Chapter 3
Ted Wallis parked his car and went to find Kelly. As well as being chief coroner he was also Kelly’s local pathologist working from two north Cumbria hospitals. It was a happy coincidence and neither wished for it to change.
He saw her and waved.
Her face showed signs of concern, and well it might, given the circumstances, but as soon as she saw her father, it relaxed her a little. They stopped short of embracing and kept their distance when in professional environments, but it was good to see him.
He was due to visit her house tonight to spend some time with his granddaughter, but, like her, he’d been called away.
It wasn’t Ted’s job to attend murder scenes, but Kelly was thankful for his intervention when the circumstances were puzzling like this one.
And he didn’t need much persuading when the body of a young woman turned up with no ID in mysterious circumstances.
Having him see the body in situ was always a helpful exercise if he had the time, which he did.
‘Oh dear,’ Ted said. ‘Poor young woman. What do we know so far?’ he asked his daughter.
‘Not a lot,’ Kelly replied.
Ted tutted. He was old school and made noises instead of committing to statements.
His quiet certainty reassured his daughter and they pulled on gloves and approached the newly erected tent around the cadaver.
It gave the victim privacy, as well as preserving any evidence they could gather, which in this case was vital because they had no idea who she was.
Cumbria’s tourist industry provided a transitory population that was sometimes untraceable.
Occasionally, murders remained unsolved because they failed to trace the ID of the victim.
A solitary decapitated head found in Wastwater ten years ago was the most famous example.
Kelly hoped this wouldn’t be the case here. But this was police work. Bodies didn’t behave and they certainly didn’t get in line. A chill suddenly made her shiver and she wished she’d brought a jumper to put over her thin polo top. Her lanyard provided little coverage, and she rubbed her arms.
The burden of investigation was on her. It was down to her team to decipher what had gone on here to result in this unfortunate woman’s death. Ted could only point the way.
Inside the tent was stuffy but at least it provided a little warmth. Stepping inside was like moving between worlds, one that was pretty and photogenic and the other that was ghastly and deviant.
She’d enjoyed coffee and cake at the Faeryland café many times and she recalled how pretty and serene the location was then. Today was something quite different. Now the punters had gone home for the day and the café was closed, which was a small mercy.
The Faeryland boat landing was northwest out of the village of Grasmere, on the way to the circular lake path that was rammed with visitors at all times of the year.
Kelly had spotted the famous rowing boats that were painted beautiful colours, shored up by the lake after a busy day.
The café had made a distinctive brand from creating a theme of fairies in a magical land, with cute artwork on teacups and boats. Also, their cakes were legendary.
The view of the lake from the café was stunning.
But inside the tent, they quickly forgot all that.
They were greeted by a SOCO covered in white plastic standing with her hands on her hips, gazing down at the victim and pointing.
The noise of the synthetic suit wrinkling jarred Kelly’s nerves.
The upturned rowing boat was just to the side, at the water’s edge.
The girl was half in the water, head partly submerged.
She looked to be in her mid-twenties, like the witness who’d discovered her.
These girls were two-a-penny in the Lakes.
They came from all over the world, looking for jobs and staying anywhere that was cheap. It was easy to disappear.
‘What have we got?’ Ted asked, kneeling.
He was in his seventies, but it was his work that kept him vital, as well as bouncing Lizzie on his knee. Kelly couldn’t imagine him doing anything else.
‘Her clothes seem undisturbed,’ Kelly said. ‘Indicating either a lack of sexual assault, or a killer who took the time to redress her.’
‘She’s in rigor, so my guess is she’s been here only since this morning or last night. But we’ve managed to turn her head and she’s been beaten pretty badly, by an object, I think,’ the SOCO said.
‘Did you find any ID?’ Kelly asked.
The SOCO shook her head.
‘Cause of death?’
Kelly watched Ted, who examined the girl closely without touching anything.
She knew that he liked to take his time searching the scene for clues as to what happened to the victim before they expired.
That quiet moment as the body gave up and preserved the victim in perpetuity.
There was a wealth of indicators to be found around the area, not just on the cadaver.
‘My guess would be drowning, given the location, but the beating and the lack of blood makes me think she was brought here after death. Because she’s partially submerged, I made the decision not to move her. When we do, then we might find more evidence of how she died.’
As the SOCO spoke, she watched Ted. Kelly observed how a lot of professionals did that. It wasn’t just a matter of respect, but curiosity too. Ted’s reputation was impressive. All the time the SOCO talked, Ted examined the scene.
Kelly thanked the SOCO and walked across to the boat which was next to the body. The Water Nymph. She felt a wave of depression come over her that her day had come to this. Normal people enjoyed swimming and ate picnics on hot days like this in the Lakes. They didn’t examine dead bodies.
The young woman, who appeared no older than twenty-five, looked asleep.
If it hadn’t been under the current circumstances, she might call the scene peaceful, it was so quiet, compared to some she saw.
The girl’s skin was ghost white with a tinge of blue.
The smell of wet fish reached Kelly’s throat, and she swallowed.
Insect activity had begun in earnest. She could kick herself for not rubbing perfume under her nose.
She watched as her father examined the bruising patterns on the girl’s neck and head. The poor thing was petite and a heavy-handed assailant with intent had caused terrible damage. Kelly felt hot anger bubble up inside her but tried to remain non-judgemental for now.
‘I wonder what he wanted,’ she whispered.
Ted turned his head.
‘Or she,’ he said.
Kelly nodded. Occasionally, and they’d seen it themselves right here in the Lakes, women killed, and everyone remembered.
They couldn’t rule out female killers until they had solid proof otherwise, but the stats said that it was likely to be a male.
And there was a high probability the victim knew her killer.
‘Did anyone touch the body?’ Ted asked.
‘Yes, the owner tested for a pulse and signs of life.’
The general British public rallied in a crisis, but equally, most of them were nosy and offered advice when it wasn’t required.
Their ‘help’ was often counterproductive.
In Cumbria, Kelly had the added problem that lots of witnesses were often tourists, who were scattered to the four corners of the globe when they left the scene.
‘What do you think?’ she asked her father.
‘Homicide for sure. No ID, purse, phone, or a coat. The beating is terrible, and I agree with the SOCO that the killer likely used an object but I won’t know for sure until I get her on my table.’
‘Of course.’
Kelly looked around. It was a nightmare scene for an investigator, she thought.
Open air, elements, animal activity and remoteness, this scene had it all.
Countless people had trampled through here, and witnesses could originate from anywhere.
As if agreeing with her sense of depression, a grey squirrel lay motionless next to the upturned boat.
She hadn’t spotted him before. He looked as though he was asleep but when she peered closer, he wasn’t moving at all.
The little fellow had popped his clogs right there beside the unfortunate woman.
A flash of bright colour caught her eye, and she bent over, reaching out with her gloved hand. Underneath the dead animal was a colourful plastic sachet with the name YouthBlast emblazoned on it.
‘Can someone bag this squirrel?’ she asked.
The SOCO stared at the poor dead animal and then at Kelly.
‘Yeah, I’m not going mad,’ she said. ‘I want that sachet kept too.’