Kill Them Cold

by J M Dalgliesh

  "Caused by?"

  "Not significant enough to be the result of an accident; being hit by a car for example." He looked at Tom who nodded. "In my opinion they were caused by a prolonged compression of the surrounding tissue—"

  "Strangled?" Tamara asked.

  "I believe so."

  Tom sighed. "To break the neck would take some strength. It's one thing to choke someone to death restricting their oxygen flow but the neck muscles are strong."

  "You're right," Paxton said. "The neck muscles push back. It takes time to manually strangle a person, sometimes anywhere from ten to fifteen minutes before the victim actually succumbs, passes out and expires. To cause fractures like this you would potentially be looking at a fall, not necessarily from height, or more likely, which is my personal opinion, she was strangled by way of an arm bracing her in a headlock." He demonstrated, placing his free hand in the crook of his arm and aggressively screwing his face up. "Choked the life out of the poor thing," he said, dropping his arms to his sides. "I know there is a great deal of damage to the top of the skull but, as I said, we can put that down to the ploughing. The damage is far too recent to have been done at the time of death. The same can be said with the damaged femur."

  "And what can you tell us about the time of death?" Tamara asked. "How long was she in the ground?"

  "Tough to say with any accuracy before we get the tests back." Paxton scanned the skeleton, thinking hard. "The fact that almost all of the organic tissue has gone is indicative of a minimum of fifteen years, possibly longer. We did find hair in the soil and we will look to match that to the skeleton with a DNA test just to be sure."

  "Hair colour?" Tom asked.

  "Brunette. Light brown to be clearer. The DNA sampling will be back tomorrow along with the comparison to the sample you provided last night. Does the description match your victim?"

  "So far, yes," Tom said, frowning.

  "What of the testing you mentioned before?" Tamara asked. "Is that just the DNA?"

  Paxton shook his head. "The forensic team took samples of the soil with a view to helping establish an accurate date as to when she was buried." His expression became fixed, his eyes taking on a faraway look. "You'll recall Fiona was surprised not to find the girl's shoes." Tom nodded. "I'm also surprised not to find remnants of any other material. Natural fibres will degrade over time but I would still expect to find some trace of the victim's clothing in and around the remains, particularly with the prevalence of man-made fabrics these days. Curious. It opens up other avenues for you I should imagine. Anyway, it was just a thought that you might be interested in."

  "That's great, Doctor," Tom said. "Thank you."

  They walked out and headed towards the car park, both deep in thought. The humidity struck them as they stepped outside: oppressive with almost no breeze to offer respite and it was still early. Tom blew out his cheeks.

  "This storm front can't come soon enough," he said.

  "True. A guy like you is always going to struggle in this."

  He looked at her, unsure of her meaning. She smiled.

  "You have a lot more frame to carry around than the rest of us," she said. "What do you make of the manner in which we found her? Lack of clothing and wounds, I mean."

  "I don't think she was killed in that field, that's for sure."

  Tamara agreed. If she had been the victim of an attack, even a surprise one in which she'd been unable to try and defend herself, there would be more to be found at the burial site. Had the assault offered a sexual element to it then they would also expect to find evidence; clothing perhaps, ripped or torn during the attack and then either discarded or ignored. Even if the attack was not sexual in nature, a premeditated murder with an, as yet unknown motive, or an opportunistic killer on the prowl, the lack of the basics, shoes or personal effects, was mystifying unless she was stripped of everything before burial. This was strongly indicative of her being moved to this location after the event.

  "Stripped before disposal," she said unlocking the car. She hesitated, not wanting to get in straight away and opened the door wide to allow the heat to dissipate. The sun was hazy, behind thick cloud, only making the heat seem even more unfair. Tom did the same with his door, leaning against the car with his elbows on the roof. "Attacked in her home do you think?"

  "That's what I was wondering. Summer's day." He looked around, indicating the surroundings with a nod. "If it was anything like today then she wouldn't be wearing much at home. It would also explain the lack of personal effects and even the shoes."

  "If it happened at home, then a burglary is possible but," she contemplated the theory, "it's more likely to be a close friend or a relative. If Dr Paxton is right and strength was required, then we're looking at the father or maybe a boyfriend."

  "If it's Tina Farrow then there wasn't a boyfriend. No one regular anyway, according to the sister."

  "I've seen the photos of Tina from back in the day," Tamara said with a sideways grin, "and if you're going to try and tell me she didn't generate interest from the men she came into contact with then I may as well turn in my warrant card now."

  "If it's Tina Farrow," Tom said, raising his eyebrows. "Even if it isn't her, the facts are there. She was killed elsewhere, stripped of anything she was wearing or carrying and dumped in the corner of that field. Perhaps we're wrong in thinking she didn't put up a fight? Just because she didn't exhibit defensive wounds, she still could have fought back but it was too late. And we've no way of knowing if she was sexually assaulted."

  Tamara thought about it. "A consensual encounter that took a turn for the worse?" Tom inclined his head to confirm that was his thinking too. "That's possible. A slight figure, already under the weight of someone much larger and stronger … if it went bad, she wouldn't be able to do much about it."

  "But there could have been superficial scratches, cuts, possibly even blood. Add that to any semen residue or sperm left on her clothing and there's a trail for us to follow if the body is discovered quickly. Perhaps the killer was forensically aware, which is why he stripped her and then chose his dump site well."

  Tamara shook her head. "That's sinister. Have you ever heard of a newbie managing to minimise forensic trace evidence and pick an almost perfect drop location first time out?"

  "Some people are lucky, but no, I've never come across one. Usually they're hopelessly inept, especially the ones who think they're really clever."

  "Remind me," Tamara said, "what did scenes of crime make of the plastic found beneath the body?"

  Tom shrugged. "Medium-grade plastic sheeting. That size is mainly used in agricultural settings. Nothing special about it. Why?"

  "What's it doing there?"

  "Well, it wasn't used to wrap the body which was my first thought; way too large and there was a lot of soil between it and the skeleton suggesting that they went into the ground at different times. Besides, the plastic sheet was a metre and a half below the surface but forensics think the body went into the ground curled up or, at least, dropped into a hole some distance above it, right?"

  "Yes, which is why forensics don't see it as related to the murder. The grave wasn't exactly shallow but nowhere near as deep as the plastic. Natural movement of the earth shifted the location of the skeleton as the connective tissue decomposed which was why the skull and femur were able to come in contact with the plough whereas the remainder of the skeleton lay largely undisturbed."

  She put her palms together and brought the tips of her fingers up to meet her lips. Shaking her head, she gestured for them to get in the car.

  "Has to be a reason," she muttered.

  Starting the car, she saw Tom glance across as she reached for the air con.

  "I want to speak to the investigating officer who looked into Tina Farrow's disappearance," he said, staring at a nondescript point in the distance. "I've looked him up. He's still local."

  She watched him with a quizzical expression as he turned to her. "You think he misse
d something?"

  "Maybe," he said, looking away and shrugging. "Ah … probably not but there's only so much you can get from a missing person report. He must have spoken to people, had a feeling about someone. We always do, right?"

  "Okay. Do it. We'll know soon enough if your gut instinct that it's Tina is right. In the meantime, Cassie is still running down the other possibilities. Marta Kowalska's partner hasn't turned up yet despite several visits to his house and workplace. He called in sick according to his boss but he's not answering his door to us if he's there. I'm not doubting your male intuition, Tom, but I'll push that line just as hard. I'll also have Eric look at the dump site in greater detail. The killer could have buried her in any number of places; Norfolk is one big field for crying out loud, so why there?"

  "What with all the strange goings-on in the area over the years that James Green spoke of, maybe it was Boudicca's ghost?" Tom said, smiling.

  Tamara sighed, slapping him in the arm with the back of her hand. "I've enough to deal with as it is without investigating the spirit realm as well, thank you very much!"

  Chapter Seven

  Tom cast an eye down the length of the train: six carriages, all painted in the split crimson and cream of the early British Railways rolling stock. Passengers mingled around the doors, waiting patiently for their opportunity to board. A burst of steam was released from the engine as it idled, waiting for the off. Within moments the waiting passengers were on and the doors slammed shut. The guard whistled, signalling to the driver that everyone was safely aboard and the train could begin its journey along the coast to Holt via Weybourne.

  Finding himself alone on the platform, he watched as the train departed. The Poppy Line, as it was known, the last surviving part of the former Melton Constable to Cromer Beach branch line was a private enterprise maintaining the age of steam in the modern age, a wonderful throwback to days past. It had been a while since he'd taken a trip and he couldn't think why. Saffy would love the round trip along the coast, and he was quite sure Alice wouldn't be opposed to a trip on one of the first-class dining carriages. Casually looking around for a timetable board, he was momentarily distracted and missed the approach of another man.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting but I'm free for a bit now."

  Tom waved away the apology, taking the measure of the man standing before him in Victorian station master garb. John Drew was tall, not quite as tall as Tom himself but above average with a large frame, arguably more down to middle-aged spread than muscle.

  "That's okay. Thanks for agreeing to speak to me on such short notice."

  Now it was Drew who waved away the gratitude. He was no longer serving, having retired several years ago, but police officers could hand back their warrant cards, less so the mindset.

  "Happy to. It's the least I can do." He smiled but it didn't seem overly warm. "You said on the phone you're following up a missing person's case. Which one?"

  "Tina Farrow," Tom said. He raised an eyebrow. "You remember her?"

  Drew exhaled. "Yes, of course. Blimey." He took his cap off and ran a hand through his sweaty, thinning grey hair, before replacing it. "That's going back some … must be fifteen, twenty years."

  "2001, yes."

  Drew fixed Tom with a stern eye. "Has she turned up?" Tom looked away, screwing up his nose in a noncommittal expression. "You must think she has otherwise you wouldn't be asking."

  "Maybe." It was the best answer he could give, and a truthful one.

  "Maybe." Drew's gaze narrowed but he didn't press it. He sighed, gesturing with an open hand for them to take a walk along the platform. "Standing still in this weather isn't a lot of fun. I know it's voluntary but sometimes I wish the uniform wasn't black and made from this material." Tom smiled sympathetically. "What is it you want to know?"

  "Background," Tom said, walking at a gentle pace alongside him. Drew seemed to have a slight limp. "What did you make of her disappearance?"

  "You've read my report?"

  Tom looked across at him and nodded. "Of course. But there's only so much you can draw from that. I'm interested in what you thought, not necessarily just what you wrote."

  Drew nodded, grinning. "Old school, eh? I didn't think that was allowed anymore."

  "Don't believe everything you hear," Tom said, returning the smile. The two of them resumed their stroll. "Tina?"

  "Tina Farrow … an interesting case but not on the surface."

  "How so?"

  "Sister reported her missing after almost a week, as I recall. Nice girl, Angela. Complete opposite to that tearaway of a sister of hers."

  "You knew Tina?"

  "Ah … not in any real sense of knowing her as such. I knew of a lot of the kids back then. I grew up in the town and it's not that big, you know? Before CID I was a uniform in Hunstanton and during the winter months everything goes quiet; there isn't a lot to do." Tom nodded, remembering his own teenage years in Sheringham along the coast. "Even if they're not up to much you still find yourself in and around the local kids; residents complaining about them hanging around the pier and the promenade, making a nuisance of themselves … drinking, having fun. Do you remember being young?"

  "Not that young, no." Tom looked down the line, the track disappearing as it turned inland and away from the sea.

  "Wait until you get to my age, lad. It'll feel like you're living in a foreign country."

  "Anyway, Tina and her mates used to be a bit rowdy from time to time. I'd take booze off them – if they went too far – but on the whole, nothing major."

  "I understand she was prone to running off."

  Drew shrugged. "From time to time, yes, but that was never reported to us. I had a word with social services at the time when I was investigating and they had her on their books previously. Obviously, she was nineteen by then, so her case was no longer open—"

  "And what was their interest – social services?"

  "Truancy from school … as I said, sometimes she ran away but it was only ever for a day or two. Most likely staying at a boyfriend's place, someone her folks wouldn't have approved of I expect. I think uniform picked her up once when she was fourteen or fifteen having skipped school and was heading somewhere with a bag of booze."

  "Heading where?"

  Drew turned the corners of his mouth down and shrugged. "As I said, boyfriend, I imagine."

  "There's no mention of a boyfriend in your report."

  "No. She didn't have one as far as I could ascertain. If anything, she probably had several."

  "Several?"

  "Yep. Popular girl. Good looking, extrovert. By all accounts, she was a flirtatious one. Everybody said so – sibling, friends, work colleagues – but no one could name anyone she was involved with."

  "Maybe she was just that: flirtatious."

  Drew snorted a laugh. It was no doubt involuntary but Tom found himself irritated by it, nonetheless. The retired detective noticed.

  "Look, don't get me wrong, I had the impression she was a nice enough girl but you're a DI, you've done enough laps of the track to trust your instincts. If it walks like a duck, quacks like a duck …" he raised both eyebrows in a telling gesture, "then it's probably a duck!"

  "Meaning?"

  "She wasn't into commitment, at least didn't appear to be, but she liked the attention and made sure she got it."

  Tom thought back to what Angela Farrow had told him; about Tina being able to achieve anything she set her mind to. Although this wasn't what he'd had in mind when she told him that.

  "You think she was promiscuous? Involved in multiple relationships?"

  "Maybe. Maybe not." Drew shrugged again. His nonchalance was grating.

  "Then what can you tell me?"

  Drew hesitated, turning to face Tom and stopping them as they neared the end of the platform. "Look, I can see what you're thinking. I'm retired but I'm not daft."

  "What's that?"

  "That I did some half-arse job investigating her disappearance … and
you're here now having to pick up the pieces twenty years on because I couldn't be bothered. Am I right?"

  Tom smiled. "I wouldn't go that far, but you're not helping me much—"

  "Hah! You guys have it easy nowadays. Think back for a second: 2001, mobile phones were around but not commonplace with everyone. As far as we could tell, Tina never had one. That means no GPS locators built in, no smartphones with an Internet search history. No call records, text messages or contacts list to work through. There was no computer in the home, so no email." He fixed Tom with an indignant look. "A nineteen-year-old girl who flits between casual jobs, probably cash-in-hand a lot of the time, so no records to help there either. A load of friends, but none of whom seemed to know if she was seeing anyone or not, so no one to confide in with her deepest, darkest secrets. Then you look at the parents: a controlling mother who seemed more put out at the inconvenience her daughter was causing rather than her actual disappearance and a … a father …"

  "A father who? Go on."

  "A father who didn't seem to give a toss either way!" Drew took a deep breath. "Angela was the only one who seemed genuinely bothered. I mean, yes, her friends did too but everyone …" He looked skyward, shaking his head, apparently reluctant to finish the comment. Tom waited, refusing to fill the silence in expectation of a conclusion. "Everyone seemed to think she'd just taken off. It was Tina being Tina."

  "Yeah, I've heard that already."

  Tom hadn't meant to come across as dismissive or judgemental but his approach obviously irritated Drew.

  "Look, Detective Inspector, I went over her parents' house in as much detail as I could without having justification for a search warrant. There was no evidence of a struggle and no reports of domestic violence at the address. Tina wasn't one to keep a diary detailing her comings and goings. I had no witnesses report anything untoward at the time or in the run up to her disappearance. The father had been at work every day and none of his colleagues saw a change in his behaviour. That goes for the mother as well … and the sister, too, while I'm at it."