Death Bed (4 page)

D
ave rolled over, stretched out and yawned. A Sunday morning lie in was just the job. He wished he could do the same every day.

‘Must be nice not to have to get up for work in the mornings,’ he’d said to his dad when the old man had retired.

‘Don’t wish your life away, son.’

The trouble with sleeping for so long was that it made him feel groggy when he finally woke up, although that could have been the hangover. He smiled. It had been a good night. Liz was still asleep. With a grin he reached over and drew the tip of one finger very gently across her rounded upper arm, like an insect crawling over her skin.

‘Bog off, Dave,’ she said without opening her eyes. ‘I know it’s you.’

‘What is?’

‘Get lost.’

He threw himself on her and set about tickling her until she screamed for him to stop.

‘Best thing for a hangover,’ Dave said cheerfully as he tucked into a cooked breakfast while Liz lit a cigarette, inhaled and threw her head back to blow smoke at the ceiling.

‘Aren’t you eating?’ he asked, fork raised. ‘It’s nearly twelve. You should have something.’

‘I feel more like throwing up than eating anything after last night.’

Dave laughed. ‘Lightweight.’

‘I know my limits.’

‘Clearly you don’t,’ he laughed.

He wiped his plate clean with his last piece of toast.

‘That was terrific. Shame you couldn’t join me.’

He stood up and put his arms round her.

‘What now?’

‘You can start with putting the rubbish out. That bin stinks.’ She pointed at the kitchen bin, overflowing with a week’s garbage topped off with the remains of a takeaway curry.

‘And while you’re at it, we’re nearly out of fags.’

‘Alright. I’ll run round and get some fags and I’ll pick up a paper at the same time.’

He swore as he tugged at the bag of rubbish which slid slowly out of the bin.

‘Don’t spill it,’ Liz fussed.

‘Got it.’

It was threatening to rain as he opened the front door, crossed the narrow paved front garden, dropped the bag in the bin and used the lid to cram it down.

‘Just going round the corner then,’ he called out. He turned off into an alleyway that was a short cut to the newsagents at the station. A foul smell grew stronger as he advanced and he saw that someone had dumped a bulging black bin liner on one side of the path. He swore. People had no respect, leaving their stinking rubbish on a public path. The smell was almost overpowering, making him gag and he stumbled, accidentally kicking the bag which tipped over and fell on its side blocking the path. He reached down and grabbed the bag. It felt slimy. ‘What the fuck is in here?’ The bag wasn’t even tied up properly because as he yanked it to one side it fell open and he drew back in horror at the sight of a bloody, bruised and swollen face staring up at him, unseeing, from inside. He turned away and was violently sick.

Dave blinked and shook his head, stepping forward to take another look. There was no mistaking what he had seen. He stood for a moment unable to think then reached out to close the bag, but couldn’t bring himself to touch it again. Dread seized him and he felt himself trembling. He looked up. There was no one else in sight. With a frantic lunge he pulled the two sides of the bag together to conceal its horrific contents before running back the way he had come.

‘Liz! Liz!’

‘What is it? Don’t tell me you’ve spilled the damn rubbish - ’

She caught sight of his face and stopped.

‘Not feeling so clever now? You and your big breakfast. You look well sick - ’

‘There’s a woman in a bin bag out there in the alley.’

‘What?’

‘There’s a woman in a bin bag, in the alley.’

‘Tell her to bugger off. What’s she doing out there anyway?’

‘No, no, she’s dead.’

‘What?’

Liz leaped from her chair.

‘Who the fuck is she?’

‘How the hell should I know?’

‘You’re not pulling my leg?’

She gazed at him in consternation, registering his pallor and staring eyes.

‘Are you sure? Perhaps you’d better check - ’

He shook his head.

‘I’m not going out there again. It’s horrible, Liz, horrible. Her eyes – and the smell, Jesus - ’

He put one hand over his mouth then dropped it abruptly.

‘I’ve got to wash my hands.’

He ran over to the kitchen sink and began frenziedly lathering the soap.

Liz followed him.

‘We’ll have to tell someone,’ he said, still furiously scrubbing his hands.

‘Tell someone?’

‘What else can we do? We can’t just leave it there. We’ll have to call the police.’

‘What about the council?’ Liz suggested. ‘Can’t they do something?’

‘The council? What are you talking about? What can the council do? This isn’t a dead rat we’re talking about.’

‘Shouldn’t we call a doctor?’

‘The police bring their own.’

‘We can’t have the police snooping round here. What if they want to question us? What if they find the dope?’

‘Don’t be stupid, Liz. What are you on about? Why would they want to come here? We have to call the police. They have to investigate a murder.’

‘You don’t know it’s murder. She could’ve taken an overdose. Maybe it’s a suicide.’

‘Don’t be a fucking idiot, Liz. The body’s in a bin bag. No one crawls into a bin bag before they commit suicide. Someone killed her and dumped the body there. Oh bloody hell. What are we going to do?’

‘Calm down. Here.’

She lit two cigarettes and handed him one.

‘We’ve got to think,’ he said, inhaling hard.

His hands were still trembling.

‘You’re right,’ Liz said. ‘We’ve got to phone the police. I’ll move the dope and you make the call.’

‘Fuck the dope, there’s a dead body in the alley.’

He sounded slightly hysterical.

‘Calm down, Dave. The way you’re carrying on they’re going to think you had something to do with it. Dave - ’

She stared at him with sudden apprehension.

‘You didn’t – I mean – is it someone you know? Do you know who she is?’

‘No I bloody don’t. And you’d be in a right state if you’d seen it – her. Now fuck off and stash the dope while I call the police.’

G
eraldine had planned to spend Sunday unpacking. She had slept really well, got up early, showered and gone out for breakfast, putting off her chores in spite of her good intentions. Finally she had returned to her flat and settled down to sort out the packing cases. Apart from her furniture all her belongings had been delivered to the living room, as the largest space in the flat. The move had been rushed and she hadn’t bothered with labelling anything so it was a bit of a lucky dip delving into the cases. She was carting an armful of utensils into the kitchen when her phone rang. She was on call, and having just moved to London didn’t expect to be given much time off, so she wasn’t surprised. A familiar exhilaration shook her, followed as always by a sour sense of guilt. She was pleased to be working again, but the call meant someone had died. With a quick glance around her living room filled with boxes, piles of books and heaps of clothes, she set off for Hendon and the start of her first case in London.

‘Here we go,’ she sang as she drove, in a tuneless chant. ‘I’m on my way, I’m off to London.’

The traffic crawled along in places even though it was Sunday and the journey to Hendon took longer than she had expected, so she arrived with no time to look around before she was due at an initial briefing. As Geraldine walked in a young female officer beamed at her and Geraldine returned the smile. She had been told the Met would seem informal compared to the Kent force. The other woman approached and held out her hand. She had a warm, firm grip and an alert, friendly grin.

‘Hi, I’m Sam Haley, Detective Sergeant. I think we’re going to be working together.’

‘Detective Inspector Steel,’ Geraldine responded to the relaxed approach from a junior officer with slightly frosty formality.

The sergeant didn’t seem to notice Geraldine’s reserve.

‘I can show you around if you like. I know you’re new to the Met. I did a stint up North but most of my time has been spent here in London, which suits me. I’m a Londoner born and bred. Where have you come from?’ She spoke very fast, with an air of suppressed energy.

There was something wholesome about her stocky build and glowing complexion that gave the impression she was used to fresh air and exercise. Her blonde hair was cropped in a bob at the front and cut very short at the back, sloping into the nape of her neck. Geraldine returned the sergeant’s smile but before she could respond the room fell silent. The briefing was about to begin.

The detective chief inspector was standing beside the incident board where a photograph of a young black woman was displayed, her face bruised, her bottom lip split and one eye swollen and bloodshot. It was difficult to tell what she must have looked like before she had been viciously battered, but she could have been beautiful.

‘Good afternoon.’

The detective chief inspector looked slowly and deliberately around the assembled officers. Geraldine had the feeling he was taking in every detail of her face, although his gaze only lingered on her for a second. He was tall and burly with broad shoulders and a square chin, his dark hair flecked with grey, still physically powerful, a man who could pack a punch if he chose to. There was an air of arrogance about him, perhaps suggested by his surprisingly well-educated accent.

‘I’m DCI Reg Milton, for those of you who don’t already know me, Senior Investigating Officer on this case.’

He turned to the incident board.

‘We’re investigating the violent death of a young black woman, aged somewhere around twenty. The body was found early this afternoon in an alleyway near Tufnell Park station.’

He read out the post code and the exact address.

‘The body was discovered, wrapped in a black dustbin liner, by a David Crawley, tenant of a ground floor apartment where he lives with his girl friend, Elizabeth James. So far we have no identity for the victim, but there’s little doubt we’re looking at suspicious circumstances. There’s a Gold Team meeting here tomorrow with the borough commander and someone from media and communications, and the Safer Neighbourhood Inspector will also be present.’

He glanced around the room again.

‘Hopefully we can sort this out very quickly, certainly before the papers get too busy. So, let’s get going and gather as much information as possible before the meeting tomorrow.’

Geraldine discovered she was indeed scheduled to work with Detective Sergeant Sam Haley and their first task was to interview David Crawley, the witness who had discovered the body.

‘We can get to Islington in time for tea,’ the sergeant chattered cheerfully as they walked over to the car.

Geraldine nodded without answering.

‘The canteen at Islington’s nothing special,’ Sam went on, ‘but it’s worth going there at tea time. There’s homemade banana cake, if we’re lucky.’

‘Fine. But we’ll see David Crawley first.’

‘Yes gov, but if the banana cake’s all gone you’ll be sorry.’

She laughed and Geraldine couldn’t help laughing too. She had a feeling she was going to enjoy working with Sam Haley.

I
t began to drizzle as they drove past Tufnell Park station.

‘We’ve taken the wrong turning,’ Sam called out, leaning forward to squint at the road names.

‘Do you want to check the sat nav?’

‘No. It’s easy. We’re virtually there. We just need to go back to the tube station and pick up Tufnell Park Road at the junction. It’s one of the roads off there. Yes, we’ve gone too far.’

They turned round and found the street they wanted. As they turned into it they saw a police cordon blocking access further down. Almost all the spaces along the road were taken but they managed to park a few doors away from the alleyway where the body had been found earlier that day.

Geraldine checked her phone before she got out of the car.

‘There’s still no news of the victim’s identity,’ she said, screwing up her face at the rain.

Sam put up a large black umbrella. Huddled together underneath it they hurried along the path towards the forensic tent up ahead, spanning the width of the alleyway. They pulled on their white suits and blue overshoes before shuffling sideways between the fence and the edge of the tent, to the entrance. Geraldine’s ankles were damp and rain had dripped inside her collar, but she forgot her discomfort at the familiar rush of adrenalin at starting on a case, all her senses alert as her thoughts focused on one dead stranger. Inside the tent there was an air of quiet industry. Scene of crime officers were busy taking photographs, scrutinising the ground and placing small items carefully in evidence bags.

Geraldine looked down at the dead girl lying flat on her back on a black plastic sheet, a bin bag that had been split open, before turning to a scene of crime officer.

‘Any idea who she is?’

The scene of crime officer shook his head.

‘No, ma’am.’

‘She was fully clothed?’

Geraldine nodded towards the body which was half hidden by a pathologist kneeling beside it on a folded blanket. She moved to one side to gain a clearer view. The pathologist had cut the victim’s clothes open to expose her flesh. In the bright lights the dead girl’s lower abdomen had a faint green tinge, blood stained fluid had leaked from her nose and mouth and her tongue and eyes were protruding slightly. Her feet were bare, narrow and bloody, with bright red weals encircling her ankles. Geraldine could see one of her wrists, similarly scored. The stench was foul.

‘If she was fully clothed, wasn’t there anything in her pockets to indicate her identity?’

‘No ma’am, there was nothing at all in her pockets. No ID, no purse, no phone, nothing.’

‘What about her prints?’

‘We’re sending off everything we can, DNA, prints, whatever we can find.’

‘Well, let’s hope they come up with something before the meeting tomorrow,’ Geraldine said. ‘Can you tell how she got here?’

‘The bag must have been carried most of the way, but it was dragged along for the last few feet, from that direction.’

He pointed to the Tufnell Park Road end of the alley.

Geraldine stepped over to the pathologist, a grey-haired man absorbed in his work.

‘What was the cause of death?’

‘I’m nearly done,’ he replied without turning round.

He clearly wasn’t prepared to talk them through it so they had to wait while he completed his preliminary examination. Controlling her impatience, Geraldine gazed around. Strong weeds sprouted through cracks in the uneven path which was littered with cigarette butts and lager cans.

‘Nice place to end up,’ Sam said under her breath.

The pathologist stood up at last and leaned forward, rubbing his knees.

‘I’m Gerald Mann,’ he said, turning to Geraldine.

He had sharp eyes, crinkly with laughter lines which his solemn expression couldn’t conceal.

‘DI Geraldine Steel. So, what can you tell us?’

‘We have a black female in her late teens or early twenties. I won’t commit myself to the cause of death right here and now, but the victim was badly beaten about the head before she died, subjected to a sustained and severe beating over a matter of days or possibly weeks. She’s been dead for at least two days, probably longer. There’s no question we’re looking at an unlawful killing. As to whether it was deliberate or not, well, that’s for you to determine, but it might be significant that she’s recently lost a finger.’

He took a step back from the body and Geraldine saw that the dead woman’s right index finger was missing.

‘What happened?’

The pathologist shook his head.

‘I’m not sure yet. But she was shackled - ’

He pointed to deep weals on the dead woman’s wrists.

‘I can’t say the exact cause of death yet, but my gut feeling, in view of the obvious evidence, is that we’re looking at the victim of a particularly brutal murder.’

‘Aren’t they all?’ Sam grimaced. ‘They always say that,’ she added, turning to Geraldine who was surprised to hear the sergeant sounding churlish.

‘And you came here hoping to see a murder victim who’s been well-treated?’ the pathologist retorted.

‘Wait, are you saying whoever killed her cut her finger off while she was still alive?’ Geraldine asked, keen to defuse the tension between her colleagues and focus their attention on the body.

‘You’ll have my preliminary findings first thing in the morning.’

‘Thank you. We’d appreciate a full post-mortem report by midday tomorrow. There’s a briefing after lunch, and the more information we can gather together by then, the better.’

The pathologist was already packing his bag.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

The body was carried swiftly along the alley to the waiting mortuary van. Within minutes it had driven off and the scene of crime officers followed, until only one was left, along with a uniformed officer posted outside standing guard in the rain.

‘Four o’clock. Time for banana cake?’ Sam asked hopefully. Back in the fresh air she seemed to have recovered her good spirits.

Geraldine shook her head.

‘Before we go anywhere we need to interview the man who found the body, and then we’re going to speak to a few of the neighbours, find out if anyone saw or heard anything suspicious. But I want to stay out here for a few minutes first.’

‘What for?’

Geraldine shook her head again.

‘I don’t know exactly. I just want to get the feel of the scene. Remember everything.’

‘We’ve got lots of photos.’

‘It’s not the same.’

‘I know, but – it’s nearly tea time.’

‘We’re not leaving until we’ve finished,’ Geraldine repeated firmly.

‘Do you know how many unsolved murders we have in London? We always sort them in the end. It won’t be a problem.’

Geraldine stood, immobile, gazing at the scene.

‘It’s so hard to picture it. It’s night. A car draws up in Tufnell Park Road just at the end of the alley. SOCOs confirmed that the bag was dragged into position from that end.’

‘The alley’s quite near the main road,’ Sam pointed out.

‘But did the killer come here deliberately because he knew about the alley?’

‘It’s possible he drove up Junction Road, cruising along slowly looking for somewhere to dispose of the body, but it’s more likely he’d selected his destination in advance.’

‘Yes,’ Geraldine agreed. ‘I’d say he knew where he was going. You can’t see the alley from the main road.’

‘And he wouldn’t have wanted to hang about searching for a suitable spot,’ Sam added. ‘There’s always a chance someone might be out on the street. Even at night you can’t be sure there’ll be no one around.’

They stood looking around for a few moments.

‘So he was driving along,’ Geraldine resumed, ‘spotted the alley, or probably knew about it already, parked the car, carried the bag half way along, dropped it, and drove off. It would probably only have taken a few seconds, and he was gone.’

She nodded to herself.

‘That makes sense. Now, let’s see what Mr Crawley can tell us.’

Sam gave a loud sigh.

‘Well, if there’s no cake left, I’ll know who to blame,’ she grumbled.

Geraldine burst out laughing.