Hunter’s ears pricked up and immediately seized on the opportunity. “Can I make a suggestion Boss?”
The Superintendent nodded.
“You’re probably aware that Barry Newstead, ex-CID, was instrumental in pointing us in the direction of Carol Siddons, when her body was discovered.”
Michael Robshaw nodded again.
“Well what you might not be aware of is that when she was originally reported missing, Barry was the only person who believed what Carol’s mum was saying, and worked against the wishes of the then DI to try and trace her. Knowing Barry like I do I’m sure he will still have all his notes, and seeing as we’re allowed to take on ex-detectives to help us on these enquiries he would be a great asset.”
The Superintendent pulled a face.
Hunter spotted the look of angst. “Look I know what you’re thinking. Yes he was a bit of a maverick in his day, but I’ve been using his knowledge to good advantage just lately, and I’ll vouch for him. I’ll supervise his work and if it looks as though he’s going out on a limb I’ll draw him back, or get shut. Is that OK?”
Before Michael Robshaw had time to respond they were all taken back by the hurried opening of the conference room door, as it swung back and thudded against the flimsy stud wall. A red faced, perspiring DC Mike Sampson, filled the doorframe.
“Sorry to disturb you gaffer,” he gasped, “but another body’s been found.”
* * * * *
On their hands and knees, in their blue boiler suits, the Task Force search team were working shoulder-to-shoulder carrying out fingertip searches around the site where Carol Siddons’ mummified remains had been unearthed two weeks previously.
Search grids had been taped off on the old colliery site and white suited forensic officers, some with metal detectors were combing the murky topsoil for exhibits. They had also brought in a specially trained sniffer dog.
Police dog handler Peter Broughton and his Springer spaniel Lady were currently outside the roped off area, scrambling around in scrubland at the edge of the old pit site. Here the undergrowth was thick and dense in places and it was proving difficult for them to keep on a straight course. This was a first for Peter and Lady. Generally they only got called out when there had been a disaster, where the likelihood was that someone had been buried alive. But this is what they had both trained for. Lady had a nose for finding bodies even if they had been dead for some time.
On a long rope the Springer darted in and out of sparse bushes and amongst clods of long grasses. They had been doing this for just under two hours and were due a break when Lady stopped longer than normal, sniffing and pawing at a mound of overgrown gorse. Peter increased his pace, taking in the slack of the rope until he was beside his dog.
“What we found here then girl?” he said patting the Spaniel’s back. He pushed Lady to one side and on bended knees delved into the gorse, parting fronds carefully and slowly. Some of the ferns and grasses split easily from the soil; far easier than he had anticipated and he found himself tugging at a huge clump, taking away a good two inches of top soil. He wondered if Lady had found a badger set and for the next couple of minutes he scraped around an area where the clay was softer and strangely discoloured. He had never seen soil stained in this way before. He was considering calling for a member of the forensic team to join him when he exposed a piece of hemp sacking. Scraping more loose soil away he spotted the NCB black lettering stamped across the old decaying sack. The dog handler muttered to himself and tugged at one corner. It resisted more than he had conjectured and he pulled harder. Quite unexpectedly, it freed itself from the earth and sent him rolling backwards. Cursing and disgusted with himself he pushed himself up onto his knees, brushing dust from the backs of his thighs. He looked into the crevice, which the sacking had covered. What faced him rocked him back on his heels for a few seconds. It was then that he knew he definitely should shout for the forensic team.
* * * * *
It was with a feeling of déjà vu that Hunter, Grace, Tony Bullars and Mike Sampson pulled up before the cordoned off area on the Manvers site. Whilst travelling there they had learned that the second body was in fact a skeleton and that what appeared to be girl’s school clothing was still clung to the defleshed bones.
The team could see that Scenes of Crime, working with the forensic team, were already erecting a second white tent around the site of the decomposed body.
The MIT team viewed the activity before them. The one good thing about this recent discovery was that the majority of the resources they required were already on site.
Hunter was duly briefed by the uniformed officer at the entrance to the scene that the other experts who were required to scrutinize this discovery of skeletal remains were already on their way. He knew from that information that Professor Lizzie McCormack and the body recovery team would be soon joining them.
Hunter realised that for the next few hours very little evidence would be gathered but things would be frantic. The Recovery team would need to excavate and remove the cadaver to a climate-controlled Pathology lab as soon as possible because he knew that now the body had been exposed there would be further acceleration in its decomposition. At the same time the body recovery team would be ensuring that the chain of evidence remained intact for the remaining forensic team.
He stood, hands on hips surveying the scene. His instinct was telling him that this was now a serial murder enquiry. He saw that Tony, Grace and Mike had already passed through the ‘Police line do not cross’ tape, and were busy organizing and briefing officers as to their respective roles in this investigation.
Within twenty minutes Professor McCormack had landed at the site. Hunter spotted her by the open boot of her car, stepping into her forensic suit.
Within five minutes he saw her heading towards him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and he was sure that a perverse grin was stretching across her face, as though she took great pleasure in probing around dead bodies.
“My my, we are busy little bees,” she said in her soft Scottish voice as she drew ever closer.
Soon she was easing herself down over the disturbed earth around the grisly corpse. It was devoid of any flesh, a perfect set of white teeth grinned back from the dirty brown skull, and hanks of coarse and matted dark brown hair still adhered to it. It was dressed in a white blouse and dark blue skirt, and although the upper parts were exposed most of the legs still remained covered in the surrounding red clay soil.
The Professor probed around the skeleton with a scalpel, leaning forwards occasionally, raising the flimsy cotton blouse and skirt and examining some of the bones. She tutted and clucked as she moved around the makeshift grave on her knees. Then she looked up at Hunter, eye raised above spectacles.
“This is a difficult one for me,” she announced. “This body, unlike the other one you found a couple of weeks ago is completely devoid of any tissue whatsoever. This is not my skill area I’m afraid. What I can tell you is that this is the body of a young teenage girl.”
“How’s that?” Hunter asked.
The pathologist hovered her scalpel above the pelvic area of the skeleton and began to rotate it. “These flared bones on the hips are a dead giveaway. This is called the sciatic notch. It spreads as a young woman. Nature’s way of accommodating a foetus. Also look at the forehead.” Still using the scalpel as a pointer she aimed it towards the skull. “The frontal lobe is flat. In a man’s there is more of a slope.” Lizzie McCormack studied the body a little longer, before giving off a long winded “hmm.”
She turned to Hunter. “What I can also tell you is that injuries to the bones in her neck suggest she has been strangled again just like the others.” She paused a second, “And I can also tell you that this looks very much like the handiwork of our killer again.” She pointed to a clear plastic bag poking upwards through loosened soil, its transparency masked here and there by clinging detritus. “If I’m not mistaken that’s another one of those playing cards. Looks like the three of hearts to me.”