I felt someone’s eyes on me and turned to find Ainsley looking over. He didn’t acknowledge me at first, and I wondered if he’d forgotten who I was. The disconcerting china-blue eyes stared for a moment, then he gave a short nod, turning away as Ward began to speak.
‘On Sunday evening…’ She flinched as a drone of feedback swelled from the PA speakers, drowning her out. The press officer whispered something and Ward moved a little further away from the microphone before continuing. ‘On Sunday evening, following information received from a member of the public, police officers discovered the body of a young woman in the derelict main building of St Jude’s Hospital. A subsequent search revealed the bodies of two more victims also inside. Pending formal identification, I am unable to release any of the victims’ details. However, I can confirm that all three deaths are being treated as suspicious.’
It was a typically bland holding statement, avoiding anything contentious and skirting around how little we knew so far. I noticed Ward had avoided mentioning the gender of the other two victims: that would have to be confirmed later.
She paused, more confident now as she looked out at the press.
‘There has been a claim made regarding the condition of one of the victims at the time of her death. At this present time, I can neither confirm nor deny such rumours, since to do so would risk compromising the ongoing inquiry. This is a highly complex and far-ranging investigation, so I would therefore ask…’
She trailed off as a commotion rippled through the crowd. Heads were turning towards a group of people making their way towards the front, journalists shuffling aside to let them through. Craning for a view, I saw it was a middle-aged man and woman, faces etched with strain. To one side and slightly behind was a much younger man, either in his late teens or early twenties, who walked with downcast eyes.
Leading them was Adam Oduya.
The activist’s expression was solemn as he forged a path through the journalists. His aura of confidence was a marked contrast to the unease of the three people accompanying him. They followed close behind, huddled together and darting nervous glances to either side.
Ward made an attempt to recover. ‘… I would therefore ask for patience while we continue our inquiries…’
But no one was listening. All eyes were on Oduya and the people with him as he stopped in front of Ward. He paid no attention to the microphones and cameras that were now being turned towards him.
‘This is Sandra and Tomas Gorski,’ he announced, loudly enough to be clearly heard by everyone there. He gestured to the young man with them, who ducked his head even further. ‘This is their son, Luke. And this is their twenty-one-year-old daughter, Christine.’
Holding up a large, glossy photograph, he turned it so everyone could see the young woman’s face. The press officer with Ward hurriedly stepped up to the microphone.
‘I’m sorry, this isn’t a public meeting. If you have any information—’
‘This family have a right to be heard!’ Oduya didn’t shout, yet his voice still dominated. I saw that uniformed officers were making their way through the crowd towards him. ‘Christine went missing from Blakenheath fifteen months ago. No one has seen or heard from her in all that time. Yet despite repeated appeals to the police, nothing has been done to find her!’
‘If you have any information please speak to one of our officers—’
‘Sandra and Tomas contacted me this morning in desperation!’ he continued relentlessly. ‘They’d nowhere else to turn, because their daughter—’
There was jostling as the first police officers hurried to reach him. Oduya brandished the girl’s photograph above him like a sword.
‘—because their daughter, Christine Gorski, was six months pregnant!’
Pandemonium broke out as a police officer tried to take hold of him. Journalists were yelling questions, but Ward put a hand on the press officer’s shoulder before she could say anything more. She spoke quickly to Whelan, who gave a nod and spoke into his phone. The police officers who had reached Oduya stopped, backing away slightly but still watchful.
‘All right, quiet, please,’ Ward said into the microphone. ‘Excuse me, can we have QUIET!’
Feedback from that last word whistled over the crowd of media. Silence fell, broken only by the whirr of camera shutters. Ward began to speak but Oduya was there first.
‘DCI Ward, out of consideration for the Gorski family, will you confirm if it’s true that one of the victims found at St Jude’s was pregnant—’
‘Out of consideration for all the victims and their families, I’m not going to release any information that could compromise an ongoing police inquiry. They deserve better than that,’ Ward responded. Twin patches of colour in her cheeks betrayed her anger. ‘However, I sympathize with Mr and Mrs Gorski and their family over their missing daughter. I understand how distressing—’
‘Our daughter’s been gone over a year!’ Sandra Gorski’s anguished cry cut across Ward. Next to her, her husband stared dead ahead, his face clenched. ‘We don’t want your sympathy, we want you to do something!’
Ward looked as though she’d been slapped, but then rallied. ‘And we will, I promise you. But a public forum isn’t the place to have that discussion. If you go with one of my officers now, then I give you my word I’ll hear what you have to say. After that, if you still want to air your grievances publicly that’ll be your decision. Thank you, that’s all.’
She’d turned and left the microphone before anyone had a chance to realize that she’d finished. As the press futilely shouted questions, I saw Whelan push his way towards Oduya and the Gorski family. There was a quick conversation, then he led them back through the police cordon towards the unmarked car Ward had arrived in.
The shouted questions continued, but the crowd of journalists was already starting to break up. They’d come hoping for news. Well, they’d certainly got it.
As I turned to leave myself I had a sudden feeling of being watched. I glanced back to where Ainsley had been standing, thinking it might be him. The police commander was nowhere to be seen, though, and the melee of journalists, photographers and TV cameras made it impossible to pick anyone out.
But the feeling persisted all the way back to my car.
The young mother’s bones had dried by the time I got back to the mortuary. Reassembling them was straightforward enough, and a more thorough examination produced nothing I didn’t already know. There were no healed fractures or other significant skeletal features that might help with identification, and the only new detail I’d been able to come up with was an estimate of her height. Gauging stature wasn’t as straightforward as simply measuring the remains from head to foot, as when someone is alive. Loss of soft tissue and deformation of the spine if the body was in a contorted position can either of them skew the results and potentially complicate any identification. While it’s possible to gain a rough estimate of height based solely on the lengths of some long bones from the limbs, since there was a full skeleton it was more accurate to use individual body segments, such as the skull, vertebrae and femurs. Using calipers to take measurements, I calculated that in life the woman would have been approximately one hundred and sixty-three centimetres tall. Around five foot five, give or take half an inch.