H&Y20 - Deliver Us from Evil (3 page)

‘I see, still very interesting though, very interesting indeed.’ Webster paused. ‘So you saw nothing or nobody of suspicion . . . other than the deceased?’

‘No, I am sorry, nothing else at all. No person, no thing . . . just the lady . . . dare say that is suspicious enough.’

George Hennessey sat somewhat uncomfortably on a small swivel chair beside the desk in Louise D’Acre’s cramped office and, as he glanced quickly round the room, which was so small that it made him feel larger than he actually was, he noticed little alteration since his last visit. The cramped confines were made even more claustrophobic, he felt, by an absence of a source of natural light. Dr D’Acre’s desk with its small, ludicrously so, he believed, working surface, the photographs on the wall of her family, Daniel, Diana and Fiona, standing with Samson, the family’s magnificent black stallion. He also glanced once, very quickly, at Louise D’Acre herself, slender, short dark hair very close cropped, a soft face, yet a woman who, it seemed to Hennessey, carried authority as quietly and as naturally as she breathed and who wore no make-up at all save for a slight trace of a light shade of lipstick. He then looked at the piece of printed paper within the self-sealing cellophane sachet. ‘She knew she was going to die.’

‘So it seems,’ Louise D’Acre replied calmly, quietly. ‘The lady was leaving you a present and that showed some considerable presence of mind, if you ask me.’

‘Yes, I agree . . . inside her shoe you say . . . ?’

‘Yes, we were removing the clothing prior to beginning the post-mortem, standard procedure for which the police presence is not required so long as we save and secure each item and of course anything else we find.’

‘Yes . . . of course.’

‘Eric slipped off the shoes and did so with his characteristic gentleness . . . he has a sincere reverence for the dead, a real respect. Didn’t pull off the shoes with a rough and ready “she’s-past-caring” attitude as many pathology laboratory assistants might well have done but slipped each one off as if the lady were still with us. I mean to suggest nothing untoward, it is just that I think Eric is a particularly conscientious young man and I believe that we are lucky to have him.’

‘Understood,’ Hennessey smiled, ‘and I assure you, I didn’t suspect you meant anything else at all. I too in fact have formed the same impression of him. A very good man to have on your team.’

‘Good. Well, the paper slid out from between the bottom of her nylons and her shoe, so that it was compressed by her weight as she stood and/or walked. It was neatly folded, as you see. We picked it up with tweezers and put it straight into the sachet . . . that was about thirty minutes ago.’ Louise D’Acre glanced at the small gold watch which hung loosely on her left wrist, ‘nearer an hour in fact . . . time is going quickly today.’

‘OK . . . an hour ago . . . about.’ Hennessey carefully turned the sachet over and over as he examined the paper within. ‘Seems like a utility bill.’

‘So we also thought. In fact that is exactly what it is although in my report I will have to write “what appears to be a utility bill”. Dare say we all get enough gas or electricity bills to be able to recognize one when we see one,’ she added with a smile.

Hennessey grinned. He thought Dr D’Acre to be clearly in a good mood, even that modest injection of humour in her working environment was, he thought, a little out of character for her. ‘Shall we see?’

He opened the sachet and carefully extracted the paper, holding it by the edge, and gingerly unfolded it. ‘Electricity bill for Unit Five, Ryecroft Glen Road, York . . . and it’s two years old . . . but it does give an address for us to call on. Sounds like an industrial estate though; I cannot say I am even remotely familiar with the address. It rings no bells at all.’ He took his mobile phone from his jacket pocket and jabbed a pre-entered number. ‘Hate these things sometimes,’ he said apologetically, ‘but there’s no denying their frequent usefulness.’

‘I know exactly what you mean . . . all those ruined train journeys.’

‘Hennessey,’ he said as his call was answered. ‘Is that you, Somerled? I did get the correct number? Good . . . listen . . . take someone from the team with you plus a couple of constables, get over to Unit Five, Ryecroft Glen Road, York . . . no, I haven’t heard of it either. Secure the premises on the assumption that it is a crime scene . . . it is in respect of the victim discovered this morning, the lady on the canal bank . . . frozen to death. As Dr D’Acre has just said, the deceased left us a present in the form of an electricity bill for that address folded up inside her shoe . . . two years old, but the address is clear . . . the link is significant. She evidently wanted to tell us something. She would not have hidden it in her shoe otherwise. Doubt if we’ll get any relevant prints off it . . . two years old . . . but I’ll send it to Wetherby anyway. OK, thank you . . . I’ll observe the PM and then come and join you there directly afterwards.’ He switched off the mobile and slid it back into his jacket pocket.

‘Suggest with respect that you look at the clothing before I send it to the forensic science laboratory.’ Dr D’Acre held eye contact with Hennessey.

‘Oh?’ Hennessey was puzzled.

‘Yes, I think you’ll find it interesting. They are not British.’

‘No?’

‘No . . . North American sizes, and with both English and French labelling.’

‘English
and
French?’

‘Canadian,’ Louise D’Acre spoke matter-of-factly. ‘It’s your area of expertise and I am reluctant to encroach but I am familiar with your “encroach all you like” attitude . . . which I value and admire and wholly agree with.’

‘Yes . . . that way we don’t leave any gaps.’

‘No . . . none at all . . . anyway madam was clothed head to foot in Canadian outer clothing, coat, shoes, blouse, slacks . . . all Canadian . . . her underwear was British. So, as a woman myself, and knowing how nylons and underwear wear out much more rapidly than outerwear, I would guess that she is a Canadian woman who has been fairly medium to long term resident in the UK.’

‘Long enough to have had to replace her underwear but not her outer garments . . . so not a visitor . . . on holiday or a business trip?’

‘I would think not, depending upon how much she had brought over here with her, but we could still be talking about a few months . . . possibly even a couple of years. I have a coat that is ten years old . . . also slacks and shoes of that selfsame vintage . . . hardly worn these days I concede, and readily so, but ten years old nonetheless. At least ten years old, come to think about it.’

‘Thank you, that is a useful observation.’ Hennessey again looked at the utility bill. ‘Dirty, grubby . . . as though it has lain on a floor for a long time. You know, Yellich is going to find an empty industrial unit which has had no tenant for a quite a while but where some person, or persons, as yet unknown, forced entry and used the premises to keep this lady against her will long enough for her to realize that she was going to be murdered, but with such lax supervision that she was able to pick up this electricity bill and hide it about her person, leaving us a present, as you say.’

‘You can deduce all that from a utility bill?’ Louise D’Acre smiled briefly.

‘Well . . . I’ve been a copper for a long time, whether I am right or not still remains to be seen but I think it’s a pretty straightforward and reasonable deduction. It’s not a domestic dwelling, Unit Five, and the bill itself is grimy and two years old. The premises have not been cleaned in that time but somebody, somebody, will own the building, someone will have a record of the last tenant, so, thank you for this.’

‘Very welcome. We didn’t search the pockets; the people at Wetherby will do that, of course.’

‘Of course.’

‘So, shall we get into our party clothes?’

Hennessey stood. ‘Yes. I’ll see you in there.’

Some few minutes later DCI Hennessey, having removed his outer clothing and changed into green lightweight disposable coveralls which included slippers and a comfortable to wear hat with an elastic rim, stood calmly and quietly against the wall of the pathology laboratory. Also in the room and similarly dressed were Dr Louise D’Acre and Eric Filey, the pathology laboratory assistant. It did not surprise Hennessey to hear that Dr D’Acre had nothing but praise for Filey for he too, as he had said, had, over the years, warmed to the man, finding him not only respectful of the dead but also, unlike any of his calling Hennessey had ever met, a warm and a jovial young man. The deceased lay upon one of the four stainless steel tables in the room with a starched white towel draped stiffly over her genitalia so as to preserve her dignity, even in death. All other parts of her body were open to full view and Hennessey saw a woman in her middle years, a little short in stature but not remarkably so. Perhaps she had thought herself to have been a little overweight but again not remarkably so, especially given her years.

‘We had to straighten the body, as you see,’ Dr D’Acre turned to address Hennessey, ‘but that will not affect the post-mortem procedure or any findings.’

‘Thank you. I understand.’ Hennessey smiled briefly as he replied.

‘So . . .’ Dr D’Acre turned her attention to the deceased and, as she did so, she carefully adjusted the height of the microphone which was attached to an anglepoise arm which in turn was bolted to the ceiling. She spoke for the benefit of an audio typist who would shortly be typing the post-mortem findings. ‘So, we have a deceased who is an adult of the female sex and who is in her middle years of life. At the moment the deceased has yet to be identified. She is clearly a lady of Northern European, or Caucasian, extraction. She appears to be very well nourished and is without tattoos or any other form of distinguishing marks to her anterior aspect. If you’d take the shoulders please, Eric?’

Eric Filey, short and rotund, moved quickly and efficiently from where he was standing by the bench which ran the length of the pathology laboratory to the head of the dissecting table and took hold of the shoulders of the deceased while Dr D’Acre took hold of the feet. When Dr D’Acre counted ‘one-two-three’, they turned the body over on to its front in what Hennessey saw to be a skilful and evidently thoroughly practised manoeuvre. ‘No distinguishing marks are to be seen on the posterior aspect,’ Dr D’Acre continued. ‘What is noted is a reddening of the buttocks caused by lividity. As she died the blood drained according to gravity and settled on the lowest point of the body at the time of death. She died therefore in the sitting position in which she was found.’

Hennessey nodded, uncertain as to whether or not the observation was meant for his ears or for the microphone. It was, though, an important observation. The police could now eliminate the possibility that she died elsewhere and her body was relocated post-mortem.

‘Back again please, Eric . . .’ And once more the body of the deceased was turned skilfully and with minimum effort on to its back. Without being bidden Eric Filey readjusted the towel to cover the genitals of the deceased.

‘Rigor was established and was subsequently broken by myself in the presence of Mr Filey. There is no indication of tissue decay. Time of death has to be determined but will likely be within twenty-four hours of the present which is . . .’ she glanced at the clock on the wall of the laboratory, ‘Eleven twenty-seven a.m. There are ligature marks to the neck of the deceased, fully encircling it, which seem to be twinned. That is to say, two distinct lines of bruising encircle the neck . . . such bruising being consistent with a rope or similar, such as a length of electricity cable being coiled twice or doubled around the neck and then tightened.’ Dr D’Acre lifted the eyelids of the deceased and continued. ‘Petechial haemorrhaging is noted . . . small dark spots in the whites of the eyes . . . which is fully consistent with death by strangulation.’ Dr D’Acre then closely examined the wrists of the deceased and then the ankles. ‘Both wrists and both ankles show clear signs of bruising indicating that the deceased was restrained peri-mortem.’ Dr D’Acre then examined the fingernails of the deceased and then looked at Hennessey. ‘Bad luck.’

‘Bad luck, ma’am? In what way?’

‘No defence wounds, no split fingernails caused by fighting off her attacker, or attackers, so no useful flesh and blood samples for you . . . sorry.’

‘No matter,’ Hennessey inclined his head to one side, ‘such material would have been useful but I am confident that we’ll get there without them.’

‘I’m sure you will. I’ll scrape anyway, of course, but I do not expect to find anything of interest. It will be a somewhat futile gesture but I’ll do it.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘There are no other injuries in evidence so let us look in the mouth. The mouth is a veritable gold mine of information. Here rigor is still established. Eric, can you please pass . . .’ Dr D’Acre allowed her voice to trail off as Eric Filey, anticipating her request, handed her a length of stainless steel. ‘Give me a place to stand and I will move the world . . .’ she said as she accepted the lever. She worked the lever into the mouth and then determinedly prised the mouth open and so causing the jaw socket to ‘give’ with a loud ‘crack’. ‘So useful being a pathologist,’ she said as she handed the lever back to Eric Filey who immediately placed it in a tray of disinfectant. ‘We are the only doctors whose patients do not feel pain.’

It was a joke that Hennessey had heard her make many times before but he chuckled anyway. It was, he believed, the diplomatic thing to do, the only response to make.

‘She has a reasonably good set of teeth . . . some decay . . . certainly western dental work but which looks a little different to British dentistry and so could be Canadian. She seemed to care for her teeth only adequately. She didn’t floss, there is a build-up of plaque . . . she seems to have had a sort of “five out of ten, could do better” attitude towards her teeth. You know,’ Dr D’Acre straightened up, ‘I once conducted a PM on a young woman in her mid twenties . . . tragically young to come here . . . everybody comes here before their time but mid twenties, that really is being short-changed. She was a Russian girl and I kid you not she had a perfect set of teeth, caused by the bland, sugar-free eastern European diet she had lived on, you see. I do so worry when I see my son pour sugar into his tea . . . but will he be advised?’