Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Pastries in the office was always a bad sign. It should’ve spelled out that our managers took our well-being seriously, that they wanted to increase morale and show their appreciation for their team.
We knew that was bullshit wrapped up in cinnamon rolls and pain au chocolate and other things that Vinny couldn’t pronounce – or maybe he could and just played the idiot.
Pastries in the office meant we were in for a long shift, and no one had any idea when it’d be over.
Later this evening we’d be eating the remnants of them, waiting for someone to suggest we order take-out pizza, or if we have no respect for our tastebuds and digestive tract, a kebab from Gez two doors down, who would still be serving the late-night community of Manchester City Centre.
I ignored the cinnamon roll at first, then went back for it, wrapping it in a piece of kitchen roll for later, then headed to the back of the briefing room, a wide anonymous space that had all the soul of a vampire.
Off white walls, mass produced prints, desks and chairs that could’ve been found anywhere in the country.
It wasn’t where we were that mattered; it was who we were.
Wrigley stood at the front; the DCI, Andy Cattrick, next to him.
Technically, it should’ve been Wrigley who was DCI.
Wrigley had the experience, the management skills, and the nose of a cop seasoned in decades of Manchester’s finest, but he’d stopped at detective inspector.
He’d never told me why, but then I’d only asked twice.
Cattrick was decent too. I knew there were worse people to have in that position, and when it came to it, he had shoulders broad enough to protect us from the shit dressed up as politics so we could crack on with the policing.
Things would change though when Wrigley retired. I was preparing myself for that.
“Morning all you lovely people.” Wrigley folded his arms, his voice booming through the room, clearing any lingering earwax. “We have a new one, and it doesn’t look to be gang related for once.”
“Kiss of death, that, Sir.” Vinny called in from the peanut gallery. He looked like he’d just come back from the gym, or at least made it look like he had. I wondered what had happened between him and Dr Miz for about three seconds before deciding I never needed to know.
“My gut tells me none of our resident gang lords have anything to do with this one.” Wrigley’s eyes landed on me.
I knew why, of course. He was one of a limited number of people who knew my biological father, having arrested him at least once.
“So we’ll start at the beginning, which, as you may remember from the last book Vinny read, is a very good place to start.
” Wrigley drew a chuckle from the cluster of cops, around fifteen of us who’d been deployed for the initial stages of the murder investigation.
“A cold, wet beginning, and it doesn’t look like it’s going to get any better, so if you’re feeling like being a mard arse, book some leave.
” He looked grumpier than usual. “This is Manchester, and we do things different here, don’t we, lad?
” His attention diverted to Lachy Dixon, a detective sergeant who was originally from Australia and had just transferred from down south, meaning he was dealing with a double helping of shit from his new colleagues.
“We do, Sir. And don’t you worry, I’ll keep this cold to myself.” A well-timed sneeze punctuated Lachy's comment.
Lachy was decent, a nice bloke and never missed paying for his round in the pub, or at least he hadn’t when I was there.
“It’s only you poncey Aussies who’re bothered about a cold in April, son.
Anyway, our victim, who is currently Jane Doe, was found just before eleven thirty-seven last night by one Thomas Redfern, known as Tommy.
Tommy has an annual permit and is fortunate to be retired.
Angling is one of his favourite pastimes, especially because it gets him away from his missus, it seems.” Wrigley nodded at Nick Sweeting.
Nick put down the croissant he’d been inhaling.
“Tommy and his missus had a spat last night when she roasted him for traipsing mud all over the kitchen floor. He decided the best option was to head out for a spot of night fishing even though Manchester was in the midst of a monsoon. To be fair to him, he knows what he’s doing and has all the right gear.
He headed past the lock towards a spot known locally as Pickers’ Field, because it’s apparently a good place to find mushrooms and not the ones you’d get in a shop.
He’d already set up and was getting ready to cast off when he saw something tangled in the reeds.
He poked about a bit with his net and pulled it in, before realising that it was a pair of legs.
He called us straight away, and because he’s a fan of forensics TV shows, set up a cordon, waited for us to get there, and has probably won an award for being witness of the year.
Took photos as soon as he realised what it was, sent them to us and deleted them from his phone.
Very helpful.” Nick picked up his croissant. “Maybe too helpful.”
Vinny strode to the front. “We can probably rule him out. He was away the night before in Harrogate to see his daughter, getting back to Manchester just after seven. His daughter’s confirmed his whereabouts and what time he left. We can easily get CCTV footage if we need too.”
“Fair enough. That would’ve been too easy,” Nick carried on, not paying Vinny much heed.
“Tommy phoned the police. PC Leanne Thorpe from Ancoats was the first on the scene. She followed process, secured the scene, called it in. Forensics arrived - ” he looked over at Jenna Osei.
“And the decision was made to remove the body from the water immediately.”
“All by the book,” Jenna interrupted. “There was a breach on the canal bank further down which was impacting on the flow of water. It fully breached it about three in the morning and flooded the area of dense trees and shrubbery nearby. If that was your murder scene, you’ll probably never know.”
I leaned against the wall, watching my colleagues, spending as much time studying their reactions and body language as I did taking in what Jenna was saying.
Jenna glared at Vinny, stopping him from speaking.
“Our Jane Doe was found in water just over a metre in depth and rising, her torso and head caught up in reeds. This is part of the canal that hasn’t been renovated yet; it’s scheduled for this summer.
Jane Doe was nude, her body supine with a slight rotation, her right shoulder lower than the left.
There was no sign of clenching or gripping in her hands.
Her skin was pale, and there was discolouration around her midsection which was noted when we got her out of the water.
“Things you need to know; there were no drag marks or blood traces on the approach route but that doesn’t mean they didn’t happen.
The rain has pretty much aided and abetted our killer by washing away any evidence.
About a hundred metres west along the canal path there’s a slight track impression; we’ve taken a moulding of it, but I wouldn’t put my mortgage on this being any use.
It’s literally a patch and everything else has been washed away.
“From what we’ve seen so far, the body was dumped pretty much where she was found.
The breakage on the reeds would be consistent with something weighty being on them.
There are, of course, footprints, but nothing discernible.
This has been one of the most challenging scenes I’ve done recently due to the weather.
We got the thermal drones out, but they’ve been ineffective because of the distortion from the rain.
We’ve taken water samples, reed and sediment samples, and before we moved the body managed to get decent photographs, as you can see.
” She gestured to the board where several had been stuck.
“We’re on for forty-eight hours of non-stop rain so either the perp got lucky, or he’s a weather forecaster. ”
“How do we know it’s a man?” I felt the eyes of the room land on me. “We’ve used ‘he’ multiple times, but we have no evidence.”
It was Vinny who broke the resulting two seconds of silence.
“She was naked. She was small, and probably not too difficult to move, but it’s more likely to be a man who’d be able to get her into the water.
My guess is it was an attempted rape, and he couldn’t get it up; the knife was a replacement.
It’s one theory, and we’ll have a load of others, I know, and we can’t discount the killer was a woman.
” Vinny wasn’t always an arse. “But statistically, we’re looking for a man. ”
Wrigley raised his voice. “Maybe so, but we need to keep an open mind. In the absence of anything forensics related – and not for the want of trying – we need to prioritise finding out who she is. We’ve got an artist working on a sketch to get out to the media and for you to take with you because we need to get out on foot with this, and yes, I know it’s still pissing down, but you’re not made of sugar.
But first, what gory detail did Dr Miz want passed on? ”
Nick, because he possessed more emotional intelligence than most of the male part of the team combined, didn’t mention my queasiness at the morgue. Between us we went through the initial findings.
“Jane Doe was five foot five and fifty-two kilograms. It was one stab to the right place that killed her within three minutes, although there were seventeen other stab wounds that suggest a frenzied attack.” I surmised.
“No evidence of any blunt force trauma to her head or limbs. No signs that she was restrained or sexually assaulted or even struggled. We can probably guess that she was surprised, so maybe someone she knew. She was underweight, potentially suffered from disordered eating as her weight was well below, and she hadn’t eaten anything in the last twenty-four hours, her stomach contents were empty.
Her lungs contained water consistent with passive submersion post-mortem, so she was dead before she went in the water, and there was no water in her airways.
Skin maceration was consistent with immersion in water for an estimated twelve to eighteen hours.
” I checked my notes, hurriedly copied off Nick before we left.
“A moderate degree of skin slippage was noted, particularly on the hands and feet.” It felt easier to say it, as if naming it made it more scientific and less human.
Nick flicked through the photos on the screen, landing on the close up of Jane Doe’s face.
She’d been pretty, in a tired, run-down way, as if her life had been harder than it should have.
I’d have put her between twenty-five and thirty-five, although I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned about to be five years either side.
“She’s also given birth at least once, so hopefully someone is missing her. ”
The mood changed, the quiet to the extent where I could hear Verity rustling papers, willing her to be still.
It was easier when a victim was just a list of events and bullet points; the moment they became human, when we spoke with the people left behind to grieve and miss them, we had to give a piece of ourselves, an investment to bring their killer to justice.
Someone was now missing a mother, although that child could’ve been adopted, or like me, brought up in foster care.
I was one of the lucky ones. My foster parents had been my best friend’s mum and stepdad, and I grew up as one of theirs, in the same idyllic village by the sea that I’d been born in.
I searched my pockets for a mint, needing the sharp favour to ground me so I didn’t take off into that dangerous space I saved for moments when I could lose myself in my own head.
“Dr Miz estimated the knife to be around sixteen centimetres, fixed blade, with a partial serration. Some of the wounds had multiple penetrations but were secondary to the one that would’ve been fatal.
” Nick still had hold of the last bite of his croissant.
He sat down on a nearby chair and stuffed the rest of it in his mouth.
I wasn’t sure how he could eat right now.
Wrigley folded his arms, looking round the room.
“First priority is an identification. We should have that artist’s illustration in the next hour, so start showing that around the local area.
” He started to allocate jobs, directing constables to knock door to door, giving specific areas.
“The nearest car park’s here,” he pointed to a map that was now on the screen.
“The second nearest here. We can’t discount someone’s parked up from the body after driving from Timbuktu, so Nick, can you find out where the cameras are.
? Door to door, ask if anyone got a Ring doorbell or their own CCTV.
We can’t start trawling through now as we’ve got no timeframe and no bloody clue, so what we need is a lucky break – a witness who remembers a couple fighting or anything odd. ”
“Given where it is, Sir, there won’t be much normal round there.
The estate near the canal, the one a stone’s throw from those posh new apartments no one can afford, doesn’t have a recognised neighbourhood watch committee,” Vinny said, glancing at his phone.
“Not the sort of place where people always like to talk to us.”
“There’s a pub there – the Old Sailor,” I remembered. I’d been there a couple of times before, back when I was a constable. “Might be worth asking around in there, see if anyone recognises her.”
“You and Lachy can get over there. It’ll give you a break from combing through mispers reports.” Wrigley shot me a beaming smile. “You can stay out of the rain as a treat for not chucking your guts up at the postmortem this time.”
I saw Nick trying to do his best impression of me keeping hold of my protein shake and I shook my head.
“Bastards, all of you.”