‘The superintendent reckoned you would be a great asset on this case as you did some good work on the corpse of that old nun.’
Jane sat down in one of the armchairs, unsure whether she should thank him, but Carter didn’t appear to expect her to answer.
‘Well, you’ve got another old corpse case here. We don’t actually know how long the body’s been in the shelter... we’ll only find out after forensics and pathology have done their work. But Emra estimated eight or nine years.’
Jane had no notion of what shelter he was talking about and before she could ask him there was a knock on the door and Barbara appeared, carrying a mug of coffee.
‘They’re putting the photographs up, sir,’ she said, placing the mug on his desk.
Carter gestured to Jane. ‘Barbara, this is Detective Inspector Jane Tennison.’
‘Yes, we met on the stairs.’ She flounced out as Carter took a beer mat and placed it under his coffee.
‘Obviously our priority will be identifying the victim, but I think you’d best go and familiarise yourself with the details first. When Emra Saddell is ready, we should go over to the lab for the PM.’
Jane felt she’d been dismissed. ‘Yes, sir.’ She left Carter’s office and went and stood in front of the large noticeboard, trying to work out what the case was all about. The photographs from the scene at the shelter were certainly shocking, but Jane couldn’t help feeling deflated. She was acutely aware of how much work it would entail to uncover the victim’s identity, and also that of the perpetrator. She had worked for weeks on her last investigation into the thirty-year-old corpse of a nun. The thought of having to do another similarly laborious investigation made her feel as if her new rank had hardly been respected.
Putting her disappointment aside, she quickly learned that a foreman had opened the shelter in a garden in Stockwell and had discovered the body, which was now being examined at the Fulham mortuary. There had been no other information from SOCO: all they knew was that the victim had been chained up and possibly starved to death in a shelter resembling a hideous mausoleum.
Jane went back into her cubby hole office and decided that, rather than wait for further information to come in, she would go and look at the shelter herself. She left a memo with a young detective, who she heard complaining bitterly that he had been given the job of listing all the tenants who had once occupied the house in Stockwell. She didn’t wait to find out his name and returned to her car.
The crime scene was easy to find from the black-and-yellow tape that was fluttering around the open corrugated-iron fence. A uniformed officer was standing talking to an irate-looking man with a clipboard. Jane parked her car and soon learned that the man with the clipboard was the foreman, John Bishop, and he was desperate to find out when his workmen could continue with the demolition as the delay was costing a fortune.
Jane introduced herself and asked the uniformed officer to take her to the shelter, quickly wishing she had not worn her good shoes and best coat as she made her way over the muddy, uneven ground. It was clear how unsafe the site had become as even more of the tunnel had now collapsed. Bishop went ahead of her, bemoaning what had occurred and stressing that the plans from the council had not shown any of this. He stopped to gesture towards the digger.
‘That is costing me by the hour, and we can’t do anything with it.’ He pointed to the shelter. ‘That is twice the size it should be according to the plans I have, plus one corner is already down. It’s a hazard.’
Jane found it strange that he had not even mentioned the horror of the chained corpse. However, she was glad that he was there to guide her through the main door into the shelter. Using a high-powered torch, he shone the beam around the first chamber, then led her into the second chamber and shone the torch on the area where the body had been found. The chain, which had been hammered into the floor, had been removed as evidence. Even now Bishop still seemed to lack any kind of empathy.
‘I don’t know how long she’d been down here, but it has nothing to do with my demolition. They told me they haven’t found anything and don’t know who she is. All I want is permission to get my men back to work.’
Jane let him continue talking as she looked around. The overpowering smell was quite sickening. Bishop was becoming increasingly agitated as he said that the owner of the property was giving him earache, demanding that he get back on schedule. He made a wide, expansive gesture with his arms.
‘How can I get back on schedule? Nobody is telling me anything. I mean, surely I can continue the demolition of the house. And they only want me to save the fucking bricks — excuse my language.’
Jane tapped him on the arm. ‘Can you shine the torch over to the area where the corner has come down?’
Bishop turned. ‘That’s the other thing... this place could collapse. The digger hit it, and—’
Jane moved closer and pointed. ‘What’s that?’
Bishop moved to her side as they both peered towards some large blocks. They were thick with dust, and appeared to be two pieces of cement, twelve to fourteen inches long, tied together with a black leather strap. Jane moved closer still.
‘What do you think that is?’ she asked Bishop.
‘I have no idea, but it can’t be anything important because they had those special officers in here looking for anything connected to the body.’
‘Can you just move the bricks apart?’
Bishop sighed. He bent down and pushed the bricks aside then, with his foot, he nudged away a large piece of cement.
‘Can you bring that section out?’ she asked.
Bishop wasn’t happy as he was now covered in cement dust. He handed Jane his prized clipboard and asked her to hold the torch. He crouched down and eased forward the blocks tied with the leather strap. Jane leaned forward and shone the torch directly onto them.
‘I think it might have been two blocks for a pipe to run through... like a drainage pipe,’ Bishop said.
‘But why would you tie them together with a belt?’
He shook his head. ‘Beats me.’
Jane crouched down. Her coat was getting covered in cement dust. The buckle of the belt was tarnished, and she was unsure if she should try to ease it open.
‘Can you open it for me?’ she asked.
‘If you don’t mind me saying so, detective, if you want to have a look at it, why don’t we take it outside? The stench in here is sickening.’
Jane had to carry his clipboard and use his torch as he lifted the two concrete slabs in his arms. She followed him out of the shelter and, once outside, took a deep breath. The smell seemed to cling to her nostrils and her clothes as she handed Bishop his clipboard and torch.
‘You’re never going to unhook that buckle,’ he said, taking a Stanley knife from his pocket. It didn’t take him long because the leather strap was only an inch and a half wide and was quite worn. The top block came away easily but neither of them knew exactly what they were now looking at. It appeared to be a tightly wrapped bundle in some kind of black waterproof material, maybe part of a tarpaulin.
As much as she wanted to examine it further, she knew that police protocol would mean she would need permission, or someone from the station, to document all findings before they were removed from the murder site. Somebody had taken great trouble to hide whatever it was between the cement blocks. Even so, Jane decided that it was probably something not connected to their victim, and rather than waste everyone’s time, she would open the bundle.
She was about to ask Bishop for his Stanley knife when the officer on guard at the opening to the site called him to tell him he had a visitor. Jane lifted the package, which was surprisingly light. Placing it down beside the belt she was able to ease open the waterproof wrapping. Inside there appeared to be soft pale blue material with yellowish stains, wrapped tightly around the almost feather-weight bundle. Jane used the tips of her fingers to draw the blanket aside. At first it looked as though it was covering a doll, but inching the blanket down further, she quickly realised it was the skull of a baby.