Roxanne, p.6
Roxanne, page 6
“A difficult place to find”, Greene had said, but the detective inspector’s coordinates were unlikely to be wrong, and sure enough, the target symbol showing one’s destination on Waters’ navigation system was blinking now. He estimated he had another three hundred yards to go, and pulled away again. Smith had never entirely trusted these devices and never tired of reminding him of the occasion when, if followed literally, the instructions would have taken them off the end of Cromer pier and into the North Sea. But this morning Smith would have been reassured by the flattened grass growing in the gaps on the concrete surface of the track. Other vehicles had passed this way not long before. Waters made himself aware of his own breathing, bringing it under his conscious control. He didn’t know what he was about to see, about to witness, but there would be a dead body, a dead person. If that doesn’t bother you a little, there’s something wrong with you.
When Detective Chief Inspector Cara Freeman said to Detective Constable Serena Butler a few minutes ago, ‘Have you got much on today?’, she got back, ‘Er, no, ma’am?’ and a puzzled look. The two of them had worked together for almost a year but it’s important people don’t take you or the job for granted; when Freeman said next, ‘Well, you have now. You’re crime scene manager on this one until we’re certain it isn’t one. A crime, that is… All right? Know what you’re doing?’
Freeman watched now as Serena, notepad in hand, interviewed the two uniformed men who had been first on the scene. All credit to them for finding the place, she thought, on that gamekeeper’s instructions. Then she glanced towards the spot where Detective Inspector Terek was taking down the details from the said keeper, and thought to herself, I had no idea such people still existed in real life, I thought all that ended with Lady Chatterley. She continued her sweep of the scene and wondered what had brought him here this morning – no sign of any pheasants or whatever it is they shoot these days. Terek’s a pain but he’ll ask most of the right questions.
Serena had handled the uniforms well. There was some subdued laughter and then they were getting the crime scene tape and markers from the boot of their car. As Freeman watched, her detective constable walked around to the front and noted down the registration of their vehicle. It isn’t often understood by the public that the first officers on any crime scene are important witnesses in their own right. Next, Serena got out her mobile and took a picture of the Octavia estate so the number plate had also been recorded in that way. She’ll need a couple of reminders but not a lot of help.
All this was happening in a small clearing in the wood. Freeman walked around it and looked down the track that continued towards the little river. She could see the back of the car, a light blue Mini 5-door hatch, about sixty yards from where she was standing now. Inside was the body of a young woman, in the driver’s seat but slumped sideways so that she lay across the passenger seat as well. Freeman had seen none of this for herself – it was the description given by Holt, the uniform sergeant whom she’d met for the first time this morning, even though he too was based at Lake Central. Holt had an air of quiet competence. He told her he had felt the girl’s neck through the passenger side window – which had been open – checking for any sign of life, even though he could plainly tell she had been dead for some time. Holt had paused in his account, perhaps expecting some criticism, but none had been forthcoming from the chief inspector; the remotest chance of preserving life overrides the protection of a potential crime scene. Then Holt described how he and PC Roughton had returned to the clearing, avoiding the track, and called it in; in the meantime, Holt had noted the various tyre marks across the clearing and moved the police car back to the perimeter, along with the gamekeeper’s Toyota Hilux truck. The two uniformed officers were now taping off the centre of the clearing to preserve whatever remained for closer inspection.
Terek had closed his notebook, and Freeman wondered whether the gamekeeper was now considering whether he ought to have a cigarette or at least a sit down and a cup of tea. The detective inspector’s approach wasn’t so much about engaging with witnesses as processing them through a mincing machine so the relevant facts could be extracted and treated with formalin. Still, she had her reasons for bringing him along today. One, it would prevent others claiming that the ‘new’ squad was hogging all the good stuff if Terek had been included among the first on the scene. Two, this might well be a suicide, in which case the hand-off to CID for the routine work then involved would be straightforward. Why a suicide? Holt has reported no signs of trauma or struggle, nothing to suggest the girl had been attacked, and Freeman had encountered similar scenes – young people mixed up in things they can no longer deal with now have a plethora of chemical solutions to their problems.
Terek was making his way towards her around the edge of the clearing. When he arrived, Freeman said, ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Difficult to say at this stage, ma’am, isn’t it? This is all part of something called the Walmsley Estate – that’s who the gamekeeper works for. He doesn’t come this way from one month to the next, he says, but he was here making sure the picnic area by the river was clear. The family like to use it in the spring and summer. He noticed the car and walked down to it, thinking it was trespassers fishing. He realised the girl was dead, came back to this point and called 999. He hasn’t left the scene at all. He has left a message with his employer but no one has got back to him yet.’
Freeman looked down towards the Mini again, and then around the clearing before she said, ‘Is this the picnic area?’
‘No, ma’am. Where the car is there’s another spot by the river with a table and chairs. So he told me, obviously.’
‘He said he thought it was trespassers. This is all private? No public access?’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Freeman looked at the man-sized watch on her thin wrist before she said, ‘Waters should be here by now. I expect he’s had trouble finding it, like the rest of us. So how did that girl find it? How did she end up here, of all places?’
Terek said, ‘We don’t know that she did. The fact she’s in the vehicle doesn’t mean she drove it here. Ma’am.’
‘Quite… We’re going to take a look for ourselves, Simon, but we’re also going full SOCO on the Mini, just in case. DI Greene should be coming back to me with a time-scale on that shortly.’
Terek nodded and said, ‘I’m ready when you are, ma’am.’
Freeman didn’t answer him. Both uniformed men had turned and were looking in the direction of the track they had all driven along to get here. Then one of them raised a hand and began to walk towards the edge of the clearing. A car pulled up, just the front of its bonnet visible from where she stood but Freeman recognised it as belonging to Waters. Moments later she could see the tall figure waiting by his car and then getting into conversation with Sergeant Holt. They obviously knew each other. Holt answered a few questions, pointed to where the Mini was and then indicated a safe place for Waters to park. Serena Butler had noticed him as well and was making her way around to record his arrival.
She said to Terek then, ‘I’m going to send Waters down to the car with you, Simon.’
He looked at her in surprise, and she said, ‘I need to speak to Tom again, and I’ll have a word with the keeper before anyone calls him back. We need to manage the media on this until we know what we’re dealing with. The two of you can give it a visual once-over, no need for the full suits. Just shoe-covers and gloves. Let him know before he makes his way over here.’
Terek set off around the clearing, and Freeman looked at the blue car again, just the rear end of it visible among the spring-green haze of sallow bushes along the river’s edge. It might not be the missing girl at all – none of them would forget the lessons learned with Neville Murfitt and Michael Wortley – but if it was her, why here, of all places? Never mind the “How” or the many questions beginning with “Who” that she, Freeman, would soon be asking – the location was bothering her.
She saw Waters and Terek exchanging words and then Waters was at the boot of his car, pulling on the white shoe covers that would limit his physical impact on the scene; every move we make, every step we take alters the environment in some way, and all we can do is minimise it and keep a record. Then her mobile buzzed with a message. It was a typically terse communication from Greene, who would not call in a situation like this one unless there was something more than factual information to be conveyed. She read SOCO estimating 14.00. GP from Lakenham is on her way. The car was registered to Roxanne Prescott from new, in August last year.
When Terek and Waters reached her, Freeman updated them – there was little doubt remaining that they now knew the name of the young woman in the car. She said, ‘Visuals only. Get as close as you can without touching anything inside. List the contents of the car. We know the uniformed guys walked down there but even so, keep it to a minimum. Have a look to see if there’s been another vehicle there recently. No need for photos, I’ll organise that with Tom now. Ready?’
Because you have to be ready before you can do this. A life has been lost, a life exactly like your own, and this is the starkest of reminders, the ultimate memento mori. One day, sooner or later, others will gather around your own mortal remains, and begin to establish the cause of your death. Waters and Terek were about to confront the final truth of the matter; we are dust and unto dust we shall return.
As she watched them cautiously making their way along the edge of the track, Freeman wanted to be there, of course. But she had had her knuckles severely rapped by Commander Harry Alexander after the investigation into the stabbing of Neville Murfitt. He had come to Lake Central in person to congratulate the team, and then, afterwards in her office, with just the two of them present, he’d said, ‘I shouldn’t have to explain this to you. If I make you senior investigating officer on a case – and we said that’s how this squad would operate under normal circumstances – then you act like the SIO. You run the investigation, you don’t do the investigating. You know how this is supposed to work, Cara. If you’re SIO, you do not involve yourself in the evidence chain. You do not interview key witnesses yourself. That was in the old days, long before your time. Whenever there’s an active investigation, get yourself a scribe and make sure that he or she records every decision you make, down to the number of times you shake a bottle of vinegar over a bag of chips. Got it?’
Yes, sir, got it. Technically this is not yet an active investigation, so it doesn’t matter that she’s left Priti in the office but Harry isn’t a man you want to annoy too often; he’d been instrumental in creating her new squad and he could be equally effective in taking it apart. But his comment about not interviewing key witnesses gave the game away. The commander was correct – SIOs are supposed to keep their distance these days – but his annoyance had more to do with the fact that she had outsmarted the senior team in Norwich. In prising Ryan Shepherd’s name out of Michael Wortley, she had made it impossible for them to ignore her demands for charges and a prosecution. Politically, it would have been easier for Alexander not to allow that to happen until the Regional Serious Crime Unit had completed their own longstanding and wide-ranging investigations, but once the identity of a killer is known, it becomes very risky not to take him off the streets. Freeman had done exactly that but, as always, there is a price to pay for success.
She re-read the message from Tom Greene – registered to Roxanne Prescott from new, in August last year… To her surprise, she saw she had a 4G signal here, so she opened the browser and searched. Eighteen to twenty-seven thousand pounds, depending on the model. At twenty-two years of age, most kids these days are accumulating that sort of debt each year at university, not spending it on flashy little motors. And from new? Freeman liked cars and had owned a few nice ones, but never from new. I guess, she said to herself, it’s all down to career choice.
Serena was waving and pointing. Another vehicle had appeared at the end of the track, this time a dark green Range Rover. Freeman set off around the clearing – presumably Harry Alexander wouldn’t object to her supervising the parking. She wondered whether it was the GP but that vehicle would cost at least half of their annual salary, too… By the time Freeman arrived, the driver was out and talking to Serena, who must have indicated that the person in charge was approaching. He turned to her, a big man in expensive-looking wellington boots, and holding out a hand said, ‘Jonathan Walmsley. Thought I’d better come down. What on earth has happened? How can I help?’
Chapter Seven
There are several different medical definitions, psychological tomes are written about it and philosophers make a living out of failing to account for it but the very nature of life remains a mystery, never mind its purpose. It is easier to define its absence, or the ending of it, which is death. The girl in the car was dead.
The two detectives stood side by side three feet from the driver’s door, both in their separate ways trying to make themselves aware of the scene in its entirety, but the presence of a body fills your vision and your mind at first. Experience tells you this will pass, and so you wait. You stand and stare and wait until the enormity of it diminishes a little.
The driver’s and front passenger’s windows were both fully open, and Waters wondered about that. It’s what you do when you’ve driven somewhere and want to take a proper break – get some fresh air, feel in touch with a place more directly. Why had she wound the windows down? She had been sitting behind the wheel but she’d fallen to her left into the passenger’s seat, and now she lay on her left side, her right arm hanging down into the passenger’s foot-well and partially obscuring her face. If she were alive, the handbrake would be digging into her uncomfortably – she wouldn’t be able to stay in that position for long. So, had she been losing consciousness as she went over onto her side?
Tight black jeans, a pink sweatshirt and – Waters had to lean in and down a little to see – white trainers. If she was a working girl, then presumably she wasn’t actually at work when whatever happened, happened. No sign that any of her clothing had been interfered with or rearranged. He couldn’t see her face fully from this angle but there was no evidence of vomit. When the body dies, it gives up control of its functions one by one but there was no sign either that she had urinated. Of course, if she’d been here two or three days, the evidence might simply have dried out, but when Waters leaned closer still and sniffed, his nose could find nothing offensive inside the car.
When he straightened up, Terek said, ‘My first impressions are that this is pretty clean.’
The detective inspector was not referring to the condition of the car, as if it had been valeted before its unfortunate owner expired inside. It’s a detective’s word with a specific meaning when applied to a scene of investigation; there is little to go on, there are few what an old-fashioned crime writer might still call clues. Detectives do not use the word ‘dirty’ to describe scenes very different to this one, but it’s what they’d rather see – signs of a struggle, a possible weapon, maybe a little blood.
Waters nodded his agreement, and Terek continued, ‘No obvious signs of violence. I can’t see any direct evidence of it yet but this is most likely drug-related, in view of her age. I’m moving around to look from the passenger side.’
Perhaps Waters was meant to follow as Terek edged around the bonnet of the car, but he did not do so immediately. Instead, he took a small step to the left and could see the keys were in the ignition. Not just ignition keys, though, but what looked like house keys, too. A bunch of keys can be surprisingly helpful. And now he could also see a black leather shoulder or handbag in the passenger’s foot-well. He checked everywhere he could with his eyes for a mobile phone but found nothing. If it was in the bag, that would also be highly significant to any investigation, even though he knew the two women who first reported Roxanne missing had said they’d been calling her since Sunday without getting a response. There was a strong temptation to reach in from the passenger’s side and take it out, but Freeman’s instructions had been clear. If they didn’t already have her all but identified, there would have been some justification, but Waters’ instincts were telling him this was Roxanne. The chances of another mis-identified corpse so soon after the last one were remote.
Terek moved again to look at the rear seats, and Waters went around to the passenger window. Now her face was partially visible. The clouded eyes were half open, and the blue had faded, as the petals of cornflowers fade within moments of being picked, but she had been a pretty girl. Her features were small and evenly proportioned – a slightly uptilted nose above a rosebud mouth, the lower lip more obvious, as if even in death she could still pout her way out of trouble. He didn’t think she’d been wearing make-up when she died. There was a little silver stud in her right ear, and there were rings on the second and third fingers of the right hand that hung loosely in front of her. Red nail varnish.
Waters straightened up, took a breath and looked away. Terek said quickly, ‘Are you all right?’, as if he’d seen an opportunity and didn’t want to waste it.
‘Yes, sir. Fine.’
It wasn’t nausea. He had dealt with more dead bodies than Terek now, and while he wasn’t the biggest fan of autopsies, he’d played his part in two of those. Or perhaps it was a kind of emotional nausea, if there is such a thing. Twenty-two, she was. He remembered twenty-two. He had joined the force at Kings Lake Central when he was twenty-two, and as his first detective sergeant had pointed out, fresh-faced hardly covered it. It felt like six minutes ago rather than six years but they had been years full of experience and not a little excitement, of drama and romance, of much laughter and some tears – all the usual things. And this girl had lost them, lost it all in some inexplicable moment of madness. Somewhere a mother is waiting for the next call, there is a father, there are brothers and sisters, friends, and now the knock on the door will come from one of us, from one of Kings Lake Central’s finest. Freeman or Terek would decide. It might even be me, he thought.
