Grace nodded towards the lake. She watched air bubbles rising to the surface, plopping and then rippling away. “No sign of the body being brought up yet?”
“Apparently it’s in a bit of a mess. I think they’re trying to secure it tightly so it doesn’t lose any of its limbs when they bring it up.”
“What do we know then Duncan?”
“Well we don’t know anything about the body yet. I’ve been told that it’s bound inside a carpet or rug of some kind so I don’t think we’ll be able to get anything at all even when it’s brought to the surface. We don’t know how long it’s been in the water so we’ll need to get it into a body bag and down to the mortuary as soon as possible because once its exposed to the air there will be a rapid acceleration to the decomposition.”
“Have you got anything in the forensics line?”
“Too early yet, Grace. What I can say is that I’m pretty confident the body was thrown off the edge of the jetty there,” he replied, pointing to the wooden platform leading from the shale banking out into the lake. “You can see where the Search Units dinghy is, well that’s roughly above where the body is. That’s about six feet from the edge of the jetty and that’s why I say thrown. Because of that I would say at least two people were involved in dumping it.”
Grace returned a puzzled look. “Two?”
“Yep two — at least. If one person had carried that body they would only have been able to drop it or roll it off the edge. It’s virtually impossible for one person to sling a dead weight body any distance. With two people they would have been able to get enough swing to heave it that far into the water.” He tapped his nose. “Simple when you’ve dealt with as many bodies as I have.” A smile crept across his wizened features.
“Couldn’t they have used a boat?”
“And only gone out a few feet?” He dismissed her suggestion with a curt nod. “No it was thrown, trust me.” He paused and continued, “Because the body’s wrapped inside a carpet or rug of some type I’m running on the assumption that the person was more than likely killed elsewhere and bought it here to be dumped. Nevertheless we’re taping off the jetty and checking it for bloodstains, hairs and fibres. Then we’ll be searching it for footwear marks. I’m also setting up a search grid and looking for tyre tracks. The underwater search unit will be bringing the body up to another landing stage and then I’ll body bag it to be transported to the morgue. I understand Miss Marple is already making her way there and will be performing the post mortem later this afternoon.”
Grace knew that he was referring to the forensic pathologist Professor Lizzie McCormack, who had acquired her nickname not only because of her ability to catch killers through her forensic skills but also because of her uncanny likeness to the actress Geraldine McEwan.
She thanked Duncan with a nod, smile and wave of her hand and spun back in the direction of Mike Sampson. She could see he was still heavily engaged in conversation with the two divers. As she was running through everything again inside her head, marrying what the homicide investigation manual recommended together with her experience of attending murder scenes, her mobile rang. She delved into her jacket pocket and pulled it out. The screen displayed the name and mobile number of her work partner — Sergeant Hunter Kerr. She knew that Hunter was somewhere up in the Whitby area in a rented cottage with his family.
I bet someone back in the office has rung him and told him about this and now he’s phoning to check up that I can cope.
And even though she knew he would be enquiring in that nice, caring and unobtrusive way of his nevertheless it was still checking on her. She needed to do this without someone holding her hand — to prove to herself more than anything that she was capable.
“Well Sergeant Kerr I am coping very well thank you,” she muttered beneath her breath. “And I don’t need you checking up on me.”
As she made to disconnect the call she heard a shout from the centre of the lake. She spun around in time to see the police frogman break the surface raising a hand in the air. It looked as though they were about to bring the body up.
Her phone stopped in mid-tone; Hunter would be transferred across to her voicemail. She switched off her mobile and plunged it back into her jacket pocket telling herself she’d ring him later in the evening — once she had got everything up and running.
* * * * *
Screeching to a halt in the rear car park of the Medico Legal Centre Grace again checked her watch for the umpteenth time that hour. She inwardly cursed; she was running late and she was regretting not having followed the body carrier from the Country Park when she knew she should have done. Instead she’d sat in her car, on her mobile, updating her Detective Inspector — Gerald Scaife, who was setting up the incident room back in the MIT department. She had given him as much information as she could from her scribbled notes, but because the post mortem had yet to be done she found herself unable to answer the majority of the questions he had bombarded her with. It only reinforced her thought that she should have followed the body. To cap it all and cause further delay the DI had then passed her across to DC Isobel Stevens, the HOLMES supervisor, who had begun logging in the information onto the National (Home Office Large Major Enquiry System) network, and she had found herself listening to another round of questions which she had been unable to answer. Fortunately she was of the same rank as Isobel and was able to politely fend her off, promising to get back to her the minute the post mortem had concluded.
Grace pushed through the rear entrance doors of the Medico Legal Centre, pulling off her elastic scrunchy and running her hands through her thick mane of hair, shaking out her corkscrew curls, whilst hurrying along the corridor to the post mortem suite. Quickly she slipped into her protective body suit and in her haste, as she slotted the white shoe coverings over her flat ballet pumps she stumbled forward shouldering the wall. Beneath her breath she cursed again, rubbing the top of her arm as she barged through the double set of doors, which gave access into the Medico Legal Centre mortuary. Her actions caused the occupants in the cutting room to all snap their heads in her direction.
“Quite a dramatic entrance — Miss?” Professor Lizzie McCormack, the forensic pathologist said glancing over the thin gold rims of her spectacles.
Grace felt that the way the pathologist had paused and then added ‘Miss’ was as if she was being chided as a schoolgirl.
She smiled apologetically. “DC Marshall,” she responded, feeling herself blush. “Grace,” she finished and quickly scanned the faces of Detective Superintendent Michael Robshaw and Scenes of Crime Manager Duncan Wroe who had not surprisingly beaten her there. She could see the disconcerting scowl on the Superintendent’s face.
That’s it make an arse of yourself Acting Sergeant Marshall.
“Ah yes, of course — Grace. You have to forgive me I’m terrible with names these days. We met several weeks ago at the old farm near Harlington, a fourteen year old girl badly mutilated, by our infamous serial killer, if my memory serves me right.”
Grace nodded.
“Terrible business that. You finally got him though. What did the papers nickname him?”
“The Dearne Vally Demon.” She shuddered. The mere mention of that monster’s nickname sent shivers down her spine.