‘DCI Foster,’ shouted Erika above the noise and holding up her ID. The officers lifted the tape and she passed through.
The park and lido were popular in the summer for swimming and picnics, but in the darkness of a rain-lashed January night they were bleak and depressing. Moss and Peterson were waved through the police tape just behind Erika, bringing a powerful torch, its beam illuminating their way along a series of concrete paths, past a boarded-up ice-cream hut and a pavilion with its paint peeling away. They emerged into a clearing, unable to make out anything. Thunder rumbled in the distance and lightning lit up the vast open-air swimming pond. Up ahead was the glowing outline of a large white forensics tent. A path of polythene had been marked out along the muddy water’s edge. Three crime scene assistants in white overalls were kneeling in the mud, working fast to take an impression of a set of footprints. A crime scene officer met them at the tent, and they quickly suited up as the rain continued to roar on the canvas.
A bright halogen light shone down on the still form of Ivy Norris. She lay on her back in the mud, amongst a churned up mess of brown, smearing her clothes and body.
‘Please stand on the boxes,’ said a CSI, indicating where a series of platforms had been placed around the body to preserve evidence in the mud underneath.
They approached Ivy’s body, moving from platform to platform until they were at her side. Her greasy hair was pulled back from her yellowing face and her face was frozen in the same wide-eyed fear as Andrea. Her nose had been flattened amongst a mess of clotted blood. She wore the coat and jumper Erika had seen her in a few days previously, but she was naked from the waist down. Her legs were painful to look at: emaciated, with clusters of scars, bruises and needle marks. Her pubic hair was grey and matted.
A crime scene photographer took a picture and the tent was filled with a flash and a high-pitched squeal. Isaac Strong stood silently on one of the boxes. He nodded at them all.
‘Who found her?’ asked Erika.
‘A group of kids who’d climbed the fence for a dare.’
‘Where are they now?’
‘Your officers are with them at the community centre over the road. We’ve already taken DNA.’
‘Did they see anything?’ asked Erika.
‘No. It was dark. One of the boys tripped over her body and fell.’
‘He must have been terrified,’ said Moss, looking down at Ivy.
‘Her nose is broken. I think her cheekbone also. There are extensive ligature marks on her neck,’ said Isaac, crouching down and gently pulling down the folds of Ivy’s sweater. ‘I also think four ribs are broken; I’ll have more idea about internal damage when I conduct my autopsy. She was carrying a hundred pounds in cash. The notes were folded inside her bra.’
‘So we could rule this out as a random assault or robbery?’ asked Moss.
‘I don’t want to be drawn on that until I’ve done my autopsy. But obviously when a body is left with money, it indicates that robbery wasn’t on the assailant’s mind. Sex was, though. On a first examination, there is semen present in her vagina.’
‘Ivy was a well-known prostitute,’ explained Moss.
‘Perhaps whoever did this had lured her with the cash?’ added Peterson.
‘We can’t assume because of that, that the sex was consensual,’ said Isaac sternly. ‘There is extensive bruising around the pelvic area.’
‘Where are her arms?’ Erika asked, dreading for a moment that they’d been hacked off.
‘Her arms are bound behind her back,’ said Isaac. One of his assistants approached and carefully lifted Ivy from the mud; both arms had been pulled tight under her body. They were slick with mud and stones. Isaac wiped at her wrists with a gloved finger.
‘See? They've been bound using a plastic tie, often used in industry or product packaging.’
‘What about her shoes?’ asked Erika, seeing Ivy’s feet, which were mud-splattered and swollen with a map of broken veins and long dirty toenails.
‘We found them in the mud,’ said Isaac. ‘There are also patches of hair missing from each temple. They look to have been pulled out at the root.’
He tilted Ivy’s head and indicated large angry pink patches dotted with dried blood. The photographer crouched in and took a photo. As the flash illuminated her skin, it appeared almost translucent, with threads of blue veins on her forehead.
‘Andrea’s hair was pulled out,’ said Erika, softly.
‘Time of death?’ asked Peterson.
‘Internal body temperature leads me to say she hasn’t been dead for very long, but the body has been exposed to the freezing temperatures and rain, so I’ll need to clarify this.’
‘We’ve got officers doing a door-to-door and searching the area,’ said Peterson.
They watched as the photographer worked, taking pictures of Ivy from every angle. A young woman assisting Isaac gently placed plastic bags over Ivy’s hands to preserve any DNA evidence. Isaac moved to a hastily set-up bench in the corner of the tent, returning to them with a clear evidence bag.
‘This is what we found on her: a bunch of keys, six condoms, one hundred pounds in cash, a credit card in the name of Matthew Stephens, and a phone number on a scrap of paper.’
‘That’s your number,’ said Moss, shooting Erika a look.
‘I was talking to Ivy the other night in connection to Andrea’s murder; she had given me some information but I think she was scared. I said she could call me . . .’ Erika’s voice tailed off with the realisation that the information had died with Ivy.
‘Did she try to call you?’ asked Peterson.
‘I don’t know. I’ll need to check my phone.’
She hadn’t checked her messages since before the press conference. She excused herself and went back through the partition and to the doorway of the tent. A figure was working its way along the bank. When it came closer, Erika saw it was DCI Sparks.
‘What are you doing here?’ asked Erika. ‘You’re not in the first response unit.’
‘I’ve been asked by Chief Superintendent Marsh to take over as Senior Investigating Officer,’ said Sparks. Despite the gravity of the situation, his glee was bubbling under the surface.
‘What? At eleven pm at the scene of a murder?’ asked Erika.
‘You should answer your phone. The Super has been trying to call you,’ said Sparks.
‘I haven’t finished here. I can discuss this with Marsh tomorrow,’ said Erika.
‘I have clear instructions. I’ve been made SIO and I would like you to leave the scene.’
‘You’d like me to leave?’
‘No. I’m ordering you to leave.’
‘DCI Sparks. I have just been to the crime scene and there are things . . .’ started Erika.
‘I said, I’m now in control of this crime scene and I’m ordering you to step aside!’ shouted Sparks, losing it.
‘I think you’ll find, if you have any knowledge of crime scene procedure, that the Forensic Pathologist has ultimate control over the crime scene, and therefore gives the orders,’ said Isaac, appearing behind Erika with Moss and Peterson. ‘DCI Foster entered the crime scene as SIO and I will finish my briefing and examination of the crime scene with her present as SIO. Now, DCI Sparks, you are in danger of contaminating the crime scene. If you wish to continue to observe, I’ll ask that you follow proper procedure, suit up and shut up.’
DCI Sparks opened his mouth to say something, but Isaac looked down at him and raised an impeccably shaped eyebrow, daring him to contradict.