Strange Blood (15 page)

‘I'm afraid so,' he said. ‘Again, we might get a better idea when we dissect the body but you have to take into account that the swelling of the internal organs will have altered the dimensions of any laceration to the tissue.'

‘And what about the head?' Foy took a step towards the top of the steel trolley. ‘It's a real mess, isn't it?' He addressed the question to the pathologist but his eyes were on Megan. She couldn't put the moment off any longer. She had to make herself look.

The face was hardly recognisable as human. The features were so grotesquely altered that it was impossible to imagine what the woman had looked like in life. The mouth and cheeks were swollen and discoloured and the skin around the eyes so dark and puffy that it looked as if she had been punched.

‘Don't be misled by the appearance of the face,' the pathologist said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘The only area of trauma is on the forehead – the rest is consistent with this stage of decay.'

Megan allowed her gaze to inch up the woman's face. Those eyes would come back to haunt her, she knew. Tonight, maybe. Or tomorrow, when she was lying in Patrick's arms.

‘How on earth did her friend manage to identify her?' she asked.

Foy pointed to the corpse's right shoulder. ‘Tattoo in the shape of a Chinese character on her back,' he said. ‘Means “happiness”, evidently.'

Megan shuddered. She glanced at the woman's forehead, concentrating on that area of blackened flesh, about three inches square, which held the key to this killing.

‘You saw Tessa Ledbury,' Foy said to the pathologist. ‘Could this be a similar type of injury, do you think?'

‘It's impossible to say,' he replied, shifting his position so that the scalpel in his hand hovered over the woman's forehead. ‘There's no way we can tell from the state of the skin. The only possible clue would lie in the bone immediately underneath.' He waved the scalpel in a circular movement, as if stirring a cup of tea. ‘There's a slim chance that the killer left an impression of his handiwork on the skull, although I have to say that was not the case with Tessa Ledbury. The mark on her forehead was a straightforward flesh wound.'

‘So you're saying that unless the killer used more force in cutting the pentagram on this victim, there'd be no damage to the bone?' Foy frowned.

‘That's about the size of it, yes,' the pathologist nodded.

‘What about the hair?' Megan was staring at the long, matted, dark brown locks which stuck to the flesh at the temples. ‘Tessa Ledbury's hair was held back from her face with a pair of tights…'

‘Sorry I didn't tell you,' Foy said quickly. ‘There was a hairband. A gold-coloured, beaded sort of thing. It's been removed. Vicky Tomlins said it was one Joanna often wore.'

‘So you think she was wearing it when she was attacked?'

‘It's hard to say. He could have found it and used it instead of tights.'

‘What about a gag?' Megan glanced at the swollen mouth with its unnaturally dark lips. ‘Tessa's killer left a dishcloth sticking out of her mouth.'

‘We haven't opened the oral cavity yet,' the pathologist said. ‘You could stay and watch the dissection if you want, but I warn you, it'll be a long and very messy business. There were maggots on the body when it was found and I expect we'll find more when we open her up.'

‘No, it's okay.' For the first time, Foy's face betrayed the fact that he was finding this every bit as distasteful as Megan. ‘You'll phone me if you find anything.' This was said in lieu of any goodbye as he made for the door, pulling off the surgical cap concealing his carroty hair. It looked even more startling than usual against the pallor of his skin and for a split second Megan had a vision of him lying in place of the woman on the mortuary trolley. It was terrifying, she reflected, to think that a living, breathing human being could be reduced to nothing more than a stinking parcel of bones in the space of just a few days.

She left the place feeling, as she always did after such encounters, a mixture of emotions. On the one hand she felt a powerful urge to run away. To refuse to have anything more to do with the depravity whose end result she had just witnessed. She knew that the memory of Joanna Hamilton's wretched body would be with her for the rest of her life, squeezing unbidden into her mind's eye to curdle the moments of joy.

She was in the car now, following Foy's Audi to the car park exit. She didn't have to follow him. She could drive to her sister's instead, play with Emily and Joe; do the things normal people do. She hesitated at a junction as Foy turned left. And then a voice welled up in her head, drowning out the rest.
If you chicken out now, someone else is going to die. Get whoever did this off the streets.

*   *   *

Ceri was sitting in the café at Pendleton. It was far more crowded than usual, but they had managed to get a table to themselves. She glanced around. Thank God there were no other students in here. Under cover of the chequered tablecloth Justin was rubbing his knee against her thigh.

‘Are you sure you want this?' The way he looked at her made her feel completely reckless.

‘You know I do.'

‘When, then?'

‘Soon,' she smiled, easing her foot from its shoe and rubbing her bare toes against his crotch. ‘He's going away.' She held his gaze, her private fantasy taking over, blotting out the sights and sounds of the café: The house empty. Justin naked in her bed. The feel of him on her skin as he took her in his arms. She closed her eyes.

*   *   *

As Megan followed Foy back to the police station she ran through the facts. The number and pattern of the wounds were the same for both women. Each had also had something incised on to their foreheads, and in both cases the hair had been drawn away from the face. But without hard evidence of the mess on Joanna Hamilton's face being a pentagram, there were still enough differences to question whether the two women were victims of the same killer.

Tessa was thirty-six and blonde while Joanna was twenty-five and brunette. Tessa's body was naked while Joanna had been found with her clothes on. Questions crowded Megan's mind. She needed to talk to Vicky Tomlins. Find out if there were any connections between the two women, however slight. What she most wanted to know was if Joanna Hamilton ever went to the precinct at Pendleton.

Foy was waiting for her outside the entrance to Tipton Street police station. As they went in, a couple of drunks were shouting at the duty officer on the desk. Foy didn't bat an eyelid.

‘Dave and Kate back?' was all he said, raising his voice slightly above the din.

‘Incident room, Guv,' the officer called back without looking up. One of the drunks had begun ripping a ‘wanted' poster off the wall and the other was staggering towards Megan, looking as if he was about to throw up. Suddenly, three uniformed officers materialised from behind a door. Foy ushered her quickly away, shouts of abuse following them down the corridor.

‘Guv?' Dave Todd looked up expectantly as they entered the room.

‘Where's Kate?' Foy sat down heavily at a table strewn with evidence bags.

‘Out the back, collecting stuff from the SOCOs,' he said. ‘Any joy?'

Foy shook his head. ‘Body was a total abortion. Zero forensic evidence because of the state of decay.' He shrugged. ‘If there was any ejaculant this time we'll never know. How about you?'

‘Well, we haven't found anything that connects her with Tessa Ledbury,' he replied, ‘But I think we're getting somewhere with the time of death. That Vicky woman said they always met for lunch on Wednesdays.'

‘Yeah, she already told me they were supposed to meet yesterday.' Foy sounded impatient. ‘How does it help us with the time of death?'

‘Well, the reason they didn't meet last Wednesday was because Joanna was due to fly to Paris. She was leaving the day after their last meeting, which was two weeks ago.' Todd brushed away a fly that had settled on his arm. ‘Vicky said Joanna was planning to spend a week in Paris to get inspiration from the art galleries for her latest book commission,' he went on. ‘But she never caught the plane from Birmingham International on the Thursday afternoon. That means she must have died sometime between 2.30pm on the Wednesday and about 11am on the Thursday.'

‘I see,' Foy nodded. ‘Which means she's been dead a fortnight.'

‘Looks like it, Guv, yes.'

‘There could be a pattern, there, couldn't there?' The men looked up, startled at the sound of Megan's voice, as if they had forgotten she was there. ‘Tessa dies on a Thursday morning; Joanna dies sometime between Wednesday afternoon and Thursday morning. Where was it they met for lunch?' She had suddenly remembered the café in Pendleton and her mind was racing ahead like an express train.

‘Beatties,' Todd said, derailing her theory with a single word. ‘That's where they always met. You know – the department store in Wolverhampton town centre?'

Megan nodded. ‘Do we know where she went after she'd had lunch? I mean, did she tell Vicky she was going shopping or anything?'

‘She told her she was going straight home to pack for the holiday.'

‘What if she needed something last-minute for the trip?' Megan asked. ‘Pendleton's the nearest supermarket to Stockhall.'

‘She could have gone to the local shops,' Foy said slowly. ‘They're only two minutes walk from the house.'

‘Yes, but they all shut at half past five,' Megan countered. ‘The supermarket at Pendleton stays open until at least eight o'clock most nights, doesn't it?'

‘Well I suppose she could have done that,' Foy grunted. ‘But I don't think it's very likely because she didn't own a car.'

‘She could have got there some other way, though, couldn't she?' Megan persisted. ‘On a bus. Or a bicycle.' She looked pointedly at him. She still hadn't forgiven him for witholding that witness statement from her.

‘Okay, okay!' Foy glanced at the ceiling. ‘Have you checked her handbag yet, Dave?'

‘Yes Guv. No receipts for anything after the day she met Vicky Tomlins for lunch.'

‘But were any of those receipts from shops in Pendleton?' Foy sounded exasperated.

‘I, er, think so, yes.' He flicked through his notebook. ‘I was looking at them more from the point of view of establishing the time of death.' His face had flushed and Megan felt a twinge of sympathy. ‘I'll have to check,' he said.

‘Tell the SOCOs to get onto it, will you Dave?' Foy barked. ‘Get them to check barcodes with the supermarket. Oh, and don't forget those rubbish bags outside.' He sounded serious enough but Megan had a feeling all this was window-dressing. He had given himself away in that phone call he'd made to her when the body was found. Sean Raven was still his prime suspect.

There was an uncomfortable silence after Dave Todd left the room. Megan wondered what Foy was thinking.

‘What I find hard to believe,' she said, ‘is that Vicky Tomlins was Joanna Hamilton's only friend. It's odd, don't you think? Both murder victims having such a limited social circle.'

He frowned. ‘Well, in Joanna's case it might not have been that limited. She hadn't long moved from Australia, but we're checking out local groups she might have joined, that sort of thing.'

‘By which you mean Sean Raven's coven, I assume?' Megan looked at him. ‘And?'

‘And nothing.' He sounded sheepish. ‘Carole-Ann Beddows said she'd never clapped eyes on her. So did a couple of others we've tracked down.'

‘And the man himself?' Megan's eyebrows arched. ‘Come on Steve, don't tell me he wasn't back in the interview room the minute Joanna's body was found?'

‘Guv!'

Before Foy could say anything, Kate O'Leary appeared, almost staggering into the room. She was carrying an enormous pile of books, each one encased in a plastic evidence bag.

‘Just look at these, Guv,' she said, leaning over the table so that they slid gently out of her arms.

Foy picked one up, reading the cover through the plastic. ‘The Thoth Tarot,' he announced, ‘An introduction to the Occult-Inspired Designs of Aleister Crowley.' His eyes narrowed as he stared at the book before tossing it aside and grabbing another. ‘Queen of the Night,' he read. ‘Exploring the Astrological Moon.' Megan could hear the excitement in his voice as he reached for another, this time a thick hardback with a brightly illustrated jacket. ‘Parker's Astrology: The Definitive Guide To Using Astrology In Every Aspect Of Your Life.' He gave a low whistle. ‘Thank you, God,' he breathed, pushing the books towards Megan and grabbing another handful.

‘They were just sitting there in a bookcase in the bedroom,' Kate said. She sounded out of breath. ‘Can't believe I didn't notice them myself.'

‘Is there anything on witchcraft?' Megan sifted through the books Foy had not yet seized.

‘Not actual witchcraft, no,' Kate said. ‘But there's loads on Tarot and Astrology. She was obviously one of the wacky brigade.'

‘I think that's going a bit far, don't you?' Megan said, pulling a book about crystal healing from the pile. ‘I'd say this was pretty mainstream stuff. Or are you suggesting that everyone who reads their horoscope and burns scented candles is a closet occultist?'

‘Oh come on!' Kate gave her a withering look. ‘Aleister Crowley? Don't you know the kind of perverted filth he was involved in?'

‘Of course I do,' Megan replied, reaching for the book Foy had picked out first. ‘But the woman was an illustrator and this has the word ‘Designs' in the title. For all we know she bought it for the pictures, not the content.'

She looked at Foy but his eyes were full of righteous zeal. He breathed in deeply and sat back, folding his arms. When he opened his mouth Megan caught a whiff of peppermint. ‘Come on,' he said, his nostrils flaring. ‘Let's get the bastard up here!'