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

  The technician moved aside and Professor McCormack took over, exploring inches of the cadaver at a time, pausing from time to time to scrutinise certain marks before moving on. She cleared her throat and continued with her exordium.

  “The clothing has been removed to reveal the body of a woman of Asian appearance in a state of advanced decomposition. This is manifested by skin slippage, discolouration, bloating and the presence of a foul odour.” With thumb and forefinger she began sliding the long strands of black hair away from the deceased’s face. “Well, well.” she exclaimed, “I think I’ve more than likely found this young lady’s cause of death.”

  Angling a slender forefinger over the corpse’s neck she leaned back to allow the SOCO manager in and snap-off more photographs. Grace and the Detective Superintendent took a step forward, adjusting their posture to get a look at what the pathologist was pointing to.

  Lizzie McCormack continued in her soft Scottish lilt. “On the left hand side of the neck approximately two and a half centimetres below the jaw line is an incision which is approximately fifteen centimetres in length. The large vessels either side of the neck have been severed. The larynx has been severed below the vocal chord through to the intervertebral cartilages. The arteries and other vessels contained in the sheath have all been cut through. The cut is very clean, very precise.” The Forensic Pathologist raised her eyes catching Grace’s gaze. “Her death would have been immediate.”

  She returned to the corpse, picking up limbs, examining the hands and fingers. Then she began to turn the body. As she rolled the cadaver onto one hip she suddenly gave off a surprised “hmm,” and beckoned to the SOCO Manager. “Mr Wroe, I take my hat off to you.” She supported the bloated carcass whilst he shot-off a series of frames. After he had finished she pulled out an object which had been hidden beneath the body.

  Grace could see that Duncan was doing his best to suppress a grin. It was one of his triumphant grins that she had witnessed so many times before when he had uncovered a vital piece of evidence.

  “In all my years as a pathologist I have never seen anything like this before,” she said holding up something which closely resembled a knife.

  Grace looked at the object and then exchanged glances with her colleagues. It was quite apparent from the look each of them shared with one another that none of them had quite seen anything like it before.

  Lizzie McCormack dropped it into an exhibit bag and handed it to Grace.

  She eyed it again, this time studiously, through the clear plastic, turning it over repeatedly.

  “A real vicious looking thing,” said Detective Superintendent Robshaw looking over Grace’s shoulder.

  The weapon was twenty centimetres long and had a curved blade. Half of it consisted of a black metal handle or grip with two small metal hoops at either end.

  “These loops look like where your fingers should go - you know like a knuckle-duster type of grip.” Grace said out loud. Her response was as much as a question as that of an answer. She searched for agreement in the face of her boss but he merely shrugged his shoulders. She scrutinised it one further time before handing it over to the SOCO manager as the pathologist began her internal examination of the body. Picking up a scalpel Professor McCormack began the Y shaped incision at the front of the torso, cutting from the breastbone down to the pubis.

  A rancid gas erupted from the body and Grace caught herself gagging. She pressed her head down into her chest and tried to fill her nasal passages with the floral perfume she was wearing. She had always hated this part of the post mortem.

  An hour later after careful removal and examination of the corpse’s internal organs the forensic pathologist rounded off her head-to-toe examination, reported on her findings and wrapped things up. She reached up, switched off the microphone, snapped off her latex gloves and faced Grace and Detective Superintendent Robshaw. “The girl has taken a severe beating prior to her death. I’ve found at least thirty blunt trauma wounds to her head, upper torso, buttocks and legs, caused by clenched fist and boot. Three of her ribs are broken - she would have been in a great deal of pain before she died.” Lizzie shook her head in disgust. “Duncan should be able to get at least one good sample of a shoe print from the girl’s thigh area. She also has defence wounds to her hands and arms. Several of her nails have been chipped and broken and I have managed to swab them for perpetrator DNA. There is also bruising to the inside of her thighs and genitalia. In other words she was raped prior to death as well.” She shook her head again. “I have examined the girl’s trachea and lungs and there is no airway froth or sediment indicative of drowning. And there is no fluid in the paranasal sinuses or stomach. Therefore she was already dead before she went into the water. In conclusion death was the result of the severe haemorrhaging of the carotid artery in the neck caused by a sharp edged instrument. Forensics will no doubt match the wound to that knife found with the girl.” She paused dropping her latex gloves into a biohazard bin and then continued. “The incision across the throat is left to right and the penetration angle of the cut suggests that the killer was above or on top of her to carry out this action. That leaves me to believe your killer is left handed.”

  “What about identification of the girl?” enquired Grace.

  “Other than what I have already said, height weight, of Asian appearance etc, that’s all I am able to give. The bloating and decomposition has put paid to physical identification. She has also lost a number of teeth from the blows she received but dental records might be still of use, and of course I have taken a blood sample for DNA purposes, but that of course is if she or her family are on the database.”

  “I will sort out the dental impressions and fingerprints,” interjected Duncan Wroe. “I’ve had a look at the ridges and they are in a bit of a mess. There is a lot of skin slippage because of the length of time the body has been submerged. What I can do however is cut around the top section of each finger and peel off the flesh and then put them over my gloved fingers and roll an impression. I have done that once before and it worked.”

  Grace felt her skin suddenly go all goosey.

  “I can show you how to do it and then let you have a go if you want.”

  “Duncan that is gross.”

  “Needs must Grace, needs must!”

  * * * * *

  Feeling mentally and physically drained it was well after seven pm before Grace eventually got home.

  She had spent the last two hours updating DC Isobel Stevens so that she could input the HOLMES system ready for the following day’s briefing. She had also begun the timeline sequence on the incident boards, finishing the task by blue-tacking photo images of the crime scene, which included a sequence of mortuary shots; rug wrapped body, unwrapped body and the unusual looking weapon which had been used to slay the Asian woman. She’d then had to sit down with DI Scaife so that he could fill in the gaps in his journal ready for the next morning’s eight am briefing. It was only when she had finished all that did it hit home to her what the responsibility of acting Detective Sergeant meant. Never before had she ever given it any thought how much additional work Hunter put in after they had all called it a day and headed off home or down to the pub. She made herself a mental note that from now on she would always ask him at the end of a busy day if he needed any help.

  Unlocking the front door she called out. There was no reply. She made her way through to the kitchen. On the table she found a note. She picked it up and headed back into the hallway. Climbing the stairs slowly Grace read. The message contained a mixture of scribbles made by David, her husband, and Robyn and Jade her daughters. It told her they had gone to a fast-food restaurant and then onto the cinema; to see a ‘chick-flick – she recognised that word as Robyn’s handwriting. The note ended with three ‘love u lots’ and smiley faces. She mouthed the end text without making a sound and smiled to herself.

  Grace stripped off her things as soon as she entered the bathroom, dumping her clothes in a pile by the door
on the landing. She could smell the stench of rotting flesh clinging to them and she made the decision to wash them straightaway and not put them in the dirty clothes basket for fear of contaminating the rest of the washing.

  Turning the thermostat hotter than usual she jumped in the shower and scrubbed herself with perfumed soap foam, lingering longer than she normally did under the powerful jet of hot water.

  Ten minutes later, feeling totally cleansed, she towelled herself off in front of the bathroom mirror. As she dabbed the moisture away from her tawny coloured skin she found herself lingering over her reflected image. She turned sideways and clenched her stomach muscles and continued to admire her shape. Although she maintained her fitness through regular swimming sessions Grace knew she owed her lithe well-toned figure and height to her Yorkshire born mum, whilst her hair, skin colour and burnt umber eyes were the product of her Jamaican father’s genes.

  You’ve still got it girl.

  She patted the final droplets from her shoulders and then slung the towel through onto the landing, adding to the pile of washing. Finally she picked out her tub of aromatic body butter from the mix of bathroom products on the shelf and began to moisturise her skin.

  Half an hour later dressed in a T-shirt and jogging bottoms and clutching a glass of chilled Chardonnay Grace flopped onto the sofa. Tucking her legs beneath her she began to run the day’s events through inside her head. Graphic images began to kaleidoscope around and she couldn’t avoid reflecting on the post mortem. Especially thinking how indifferently Professor Lizzie McCormack had treated the corpse. First how she had been so brutal slicing open the young Asian woman, almost defiling her and then mirroring that with just how gentle she had been when it had come to washing and combing the hair and washing out the nasal passages for evidence. Watching Professor McCormack during the latter sequence she had remembered what the forensic pathologist had said to her, “the body gives up so much of where it has been before it has had its life ended. Pollen or fibre samples can be matched to the place where it met its death.” She would store those words for the future.

  She jumped out of her reverie, remembering the early phone call which she had cut-off. She had completely forgotten to return Hunter’s call.

  Reaching across the coffee table she scooped up her mobile. She couldn’t wait to tell him how she had coped whilst being in charge of her first murder.

  * * * * *

  North Yorkshire:

  Jock Kerr stirred. He let out a low moan as he shuffled uneasily in the bed. The groaning snapped Hunter out of his doze and he drew himself up in the high backed bedside chair in time to catch sight of his father’s face twisting in pain; he’d been in and out of a restless sleep since his admittance to the hospital side ward that afternoon, despite being heavily dosed with a strong painkiller and sedative.

  “Okay dad?” Hunter enquired. “Do you need me to call a nurse?”

  His father eased opened his eyes. “I’d rather have a dram son.” He started to laugh, chest shaking, then winced. “Jeez son, I feel like I’ve gone ten rounds with Mohammed Ali.” He licked his dry lips. “What’s the doc’s verdict? What’s the damage?”

  Hunter noticed that his father’s Scottish accent was brittle and more laboured than normal.

  He leaned forward and rested an elbow on the edge of the bed, cupped his chin in his hand and stroked growing bristles; he was in need of a shave.

  “Four broken ribs, more than a few cuts and bruises, and a couple of stitches above your right eye. You’ll live.”

  “How’s your Ma?”

  “She’s on Ward Two.” He saw his father’s face change. It was a look of anguish as well as concern. “Don’t worry she’s only there for observation. She’s had a nasty bang to her head. And she actually looks like she’s done ten rounds with Mohammed Ali.” He cracked a wry smile. “Beth and the boys are with her, keeping her company.”

  “I’m glad she’s okay son. I wouldn’t know what I’d do if anything happened to your ma.” He made an attempt to clear his throat and that sent him into a paroxysm of coughing. His chest shook fitfully and a rasping sound broke from his mouth.

  Hunter watched on helpless as tears welled up in his father’s eyes.

  “Bloody hell that hurt,” he cried out as he clutched his upper torso and pushed himself back into the bed. “What happened son?”

  Hunter recounted the incident, the silver BMW ramming the car and how they somersaulted across the moorland. “You’re lucky to be alive.”

  “Some accident, eh?”

  “That was no accident dad. The BMW deliberately rammed you.” Hunter pushed himself upright. “Was this to do with that guy you were arguing with this morning?”

  He saw his father tense. “I’ve already told you what that was about. Leave it,” he snapped.

  “Look you and mum were nearly killed today, if that guy was involved then I’ll find out.”

  “And I said just leave it. I’ll sort this once I get out of here.”

  “Dad you’re in no state to sort anything out. Leave me to deal with it. That’s what I get paid to do. That’s my job.”

  “Just leave it son.”

  “I can’t. Now why don’t you tell me what that was all about this morning? It’s too much of a coincidence that what happened to you was only a couple of hours after you’ve dumped a guy on his backside. What are you hiding dad?”

  “Nothing,” he snapped again. “Just leave it I said.”

  Hunter saw his dad suddenly pale. He dropped back onto his pillow. His face glistened with sweat.

  Hunter raised himself from the chair. “Do you need me to get a nurse?”

  “I could do with a couple of painkillers. I hurt all over.” He closed his eyes.

  In that instance Hunter thought his father looked tired and drawn; there was almost a look of frailty about him.

  He left the room and made for the nurse’s station. As he was speaking with a staff nurse, asking for extra painkillers, his mobile rang. He’d switched it to silent because of the hospital rules and it was vibrating in his pocket.

  He quickly fished it out and viewed the screen; it was his work partner Grace Marshall calling. He’d been trying on and off for most of the afternoon to get hold of her. Slotting the mobile to his ear and opening up the call he used facial expressions and a hand signal to the nurse that he needed to take the call and he shot away from the nurse’s work station and bounded along the corridor.

  “Hi Grace,” he answered pushing through the double doors and exiting the ward. He came to a halt in the corridor. “I’ve been ringing you most of the day and all I’ve been getting is your voicemail.” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “Listen I need a favour.”

  Hunter narrated what had happened. How he had seen his father arguing with the bald headed man that morning and then the lunchtime incident when his parents car had been deliberately run off the road. “We only managed to get a part index and I’ve given that to North Yorks police, but I could do with someone following it up.” He paused for breath. “Grace, do you remember a few weeks ago when we dealt with Steve Paynton?”

  He was trying to visualise the reaction on her face. It had been Grace who had found the photographs, hidden behind a bath panel, during the search of Paynton’s home; undraped images of pre-pubescent children. He had seen how it had disgusted her.

  “Well do you remember I had a run in with his two brothers and a cousin shortly after we got him remanded. Well I think they might have something to do with this. I think the Paynton’s might be trying to get back at me through my parents, but my dad won’t tell me anything. Could you do me a favour and just find out where the Payntons were today and see if they have access to a silver BMW. It’ll have some nearside damage to it.”

  “Hunter I can’t.”

  He listened as she excitedly related over the line what she was currently occupied with. In the glass panel of one of the doors he had exited by he caught his ghost-like image. His fac
ial expression was one of disappointment and he was glad she couldn’t see him. As she finished he composed himself.

  “A real baptism of fire eh? Good for you. Okay Grace, don’t worry. I can see you’re going to have your hands full and it sounds as though you’ve got it all well under control. Listen I’m going to be up here for another couple of days until they release my parents. You crack on and I’ll ring you daily so that you can update me.” He ended the call sounding bright but deep down he was agitated. He needed someone to do some discreet and maybe underhand digging for him. Someone whom he knew he could trust and Grace had been his best hope. At that moment someone else sprang to mind; someone whom he knew always got a result. Hunter checked his mobile contacts, selected the name he wanted and began to make the call.

  - ooOoo –

  CHAPTER TWO

  DAY TWO: 25th August.

  Barnwell:

  Coruscating light forced its way through the thin fabric of the closed blinds and the smell of fresh furniture polish greeted Grace as she breezed into the MIT office. Judging by its freshness she must have missed Angie the cleaner only by minutes she thought to herself as she swished open the blinds. That was a pity because she loved having girlie chats with Angie; she knew all the building’s gossip, especially the real juicy stuff; who was having an affair with whom.

  Shrugging off her jacket and draping it over the back of her swivel seat she pulled a large file from the top of her tray and opened it up on her desk blotter. She fired-up her computer and dropped into her chair.

  She had got into work early; in the absence of Hunter she had the responsibility of pulling together the inquest file of ‘The Dearne Valley Demon,’ and she wanted to make in-roads into its completion before things got manic when the new investigation got underway that morning.