Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Culverts were built at some points of the River Irwell in the nineteenth century to divert overflow water from the city infrastructure during heavy rain.
They were essentially a drainage tunnel, long decommissioned, with a partially collapsed entrance, somewhere known only to local wildlife and intrepid urban explorers, and maybe the occasional rough sleeper.
A thin layer of water covered the entrance, the ground in front puddled and saturated.
Soot black brick was visible between the ivy, rusted metal piping sticking out in one place, a health and safety hazard if anyone cared.
Brambles, tree roots and discarded fencing helped to conceal the entrance.
This was a quiet part of the river, few people walking down it, and far enough away that there was no real need to be here.
There would also be very few cameras around; another site well-chosen.
In front of the culvert, one of the CSI team was crouching down, taking photographs, his colleague telling everyone to come no further. A police dog, Benji, who’d only been there for ten minutes as far as I was aware, was sitting proudly near the entrance.
“What’ve we got?” I asked, desperate to go inside; desperate not to contaminate evidence.
“This has been recently disturbed. Some of the old bricks at the entrance are too dry for where they are and Benji’s had a wonderful time in there – he’s definitely telling us there’s blood inside.
” He stood up with a wince. “Bloody knees. Did you hear them crack? Anyway, we’re going to do a full search inside. ”
“What’s in like inside?” Vinny was trying to stick his head closer, reminding me of an ostrich, one that smelt of women’s perfume.
The CSI shook his head. “Patience is a virtue, you know. Give us fifteen minutes and you can have a look.”
It ended up with Wrigley being the first to peer in, invited by Jenna. I hadn’t processed Vinny’s nugget yet, that my brother was here in Manchester because of Jenna Osei – a city he’d refused to live in before because of its ties to our father. I’d think about that later, much later.
I followed Wrigley inside five minutes later, following clear instructions where to stand and what not to touch.
One side of the tunnel had caved in slightly, creating a half height crawlspace, damp underfoot.
It was dark and damp, the smell of earth and wetness and stagnant run off lingering strongly.
Echoes bounced around the space, of words and drips, the rustles of disturbed creatures.
“The dog’s picked up the scent of blood. We’re going to Luminol it; see what shows up.” Jenna pointed to a few areas. “My guess – your perp knew we’d find this. We’re not going to come across anything he didn’t plan for us to find.”
I watched, staying out of the way while they sprayed the culvert floor, the arched walls, roots of trees that’d walked into here and stayed, and a small stone ledge.
The lights were dimmed, and a slight blue glow clung to the ground at the far back of the culvert, before the end that’d been blocked off for decades.
Not a spray, not a pool, just a few drops.
I shivered. It was colder in here than I’d expected, a wet chill that was going to require a scalding hot bath later just to feel human again.
“This isn’t your murder scene,” Jenna said, hands on hips. “We have a bit to go on here, but this isn’t where she was killed. There’s not enough blood here. But she’s been here long enough to leave something behind.”
“Or someone else was.” Wrigley said, almost at the exit, having seen enough. “The only thing we have to connect it is that it’s close by.”
“We might have DNA. We’ll go ahead on the theory that the DNA we get from the blood residue here is the same as your vic’s.
Fingers crossed, we can get you a lead, you can get your man, and I won’t need to worry about fishing bodies out of water for a few more months.
” Jenna walked outside, a glimmer of light shining on her, lighting her up for a moment like she was some avenging angel.
“Let’s hope that’ll be the case.” Wrigley walked away, calmly, almost serenely, a man in full knowledge that he only had so many dawns left when he was called out to a dead body.
There was a different sort of trepidation when I walked into the Forensic Mortuary, and it wasn’t the prospect of losing my lunch.
That would’ve been impossible anyway, because I’d avoided lunch, not feeling especially hungry and the butterflies in my stomach were taking me back to the same levels of nervous anticipation I’d had before gymnastics tournaments when I was fourteen.
It wasn’t, surprisingly, because of the prospect of watching someone’s internal organs being weighed, although that wasn’t helping either. This was all about Nate, the one blood relative I actually quite liked, although I wasn’t sure he felt the same way about me.
“So you haven’t seen him for four years?” Vinny repeated his words, as if trying to truly comprehend their meaning. “I can’t go four days without hearing from my sister.”
“That’s because you serve a purpose and she’s incompetent at DIY and has a deadbeat boyfriend who doesn’t do anything to help her around the house.
” Deadbeat wasn’t completely true; Kayla’s boyfriend was an accountant, but he was completely incompetent with any form of power tool.
Vinny hated him with a passion but tried not to act like he did because he actually adored his little sister.
“True. But even if she didn’t need me to build Ikea furniture or grout the shower, she’d still harass me several times a week.
I get you have a complex background; I get you grew up in care and he didn’t – well, I know that but I don’t know why.
Why did that happen? Could you not have gone to live with Nate’s mum?
” Vinny looked like he was really trying to understand.
“We only knew of each other as adults. Our birth dad wasn’t around for either of us,” I didn’t go into that detail.
I’d gone seven years without my colleagues knowing who Stan was, but I had a gut feeling I’d be giving them more information at some point.
“My mum was in prison, so I was with Romy and Cassian. Nate was the result of a one-night stand, so he was brought up by his grandma. His mum was meant to go to university, so her mum took on looking after Nate.” Which did mean he was all kinds of screwed up as well.
Neither of us had been prioritised by either of our parents, which made you expect rejection.
Synapses in the brain didn’t quite form the same way, the same attachment bonds weren’t formed.
Attachment disorder could look a lot like the stereotypical characteristics of autism, but the approaches needed were different to a certain extent.
I just accepted I was fucked up and moved on.
To an extent.
“So how did you find each other?”
Vinny was being very curious today.
“We were at a conference and recognised each other. He looked familiar.”
“You do look alike.” He knew my father’s first name only.
“Stan’s genes are strong. We think we have ten half siblings, although there could be more. The man should’ve been sterilised.” Or euthanised, which would’ve saved the taxpayers even more money.
Vinny put his hands in his pockets as we walked along the half lit corridor to the mortuary. “Say the word and I’ll sort whatever you need.”
I turned and caught him looking at me, not sure of how to handle what I figured was protectiveness.
“Thank you, but I can look after myself.”
“I know. That’s not what I’m saying.”
We left it there; for once I was glad to be entering the forensic suite, the slightly metallic tinge to the air a welcome distraction from the conversation with Vinny.
The body was already laid out, as yet unidentified. Nick and Verity were going through missing persons reports that might help us find out who she had been. I was hoping for a text message sooner rather than later with that information.
My half-brother looked over into the viewing gallery, giving me a brief nod. He was more focused on the body on the table, his assistant standing by and waiting for instructions.
Nate, I knew, was methodical, precise, detailed and focused.
He was not a people person, preferring books – both fiction and textbooks – to actual humans, unless they were in his morgue.
To be honest, if my half-brother hadn’t become a forensic pathologist, he’d have become some form of mad scientist, digging up graves for fresh bodies to experiment on.
I almost felt a wave of fondness for him thinking about him and his weird ways.
“The deceased is a well-nourished Caucasian female, estimated age between twenty five and thirty. Height: five foot two inches, weight to be determined once we’ve unpacked her.
Victim is currently unidentified, so for the purpose of this, she will be referred to as Janine Doe.
” He was lost now in his work, hunting down the smallest detail that would tell us how exactly she’d died.
I half tuned out, not needing the level of scientific detail he was going into. At some point, I hoped he’d stop and give us the layman’s summary, something Dr Miz was particularly good at.
He lifted up a stone, one of several he was taking out as he unwrapped her from the tarpaulin.
“There are at least a dozen of these wrapped in with her. They’re polished and clean, and I’d put my mortgage on them not being from round here.
I’ll get them sent off for more analysis – finding out where these are from could be really helpful. ” He almost sounded human.
I wanted to ask him about his mortgage and where his house was, if it was in Manchester, and if so why. But that could wait. I focused in on the body of Janine Doe. Three women, three victims. We needed to find their killer before any more met the same fate.