Settled Blood (2 page)

‘No, we got lucky. He’s ex-job and had the good sense not to. He’s my next port of call.’

Stanton looked tired this morning and Daniels knew why. This was his third call-out in as many hours, according to Pete Brooks in the control room. She stood aside, allowing him to enter the
tent alone, comforted in the knowledge that he’d take as much care with his subject as any regular doctor would had the girl still been alive. She’d known him for several years and they
had worked together often. His scientific background complemented her intuitive approach perfectly. She never got in his way – or he hers.

The breeze was picking up. Sweeping hair away from her face, Daniels lifted binoculars to her eyes, panning around three hundred and sixty degrees. Other than the tent and hilltop fort, as far
as the eye could see there was only the most spectacular countryside, dotted here and there with tiny slate-grey cottages. She wasn’t a religious woman – not any more – but the
sight was almost spiritual, as if a higher authority had been at work. It wasn’t hard to imagine what life was like here when legions of soldiers toiled in all weathers to build the Roman
Empire’s most northerly defences and a garrison to house eight hundred of their number just metres from where she was standing.

She sighed, taken in by a dramatic wilderness she’d seen many times before.

‘Unreal,’ she said.

The PC looked at her. ‘Ma’am?’

Daniels nodded towards the tent. ‘Such an ugly scene in such a stunning location.’

‘S’pose. I’m from round here . . .’ He pointed off into the distance. ‘Just over that ridge, to be precise. Guess you never see what’s been on your doorstep
your whole life.’

Daniels looked around her. She couldn’t imagine taking this place for granted. Moving away from him, she made a call. Newcastle city centre was too far from the crime scene to run a murder
enquiry, at least for the critical first few days. Her second in command, Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley, was out searching for a suitable place for a temporary incident room and she was relieved
to hear he’d found one.

She wrote down a place name – High Shaw – then hung up.

Stanton emerged from the tent, bagging his latex gloves, nodding to the binoculars hanging round her neck. ‘You can put those away, Kate. If I’m right, you’re going to need
some divine inspiration to solve this one.’

Daniels eyed him warily. He was not a man given to riddles.

‘Meaning?’ she asked.

‘That young woman in there was dropped from a great height.’

She looked up at a cloudless sky . . .

T
he Mobile Police Incident Unit was visible from half a mile away. It looked out of place in its surroundings, almost dwarfing High Shaw, a single-storey farm cottage bordered
by a dry-stone wall. Daniels drove towards it along a narrow country lane and managed to squeeze her pool car alongside.

She got out, removing a TO LET sign tied loosely to the gatepost. Laying it flat on the ground, she placed a heavy stone on top of it to prevent it blowing away. In this part of the world,
particularly on high ground, gale-force winds were commonplace; what wasn’t securely nailed down often went walkabout.

The pretty front garden was awash with spring bulbs in pots made out of spent tyres. There was a child’s swing in the garden and a gravel path leading up to the front door.

Daniels pushed it open.

‘Don’t shoot!’ Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley yelled, holding his hands in the air.

The DCI grinned as members of her team fell to the floor clutching their chests, writhing around in agony as if they’d been mortally wounded the minute she’d walked through the
door.

‘Get up, you idiots. We’ve got work to do,’ she said.

Setting her briefcase on the floor, Daniels found herself surrounded by officers keen to welcome her back to duty. Although touched by their enthusiasm and good wishes, she didn’t want a
fuss. Taking a man’s life, albeit in self-defence, still gave her nightmares. It wasn’t something she’d ever be proud of – even when the man in question was a dangerous
psychopath.

Turning her attention to her current case, she instructed her team on how she’d like the place arranged. DCs Maxwell and Brown began clearing the floor space for computer desks, moving a
heavy sofa out into the wooden garage at the rear of the cottage. DS Robson fetched a drywipe whiteboard from his car and positioned it at the far end of the room. It would act as a makeshift
murder wall during their stay. DC Carmichael brought in her laptop, and was logging on within seconds.

It was an incident room – of sorts.

DS Gormley’s face lit up as Daniels walked towards him.

‘We’re dealing with another mean bastard then.’ His tone was grim.

Daniels nodded, handing him a set of Polaroids taken at the crime scene.

He sifted through them, sickened by what he saw. ‘Suppose we should look on the bright side . . . if the body hadn’t been found when it was, the scene could’ve been crawling
with bloody tourists, all with souvenir snaps of their own to take home. It would’ve been a nightmare. What piece of shit would lob a young lass out of a plane?’

‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Daniels warned. ‘Not until Stanton confirms it. If and when he does, we keep it to ourselves. We don’t go public – not yet,
anyway. This is God’s country, Hank. Folks round here don’t even lock their doors at night. They won’t know what’s hit them.’

Gormley handed the photographs back. They helped themselves to a mug of tea being offered on a plastic tray by a community support officer drafted in at short notice. Daniels thanked him, her
eyes scanning the room, her mind drifting back to her childhood when she lived in a former gamekeeper’s cottage much like this one. She felt at home at High Shaw, decided right there and then
that she’d stay over for as long as they needed to use the property. There was no point driving backwards and forwards to the city every day. There was no one at home waiting for her –
hadn’t been for months.

The ache in Daniels’ heart subsided as Detective Constable Carmichael walked towards her, a requisition sheet in her hands, a smile on her young face. Lisa had impressed everyone since
joining the murder investigation team and she was fast emerging as their in-house technical expert.

‘Sorry to interrupt, boss. The BT lads are here to fix up the comms.’

‘OK, Lisa, you better let them in.’

As Carmichael wandered away in the direction of the front door, Daniels took another sip of tea and turned to face Gormley. ‘This has got to be the prettiest incident room I ever worked
in, Hank. How come you found it so quickly?’

Gormley tapped the side of his nose. ‘I know people who know people. Mate of mine’s brother-in-law is an estate agent in Hexham. This place is a holiday let normally. Cancelled at
short notice, so the owner tells me.’

‘I want to know why and by whom, soon as you can.’

‘Already taken care of . . .’ Gormley gave her a disparaging look. ‘Place was booked by a Norwegian guy for a fortnight. Poor bugger had a heart attack and couldn’t
travel. And before you ask, he’s in hospital in Stavanger. I checked.’

Daniels grinned. She should have known better than to ask. Hank Gormley was a skilled detective who knew the risks of taking things at face value. He always had his wits about him, had never let
her down.

‘You OK?’ He eyed her over the top of his bifocals as she massaged her right shoulder. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’

‘I’m fine.’

‘How did the hearing go?’

Daniels knew he was worried about her. She also knew she wasn’t looking her best following a close encounter with a serial killer. But it was time to put all that behind her and
concentrate on her job. She’d never been the type to sit around and mope. As far as she was concerned, you just had to get on with it. She’d done that when her mother died and
she’d do it again now.

‘Piece of cake . . .’ she said finally. ‘No case to answer.’

‘What time’s the briefing?’

‘It’ll have to wait. Finish setting up and get things rolling. I’ve got to nip back to HQ and pick up my car.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘The guv’nor wants to see
me. I hope to God he doesn’t want chapter and verse on the Professional Standards enquiry. It was a complete waste of time and money. There’s nothing to tell.’

Gormley led her to a quiet corner and dropped his voice a little. ‘It’s none of my business, but shouldn’t you still be on leave? You look like shit!’

She made a face. ‘So what’s your excuse?’

‘You need to take it easy, Kate. You’ve had a tough time of it lately.’

‘Back off, Hank. And stop acting like my minder; I’m a big girl now.’

‘Nice to see your brush with death hasn’t softened you up any.’

‘I told you, I’m fine . . .’ She patted his upper arm. ‘Don’t fuss!’

She left him to it, heading outside with his words ringing in her ears. He wasn’t alone in thinking she’d returned to work too early: her doctor, her father, her ex-boss –
Detective Chief Superintendent Bright – all thought the same. Then again, Bright was master of the art of do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do. He’d recently lost his wife and had point-blank
refused to take compassionate leave. So why should she? She was still thinking about him as she turned left on to the Military Road and put her foot down.

Her phone rang as the pool car picked up speed. Tim Stanton had completed the post-mortem and his preliminary findings were not what she wanted to hear.

‘Are you sure?’ she asked.

‘There’s absolutely no doubt. Just about every bone in her body was broken. Estimated time of death around three a.m., give or take . . .’ He sighed heavily, his tone of voice
harder than before. ‘And there’s something else . . .’

Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good news.

‘Tim, what is it?’

‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she was alive when she hit the ground.’

His words made Daniels’ whole body shudder. She’d seen death in all its grisly forms in her years at the sharp end, but this MO was a first; a despicable act of cruelty and
inconceivable even for the most hardened of professionals to take on board. Stanton’s voice faded in and out, partly due to a weak satellite signal, mostly because she was imagining the
horror of a young girl falling through the air and landing on open ground with a dull thud.

Organs rupturing on impact.

Bones splintering.

Death.

Daniels swallowed hard. ‘Is it possible to calculate the height she was thrown from? I assume crime scene investigators took a cast of the ground?’

‘They did indeed. They’re doing the maths and will give you a call.’

A horse rider up ahead required Daniels’ full attention. She depressed her brake, slowed to a crawl and gave the rider a wide berth. The young woman turned her head slowly, acknowledging
her courtesy with a wave. As their eyes locked, Daniels’ car nearly left the road as the dead girl’s face stared back at her.

‘Kate? You still there?’

‘Yeah, sorry. Any evidence of sexual assault?’

‘None.’

‘News on her ID?’

‘Yes and no. Hang on a second . . .’ The phone went down on a hard surface. Daniels could hear the rustling of papers. She assumed Stanton was looking for something. Then he picked
up again. ‘I found a receipt in the pocket of her jeans. It’s from Durham University Bookshop. If her reading material is anything to go by, I’d say she was a med
student.’

T
he PC knocked hard. The door to the farmhouse was in need of a lick of paint and the cast-iron knocker was falling off. An elderly lady in a floral patterned dress and a deep
blue cardigan opened the door. On her feet she was wearing one blue wellie, one green one. She had a round, liver-spotted face and piercing blue eyes, permanent rosy cheeks and a mop of cotton-wool
hair in dire need of a trim.

Mary Fenwick was a fixture in this part of the world.

‘Fine day, Billy.’

‘For some it is, aye.’

‘How’s your mother?’ The old lady didn’t wait for a reply. ‘Haven’t seen her since our Florence’s wedding up at High Barns. What a do that was!
I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Me mam’s fine, Mary.’ The PC puffed out his chest, suddenly remembering he was an officer of the law. ‘This isn’t a social call today. I’m here on police
business.’

‘Oh, it’s like that, is it?’ Mary was too long in the tooth to be impressed. She looked past him, checking he was alone. ‘Too busy to chew the fat with an old woman who
damn near brought you into this world, are you? Well, maybe I’ll be minding my neb next time your mam needs my help. You best be off then, if you’re about the Queen’s
business.’

The young policeman blushed. He felt guilty now. He’d heard the story of his birth many times before. How an ambulance had slid off the road in deep snow on the steep incline leading to
his mother’s cottage. How Mary had run half a mile across the top field to fetch her tractor, then driven back and pulled the ambulance and their shaky crew out of the dyke on Hagg Bank. Blue
he was by the time they reached the War Memorial Hospital in Haltwhistle, and lucky to survive – or so he was told.

As she began to shut him out, he tucked his foot in the door, thinking it best to placate her before things got out of hand. Salt of the earth she may be, but Mary Fenwick was prone to go off on
one if riled.

‘It’s the Queen that needs your help this time, Mary,’ was all he could think of to say. ‘There’s been a bit of bother up at Housesteads through the
night.’

‘What kind of bother? If them young uns have pulled my fence down again—’

‘A girl’s been found dead. Suspicious circumstances, too.’

‘Never!’ Shaken by the news, Mary adjusted her hearing aid as if she’d heard him wrong, the skin around her eyes and on her forehead forming into deep creases as she looked up
at him in disbelief. She stepped back inside the hallway. ‘Come in, lad. I’ll put on the kettle. A local girl, was it?’

He ignored the question, a trick his sergeant had taught him when he was a probationary constable. ‘If someone asks you a question you don’t want to answer, ask one back, lad,’
he’d said
.
‘It works every time.’