‘Eastern European?’
‘Certainly possible. Although allotments tend to be out of the way, so I’d more think of someone who lived nearby and knew the area.’
‘Perhaps the new owner is our perp?’
‘Didn’t he ring it in? So that’s unlikely. I’d bury my body in a different allotment if I was going to kill someone. Even then, it’s too close to home. Organised crime deal with the migrant workers. We’ve had a couple of cases of missing people or strange suicides. This is the kind of case I want more experience of. I’m looking forward to it. My old boss always said murder is a messy business, mostly committed by amateurs. If the bones are recent, I bet they’ll match someone who’s disappeared. If they don’t link to anyone, my guess would be one of the pickers complained too loudly about being ripped off. Either way, the perpetrator won’t be a criminal genius. We’ll solve it.’
Barton smiled at his incorrect assumption about Clavell being shy, even though a tractor had pulled out in front of him.
40
DI Barton
Clavell directed Barton when they reached the town centre and Barton recognised Mortis’s car when they parked. The CSI van was also there. A sergeant from the Wisbech station had arrived as well and greeted them warmly. He guided them through the allotments. Barton didn’t know much about gardening, but even he could appreciate the earthy smell in the air. The place heaved with people considering the hour. Barton approached the sergeant.
‘Are these places usually this busy this early?’
‘It’s mostly retired folk, and there’s plenty to do this time of year. A lot of them come every day, even at Christmas. It’s a nice little community where they look out for each other.’ He spoke with a typical Norfolk accent and had their talent for deadpan delivery. ‘I should think it being on the radio this morning might have had an impact, too.’
‘What?’
‘Yes, it featured on the local breakfast programme. Looks like someone spilled the beans.’
Barton shrugged and analysed the large plot that was contained by police tape. The ground was cleared, but nothing appeared to be growing. He had a discussion with the scene guard at the outer cordon to warn him that the press might try to get inside. They walked down the row of stepping plates that had been put down on the path to protect the scene until he spotted Mortis in a blue CSI suit rubbing his hands together. Sirena didn’t even glance his way. Barton suspected that in their line of work, this particular body was the holy grail.
He cleared his throat and introduced Clavell to them in case he hadn’t met everyone. There were assorted crime-scene bags and boxes all over the place.
‘I take it you arrived early?’
‘Just a little,’ said Mortis. ‘Would you like to meet our new friend?’
‘Do I need to get suited and come inside?’
‘No, you can see from there.’ Mortis stepped to the side.
Barton crouched and stared at a perfect Halloween decoration. Only the lower legs remained covered by compost. The grinning skull, arms and ribcage seemed intact, not even showing signs of damage from the pitchfork.
‘I assume this has been here a fair while?’
Mortis grinned. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Please try to keep your explanation to less than ten thousand words.’
‘Sirena has finished splitting the scene into sections, so we can uncover the legs. Assuming there are no surprises, it appears the skeleton is complete. We’ll get the bones analysed by an expert, but I have some knowledge in this field.’ He paused to take a deep breath. ‘A compost heap is a great place to dispose of a body. There will already be bacteria present in such warm and moist conditions, and there’d be oxygen when the corpse was first left. That’s an excellent environment for microorganisms to thrive. Combine that with the bacteria inside his body, the gut in particular, and it’s an efficient system.’
‘How long would it take to strip a body like that?’
‘Three months if turned over. Otherwise six months. Perhaps less.’
‘You think someone might have come back to encourage it to decompose?’
‘It’s possible. After all, the individual was buried naked. The perp knew what they were doing and undressed him. Aerobic decomposition is faster than anaerobic, so allowing oxygen in accelerates the process. Rats, foxes and mice could help in that regard too. Maybe snakes feeding on them could have added oxygen. The necrobiome is an underappreciated ecosystem.’
‘What’s a necrobiome?’ Zander, who’d just arrived, gave Barton a smile.
‘It’s the community of organisms associated with a decaying corpse. Bacteria, other living things such as fungi, nematodes, insects and larger scavengers all play a part. If the death is recent, research is progressing where they can analyse the bacteria to see how long the body has been decomposing as different organisms are present at different times. And—’
‘Thank you, Mortis. Anything else?’ interrupted Barton.
‘There’s no ID or jewellery, glasses or shoes.’
‘You said he was buried naked. Aren’t they clothes?’ Barton pointed at what he quickly grasped was scraps of remaining skin. ‘Ah, I see. Could it be years old?’
‘It’s hard to state an exact date for obvious reasons. The skeleton is in very good condition so I would guess it’s fairly recent. Whoever disturbed the remains should be able to suggest the length of time since the earth was last turned.’
‘I was expecting the skull to have hair.’
‘That’s what Indiana Jones films teach us. Our hair is attached to the skin, not the bone. There’s still a little on the back of the head.’
‘Straightforward identification?’
‘You’ve probably been lucky. We’ll easily collect DNA from the victim, but how about dentistry?’
‘Of course, we can check dental records.’
‘There are a few fillings, but you might not even have to do that. Look at the top row of teeth.’ Mortis used a pencil to point. ‘They are quite bunched. This man had a very pronounced grin.’
Clavell laughed. ‘I said it would be easy. All we need to do is find out who’s missing and ask whoever reported them about his smile.’
‘A quarter of a million people vanish every year, so it isn’t that simple,’ said Strange.
Clavell rolled his eyes. ‘You’re right, of course, but most of them turn up quickly. Many reported mispers are not, in fact, missing at all, they are just adults who are thoughtless or need some time to themselves, and we can narrow it down by looking locally. Also, two thirds of those who disappear are children. These remains are adult and complete. Mr Mortis here will give us his height and approximate age through bone condition.’
Mortis clapped Clavell on the back. ‘Spot on, young man. Definitely mature as wisdom teeth are present. Bones fuse together as we age. Later life causes bone loss, which doesn’t look advanced. Ossification, otherwise known as thickening, is complete by your twenties. The teeth are in good order, too. I would suggest at least twenty years old, probably not as old as forty. I’ve checked the bones for breaks. Remember the hyoid bone we discussed. If it’s a strangulation, that gets broken in about a third of cases. It’s intact here. He broke his arm at some point, but not recently, which will help with identification.’
‘And it’s definitely a man?’ asked Barton.
‘Oh, yes. Females have a more rounded pelvis. The jawbone tends to be larger, and the brow higher. Male skeletons display longer, thicker bones in the arms, legs, and fingers.’
‘Looks like that narrows our search,’ said Clavell.
One of the scene guards returned at that moment with a sprightly looking gentleman with a full head of grey hair.
‘This is the owner of the allotment.’
Barton shook the man’s hand. ‘This is your compost heap?’
‘I rent it from the council. I don’t own it.’
‘It’s not one of your friends in there?’
&nb
sp; ‘A mate of mine ran off with my wife, but he’ll be suffering enough without me having to kill him.’
Barton smiled. A dry sense of humour was common in these parts. Barton had plenty more questions but thought he’d see who was on the ball. He caught Clavell’s eye. ‘Anyone else like to ask anything?’
Clavell stepped forward. ‘How long since you took possession of the allotment?’
‘Only a few months. I’ve been on the waiting list for years. It was overgrown when I first turned up. The previous bloke can’t have used it for a long time. A bloody tree grew in one corner.’
‘Do you know who had it before you?’
‘No idea. The council will be able to tell you that.’
‘Have you seen anyone suspicious here since you’ve been working it?’
‘No.’
Barton picked up on the growing frowns at the bullet questions. Flattery often helped. ‘You’ve obviously done a lot of work here.’
The old fellow stood taller. ‘That’s right. Broke my back turning this place round.’
Clavell cut in. ‘Any other bones turn up?’
All those present raised their eyebrows. It hadn’t occurred to them that it could be a multiple burial site. The gardener shook his head.
‘Maybe you haven’t found the others,’ pressed Clavell.
‘It would be time consuming to have to start poking around the entire allotment,’ said Zander. ‘What about looking in all the compost heaps? There must be fifty plots here. Sirena, had you considered that?’
Sirena blushed. ‘To be honest, I hadn’t. We taped up the immediate area. That’s a bit of a schoolgirl error, but we don’t have the manpower for that kind of thing at present. This plot looks well worked and it’s exposed to the elements over a long period, so we won’t get much from it. We will fingertip-search the inner cordon. The senior investigating officer can make further decisions. Is that you now, John?’
‘Yes.’ Barton nibbled his index finger. ‘God, imagine if we found remains in more than one plot.’
Clavell tutted. ‘Well, I would say that’s unlikely, so you’ll probably get away with not looking. Serial killers are rare. I think Joe Bloggs here will turn up as a missing person. Sir, if you’d instruct the team to question these other gardeners. I suspect that there are a fair few nosey parkers who miss nothing. They’ll know who worked the plot in the past. They may even know where he or she lived. I’ll ring the council, where I’ve got a contact, and find the address that way. Perhaps someone can check who’s on the misper list.’
Clavell grinned at Strange. He took his phone out of his pocket and scowled. ‘Poor signal here. I’ll try at the road.’ With that, he trudged off up the path.
Barton watched him leave. ‘I like him.’
‘I don’t,’ said Strange.
41
The Soul Killer
The station is awash with talk of the skeleton. I’ve really messed up. Barney worked that allotment for as long as I’ve known him. I thought he’d never give it up until he died. Perhaps that’s what happened. It’s a poor reflection on me that I don’t even know either way. There’s no one else to blame but myself. It wouldn’t have taken much effort to check on Barney, and I should have removed the teeth.
Work’s been busy, and Claudia’s been hard work. We’ve seen each other, but it’s hardly quality time. She’s thrown herself back into her career, using it as distraction. Her demanding sister seems to have gone completely off the rails. I asked Claudia a million times if she wanted to look at dresses, or churches, or locations, or rings, and I’ve been brushed aside each and every time.
If Barney’s still alive, it might even be worse. He didn’t tell the police anything when my mother died all those years ago, so he may not now. And I can’t believe for a minute that he’d imagine I’d been burying bodies in his compost. But if he and I are linked, I am screwed. I tried to imagine other options, but it’s simply impossible to cover everything. Once he began to decompose, it made sense to leave him. I suppose I knew it might only be a matter of time, but clever people make plans for when their plans fail. I am prepared.
About 90 per cent of missing person cases reported to the police are closed within forty-eight hours; 99 per cent of all cases are solved in a year. This one made it to six months. They’ll check the database and link the skeleton to Arnold Stone sooner or later. Let’s hope what I’ve put in place is enough. Someone’s going to get a nasty shock.
I wonder now whether Claudia and I are meant to be happy in this life. I hoped, with time, there’d be no more need for drastic actions, and we could lead a simple existence. But I fear my days might be numbered.
Zander instructed us to sort out the special property cupboard, which looks as if it hasn’t been tackled in a while. However, Barton will have the bit between his teeth. We’ll be pulled off this and dragged into that case and I’ll be investigating my own crime.
Sure enough, DCI Cox approaches with purpose.
‘Malik, Whitlam. You’ll have heard what’s going on. I’ve no doubt you’ll be pleased to get out of that cupboard. We’ve been checking the mispers for the county. We reckon the skeleton is of an adult male between the age of twenty and forty. The system has provided eighteen names for you to contact. All missing within the last year but not as recently as three months. The details are on the computer and my request emailed to you, but I’ll summarise. The teeth of the individual were unique. There’s a picture taken by DI Barton showing how bunched they are. Speak to the people who reported the lost persons and see if you get a match.’
She scans a printout. ‘Our victim also broke his right humerus years ago. The pathologist said it looks like a nasty break which had to be pinned.’
‘Remind me where your humerus is again?’ I ask.
‘Upper arm bone. Breaking it is a common injury for children falling when running. A parent would remember, a partner maybe wouldn’t. The teeth are the clue though. We can revisit the calls with height and other factors later. However, if we identify the victim fast, it will save an enormous amount of resources from pouring in the wrong direction. Report to me when you’ve finished.’
We retreat to our desks and my colleague splits the list in two. Nine people each. My eyes scan the names and there he is, fourth down, Arnold Stone. I’m surprisingly calm and begin the calls. The first one tells me her son sent her a postcard saying he was okay. The second goes to voicemail. I leave a message asking him to ring back to enable us to keep our files current. The third explains that her husband’s body washed up in a coastal inlet not far from Redcar a few weeks back.
I listen with interest while she tells me the story of how he grew up there but couldn’t find work. They both moved down south and settled in Peterborough, where he found a job at Perkins as an engineer, which is a subsidiary of Caterpillar. I comment that it’s a good company. She agrees and cries.
She was proud of him. He always worked hard and never complained. He took further qualifications and planned to stay for the rest of his career. But they made him redundant. He couldn’t find work and he was stuck at home, eventually turning to alcohol. Soon, he rarely left the house. One day, he left a note stating he was going home to be with his family, despite his parents being dead. She talks factually, as though reading from a book. It will be real soon enough.
Next is Mrs Stone. I read the report. There are no details of too many teeth in the description. Probably, like any other mother, she thinks him handsome and normal. There’s no mention of a previous broken arm either. I guess they wouldn’t have thought they’d need to identify him from his bare skeleton at that point.
I punch in the numbers.
‘The number you have dialled has not been recognised.’
I know it’s only a reprieve, not a pardon. But I still release a long, slow breath.
42
DI Barton
Barton felt he had the situation under control as he left the allotments. He’d left Strange an
d Zander to direct operations and he’d talk to DCI Cox about widening the search. The immediate scene was protected, and the nearby allotment holders had been questioned or were in the process of being talked to. There had been no need to track them down as they’d all turned up as news spread. Clavell’s contact came through and gave them the details of a Barney Trimble, who lived at 499 Norwich Road in Wisbech.
Barton decided to take Clavell to visit him as Clavell knew the area. He’d amazed Barton with his analytical thinking. It was no wonder that the top brass thought he was destined for great things. Barton pondered how long it would be before he called Clavell ‘sir’. Still, he didn’t mind. He’d met a few high flyers before, and there was no stopping them. Cynically, he understood that if you helped them on the way up, they might provide favours later on.
He gave the car keys to Clavell so he could concentrate while the other man drove.
‘Impressive work back there. How do you know so much about that sort of thing?’
‘I’ve wanted to be a detective since junior school. A lot of it is common sense, the rest is experience. Some of which you can pick up from TV programmes. We have loads of individuals disappear around here, particularly in the summer. Migrant workers and criminals, poor people too, live on the land in tents and barns. We find quite a few bodies. Obviously, the murders are dealt with by Major Crimes, which is where I want to be permanently.’
‘Where do you see yourself ending up?’
‘I hope to go all the way. Right to the top.’
Barton considered his next question for a minute as they weaved through the busy Wisbech traffic. Clavell bobbed in and out of lanes as though he’d done it a thousand times before. If Barton could encourage him to look at his behaviour now, it might save plenty of anguish further down the line when the man had more power.
The Soul Killer Page 16