Cold Death (D.S.Hunter Kerr) Read online

  Katie dropped to her knees almost astride the entity and began rubbing her gloved hand over it. Enmeshed in the weeds she could make out the pattern of what appeared to be a rolled up carpet. Puzzled by this bundle she felt for an edge to unfurl, and finding a corner she tugged hard. For a split-second her mind wouldn’t take in what was peeking out from one end of the rug. Then it hit her. The bloated green grey distorted blob had a face – a human face. Katie realised she was looking at a dead body. Gasping she almost released her regulator mouth-piece and in that same instance the opening of her mouth allowed water to rush in, hitting the back of her throat, causing her to gag. There was no time to signal to her dive-buddy. Blind panic took over and Katie kicked frantically towards the surface.

  * * * * *

  Ever increasing their pace, Major Investigation Team Detective’s, Grace Marshall and Mike Sampson scrunched along the limestone footpath towards the entrance of Barnwell Country Park.

  Grace had gone less than a hundred yards from where they had parked their unmarked car when her breathing became laboured and she began to feel uncomfortable. The warm effects of the sun, beating down through a cloudless blue sky were making her hot and sticky. She slackened her pace, unbuttoned her jacket and slipped off the elastic scrunchy from around her wrist and corralled her tight black, blonde highlighted, corkscrew curls back from the sides of her face and fastened them into a tidy bunch.

  That was better.

  Threading her way between tall laurel bushes, lining the route towards the lake, Grace’s thoughts momentarily drifted. Being here brought back happy memories; all those times of strolling around the lakeside path followed by a homemade picnic whilst watching the world go by with her two daughters and husband. Times she still treasured in her memory especially now that the girls were growing up fast and no longer wanted to do those things.

  The two detectives nodded their greetings to the uniformed male officer who had been given the job of guarding the entranceway to the crime scene. He returned their acknowledgement and scribbled down their arrival on his log.

  Ducking beneath the blue and white police tape Grace and Mike pushed through another set of laurel bushes and finally found themselves’ staring out over a very busy, yet organised setting.

  Three Scenes of Crime Officers were already evident, dressed in their white forensic suits. Two were in the process of cordoning off a small wooden jetty which led out into the lake whilst another was snapping off a number of photographs; adjusting his tripod as he took in the panorama. Grace recognised the cameraman as Duncan Wroe the Force’s very experienced civilian SOCO manager.

  A few feet from the edge of the quay two wet suited police frogman controlled their rubber dinghy whilst another was slipping beneath the surface; a burst of air bubbles from his breathing apparatus frothed the surface signifying his descent. Grace guessed that directly beneath there was where the body had been discovered and the Underwater Search Unit was now trying to haul it up safely from its silted grave.

  At the lake’s edge a uniform sergeant was briefing her team instructing them before they carried out an initial search of the area. By the picnic benches next to the country park reception centre Grace spotted two other divers. The female of the two was seated on one of the benches doubled-up, her fair-haired head being supported in her hands. The male, with tanned complexion and short crew cut hair, stood over her, resting a hand on her shoulder. From the phone call Grace had picked up at the office an hour ago she guessed that these were the two divers who had found the corpse. She reached inside her jacket, excavated her warrant card and slipped it into her breast pocket.

  Let them know girl that you’re in charge.

  Hunter had handed her the mantle of Acting Sergeant whilst he was away and she was going to show she could handle it. She took in a deep breath at the same time taking in all the details of the scene; determining inside her head who was doing what and what remained to be done. Gathering her thoughts, slowly she exhaled and turned to Mike. “I’m guessing those two are the ones who’ve found the body,” she said pointing in the direction of the man and woman occupying the benches. “You go and have a word with them and I’ll go and have a word with uniform and also see what SOCO have got for us.”

  Grace watched Mike Sampson scrutinising the slim, faired haired girl, presently kneading her eyes.

  “Now that’s how I like my women – dressed head to toe in black rubber.” He winked at Grace.

  “Mike!” Grace fixed him with her warm burnt umber eyes.

  “What?”

  “What is it with you men? A bloody murder scene and you’re still thinking of sex.”

  “That’s just my way of dealing with a crisis ma’am,” he quipped mockingly and cracked a grin.

  “Go on, bugger off and see what they have to say.”

  Mike spun on his heels tugging the sleeves of his oversized jacket away from his pudgy fingers.

  She knew it was a perpetual habit of his. From her time working with him she had become aware that Mike had bought his jackets several sizes larger than his chest measurement, in order to fit over his barrel shaped paunch. This meant that the sleeves were long than his arms and therefore partly covered his hands.

  “Oh, and Mike,” she shouted towards him.

  He spun around.

  “Don’t start playing pocket billiards whilst you’re interviewing her.”

  “I shall ensure my afflictions are kept under control at all times Acting Sergeant Marshall,” he retorted in an exaggerated tone, as he left her side.

  Grace smiled to herself. Despite Mike being the joker in the pack she knew that when he was given a task he always approached it as the consummate professional.

  By the time Grace had reached Duncan Wroe, the SOCO manager had removed his camera from its tripod and was manually aiming its wide lens in the direction of the frogmen. There was still no sign of the body being brought to the surface.

  “What have you got for me Duncan?” asked Grace striding towards him.

  The SOCO manager spun around, taking his eyes away from the viewfinder. “Oh hi Grace, I saw you arrive but I was busy.”

  With his sharp features, unruly hair and regular unshaven face, Duncan Wroe’s outward image depicted anything but the sharp minded and experienced forensic specialist that he was. Fortunately for Grace any prejudices she had about his appearance had been blown away early doors in her career. He had been called out to the scene of her first rape case; a teenage girl attacked whilst out walking her dog. A good quarter of a mile from the scene Duncan had found some trainer marks amongst bushes and a discarded cigarette butt and acting on a hunch had recovered them. Within a week they had DNA of the perpetrator, and whilst carrying out a search of the young man’s home Duncan had discovered his trainers secreted amongst the rubbish of a wheelie bin. It transpired the rapist had carried out two other similar crimes, and at court he was given a life sentence. Since then she had worked with him on many cases and knew that his technical craft and knowledge of forensics was second to none. Such was his ability and standing that he was one of the very few civilian scenes of crimes officer’s in the country to be promoted to the position of manager; most supervisors being police officers of rank.

  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.

  “Yes that was it. And he certainly was a demon wasn’t he. I remember the injuries to that poor girl.” She shook her head. “It always amazes me how cruel humankind can be. Wasn’t it six girls he murdered?”

  The professor’s rhetorical question provoked a flashback. Grace could feel her chest tighten as images burst inside her head. And though twelve days had gone by since that fateful evening, the memory was still as sharp as if it had all happened yesterday.

  That last investigation had caused her so much mental pain, and had physically exhausted her. She had only just got back to work after taking a week off sick to get her head right. As she reflected, not for the first time, she thought about how catastrophically things could have ended for her that night, after they had finally tracked down their crazed serial killer. She knew that the mental pictures and feelings from that night were going to live inside her for quite some time to come; the Force’s counsellor had told her that.

  She took in a deep breath, held it, let it out slowly; exactly the way Beth, Hunter’s wife, had advised her to handle the onset of a panic attack.

  “Any way that’s all in the past now. Back to the present eh! Well Grace you’re not a moment too soon we are just about to start.” Lizzie McCormack’s voice snapped her out of her daydream.

  The petite grey haired Professor peeled on her latex gloves and pulled a metal trolley to her side. Upon it, laid out in pristine condition, glinting beneath the bright artificial lighting was every c
onceivable surgical tool and evidence collection container imaginable.

  The body, fished from the lake, was laid out on one of the central steel mortuary tables. It had been removed from its body bag but was still wrapped up in its bundle. Despite being soiled by a substantial amount of silt and broken reeds Grace could now see that the body had been shrouded inside a rug of an Asian style design.

  Professor McCormack reached up and switched on a microphone suspended above her. In her soft Scottish accent she began her PM preamble, opening with the time and date. Then instructing her technician to cut away the bindings she took a step back and slid her green scrub mask up over her mouth and nose.

  He began to snip at the cord securing the rug. The binding was white plastic coated washing line.

  “Careful as you unwrap it,” Duncan Wroe said to the technician, moving in closer with his camera. “I’ve known in the past that the murder weapon has been thrown in when the killer has wrapped up the body.” He seesawed his gaze between Detective Superintendent Robshaw and Grace. “By dumping the body in the lake the murderer was obviously hoping it would never be found and therefore they might just have thrown in any weapon they used.”

  The second the technician carefully peeled the sides of the rug away from the cadaver the stench hit Grace and she reacted by quickly slapping on her own paper facemask, which until then had been hanging around her neck.

  Even the sterile antiseptic smell that was supposed to cover the rot and decay of the dead, that permeated inside the brightly lit room did not dissipate the stench.

  The body was grotesque; dark, bluish, purple and swollen beyond recognition, though there was no mistaking it was female; long black matted hair covered most of her face and neck, and she was naked.