanted her identified.” She switched to Hanson. “Can you get us details of the tools used, so we can compare?”
Hanson nodded. “We’ll need a week.”
“Good. Let’s be sure we’re not dealing with a copycat killer.” She turned back to Dewi. “You said she could be Sharon Sutton?”
“That’s right.”
“Request dental records and invite friends and relatives to speak with us.”
“On it, ma’am.”
“Can you tell the team, there's an urgent briefing this afternoon. Inform the DCI.”
Dewi put up his hand in acknowledgement as he turned to leave the field.
Callum and Dai filled Yvonne in, ahead of the briefing.
“Everything we know about Sharon’s disappearance fits.” Callum ran a hand across his brow. “The timeframe is right. The clothing is right.”
Dai checked his notes. “We’ve retrieved Sharon’s bicycle from outside Harry Tuffin’s garage, in Churchstoke and requested their CCTV. A witness describes Sharon securing her bike to the lamppost outside, but they didn’t continue watching after that. So, they don’t know what happened next.”
Callum grunted. “The two members of staff working at the garage that day, don’t recall seeing Sharon.”
Yvonne pursed her lips. “Perhaps, she didn’t get as far as going inside. I mean, wearing that distinctive yellow t-shirt, she would have stood out.”
“I agree.” Dai nodded.
“As soon as we get the CCTV footage, I’d like to see it. Okay? Make sure we get everything they have. If they have other cameras, I want the footage from them, too. I want everything recorded on the day she disappeared.”
9
The pathologist
The briefing was a subdued affair.
Yvonne looked at the DCI, at the skin sagging under his eyes. She felt for him. He had fielded a ridiculous number of calls, and attempts to interview them, by local and national press. Several times, they’d invaded his front garden and even now, journalists followed him to and from work. It seemed like the entire world had an interest in their maniac and it didn’t the patience to wait for answers.
The rest of the team talked in low voices, their nervous excitement palpable by the level of fidgeting and sighs.
Wyn Sealander was the last to join them. Due to talk about his work and unveil photographs, he waited at the back while the DI ran through known details.
“Okay, everyone. I’ll get straight on with it. We’ve had the DNA results for the remains found at Mitchell’s fold Stone Circle. They are those of twenty-three-year-old Sharon Sutton. Dewi and I will talk to her parents and try to fill in the gaps regarding her movements, especially those leading up to her disappearance. This afternoon, we will also view the CCTV from the garage where she left her bike, while uniform carry out door-to-door enquiries with Churchstoke residents.”
She continued. “Dewi and Callum, I’d like you to help me go through the footage. I’d like the rest of the team to interview any witnesses, identified by the door-to-door enquiries. Did she go with her killer? Or, was she abducted? If we can get the answer to that, it will help identify the methods used by our killer to choose his victims. This latest killing signals an escalation by the perpetrator and makes our job much more urgent. We are no longer dealing with cold
cases. The killer may already have chosen his next victim.”
She pointed at the anthropologist. “I will hand you over to Wyn Sealander, who is reconstructing the second victim's face. Thank you.”
Wyn cleared his throat as he left his seat. “Thank you, Yvonne and thanks for inviting me to give this talk.”
Dai helped Wyn to connect his lap top to the projector for the white board. “I’ll print hard copies out for all of you, later.”
He fiddled with the laptop until satisfied with the display. “This where I'm at with the second victim.”
Yvonne stared at the image. “It’s really coming along,” she murmured.
Wyn’s talk on reconstruction drew a lot of praise. His sympathetic rendering of the first victim, showed such attention to detail. It could have been a photograph.
“This has to be finished within the next couple of days. It goes to the nation at six o’clock on Wednesday. It should be on the internet early Wednesday afternoon.”
Wyn used a laser pen to direct their attention to photographs of the second victim’s remains, as they were found. “The victim had long, dark hair. The killer tied the remaining hair in a ponytail, using a bow. I am reproducing this in my reconstruction. I’m assuming the killer dresses his victims in their real clothing and in the way they were dressed when he abducted them.”
He flicked to the next slide. “The killer could alter certain features so, for the sake of completeness, I will produce photographs with the hair worn down over the shoulders. He gazed at the screen. I hope that when I finish, someone will know who she is. Any questions?”
The noise level rose as officers discussed the images.
“What were the results from SOCO? Were the victims raped?” DCI Llewellyn directed his question at Yvonne.
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