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This time she was sure the man with no eyes that haunted her, who she ran from, was some twisted version of her father – Peter.
How long had it been now since they’d spoken?
She couldn’t remember and part of her felt guilty for not caring. Everything that had happened last year he’d brought upon himself, Claire knew that.
I did all I could, she reasoned with herself. Then why do I see the two of them – Father and the Other, whose name I can’t bring myself to speak – in every nightmare?
Sweat cooled against her skin, and she felt the shiver travel up her spine.
It was the morning of Nola Grant’s PM. She’d concentrate on that. It was all that mattered right now, not her broken inner self.
After she wiped the sweat from her face and chest, she headed downstairs. She then sat curled up in the window seat of the bay window in the living room, swathed in a blanket, nose buried in a book.
There was a small lamp dimly lit beside her and the curtains were open, despite it still being dark outside. A cup of coffee that rested beside her had long gone cold and she’d pushed it aside. When the first snowflake had settled on the window, she set aside her book in favour of watching the snow cover her garden in a blanket of white.
She could hear her mother, Iris, get up and start down the stairs, then her feet shuffling in her slippers against the hardwood floor as she entered the kitchen. When she heard the coffee machine whir into life, she sighed to herself, her solitude soon to be broken. She snapped her book shut and stood just as Iris entered the room.
Iris had invited herself to stay with Claire, forcing herself away from her home in Spain. Claire had never been to her mother’s house on the Costa Brava, and didn’t intend to if she could help it.
Since Iris had been divorced, she rarely made the effort to see her only child, and even when Claire had gone through her own messy divorce, Iris practically left her to go it alone.
Knowing how her mother felt about England nowadays meant Claire could relax, safe in the knowledge her mother only made an effort to visit once a year, at a time of her own choosing.
She insisted Claire never take days off to spend time with her while she was here, and was quite content to amuse herself. As long as she stayed in Claire’s house, she’d be happy left to her own devices.
Claire’s father, Peter, had moved to Aberdeen in Scotland, into a warden-controlled complex. It saddened Claire immensely but her decision to sever all ties had been for the best.
The last time they’d spoken had ended with cross words after he’d said some rather nasty things about Iris. Despite knowing her mother had been difficult to live with, Claire was having none of it, and had defended her.
‘It’s snowing,’ Iris said, with some irritation, wrapping her dressing gown tightly around her small frame.
‘It’s been forecast for over a week now.’
‘You seem to get snow earlier each year. Bloody global warming.’ She raised her finger at her daughter. ‘You should move out to Spain, love, much warmer climate. Not like England’s changeable weather. It’s bloody tedious.’ Claire rolled her eyes and turned on the television.
Iris paused, watching her closely. ‘You’re up early. Couldn’t you sleep?’
‘No. I had a nightmare… Silly really.’
‘Weren’t you supposed to be seeing some doctor about all this?’
Claire shuddered, suddenly feeling very cold. ‘I’m fine.’
Iris’s face softened a little. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault, you know. Everything that went on with that man and that thing, that woman, what she did–’
‘I said I was fine, Mum, really. You talking about it doesn’t help me, it takes me back there, and it’s not somewhere I want to go.’
‘I just think–’
‘Anyway,’ Claire cut in, ‘I’ve got to attend the post mortem of Nola Grant and it’s an early one. I didn’t see much point in staying in bed when I couldn’t sleep.’
She flicked through the channels until she found Sky News. ‘Are you going to be able to amuse yourself today, Mum? I’ll be away until late this evening.’
Iris looked up, frowned but backed down. She sat in a nearby chair and nodded. ‘I’ll be all right. I may pop into town, do some early Christmas shopping.’ She paused to listen to the headlines, then said, ‘Who’s Nola Grant?’
Claire’s eyes narrowed. ‘Since when do you take an interest in my work? Thought it depressed you?’
‘Oh, it does,’ she said, now more animated. ‘But that doesn’t mean I can’t ask, does it?’ Claire looked at the television screen ahead.
She knew her mother was just making idle small talk, pissed off Claire wouldn’t talk to her about last year. Iris needn’t have felt offended. Claire made it a habit never to discuss it with anyone. It was officially off limits.
The only part of Claire’s life Iris usually showed interest in was either her love life (or lack of) or the house. When her eyes crossed back to her mother’s, she noticed Iris genuinely looked intrigued.
‘Grant was a prostitute. Her body was found dumped in Haverbridge Lon Bonfire Night.’
Iris held up her hands, and shook her head. ‘OK, sorry I asked. It’s far too early for gore. Nasty business.’ There was a long pause. ‘I take it she was murdered?’
Claire stopped and stared at her from the living room door. ‘Some things never change with you, do they, Mum?’
CHAPTER 10 (#ulink_42327ee9-8194-5f6d-a659-84aaf4b4f7ea)
Stefan Fletcher hated standing in on autopsies. It wasn’t because watching the whole process unfold was unpleasant – nobody liked doing it, not even the ones with an iron stomach – but because it made him think about his own life and regrets. Life was fragile. Death could take anyone of any age at any time.
Death didn’t discriminate.
He thought about Nola’s life, cut short having never achieved much. She had no second chances, no time to say her goodbyes. It wasn’t as if death had claimed her after a battle with illness, when she had time to prepare for the inevitable. Death had struck quickly and indiscriminately. There was no coming back. She had no time to lay to rest any past grievances, or right any wrongs.
Life was cruel and the motto “live each day as if it were your last” felt evermore poignant. Today would be no different, and as soon as he saw the naked body of Nola Grant laid out on the slab in Haverbridge Hospital’s morgue he suppressed the urge to walk out.
He stood alongside Claire, dressed in protective clothing, masks over their mouths. Danika had come to escort them from reception and down to the mortuary. She was one of the good guys: respected, intelligent and one of the best Claire had ever worked with by a long shot.
She didn’t hold grudges and Claire sometimes wished she could be more like her in that respect. Claire could take a grudge and bury it deep inside her, but it never went away. If you wronged her, she’d take the hurt it caused her to the grave.
Danika appeared as normal: hair tied back, face and body clear of make-up and jewellery. The mortuary technician, Paul Farringdon, had already helped her photograph and swab the body in the external examination and now stood patiently beside the body, hands clasped loosely in front of him.
‘While we waited for you,’ Danika said, turning to address Claire and Stefan head on, ‘the body was photographed, samples taken from under the fingernails, and surface traces of debris collected from her body and hair. Despite being in the water, we still managed to collect some samples.
‘We also used the ultraviolet light. Mainly to check for any signs of sexual activity, which came up negative for any traces of semen externally, but since she was in the water, this could have easily washed away or been contaminated. I will check internally for any signs of trauma, but so far, I’m not convinced she was raped. I know some people have already been speculating,’ she said, casting a sly look at Paul before continuing. ‘She does have some minimal bruising around the groin, but given her choice of job, it’s to be expected.’
‘Some men like it rough,’ Paul said.
Stefan smirked.
Claire’s face was stony.
Danika visibly shuddered. ‘Yes, thank you for that.’
‘OK,’ Claire cut in, ‘let’s assume the bruising is old until you check internally.’
‘It’s not old,’ Danika said. ‘It’s recent, but could have been caused before she was taken off the street by the killer.’
Claire wrinkled her nose. She hated cases involving rape even more than murder, no matter how vicious it was. She moved Danika’s attention on.
‘Anything else?’
Danika nodded and pointed to Nola’s body. ‘External examination shows she put up some resistance, but she was restrained by the wrists. Handcuffs maybe,’ she said, pointing to the bruising around each wrist.
‘This obviously restricted her ability to effectively fend off whoever did this. You already know she was found weighted down by that heavy chain, and there are marks around her ankles which are consistent with her being bound, but not by the chain.’ She pointed to the dark-coloured bruises around Nola’s ankles. ‘I believe the chain was added afterwards.’
Claire lowered her head for a closer look. ‘How’d you know that?’
‘The width of the chain. The links themselves are much thicker than the marks around her ankles, which means it was added afterwards.’
‘To make sure she stayed at the bottom of the water,’ Stefan said.
Danika nodded again. ‘Yes, and for a while, she would have done. But whatever was used to bind her before death was much thinner.’
Claire’s eyes wandered back to Nola’s skin and her eyes narrowed. ‘These ligature marks,’ she said, pointing so Stefan could have a look, but directing her question to Danika. ‘The surface is uneven.’
‘Yes, well spotted. I think her ankles supported her weight at some point, when she was tied up. It looks as though she was suspended.’
Stefan looked at her and cocked an eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘Ready for the kill?’ Claire offered.
Danika nodded. ‘Yes, it’s a reasonable assumption.’
‘But she could’ve been dragged by her feet, couldn’t she? That would also leave the same uneven marks.’
‘You’re right, but then I would expect to see scratch marks up her body: back, legs, hips, arms,’ she said, trailing off. ‘Although her skin had begun to deteriorate in the water, I can still see there’s nothing consistent with her being dragged. The only other cuts and bruises that she does have are on the face, along with the defence wounds.
‘I also inspected her mouth and found some abrasions to the tongue, not to dissimilar to razor blade cuts, small little nicks in the flesh.’
‘Did she do it herself inadvertently with her teeth? Maybe when she struggled?’ Stefan asked.
‘These cuts are too perfect. I’m guessing someone else inflicted those wounds. The cuts are neat and identical. The cut on the right side of the tongue is an exact mirror-image to the cut on the left. They are the same length and depth.’
‘The cuts were inflicted at the same time,’ Claire said.
‘Yes, with something sharp, placed either side of the tongue.’ Danika paused for breath. ‘Cause of death was through exsanguination, I’m ninety-nine percent sure of it. Once I’ve performed the internal and had a toxicology report I’ll be…’ She cut her sentence short and paused, staring at the wound at the side of Nola’s neck. She shook her head.
Claire exchanged a look with Stefan. ‘Something wrong?’
Danika looked up. ‘I don’t know really. I mean, the killer could have got lucky, I suppose.’
‘Lucky?’
Danika pointed to the wound. ‘The killer only made one incision, cutting in just behind the point of the jaw. This severed a jugular, carotid artery, and trachea, in one fluid, forward motion.’
She looked up at them to emphasise her point. ‘There are no other attempts made, no hesitation marks. This person got it right first time and with a very sharp instrument.’
‘Is that really so unusual?’ Stefan said.
‘Inspector, this method of dispatch takes practice. Cutting like this is generally seen in something like animal slaughter. When it’s performed correctly, blood flows freely, draining the body. Death occurs in a very short space of time. We’re talking seconds here – not hours – for her to bleed to death.’
‘It’s almost like a mercy killing, then. Is that what you’re saying?’ Claire asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at Nola’s throat.
Danika shook her head and looked pained as she said, ‘I’d hardly call it a “mercy” killing. The killer stuck her like a pig.’ Claire held up her hand for her to calm down.
‘You know what I meant. You could view it as a more humane way of killing her, rather than prolonging her agony. This was quick. You say this would take some skill to perform, so maybe the person we’re looking for is well educated or trained?’
She looked at Danika, expectantly.
‘It’s cruel, that’s what it is.’
There was a long silence between them. Paul, who had remained quiet throughout, could only look down at the floor. When he risked a glance at Danika again, he saw her body visibly harden once more.
This was her job: to examine and find the causes, find the facts. She knew it was fruitless to become emotionally involved. Normally she was good at keeping her personal emotions buried inside her. Why Nola Grant was any different, she didn’t know and couldn’t understand. She seemed to shake off her personal feelings as quickly as they’d arrived.
‘If this was someone’s definition of mercy, they’ve got a sick sense of humour.’
CHAPTER 11 (#ulink_8428e745-5ce4-5cd8-beff-b9f7ccc6142a)
Paul carefully placed the body block under Nola’s back, allowing her chest to arch up, her arms and neck falling back against the cold autopsy table. Stefan looked away as the wound at her neck briefly opened wider, reminding him of a mouth opening, puckering and shutting again.
Danika committed a few details to tape before making her first incisions with her scalpel. She cut the large Y shape into Nola’s torso and with the help of Paul, cut through and removed the sternum and ribs as one whole breastplate. After removing and taking further samples from the other main organs, Danika was ready to remove and open the stomach.
She carefully sliced into the tissue and inspected the contents. Stefan looked away, and swallowed hard. He saw Claire eye him with curiosity, and he looked sheepish.
‘I should’ve skipped breakfast.’
Claire gave a wry smile.
‘She’d eaten recently before she died, her stomach is fairly full,’ Danika said, raising her eyes to them. ‘I can tell more once I’ve looked at the intestinal contents, but I’d hazard a guess she’d eaten not much more than an hour before she was killed.’
‘Are we any closer to a time of death?’ Claire said.
Danika frowned.
‘Roughly?’
‘She’s been in extremely cold water. The bacterial process that causes the body to bloat is slowed. The cold would also have encouraged the formation of adipocere, which slows decomposition.’
‘Which means?’
‘A substance formed from fat in the body helps to protect it. I need more time.’ She studied Stefan’s face. ‘Inspector, if you need a time out, I’m sure DCI Winters won’t mind. You don’t need to be present. My full report will be ready within the next day or so.’
Exchanging glances with Claire, he nodded, reaching for the door.
