Cold Sacrifice (20 page)

‘With the doors unlocked, and the keys in the ignition, the car could have ended up anywhere.’

‘It might even have been taken out of the country.’

‘The plates could have been changed – it’s possible he might even have hoped that, by the time the body was found, the car might not be traced back to him.’

‘It wouldn’t have been long before the body was discovered,’ Ian said, remembering the smell. He grimaced. ‘Another day or two and no one could have missed it.’

D
R
M
ILLARD WAS IN
the morgue leaning over the body. He raised his head and straightened up as Ian and Polly entered. Placing gloved hands on his narrow hips, he bent backwards and winced.

‘It’s back-breaking work,’ he greeted them. ‘Good timing on your part, anyway,’ he added, his face brightening. ‘I’ve just finished. You know the victim’s identity. You met this young lady, didn’t you, Ian?’

He squinted across the table at the sergeant and grinned, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

‘I questioned her as a witness,’ Ian replied curtly.

He tried to put Della’s voice out of his mind, but couldn’t help remembering the jerky way she had spoken, her heavy cheap scent mingled with the smell of her sweat when she was alive. Tacky and stupefied by alcohol or drugs, she had been a living human being. Given different opportunities in life, she could have been standing in Polly’s place.

The doctor shrugged and looked down at the body. The greenish blue tinge was more evident, spreading upwards from her belly, while her limbs had taken on a marbled pattern.

‘Right then, let’s get on with it. As you know, the victim was about twenty. She was generally in a pretty bad way before she was killed, due to her unhealthy life style: poorly nourished, a heavy smoker, and her liver’s suffered severe damage as a result of frequent binge drinking and other substance abuse. She had an abortion, not recently, and suffered from arthritis in her left arm, probably due to a fractured ulna and dislocated radius some years ago, and there’s scarring from an infected navel piercing. She had breast implants and cosmetic surgery on her face. She was killed by strangulation with a rough narrow green cord, probably garden twine. You can see the marks on her neck quite clearly.’

‘How do you know it was green?’ Polly failed to hide the excitement in her voice.

‘We found a few threads, too tiny to be seen with the naked eye, caught in the hair at the back of her neck. They’ve gone off to be identified in case there’s anything they can tell us – like a trace of Henry Martin’s DNA.’

The three of them stood around the body for a moment, thinking, before the doctor continued.

‘It looks like she might have known her killer. Either that, or he crept up on her unawares from behind, which is possible, because it would have been dark and there’s every chance she might not have been completely compos mentis, given her life style. Whatever the reason, there are no signs of defence wounds.’

‘That’s exactly what you said about Martha,’ Ian said quietly.

‘Indeed, but the methods of killing are very different,’ Millard replied. ‘One stabbed, the other strangled. From the post mortem results alone there’s nothing to suggest the two murders are linked.’

‘Are you saying you don’t think the same person killed them both?’

Millard shook his head.

‘That’s not for me to say. If I could tell you who killed them, that’d be you out of a job, wouldn’t it?’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’

‘She was dragged along the ground, probably while she was unconscious, since there’s no indication of a struggle.’

He pointed to bruising underneath the tops of her arms, and then to some scratches on her heels and lower calves.

‘These bruises on her arms were caused by someone grabbing hold of her here. She was wearing shoes when she was found, but they must have fallen off during the attack because the backs of her feet were grazed as she was pulled along the ground. The shoes must have been replaced afterwards, when she was packed into the boot of the car. She was shut inside a protected environment until Sunday morning, where it was dry and cold, good conditions to preserve the body. There’s no insect activity yet.’

He touched the dead woman’s hair lightly, in a gesture that was almost a caress.

Having gathered as much information as they could from the pathologist, Ian was pleased to leave the morgue. The antiseptic smell that failed to mask the stench of dead flesh made him feel sick. It didn’t help that Polly kept glancing at him with a concerned expression all the time Millard was talking to them.

‘Are you all right?’ she asked before they had even left the building.

‘Of course,’ he answered shortly. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Ian knew perfectly well she must have noticed him turning pale in the morgue.

‘I’m fine,’ he repeated and was rewarded with a grin.

‘Thank God for that,’ she said happily. ‘I thought for a minute back there –’

‘What?’

‘Nothing, sir.’

‘It was just really strange, seeing her like that. I’d been speaking to her less than a week ago.’

He turned away. Polly was right. At one point he had nearly succumbed to the nausea he always experienced in the morgue. He could just imagine Polly and Millard’s reactions if he had run to the toilets to throw up. The doctor was bound to make some quip: ‘Was it something I said?’ Polly would look concerned and embarrassed. He wondered if she would tell all their colleagues. Word might even reach Rob, who was writing a report to support Ian’s application for promotion.

‘Are you sure you’re all right?’

‘I said I’m fine,’ he replied sternly, his tone warning her to back off from this familiarity with a senior officer.

Leaving the morgue, they went to the hospital to speak to the driver of the Mini, Sandra Brice. She had been kept on the ward for observation for twenty-four hours, and was due to be discharged later that day, once the doctor had done his rounds. From the doorway she appeared to be reading a woman’s magazine, but as they approached they saw that her eyes were closed. One of her wrists was in a cast, but there was no visible sign of any other injury above the bed covers. A nurse bustled past without challenging them as they crossed the ward. Reaching the bed, Ian hesitated.

‘Do you think she’s asleep?’ he whispered.

Polly leaned forward.

‘Sandra?’ she said softly. ‘Sandra Brice?’

The woman’s eyelids flickered and she opened her eyes. Briefly Ian introduced himself and his colleague.

‘There was no way I could have avoided a collision,’ Sandra said quickly. ‘The other car drove straight at me. He didn’t even try to avoid hitting me. If he’d swerved, the accident might never have happened. I turned my wheel, and skidded, but he just kept on coming straight at me. It was crazy. He must have been drunk or on drugs or something. There was nothing I could do to avoid it. He drove into me. If anyone wants to pin the blame on me, or say it was fifty-fifty – ’ She broke off, frowning. ‘I did nothing wrong. I’m the victim. Now I’d like you to go please. I’ve got nothing more to say to you.’

‘No one’s saying you were at fault, Mrs Brice,’ Ian reassured her. ‘We’re not here to throw any accusation at you.’

She glared suspiciously at him.

‘The driver of the other vehicle was underage.’

‘Underage?’ She sat up, an alert expression on her face. ‘You mean he didn’t have a licence? He was driving illegally?’ She leaned back against the pillow again and closed her eyes. ‘Yes, I seem to remember he looked young, but it’s all such a blur.’

‘He was thirteen.’

Sandra’s eyes flew open in alarm. ‘Oh my God. Was he hurt?’

‘No. He and his young passenger were badly shocked, and shaken up, but they weren’t seriously injured. Just a few bumps and scratches.’

She closed her eyes again.

‘Thank God for that.’

Sandra confirmed the circumstances of the accident. Everything she said agreed with the account the two youngsters had given of the crash, apart from the boy indignantly blaming the collision on the other driver. None of them had noticed anyone other than the drivers of the two cars and the passenger in the Honda.

‘You’re sure you didn’t notice anything fall from the boot of the Honda when the cars hit?’

‘When he drove into me, all I saw was the airbag.’

‘And you didn’t hear anything?’ Ian asked, aware he was clutching at straws.

‘Apart from a deafening crash?’

They thanked Sandra and left. Neither of them had expected to hear anything that would move the investigation forward. They were just ticking boxes while they waited for the forensic report on Henry’s car.

As they drove away from the hospital, Rob called. Henry was in custody in Herne Bay and a warrant to search his house had been granted. Proof that Jade’s body had been kept in the boot of his car was all the evidence they needed.

‘We’ll go and take a look at his house,’ Ian said, ‘and then we’ll have a word with Henry himself.’

‘Can’t we leave the house to a search team, and go straight to the interview?’

‘No. The more pressure we can put on him, the better,’ Ian said, aware that he was dodging the question.

The truth was that if incriminating evidence was discovered at Henry’s house – a hidden bloody knife, or length of green garden twine – Ian wanted to be there when it was found. He would be happy to discover he had made a mistake in doubting Henry’s guilt. Much as he hated to be proved wrong, seeing justice for Martha and Jade was more important than anything else.

B
Y THE TIME
I
AN
and Polly arrived the search team was already hard at work, scouring Henry’s house for evidence to link him to the killing of two women.

‘What if we find evidence there were more murders, sir?’ Polly asked as they walked up to the front door.

‘What?’

‘Well, if he’s killed two women, there could have been more. We might find –’

‘If,’ Ian interrupted. ‘We don’t even know he’s guilty, so let’s not start jumping to conclusions. It’s vitally important to keep an open mind.’

‘Yes, I know all that. But what if he
is
guilty, and these two aren’t the only victims, and we find evidence of more murders?’

‘Let’s hope we don’t.’

Henry had been taken away to the police station for questioning. He hadn’t yet been charged but it was beginning to look as though that was only a matter of time. Meanwhile, it wouldn’t harm to let him sweat in a cell for a while. His son was at home when they arrived. He looked stressed.

‘Are you in charge here?’ he demanded in a thin high voice, ‘because whoever I speak to just says they’re following orders and there’s nothing they can do. But someone must be in charge. Is it you?’

Ian nodded and the young man stepped forward, shaking with pent- up fury.

‘Well, perhaps you can tell me what’s going on. As soon as I got home they were here. They must have been waiting for me. I opened the door and all these policemen rushed in. They’re running around all over the place. This can’t be legal. I’d like you all to leave right now or I’ll – I’ll call a lawyer and have you thrown out. This isn’t a police state, you know. You can’t just march in here and behave like you own the place. Just take all your policemen and get out of our house. And let my father come home. He’s done nothing wrong,’ he concluded petulantly.

Calmly Ian explained that they had a warrant to search the house. Without disclosing any details he said that another body had been found. The young man flicked his fringe back off his face and stared at Ian, wide-eyed and listening intently, as he explained that a second woman had been murdered and they had reason to suspect she too might be connected to Henry. Mark’s eyes shone with unshed tears and he shook his head in disbelief. For a few seconds he appeared too upset to speak. Ian felt sorry for him. The young man had just lost his mother and now his father was being accused of murder.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘we’re just doing our job. Best let us get on with it.’

Mark nodded and asked what they were expecting to find.

‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.’

Leaving the distraught young man in the living room with a constable, Ian put on protective clothing before going upstairs. The search team had been instructed to hunt for a knife with a blade bent out of shape, bloodstained clothing, and a ball of green garden twine. Ian wasn’t so clear about what he was looking for. He just wanted to take a look around and get the feel of the house, and its residents. First he went into a large square main bedroom furnished with two single beds, fitted wardrobes, an iron fireplace that was probably decorative rather than functional, and a wide bay window that looked out over the back garden. The curtains and carpet were grey, the cupboards and bed covers white. He noted the absence of a mirror, or any pictures. It was a cold room. He could have been standing in a hospital ward, it was so impersonal. He thought of his own bedroom, decorated in lilac and white, with patterned duvet cover on the double bed, and his discarded clothes strewn around the room despite all Bev’s protests.

‘It’s not a bloody show house,’ he would complain when she nagged him about being untidy.

The fitted wardrobe was half empty and contained only men’s clothes, apart from one section where a woman’s winter coat hung from the rail.

A uniformed officer was looking in the cabinet in the en suite bathroom. He looked round when Ian entered, and shook his head.

‘Nothing here,’ he said.

He nodded at two shelves, the top one containing shaving accoutrements, toothpaste and athletes foot powder, the bottom one hand cream and various pots of moisturising lotions, female deodorant and a bottle of Vitamin C tablets. There were two toothbrush mugs on the sink, two tubes of toothpaste, and two sets of towels were neatly folded on a wide window ledge, one white, the other blue.

‘We’ll send this away, anyway,’ the SOCO said, picking up the container of powder. ‘Just in case it’s not what it says on the label.’

Ian grunted in agreement but they both knew it wasn’t likely to be of much interest since they were investigating a stabbing and a strangling.