Two members of Dr. Amanda Grimes’
forensic team held their cameras correctly and took photograph after photograph
through both passenger doors of the red car’s rear half. The cadaver was in a
single fixed position, but those responsible for executing this aspect of the
job wanted to get shots from various angles. Whenever DCI Andrews saw them in
action, she likened their expertise to the camera-happy individuals in pursuit
of celebrities. Inadvertently, she’d labelled them as the mortuary paparazzi.
The comparison may have been a tad unfair, but Josephine couldn’t help
harbouring this perception. In total, thirteen pictures were taken. When the
pair of forensic photographers had finished, Dr. Grimes’ nodded to another two
members of her staff, dressed in the same garb as the photographers. They
reached in and lifted her up. Miss Williams was subsequently turned over so a
good look at her face could be had. Amanda peered into the back of the vehicle
and started to scrutinize the neck and the lower half of her face, in
particular the position her mouth was set in after death. The lips were
sufficiently parted, suggesting that she was gasping for air as her life
slipped away. A little impatiently, DCI Andrews asked Dr. Grimes to share some
of her thoughts on what had caused Miss Williams’ demise.
“My best guess here is
strangulation. The way the mouth is open can be attributed to someone trying to
breathe in a panicked manner”, began Amanda “but I don’t think bare hands were
used. Hardly any redness, so I would say gloves were used. The way she was
killed seems straight forward.”
“So no need for a full autopsy
then, Amanda”
“One will still be required,
Josephine.”
“How come”
“There is a slight protrusion of
the neck, near the Adam’s Apple. That might’ve something to do with how she was
killed but I would like to carry out a post-mortem anyway to see if another
reason for the swelling exists.”
“Her you call by her first name?”
whispered Suzanne.
“Different department – and she’s
the head of it. You’re a grown woman: stop acting like a fourteen year-old!”
Josephine whispered back.
“Alright, let’s get her back to
the lab” Amanda ordered the two members of her team currently assisting her.
Keeping their heads low, they began ferrying the deceased from the rear
interior of the car. One of them had to move onto the back seat itself to get
the corpse out without knocking of the cadaver’s limbs against either of the
door frames. When clear of the car, Miss Williams was then slotted carefully
into a mortuary sack. The sound of it being zipped up gave everyone nearby the
impression of it being some organic electrical buzzing noise.
“What about the time of death?”
Josephine asked.
“From what I can tell, she
probably met her end within the past couple of hours.”
Amanda’s answer was largely
speculative. Without possession of external facts she’d yet to be made aware
of, she could merely make educated guesses as to when Miss Williams was
murdered.
“A full autopsy it is” said DCI
Andrews, mindful of how intricate and delay-making they could be.
“What about what Mr. Cullen said
regarding Miss Williams’ activities before she was killed?” enquired Suzanne,
just in case this detail had been overlooked.
“I’ll leave you to sort that out.
I was texted by the Chief Constable to meet him at lunch time. I need to
contact him to work out where this meeting is to take place. While you’re
talking to Mr. Cullen, find out if the victim had any family. I didn’t see a
wedding or engagement ring on her left hand, so she must’ve never had a
proposal, but do some digging to see if she had any relatives.”
“Yes guv’!” said Suzanne, already
half-turning to where Mr. Cullen was stood. Getting nearer to him, she saw that
he was checking his watch. He was tapping his shoe heels together repetitively
as well.
“This won’t take long, Mr.
Cullen” said Suzanne, clearly aware that her promise was dependant on what kind
of answers she received.
“I hope it won’t. I have a lot on
my plate, Detective Inspector.”
“Did your late employee have a
first name?”
“That will be in the personnel
files back at the office. Also, Mrs Hendry will know what her first name is.”
“Why not save us the bother and
tell me what it is, here and now.”
“I do not go around waving
confidential documents in public.”
This was not a response Suzanne
was keen to hear. However, she didn’t have time to argue and resigned herself
to the probability of visiting the premises that housed the business he ran.
“I’ll be taking a look at them
and speaking to this Mrs. Hendry when we get there.”
“You can’t possibly come in
today. My schedule is full as are those of the people I employ. We’re far too
busy!”
“So am I!” said Suzanne sharply.
“Someone has just been murdered, Mr. Cullen – full cooperation would be
appreciated!”
A cafe in the Printworks arcade
was not a common location for Chief Constable Maitland to meet up with the new
DCI under his command, but when he read Josephine’s personnel file, he learned
of her fondness for coffee houses as ideal places to discuss enquiries and
procedures. He didn’t particularly like them, but he was prepared to put that
aside for a while to make her feel more at ease in one of her favoured social
environments. The different types of coffees confused Maitland and Josephine
had to step in to choose them on his behalf. The only trouble she had was with
using conventional terms for the fancy names of the caffeine drinks. Although
straightforward for her, those serving were more used to referring to them by
their continental titles, and her words were therefore incomprehensible to
them: the minds of the staff taking Josephine’s order compensated by using the
hot beverages’ more popular names. DCI Andrews carried the tray containing the
drinks and the two rolls with identical fillings over to their table, nearly
bumping into a few people on the way. The close proximity to the main entrance
from where they were seated reflected Maitland’s desire for his exit to go
unnoticed by other customers. He felt a hint of shame at spending time in a
location he would never normally be seen in.
“So, three days into being a DCI
and you get landed with a murder enquiry”
“Well, it was actually DI Andrews
who brought it to my attention.”
“I must say, I’ve never come
across a mother and daughter working in the same CID division.”
“Probably isn’t that strange,
sir. Lots of family members do work in the same profession.”
“I admire your attitude about
it.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“I believe you brought her up by
yourself. That, I must say, is quite an achievement for a woman in that line of
work.”
“You’re too kind, sir. Of course,
it would have been an easier task had Frank stayed married to me. He only hung
around for the first three years of Suzanne’s life. The rest fell on my
shoulders.”
“It must have been tough on you.”
Maitland’s question betrayed more
interest in her private life than she believed he was capable of. There had to
be a genuine reason for him requesting to meet her face to face.
“Why do you really want to see
me, sir?”
Knowing that she had seen through
him, he replied “For evaluation and to break some bad news.”
Josephine’s eyes darted towards
the interior of her coffee cup. Thanks to the graver tone of voice he was
exhibiting, she was swiftly understood that he was about to reveal something he
knew wouldn’t go down well with the members of her CID team.
“It’s to do with the Fiona Bright
murder case isn’t it!”
“I’m afraid so – it’s being shut
down.”
“I see”
“It’s not a decision that’s been
taken lightly.”
“May I ask why, sir?”
“No fresh leads for over a year,
happens to be one of the reasons why. We don’t have the resources to keep a
failing enquiry going on indefinitely; the lack of results have made it
impossible for me to put forward the argument of preventing it from becoming a
cold case”
“Isn’t there any hope of
continuing it?”
“Maybe in the future”
“So, the Bright family are denied
justice.”
“This is the case, yes. If it
makes you feel any better, I’m the one who let them down by agreeing to this
decision, but pressure from above has dictated the steps I am forced to take.”
His attempt at acknowledging
blame didn’t improve the situation she was in. She now had the unenviable task
of telling Fiona’s parents and relatives that they are unlikely to get closure
as to the identity of the killer of Miss Bright for the foreseeable future.
Nevertheless, she had only recently taken control of Greater Manchester
Constabulary’s CID division, and she didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot
with her new superior.
“I understand and respect the
choice you had to make.”
Maitland was surprised. He had
expected some indignation from her, but her mood was far from being fierce.
“You believe in adhering to the
protocols, I see.”
“Rule-breaking and risk-taking
belong in US cop movies and TV shows – not advisable for those involved in real
police work.”
“I can see why you got the job of
DCI. I can always spot an excellent team-leader.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Now, what can you tell me about
this new case?”
“Not much at the moment, sir. The
victim is a Miss Williams. We haven’t yet found out her Christian name.”
DCI Andrews really hated using a
phrase like that. She wasn’t at all fond of using descriptions that originated
from biblical references. This aside, she continued on.
“She was found by my daughter in
the back of a red car parked in one of the multi-stories. The time of death has
been approximated at having occurred within the past few hours, and the cause
was suggested as strangulation. These are all the details we have.”
The Chief Constable mulled over
what he’d been told so far. He digested these details with the help of the
saucer under his coffee cup, which he kept turning round and round.
“What was your daughter doing in
the car park?”
“Returning from a meeting with
Miss Hedley”
“Who is Miss Hedley?”
“She was one of those who gave a
statement to the police in the Fiona Bright case. Unfortunately, as I
suspected, it turned out to have a number of discrepancies. Still, it doesn’t
matter now. Her version of events won’t be needed in the wake of this decision.
Procedure is procedure.”
“Can I give you some advice that
will help you to stay at the top of your game, DCI Andrews?”
“Sure.”
“Focus on your principles, not
those within the constraints of police work.”
“I’m not sure what you mean,
sir.”
“The law can be manipulated,
Josephine. Forget whether you think it’s a Hollywood cliché – take some risks
now and again!”
The whole of the office space in
Mr. Cullen’s business premises was partitioned off into various sections. Most
of the clerical workers in the cubicle-sized areas were female. Suzanne only
glimpsed two or three men engaged in the same profession as the ladies present.
She wondered whether he had ever heard of the Equal Opportunities Act. DI
Andrews was walked through by him towards the main office. Suzanne noted one
visual detail about him more than any other – Mr. Cullen never seemed to be
glancing at any of his employees. It brought one word into her mind –
standoffish. He closed the door, but she was stunned to see him lock it firmly
too.
“Frightened of being robbed?”
Suzanne asked, not really hoping for a reply.
“Now, DI Andrews, I believe you
wanted to establish Miss Williams’ Christian name.”
“Yes. You said that the name is
in her personnel file, and you added that Mrs Hendry will know what it is as
well.”
Mr. Cullen walked to a filing
cabinet to the right of his desk. He opened the top drawer and rifled through
the contents of it with meticulous efficiency. His fingers, being rather
nimble, were able to separate the top edges of the files and the papers inside
them, individually. Halfway through the search he was undertaking, he stopped
at one of the documents, withdrew it and passed it over to Suzanne.
“I believe this should clarify
some of her personal details, Detective Inspector.”
She flipped through each page as
she cherry-picked the most relevant pieces of data, thereby speeding up this
process. Suzanne had learned the first name of the victim, together with four
specific facts she’d honed in on as a result of perusing the document.
“Samantha Williams. At last we
can call her something other than her surname.”
The remark was not intended for
Edward’s ears. Learning her identity had prompted her to think aloud. This
tendency extended to the details she felt were crucial, which she filtered into
her mind.
“It says here that she lived in a
small flat above a pizza parlour in Cheadle, has a god-daughter, Laura
Blackwell, and there doesn’t appear to be any mention of her having any close
relatives.”
Suzanne consciously decided to
remain silent about the final fact she’d acquired. The file’s contents didn’t
pretend to fill in all of the blanks, though. This didn’t really surprise her;
work records usually contained information that was solely pertinent to the
job. Mr. Cullen held out his left hand, gesturing for the file to be given back
to him without delay.
“Sorry Mr. Cullen, but this is a
murder investigation, and I’ll need to make some photocopies of this file back
at headquarters.”
“I run a tight ship, DI Andrews.
All paperwork must be accounted for. That is a clerical procedure I do not want
disrupted.”
“We have procedures too – one of
them is getting people who are being less than cooperative and try to make them
be more helpful during a police enquiry. Now I’m borrowing this, sir! I
guarantee it’ll be returned to you ASAP.”
“This is really detrimental to
how I run my business.”
“Your commented is noted, sir. I
have a couple more questions relating to Samantha Williams’ movements before
her demise.”
“Can you ask them quickly,
Detective Inspector? I have to make an important phone call in a few minutes.”
She deliberately ignored the
request he’d made. It was utterly self-serving and was the kind of thing liable
to chip away at her temperament, which was currently placid. It was vital to
get through the next few minutes without giving into her feelings and whacking
him one.
“What kind of errand was Samantha
running for you on the morning she was killed?”
“Ensuring my vehicle maintains
its usual standard of hygiene.”
“If only I had a fucking
translator handy”, DI Andrews thought to herself.
“So she was taking the car to be
washed.”
“That is what I said.”
“Where was she taking your
vehicle to be cleaned?”
“Forrester’s in Oldham.”
“Yeah I know it. One more
question before I talk to Mrs. Hendry about Samantha. Her employment record
puts her age at thirty-two, but her date of birth contradicts this – stating
that she is actually a good ten years older. Have you any idea why this should
be?”
“I don’t have a clue, Detective
Inspector. I seldom concern myself with those kinds of details about my
employees.”
“Thank you for your time, Mr.
Cullen.”
Suzanne’s tone was barely civil.
Any more time in his company was certain to bring out the worst in her.
Almost robotically, Mr. Cullen
unlocked the door. DI Andrews didn’t exchange a single glance with him as she
left the office. She was over anxious to chat to his employees; people whom she
suspected could be more animated than him. Walking out of the room felt
remarkably like early parole. That may not have been a feeling she had
experience of, but that was the only sensation she could attribute to her
relief. Re-entering the administration section, Suzanne waited until one of Mr.
Cullen’s clerical workers was walking in her direction.
“Excuse me I’m looking for a Mrs.
Hendry. Can you tell me which one of the staff members goes by that name?”
The man she’d stopped pointed to
a woman in her late thirties stood against a tall Yucca plant nestled up
against one of the photocopiers. She was in the midst of talking to a female
colleague when the Detective Inspector started making her way over to
Samantha’s workmate.
The time on the display screen of
the mobile phone belonging to the DCI was eleven minutes to two in the
afternoon when Josephine strolled back into her office. Her return had
anticipated by DS Pickford, and he was waiting for her, holding one of the
reports attached to the police operation to apprehend Fiona’s killer. Josephine
announced without hesitation “You might as well send that document to the
archives: the hunt for Fiona’s murderer is being put on ice indefinitely”.
“I thought the televised appeals were
meant to be helping.”
“My superiors do not see it that
way.”
“By superiors, you really mean
Chief Constable Maitland.”
“He was being pushed into making
this decision too.”
“I’ll bet!”
“That’s enough! I’m not somebody
who takes kindly to insubordination. The enquiry is being shut down. There’s
nothing I, nor he, can do about it! We have a new murder investigation, as of
this morning. Try putting some of your energies into that! These things happen,
Pickford, and we have to deal with them when they do.”
The chain of command was the
decisive factor in Pickford understanding he could do nothing about it. The
reality of earning a decent wage to support his wife and kids financially made
it imperative to tow this particular line. The only thing he could do to dull
the anger he was feeling was to drown his sorrows with the help of a few pints
this evening at his local. What he hadn’t figured out was that Josephine was
wrapping her own righteous fury about letting down the Bright family in the
worst way possible, in a thick, impervious layer of acceptance. She added to
this a displacement activity (namely rearranging the objects on her desk) to
stop this emotion showing. The “Midsomer Murders” theme tune sounding on her
mobile phone alerted her that she was receiving a call. She was unnervingly
brisk in answering, almost as if she had expected it to ring before it sprang
into life.
“Hello? Dr. Grimes? What? Say
that again? I’ll be right over!”
Dead skin and chlorine created
the odour that shot up her nostrils with the same intensity as a whiff of
cocaine as she entered the mortuary. On the surrounding work surfaces were
plastic containers with the organs that had to be removed as part of the
post-mortem process. DCI Andrews had to endure the revolting spectacle of a
person’s lower intestines piled up in a set of weighing scales; like sausages
on display in a butcher’s shop. However, she knew that there would be more
gruesome sights ready to greet her whilst she was conversing with Amanda. It
still disturbed the DCI that Dr. Grimes never exhibited any expressions of
disgust while she was dissecting corpses for a living. In spite of the
revolting nature of what she did, Amanda was exceedingly casual, to the point
of appearing to find some morbid enjoyment in her profession.
“Welcome to the pit-stop before
heaven” she said to Josephine, without looking up.
“That would’ve sounded wittier if
I believed in heaven.”
“Atheism is a state of mind,
Josephine.”
“So is religion, Amanda. Your
tone sounded urgent when you called me.”
“It did. I’ve solved the riddle
about the protruding area of Miss Williams’ neck.”
“Is it to do with her being
strangled?”
“Yes, but not in the way you were
probably thinking of.”
“You really need to explain that,
Amanda.”
“I think showing you would be a
better way.”
Picking up a pair of tweezers
that were opposite a jar holding a freshly-dissected brain, Dr. Grimes moved
over to Samantha Williams’ body and held them above the open mouth. With upmost
diligence, she lowered the tweezers down into the space in between the lips,
moving them in diagonal directions through the throat. She felt it stop at
something. A few gentle tugs later, and the specific tool for intricate
extraction gradually pulled out what looked like, on first inspection, a small
lump of raw, red meat. DCI Andrews didn’t get a good enough glance at it as
Amanda transferred the fleshy object into a clear plastic container.
“Talk about a symbolic gesture!”
“What did you get out of
Samantha’s throat, Amanda?”
“One half of her tongue: come
take a look!”
Hesitantly, Josephine walked a
little nearer. Her stomach wasn’t that strong. There happened to be a limit of
how much gruesomeness she could stand, before the necessity to rush to the
toilet engulfed her.
“The cut is clean, Amanda”
observed DCI Andrews.
“Ruling out it being done in the
heat of the moment”
“Shit! Please don’t tell me this
is another of these killers leaving physical messages. I’ve already dealt with
two – I don’t want there to be a hat-trick!”
“I’m no detective, but I wouldn’t
have thought that it’s a message for us. It might be something to do with what
the victim might have done in the past.”
“You mean a revenge killing?”
“I can’t answer that, Josephine.
I simply analyse the clues dead people inadvertently leave behind. Searching
for reasons is your department.”
“Let’s get back to the neatness
of the incision – any thoughts?”
“Not yet. I’ll need to examine
the whole of the mouth’s interior.”
Amanda didn’t speak for two
minutes. This paved the way for the DCI to picture the scene of some unknown
individual actually subject Samantha’s neck to a level of pressure that was
fatal. The answers she was after were regarding why this crime hadn’t been
reported by a member of the public.
“Because it was carried out away
from prying eyes” Josephine clumsily yelled out.
Dr. Grimes didn’t show any sign
that she’d been interrupted by this. Instead she said, “Next on my list is
removing the stomach. The contents may shed a little more light on the exact
time someone helped her move onto the next world.”
“What makes you think that?”
“Breakfast and snacks”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Well, what she’s eaten may tell
us if she had breakfast on the hop or whether she stopped off somewhere for a
snack during the morning.”
“Ah, the digestive system...”
“...will narrow down when she
died.”
Josephine was disappointed that
she hadn’t personally seen where Dr. Grimes had been going with this train of
thought. She made up for this oversight by chaining together the facts which
had led to the conclusion Amanda has steered her to. It was hardly regular but
Josephine was visited by a strong tide of envy, similar to teenage jealousy,
which she thought she’d outgrown. It stemmed from how quicker and sharper
Amanda’s mind was in comparison to her own. She didn’t see herself as thick,
but neither did regard herself as possessing a really high IQ.
On the floor where all desk-bound
detection duties occurred, DI Andrews sat down in a flustered manner and
exclaimed “It’s like talking to C3PO!”
Suzanne’s outburst invaded and
interrupted what DS Pickford was doing at his desk. All of a sudden, his
curiosity over what had triggered it was peaked.
“What did you mean by that?”
“Samantha Williams’ boss; he was
unenthusiastic about answering my questions – it was interfering his precious
schedule. That was all he seemed to care about!”
“Sounds like he wound you up good
and proper”
“I can’t help that. His attitude
needs a serious overhaul! I did get some information from him about what his
employee’s last movements, but Mrs. Hendry was more helpful in that respect.
Now all I have to do is to tell my mum what I unearthed. Do you know where she
is, by any chance?”
“In the corpse hotel” said DS
Pickford far too knowingly.
Samantha’s stomach gave up its
secrets as DI Andrews walked in, wearing the regulation uniform for mortuary
visits. As if the smell surrounding her wasn’t enough to make her feel
nauseous, Suzanne was subjected to the vision of Amanda unemotionally touching
some of the shapeless, well-digested types of food that had been in the gut.
Picturing drinking a fizzy cherry-flavoured drink, the Detective Inspector was
able to curb any need to race to the toilet.
“Morsels of toast are all I can
make out” said Dr Grimes “I can’t see anything else that wasn’t properly
digested.”
Hearing Suzanne breathe a little
heavier, DCI Andrews looked up. She subsequently enquired whether her daughter
had eaten a heavy lunch.
“I haven’t had any. I haven’t
been able to find the time.”
