The Scent of Death

Chapter 24

I stayed in the pub only long enough to finish the sandwich. Outside, the drizzle hadn’t eased up and the people I passed all trudged along the slick pavements with heads bowed, shoulders hunched miserably. Although it was only mid-afternoon, the day already seemed to be hurrying towards night. It was days like this that made me wonder why I chose to live in the city. I’d moved away once before, exchanged the clogged streets and concrete of London for a tiny Norfolk village, where at least the autumn weather felt more like a natural cycle, the steady turn of seasons. Here it just felt dismal.

But I knew my outlook was probably tainted by the incident with Mears. As I stood on the pavement edge waiting to cross the road, I wondered again what was going on with him. Few investigations ran smoothly, and dealing with the unexpected was part of the job. The young forensic taphonomist had all the necessary skills, and even his lack of experience needn’t be too great a handicap. Provided he admitted it, to himself as much as anyone.

I had a feeling Mears’s ego might make that difficult, though. Combined with his brittleness under pressure, it made for a bad combination. The question was what I should do about it.

My phone rang as I crossed the road. I hurried under a shop awning to answer it, seeing as I took it out that the number wasn’t one I knew. But the voice on the other end was immediately recognizable.

‘Dr Hunter? It’s Adam Oduya. Have I caught you at a bad time?’

I didn’t bother asking how he’d got hold of my number: as he’d said before, he had his sources. ‘Is this anything to do with the investigation?’

‘No, I give you my word. It’s another matter entirely.’

I looked at the drizzle, now fully fledged rain, dripping off the edge of the awning. ‘OK.’

‘When we spoke a couple of days ago I mentioned there was something I wanted to talk to you about. Nothing to do with St Jude’s, I assure you. I wondered if you’re free later this afternoon to discuss it?’

I kneaded my eyes. After the encounter with Mears in the pub I wasn’t in a mood to contend with Oduya as well. Still, I didn’t feel able to refuse out of hand. Even if I didn’t agree with his methods, it was hard to fault the activist’s motives.

‘What is it?’ I asked guardedly.

‘How do you feel about pro bono work?’

I’d taken on pro bono cases in the past, but it depended on the case. Particularly when it came from Oduya. ‘You’ll need to tell me more about it.’

‘I’m trying to launch an appeal for an individual convicted of murder ten years ago who I strongly believe is innocent. I think the evidence against him is flawed, especially the supposed cause of the victim’s injuries. I’d like you to review it and give me your opinion.’

I hesitated, still wary.

‘I understand your reluctance,’ Oduya went on, and I could hear the wry smile in his voice. ‘Obviously, you don’t want to do anything that will compromise your work for the police. But I give you my word this won’t. I was going to wait for things to settle down over St Jude’s, but my client has already tried to kill himself twice and his family are worried he’ll try again. They don’t have much money, but if it helps I could see about a small fee to cover expenses?’

‘The money’s not an issue, but I’d want to know more before I commit myself.’

‘Of course. That’s why I’d like to meet to discuss it.’

The rain was dripping down my neck from the edge of the shop awning. I moved further underneath, thinking what I had left to do at the mortuary. Not an awful lot, but I still wanted to look at the burnt dental palate from the boiler.

‘I can’t make this afternoon,’ I told him.

‘This evening, then. Whatever time and place suits you.’

I was still reluctant, but I was curious now as well. ‘I could meet you after work. I’m at the mortuary on Carlisle Street—’

‘Near the law courts,’ he finished for me. ‘I know it. I used to spend a lot of time around there when I was in full-time practice. It’s not far from the Tube station, and there’s a pub close by called the Plume of Feathers. I could meet you there, say, seven o’clock?’

That was the same pub I’d just seen Mears in. But it was convenient, and that should give me more than enough time. I thought Oduya would be satisfied with that, but he hadn’t finished.

‘Do you know how Gary Lennox is?’ he asked.

‘I thought we weren’t going to talk about St Jude’s.’

‘I’m not, but I’d still like to know how he is. As you’ve probably heard, I’m no longer representing Gary and his mother.’

‘What happened?’ Ward had told me Oduya had been fired, though not why.

‘Lola had a change of heart and went with the duty solicitor instead. She decided she’d feel more comfortable with… Well, let’s say someone more traditional.’

From what I knew of Lola, that didn’t surprise me. And I couldn’t see any harm in updating Oduya about her son’s condition. ‘He’s not good, last I heard.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. Regardless of how it turns out, it’s a sad situation.’

Yes, it was. ‘Do Christine Gorski’s parents know?’

‘That I tried to help a vulnerable man and his elderly mother, you mean?’ Oduya sounded weary rather than angry. ‘It’s no secret. I wasn’t representing Sandra and Tomas in a legal capacity, so there was no conflict of interest.’

I moved aside to let a group of people into the shop. ‘I was thinking more about frustrating the police’s attempts to find their daughter’s killer.’

‘If you mean advising Gary Lennox’s mother on their legal rights, again it’s no secret. Whatever her son may or may not have done, he has the same rights as you or I. If the police have a case against him, let them bring it. But I won’t stand by while someone’s vulnerability is exploited. I’ve seen the justice system abused too many times for that.’

‘What about justice for the victims and their families?’

‘It’s all part of the same coin. And please, don’t insult either of us by assuming the moral high ground. I’ve sat with a mother who’s just been told her pregnant daughter was lying dead in a derelict hospital for over a year. Believe me, I want whoever’s guilty to be caught as much as you do. We just have different ways of going about it.’ The amusement crept back into his voice. ‘Anyway, Dr Hunter, for someone who didn’t want to talk about St Jude’s, you’re not making a very good job of it.’

No, I wasn’t. I hadn’t meant to let myself get drawn into a discussion. Ending the call, I put my phone away, feeling annoyed with myself. As long as the police were unable to gather enough evidence to either charge Gary Lennox or exclude him from suspicion, the investigation would continue to be stuck in limbo. But however responsible I might feel for opening this particular Pandora’s box, it was out of my hands now. Getting into a debate about it with Oduya wasn’t likely to help.

It was only as I stepped from under the awning into the rain that I wondered if that was what he’d intended when he’d asked how Gary Lennox was. As I hurried back to the mortuary, I told myself I’d have to be careful when I met him that evening.

The partial denture was a mess. Heat from the fire and subsequent rough handling as the remains were removed from the boiler had melted the acrylic and deformed the metal. And although the flames hadn’t been hot enough to shatter the porcelain teeth, something — presumably a blow or impact of some kind — had snapped them off close to the gum line. Since we hadn’t found the broken-off false teeth among the ashes, it must have happened before the body was put in the boiler. It meant that, even if the police could track down Wayne Booth’s dentist and establish that he wore a denture, matching it to the melted one might not be so straightforward. I wasn’t sure it would even be possible.

A forensic dentist might have better luck with that. Even so, the prosthesis still told me a few things. The badly melted palate would have fitted to the roof of someone’s mouth, making it an upper denture. And the shape of the broken stubs told me they would have been the front four incisors and the right canine. That would have left quite a gap. While one or two could have been due to decay or gum disease, a row of five missing teeth — including the front ones — suggested another cause.

They’d been knocked out.

That didn’t necessarily mean from an assault. I’d once known someone who’d lost most of their front teeth when they came off a bike. He’d chosen to have implants rather than dentures but, since it involved extensive and expensive surgery, that option wasn’t suitable for everyone.

Evidently not this individual, I thought. The denture was a very basic type, consisting of a rudimentary acrylic plate that covered the real palate and was held in place by metal clips. Although probably not immediately obvious, these might have been visible as tiny silver claws clamped around the adjacent teeth. It was a common enough design, with the emphasis on functionality rather than comfort or aesthetics. That suggested the owner either hadn’t cared how it looked or couldn’t afford anything more sophisticated.

My guess was the latter.

I’d planned to examine the foetal skeleton after that, having left it soaking in fresh water. But the palate’s tangle of metal and plastic took longer than I’d expected, and I’d arranged to meet Oduya at seven. Another night’s immersion wouldn’t harm the tiny bones, though, and there was no real urgency. With a guilty sense of relief at being able to put off the unhappy task for a little longer, I decided to leave them till morning.

I stretched, wincing as my joints popped stiffly, then packed everything away. Switching off the examination-room lights, I went to change and then headed for the foyer. There was someone in front of me in the corridor, and I felt a by now familiar weariness when I saw Mears.

He was on his way out as well, wearing a waterproof jacket and carrying his shiny new flight case. He looked tired and slump-shouldered, his forehead furrowed as though he was deep in thought. When he saw me his eyes darted away, almost furtive. Then his chin came up and he straightened his shoulders, giving me a terse nod.

I’d been considering making one last effort but, seeing that, I decided there was no point. I returned his nod, waiting in silence while he signed out at reception. At the front door he stopped to pull up his hood. I hung back, taking my time signing out so we wouldn’t have to leave together.

And with such small moments are lives changed.

A gust of damp wind blew into the foyer as Mears went out. It was dark outside, the rain bouncing down. Hunched against it, Mears started to cross the road as I went through the doors. I paused under the entrance canopy to fasten my own coat, and as I did someone called out.

‘Dr Hunter!’

I looked up to see Oduya on the other side of the street. He had an umbrella and was heading from the direction of the Tube station. As he stepped off the pavement to come over, ahead of me I saw Mears glance towards him to see who was calling. In my mind the moment seems frozen: two figures crossing the rain-drenched road in opposite directions, the streetlight capturing them like a flash photograph.

I heard the car before I saw it. From off down the road there was a squeal of rubber. A car accelerated directly at Oduya, framing him in its lights. Even as his head snapped towards it, he was already starting to throw himself out of the way. But there was no time. With a sickening thump the car ploughed into him, slamming him against the bonnet and then back over its roof. As his umbrella was crumpled under its wheels, he spun through the air in a tangle of limbs, before smacking down on to the tarmac behind it.

The car weaved but didn’t slow. Stranded in the middle of the road, Mears finally moved. Dropping his flight case, he tried to jump aside but the car’s wing clipped him. It batted him to the ground, and I saw the rear wheel go over his lower body. For a second, the driver seemed to lose control, sideswiping a parked van in a cacophony of breaking glass and scraped metal before roaring away.

It was all over in a matter of seconds. Overcoming my shock, as the van’s alarm wailed I ran into the street. Oduya was nearest. He lay motionless, limbs twisted at unnatural angles like those of a discarded doll. Blood had pooled around his head, glistening blackly under the streetlights as it mingled with rain. The slit of one eye stared unseeing at the rough tarmac, and as I knelt by him I could see that the shape of his skull was wrong. There was an utter stillness about him, an obscene contrast to the activist’s energy and charisma. It was that as much as his injuries that told me there was nothing I could do.

Other people were appearing now, rushing into the road with exclamations of shock. Leaving Oduya, I hurried over to Mears. Covered with blood, he was sprawled near his flight case, the once shiny metal now battered and dented. He was alive but unconscious, breathing in wet, shallow gasps. One arm was obviously broken, but it was his lower body that had suffered the most. His right leg looked as though it had been caught up in a machine where the car wheel had gone over it, shards of white bone visible through the torn flesh and blood-soaked fabric.

I tried to throw off the numbing effects of shock and focus. Mears’s injuries were far more severe than Conrad’s had been, and I felt a sense of helplessness as I stared at the crushed leg. Blood was pumping from numerous wounds, too copious to simply staunch.

‘Let me see. I’m a nurse.’

Slipping a sports bag from her shoulder, a young woman knelt down beside Mears. Her face was intent as she took in his injuries.

‘Just hold on, love, ambulance is on its way,’ she told him. He gave no sign of hearing or understanding. She glanced at me, peeling off her thin paisley scarf. ‘Have you got a pen?’

My mind was beginning to function. Knowing what she had in mind, I took a pen from my pocket as she deftly wrapped her scarf around Mears’s thigh. He groaned as she tightened it, but it was more a physical reflex than awareness. Sliding the pen under the scarf, she began to turn it, twisting to increase the pressure. It was called a Spanish windlass, basic but effective at restricting the flow of blood. I’d seen one used before, but in very different circumstances to this.

‘Here, I’ll do that. I’m a doctor,’ I added, when she glanced at me uncertainly. ‘See if you can stop the rest of the bleeding.’

I kept hold of the pen, maintaining the pressure while the young woman delved in her sports bag for a towel. ‘It’s clean,’ she told me as she began binding it around a wound on Mears’s other leg. ‘I’d just finished a shift and was on my way to the gym. I didn’t see it happen, I only heard it. Was it a hit-and-run?’

I nodded, turning to look at where Oduya was lying. People had gathered round him, the glow from phone screens casting a blue-white illumination. Someone had covered his head with a coat, and sirens were already sounding in the distance.

‘Did you know him?’ the young woman asked, seeing me looking over.

‘Yes,’ I said.