The Scent of Death

Chapter 14

One of the holy grails of forensic scientists has been to devise an artificial way of detecting the gases produced as a body decomposes. That would not only help locate buried or hidden human remains but also serve as a means of determining how long an individual has been dead. So far, though, science hasn’t come up with anything that can compete with nature.

The Labrador could barely contain its excitement. It was only young, its sleek coat pitch black except for a splotch of white on its head. Fairly quivering, it shifted from paw to paw, casting hopeful glances up at its female handler as it gave a tremulous whine.

‘Shush,’ she told it, tousling its ears. ‘Be still, Star.’

‘Glad someone’s keen,’ Whelan commented, looking at his watch.

There were six of us standing at the bottom of the steps outside St Jude’s. Seven, including the cadaver dog. Ward had said she might be out later, but at the moment she was busy dealing with the fallout from my identification of Christine Gorski. Not that there was any need for the SIO to be there. In addition to the handler, Whelan and myself, there was the police search adviser, a rotund man in his fifties called Jackson, and two SOCOs I recognized from the loft. One of them toted a video camera on a strap around her neck, the other carried a case of equipment. All of us wore white coveralls and the usual protective paraphernalia, although for the moment our hoods and masks were down. They weren’t necessary until we went inside, so we were making the most of the fresh air while we could. By now, though, it wasn’t only the Labrador that was impatient. We’d been standing in the grey drizzle at the bottom of the steps for the past ten minutes.

Waiting.

Whelan’s radio came to life. He answered it bad-temperedly. ‘Go on.’ I didn’t catch the reply, but the deputy SIO gave an exasperated huff. ‘About bloody time.’

He ended the call.

‘He’s here,’ he announced.

We watched in silence as another white-clad figure approached from the police trailers. The newcomer walked slowly behind a young PC, his coveralls strained tight around his heavy gut. A battered but clean holdall was slung over one shoulder, while in his other hand he carried an equally well-used case for a heavy-duty drill.

‘Glad you could join us, Mr Jessop.’ Whelan spoke tonelessly, not openly sarcastic but not welcoming either. The demolitions contractor looked at him sullenly, his eyes jaundiced and bloodshot.

‘I’m here now, aren’t I?’

The coveralls were the smartest thing about him. Above them his thinning hair was unkempt and two or three days’ growth of grey whiskers shrouded his jowls. When I’d called Ward the night before to tell her I’d identified Christine Gorski, she’d confirmed that Jessop would be helping out on the cadaver dog search.

‘He knows the building as well as anyone,’ she’d said. ‘He’s got copies of the original blueprints as well as equipment to check behind any false walls.’

I said nothing. Jessop hadn’t seemed exactly enthusiastic about the investigation when I’d seen him with Whelan, and he’d failed to show up that morning for the SIO’s briefing. The signs weren’t good, but it was up to Ward who she used as a civilian consultant. And it made sense to have someone along who had structural knowledge of the derelict hospital. Jessop had been hired to knock the place down: he could bring a useful perspective to the search. Even so, I had my doubts as I followed the big man up the steps to the entrance. Then I stepped through the doorway into St Jude’s.

The few days I’d been away had dulled the physical memory of how dismal it was. Inside the hospital’s vast interior it was permanent night. Even the police floodlights only accentuated the shadows in the recesses and corners of its echoing corridors, and no amount of light could take away the stink of mould and urine. When Ward had asked me to go back there I’d been pleased: now, as we left daylight outside and the scale of the task sank in, I felt my enthusiasm wane. It would take days to work our way through every ward, anteroom and corridor.

In St Jude’s claustrophobic darkness, that would seem a long time.

The hospital had been divided up into zones so it could be systematically searched, starting at the top, where the two interred bodies had been found, and working down floor by floor to the basement. The police were carrying out a fingertip search of the entire building, and the plan was for the cadaver dog team to follow along behind to ensure there were no more decomposing remains concealed behind false walls, or anywhere else.

Normally, the forensic pathologist would accompany the search, to certify death if a body was discovered and oversee its removal. But this was an unusual situation, where it was uncertain there was even anything to find. I’d be able to determine if any remains were human, and whatever the Labrador located would likely be concealed and inaccessible anyway. There’d be ample time for Parekh to come out when — and if — she was needed.

The dog’s claws clicked like knitting needles as we made our way up the stairs. Our heavier footsteps set up a reverberating echo that bounced off the stairwell’s hard walls. I was behind Jessop and could see that the big contractor was making heavy work of the climb with the drill case and holdall. He hauled himself up by the handrail, and by the time we reached the top his breath was wheezing in his mask.

‘You OK?’ I asked when he stopped.

The yellow eyes turned to look at me, the barrel chest rising and falling. Even through his mask I got a waft of his breath, sour with old alcohol.

‘I’d be better if I wasn’t in this shit heap.’

‘Do you want a hand with one of the bags?’

He stared at me, his affront obvious even under the mask.

‘No.’

Hoisting the holdall further on to his shoulder, he set off along the corridor. Lit by floodlights, it seemed to go on for ever, a black tunnel disappearing into the distance. The search was starting at the far end, but part way along Jessop stopped again. I thought he might still be having difficulty after the stairs until I saw where he was looking. Off to one side, a cordon of police tape sealed off the access to the loft where we’d found Christine Gorski’s body.

He gave me a quick glance, realizing I was watching him. ‘That where they found her?’

‘I expect so.’

Jessop stared at the darkness beyond the police tape, breathing nasally in his mask. ‘Said on the news she was twenty-one. Same age as my daughter.’

Without waiting for me to comment, he turned and clomped off down the corridor.

Even though I knew there were other police search teams in the building, as our small group began the slow trek through St Jude’s dark expanse it felt as though we were completely alone, stranded from any other living thing. I was no stranger to hospitals, knew how maze-like they could seem at the best of times. But the ones I’d worked in had been full of life and noise, not empty and silent like this. It would have been easy to become disorientated.

At least the dog was happy. With the exception of the Labrador’s handler, the rest of us hung back so as not to distract the animal as it worked. Not that there was much chance of that: Star was wholly engrossed in exploring the wonderful new world of scents the old hospital offered. Consulting rooms, wards, examination cubicles, even storage cupboards: all had to be checked by the cadaver dog.

I hadn’t given much thought to the practical aspects of the search. Like most old NHS hospitals, St Jude’s had been renovated and modernized over the years. The outside might look the same, but the interior bore little resemblance to the original building. The layout of rooms, wards and corridors had all changed over the years. Walls had been taken down in places and erected in others. Some of these were obviously old and had been there for decades. Others were less so.

The Labrador made its first find within the hour, its ears cocked intently as it explored the recesses of a dusty closet. A quick check by a SOCO produced the leathery corpse of a bat, crumpled under broken shelves like a discarded glove. The dog’s handler rewarded it with a well-chewed tennis ball.

‘Must be nice to be easily satisfied,’ Whelan remarked, as the dog thrashed its tail happily.

Not long after that I saw why Ward had wanted Jessop along. We were in a former waiting room, a row of broken plastic chairs still fixed to the wall below a sign that read Please take a seat and wait to be called. A torn poster showing an electron microscope image of an influenza virus was stuck next to an empty hand-wash dispenser.

The Labrador had been snuffling along a dusty skirting board when it suddenly came alert. It tracked back and forwards along one length, then looked towards its handler and barked.

Fussing it, the woman turned to Whelan. ‘Looks like he’s got something.’

Jessop had said virtually nothing all this time, his moody presence adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Now, beckoned forward by Whelan, he banged the wall above where the dog had reacted with his fist. It produced a hollow thump.

‘Plasterboard,’ he grunted.

Opening the plastic case, he took out a battery-operated drill and bored a small hole low down the wall. From his shoulder bag, he took out an inspection endoscope, a fibre-optic probe connected to a small hand-held screen. Inserting the probe through the hole he’d drilled, he rotated it this way and that. Light shone on his face as he studied the image on the screen. Then he stopped, minutely adjusting the controls to improve the picture.

‘What is it?’ Whelan asked.

Instead of answering, Jessop set down the endoscope. Reaching again into his bag, he pulled out a crowbar. Before anyone could do anything, he smashed it against the wall, knocking a hole in the flimsy plasterboard. Whelan leapt forward as the contractor thrust his arm inside.

‘Jesus, what the hell…!’

But Jessop was already withdrawing his arm from the hole. He had something dark and furry in his hand. He held it up by its thin tail.

‘Just a rat. Probably got through the skirting.’

Whelan said nothing as he went over to the hole in the wall. He peered through it, shining his torch to see inside. I got the impression it was as much to give himself a chance to calm down as to make sure there was nothing else in there. His eyes were cold as he turned to Jessop.

‘Pull a stunt like that again and I’ll charge you with interfering with evidence. You see anything in future, you let me decide what to do about it. Clear?’

‘Christ, it was only a bloody rat—’

‘Are we clear?’

The contractor looked away. ‘All right, calm down,’ he muttered.

He tossed the dead rat into a corner. The dog leapt after it excitedly, earning a rebuke from its trainer. It slunk back, looking hurt. Whelan took a deep breath.

‘OK, let’s call it lunchtime.’

The weather had eased to a light mizzle outside, a fine spray that hung in the air and clung to hair and clothing. I considered walking over to the church ruins in the woods behind the hospital, but with the ground wet and muddy I decided on a sandwich and mug of tea in my car instead.

I was staring blankly out of the window, chewing mechanically and wondering what Rachel was doing, when there was a rap on the passenger window. It was Ward.

‘Got a minute?’

I reached across and pushed open the door for her to get in. I hadn’t seen her since her press statement had been hijacked by Oduya, and I was struck now by how tired she looked. There were shadows under her eyes and lines on her face I couldn’t recall seeing before. She eased herself into the car seat with a sigh, awkward because of her stomach.

‘Nice to take the weight off my feet. I’m not staying long, just wanted to see how you were getting on.’

I gave a shrug. ‘So far, so good, I suppose. We haven’t found anything else yet.’

‘Please God. I’d like one day when we’re not making new headlines. How are you getting on with our resident demolition expert?’

‘Jessop? I can’t say we’ve spoken that much.’

‘Very diplomatically put. I hear he’s not the most enthusiastic member of the team.’

‘Let’s say I think he’d rather be knocking the place down than working in it.’

‘Can’t really blame him. All these delays must be costing him a fortune. If he wasn’t such an awkward sod I’d feel sorry for him.’ She shifted in her seat, trying to find a more comfortable position. ‘Have you spoken to your friend Mears recently?’ She gave ‘your friend’ an ironic emphasis.

‘I saw him at the mortuary yesterday. He said he’d found burns on both victims.’

‘Oh, it’s a bit more than that now. He thinks they could be brands.’

‘Brands? As in cattle brands?’ That was news to me.

‘Or something similar. They’re only small and they were difficult to spot, given the state the bodies were in. But he says a naked flame would have left a lot more charring to the skin. He thinks someone used something like a soldering iron on the victims. Something hot enough to scorch the bone but only cause localized burns.’

‘Hang on, the burns penetrated to the bone?’

Ward nodded. ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about, does it? He hasn’t examined the larger victim yet, so for the moment we’re still assuming it’s probably male. But he’s confirmed the other victim was a woman in her late thirties or early forties. And he’s found marks on her skeleton that correspond to the scorching on her skin.’

Christ. I was still trying to think of anything that could burn so deep without causing much more visible damage to the epidermis. Small or not, I hadn’t noticed any burns when I’d seen the remains in the concealed chamber. I could tell myself that it had been dark and I’d only had the chance to take a brief look, and even then only from a couple of yards away.

But still.

‘It gets better,’ Ward went on grimly. ‘The post-mortem X-rays showed fractures on the arms and legs of both victims. Only hairline, but it looks like someone gave them a real working over. Mears is speculating it might be gang or drug related.’

‘Is he an expert on that as well?’

She smiled. ‘No, but it’s a reasonable theory. We know drugs were being dealt from St Jude’s, and this has all the hallmarks of either a punishment or a revenge killing. Both victims strapped down and tortured and then bricked up while they were still alive. You can’t tell me that doesn’t sound like someone had a grudge.’

‘Would a gang go to all that trouble?’ Torture I could believe, but I couldn’t imagine gang members taking the time and trouble to wall up their victims, even if they’d had the skills.

Ward rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. ‘I said it was a theory, I didn’t say it was perfect. But it doesn’t make much sense to me either. If somebody wanted to make an example of them they’d have left the bodies somewhere obvious. And if they didn’t, why take the risk of them being found when the building was pulled down?’

I’d had a similar conversation with Parekh. I didn’t have an answer then either. ‘Have you had any luck with the fingerprints from the paint tins?’

‘No, we drew a blank on those, and the one left in the mortar. They’re from the same person and probably male from their size, but nothing’s come up on the database. So we could be looking at someone without a criminal record, which isn’t much help.’ She sounded flat, but then brightened. ‘One bit of good news is that Mears managed to lift the victims’ fingerprints.’

‘You’ve identified them?’

‘Not yet, but with the skin sloughed off I wasn’t holding out much hope of getting any prints off the bodies at all. Mears might look like an undergraduate, but he knows his stuff. Get this — he soaked the skin from the hands in water to soften it and then used it like gloves.’ She shook her head, impressed. ‘Never heard of that one before.’

I had. It only worked in certain circumstances but I’d used the same technique myself on several occasions. Still, I had to concede it took skill when the body was as old and decomposed as this.

‘Pity you couldn’t do the same for Christine Gorski,’ Ward went on, stifling a yawn. ‘Might have saved us some embarrassment if we’d identified her sooner.’

‘Her finger ends had been chewed by rats. She didn’t have any viable fingerprints left,’ I said, smarting at the comparison.

‘I know, I’m not criticizing.’ She paused. ‘And there were definitely no burns on her? Nothing to suggest she might have been tortured as well?’

‘I’d have told you if I’d found anything.’

‘You’re certain?’

I bit back the retort I’d been about to make and just gave her a look. Ward knew me well enough not to ask, and must have realized it herself. She nodded, acknowledging as much.

‘OK, I was just making sure.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go, but the reason I came over was to warn you there’ll be visitors later. Christine Gorski’s family want to see where their daughter was found.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ I asked, surprised.

‘It’s happening, whether it’s a good idea or not,’ Ward retorted, then sighed. ‘Look, we were caught out by them turning up like that. It didn’t exactly paint us in a good light, and now the body’s been identified as their daughter we don’t want to seem unsympathetic. They’ll just be brought here to see what we’re doing to find the people responsible for her death. We won’t be taking them inside the hospital building, so there’s no reason you should even see them. I’m just giving you prior warning so you know what to expect.’

She sounded as though she was trying to convince herself, and I could see why. Letting Christine Gorski’s family visit St Jude’s was a bad idea. They might not be under any illusions about the sordid nature of their daughter’s death, but seeing the squalor of where she’d died for themselves wouldn’t help them understand. Or bring them any comfort.

The whole thing smacked of a PR exercise. I knew Ward well enough to know she was unhappy herself, and guessed Ainsley was probably behind it. After the public debacle of her press statement, the commander would be keen to have something that would play well on TV.

It was only after Ward had left the car that I realized I’d missed the chance to tell her about Lola.