Private London

Chapter 20

Doctor Harriet Walsh knelt down and examined the gaping wounds.

‘Cause of death?’ asked DI Ken Harman.

Doctor Walsh looked back over her shoulder and shrugged. ‘Can’t tell at this stage. No bruising to the neck, no evidence of gunshot damage. The soft tissue and organs have been eaten away in the main.’

‘Murder, though?’

She shrugged again. ‘Maybe. She died, that much is evident, and was then wrapped in this plastic sheeting – left here until she could be disposed of somewhere else, I guess. But then again, it’s my job to give you facts, not to speculate.’

The detective shook his head, disagreeing. ‘Speculating is good. At this stage…’ He cleared his throat. ‘We’re not in a court of law presenting cold facts and hard evidence. We’re pissing in the wind, hoping its direction doesn’t turn against us. So speculate away, give us a thread to start pulling on and we just might unravel the whole damn thing before someone gets hurt again.’

Wendy Lee looked over at him. ‘Do we know who owns the lock-up?’

‘Not yet,’ said DI Harman. ‘But we’re on it.’ He turned to the pathologist. ‘Is it possible she was suffocated by the sheeting?’

Dr Walsh ran her hands gently over the dead woman’s cheeks and shook her head. ‘No indication of it.’

‘If it wasn’t murder… why wrap the body up and hide it away like this?’

Wendy looked down at the woman’s face for a moment or two without responding. Then she said, ‘She looks Middle Eastern to me. Egyptian, perhaps. Jewish?’

‘Maybe Eastern European?’ said Doctor Walsh.

Wendy shrugged. ‘Maybe. Could be an illegal immigrant. Could be she died from natural causes but whoever brought her in couldn’t afford to deal with her death through the official channels.’

‘Human trafficking?’

‘It’s a possibility. We all know that organised criminals out of Eastern Europe and Africa, but not exclusively from those parts of the world, have been bringing in large numbers of women. Holding them to ransom with threats against their children or family back home.’

Harman nodded thoughtfully.

‘It’s a trade worth billions of pounds. And this is an area pretty well know for the seedier side of the prostitution business.’

Harman looked over at the dead body. ‘You think she was a prostitute?’

Dr Walsh looked back at him and shook her head. ‘Just speculating. We haven’t even begun to do a post-mortem on the poor woman. One thing I learned really early on in this game, detective, is – if you leap too early to conclusions…’

‘You can end up landing on your arse!’ Wendy Lee finished for her.

Harriet Walsh turned back to the dead woman and looked at her left hand which was curled into a semi-fist as if she was holding something. The pathologist opened the hand gently.

‘Rigor mortis has set in and then softened so I can tell you she has been dead for a number of days…’ she said and then trailed off. She looked up at Adrian Tuttle and said, ‘Get a shot of this.’

As Tuttle leaned in, his flashgun firing off mini-explosions of light, Wendy Lee leaned forward to look as well.

‘What is it?’ asked Harman.

‘The digitus anularis. The phalange quartus, if you like, on the hand sinister.’

Harman grunted again. ‘I don’t like. What’s it mean in plain Anglo-Saxon?’

‘The ring finger to you and me, detective,’ explained Wendy Lee.

Dr Walsh held the dead woman’s wrist and showed the others the left hand. ‘The phalange or fourth finger on the left hand, counting the thumb as the first finger. It’s been cut off at the second knuckle.’

The detective squatted down, groaning a little as his knees creaked. ‘I’m getting too old for this job,’ he said. ‘You sure it has been cut off and not gnawed?’ he asked. ‘Our hungry rats?’

‘I’ll get it under a microscope but these are clean lines around the knuckle and there has been no rodent activity anywhere near it.’

‘Why have bony gristle when you can have the prime meat?’ said Harman.

‘Not delicately put, inspector. But you make a valid point.’

Harman stood up, groaning again as he did and holding his hands to his suffering knees.

‘How old are you in fact, detective?’ Wendy Lee asked him.

‘Forty-two next month,’ he replied.

‘Maybe you want to think about doing some exercise,’ she said pointedly.

‘It’s all right for you, Dr Lee – you’re a lot closer to the ground.’

Harriet Walsh stood and nodded to her team. ‘Let’s get her down to the workshop. See what we can see.’

‘So what are we looking at, detective?’ asked Tuttle, the first time he had spoken since they had entered the crime scene. ‘Prostitution, trafficking, ritualistic killing. Or an accidental death covered up and the wedding ring removed as possible evidence of her identity?’

‘Could be any of the above.’ The detective inspector shrugged. ‘Truth is… as of this moment I don’t have a clue.’

Tuttle nodded sagely.

The difference between him and Harman was, he did have one. He had a very big clue.

‘Well, let me tell you something else, then,’ he said.