Eeny Meeny

12

He looked like a ghost. The carefree, handsome face that beamed out from his Facebook page bore no resemblance to the sunken death mask that now confronted Helen. Sam’s emaciated body lay on the mortuary slab in front of her, mocking the happy, hopeful person he used to be. It was a profoundly distressing sight.

Helen turned away, distracting herself by checking on the progress of the pathologist, Jim Grieves. Even after thirty years in the business Jim still took an age to clean and robe himself for a PM. The endless hand-washing made him appear like a modern-day Lady Macbeth (albeit an overweight one) and watching his clumsy attempts to sheathe his hands in sterile gloves made you want to march over there and do it for him yourself. Some officers actually had. Others thought he was past it, but Helen knew better and didn’t rush him. He was worth waiting for and there was something vaguely miraculous about the slow transformation from a hefty, heavily tattooed oaf to a gowned, incisive pathologist who had helped open up many a case for Helen.

‘What I am about to say comes with all the usual caveats, as I’m being rushed yet again…’

Helen smiled – used to Jim’s grumblings – and let him go on. She was rushing him, but needs must. Telling Sam’s mother about his death had been awful, partly because Helen had been able to tell her so little. Olivia Taylor had been widowed some years back, so she had no partner to support her now. Somehow, alone, she had to help her children come to terms with the death of their beloved older brother, and Helen had to give her the tools to do that. So she needed to corroborate or destroy Amy’s story fast.

Jim had finished grumbling. He turned to Sam’s body and began his summing up:

‘Single gunshot to the back. The bullet entered under the right shoulder blade and ended up in the rib cage. I’m using technical terms, so do tell me if there’s anything you don’t understand, ok?’

Helen let that ride. Jim’s sarcasm was a feature of every PM she’d ever attended. He carried on without waiting for a reaction:

‘Cause of death: cardiac arrest. Possibly caused by blood loss but more likely by the shock of the impact. He was in a bad way even before he was shot. Evidence of emaciation in the torso, limbs and the face – note the sunken eye sockets, the blood around his gums, the hair loss. Bladder and bowels basically empty, the stomach contained fragments of cloth, hair, tile mastic and also human flesh.’

Jim moved round the table to lift Sam’s right arm.

‘The flesh was his own, bitten from his right forearm. By the looks of it, I’d say he managed three or four mouthfuls before he gave up.’

Helen closed her eyes – the horror of Sam’s last days sinking in – then forced herself to open them again. Jim held Sam’s ravaged forearm up for her to get a good look, then gently laid it down again.

‘I would estimate he hadn’t eaten properly or taken in liquid for at least two weeks, probably more. His body would have been living off fat reserves during that time, and when they ran out, it would have started to leach nutrients from his internal organs. He was a whisker away from total organ failure when he was killed. From what I’ve been told about the girl’s medical state, she was going the same way. Another few days and they both would have been dead of natural causes.’

Jim paused once more, this time to ferret through his paperwork.

‘Bloods. What you’d expect from someone suffering extreme dehydration on a fast track to organ failure. The only unusual constituent was trace elements of benzodiazepine. I expect you’ll also find traces in her blood and stronger traces in their waste.’

Helen nodded – forensics had already confirmed traces of the powerful sedative in the excreta recovered from the diving pool. Helen suppressed her growing anxiety, but this was all heading one way now. Jim carried on for another ten minutes, then Helen called time on it. She had all she needed.

Against all the odds, Amy’s story was starting to stack up. Forensics had found particles of rope near a corner of the pool, tallying with the use of a rope ladder as Amy’s means of escape. Furthermore, their recovered clothes had deep soil stains on them, suggesting Amy and Sam could have been dragged from a vehicle across open ground to the abandoned pool. Could a woman have dragged Sam by herself – all twelve stone of him – or would she have needed an accomplice?

As she headed back to Southampton Central, Helen knew this would consume her totally from now on. She would not rest until she had solved this strange crime. Entering the incident room, she was pleased to see that Mark was already cracking the whip. There were numerous practical and bureaucratic issues that could stymie a major investigation like this and Helen needed things to run like clockwork. Mark was the classic DS – an abrasive but effective instrument – adept at making everyone row in the same direction. He’d rounded up a good team of officers – DCs Bridges, Grounds, Sanderson, McAndrew – in addition to support staff; already the investigation was coming to life in front of her eyes. Mark hurried over when he saw her enter.

‘What are we going to tell the press, boss?’

A good question and one Helen had been chewing on since she left Jim Grieves. Emilia Garanita wasn’t going to go away and there would be others behind her. A young girl had shot her boyfriend in a deserted location. It was horrific and thus good copy.

‘As little as possible. Until we’re in control of this, we can’t let out there’s a third party involved. So we call it a domestic but go gently on the detail. The press will infer all sorts of things about Sam and why Amy killed him…’

‘But we don’t want to blacken his name unnecessarily.’

‘Exactly. He and his mum deserve better than that.’

‘Ok, let’s play it tight for now.’

He headed back to work. He was unquestionably rough around the edges – rangy, unshaven, rugged – but on form Mark was a good copper to have on your team. Helen hoped it would last.

Satisfied everything was in hand, she allowed herself five minutes for a cup of tea. She was tired – the interview with Amy had been gruelling and the visit to the mortuary even worse. She wanted to tune out for a moment, but her brain wouldn’t let her. Sam’s awful death had got to her and she couldn’t shake the image of his lifeless, twisted face. What a thing for his mother to have to see.

She was so deep in thought that she didn’t notice Charlie until she was virtually on top of her.

‘Boss. You’ll want to see this.’

The day had already been full of nasty surprises, but Helen sensed she was about to get another.

Charlie handed her a pair of photos – two smartly dressed business types, one in his thirties, one a fair bit older.

‘Ben Holland and Peter Brightston. Reported missing three days ago. They were travelling back from a legal pow-wow in Bournemouth. Never made it home.’

A sickening feeling was creeping over Helen.

‘Their car was found in the New Forest. Local plod and the park rangers have scoured every inch of the forest. No sign.’

‘And?’ Helen sensed there was more.

‘Coats, bags and wallets still in the car. Their mobiles were found near by – the SIM cards have been deliberately destroyed.’

Another abduction then. And this one even stranger than the first. Two grown men, smart, strong and able to take care of themselves, had vanished into thin air.