Reprobates Read online

  Vicky shivered.

  ‘So “doubling up” I guess isn’t an approved practice?’ asked Dylan.

  ‘I used my initiative,’ he said tapping his head. ‘She was a bit of alright was Kirsty Gallagher. Didn’t have a mark on her.’ As he spoke he put on a green plastic apron and plucked two disposable gloves from a box, ‘Sorry, I hope you don’t mind if I continue.’ He didn’t wait for an answer but continued with one hand resting on the corpse’s thigh. ‘I must get this one back in the fridge.’

  Dylan looked across at Vicky. ‘How did you manage to move Alfie with your rheumatoid... condition?’ Vicky asked.

  ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I used the hydraulic trolley. I couldn’t do this job if it wasn’t for that.’

  Dylan turned to PC Robinson. ‘Take a detailed statement from Mr Harper will you and I mean everything he can tell you. Don’t touch anything until SOCO, CSI, whatever they’re calling themselves these days, arrives and have done their bit. When Mr Fisher has a minute get him to call me will you. I want a word.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ‘We’ll need both of their prints and DNA for elimination purposes.’

  ‘Understood,’ she said, turning to Derek Harper as she flipped her pocketbook open and poised her pen over a clean page.

  Dylan guided Vicky away by her elbow. ‘Look at the mortuary register. Take down the details of when and where Ms Gallagher was brought in from and by whom, next of kin, etcetera. I want as much detail as there is.’

  ‘He looks like an undertaker, speaks quietly like one but some of his comments bother me,’ she said, pulling a face at Dylan.

  ‘I’ll be having a word with his boss. For now, we need to make sure Kirsty Gallagher is nowhere in this building. All the fridges will need checking and I want to know what’s exactly wrong with fridge number thirteen. I also want to know what the normal practice is if the fridges are full and should he have recorded any decisions he made whilst he was in charge?’

  ‘Would all the bodies in the fridges be naked and frozen?’ Vicky said. Aware once again of the smell of formaldehyde she held her stomach as it did a somersault.

  Dylan nodded.

  Tilting her head back Vicky fanned herself with her pocketbook. ‘Any chance of lifting any marks or fibres from Old Alfie’s body? Because whoever took Kirsty Gallagher would have had to lift the guy off her, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘A possibility.’ Dylan said. He scratched his chin. ‘Anything’s worth a try. No doubt we will find Derek Harper’s dabs there.’

  ‘Mortuary attendants don’t always wear gloves. Or at least this one doesn’t. You’d think they would, wouldn’t you?’ she said, as Dylan moved towards a dissecting table.

  ‘Had you noticed these marks that could be associated with something being dragged?’ Dylan pointed to the floor.

  Vicky shook her head. ‘How could I? I was watching him,’ she said. Her eyes went back to Derek Harper who was looking in their direction.

  ‘I’ll get CSI to check it out.’

  ‘Crime Scene Investigators. It’s a lot easier to call them SOCO.’

  ‘Well that’s TV for you. Let’s find out as much as we can about Ms Gallagher. We will need to do an in-depth intelligence check on Harper as well. CSI should be here any time. Then we can get things moving in respect of the search. Make sure they check the point of entry and exit to confirm a break-in and see if there is anything else there that suggests the body was removed via the window.’

  ‘Don’t you think it would take more than one person to get her out of that window?’

  ‘I’d think so. Or someone strong.’

  ‘You’d have thought whoever planned to take her would have considered that, wouldn’t you? I’m guessing she didn’t weigh that much. That poor woman, she’s just died, she’s stripped by him presumably, then no sooner as she is she left in the fridge some frozen, naked old man is put on top of her. That’s fucking sick by anyone’s standards.’

  ‘He’s definitely not reminiscent of the genuine, sincere person that we usually meet at mortuaries, is he?’ asked Dylan. Control Room called Dylan on his personal radio. Dylan turned and walked a few steps to answer.

  ‘Just to inform you that Sergeant Megnicks is at Fishpond Lock on the canal banking, first left turn after the Harrowfield Building Society building on Watergate Road. A full set of men’s clothing has been found abandoned on the towpath. Underwater search team has been requested. She says she will liaise with you there.’

  ‘Noted, keep me updated.’

  ‘Will do, sir.’

  ***

  Karen Ebdon the Crime Scene Supervisor arrived with their equipment; Louisa Edwards in tow. She examined the open window.

  ‘It’s been forced from the outside,’ she said in a quiet voice as they watched some minute fibres being lifted expeditiously from the windowsill by Louisa. She found fresh glove marks on the glass pane.

  The fridges were checked for the missing body but without gain.

  ‘All the fridges are in use. Kirsty Gallagher was brought to the mortuary by ambulance after being found dead at her home address,’ PC Robinson said. ‘No obvious visual injuries but thirty-year-olds don’t suddenly drop dead, do they?’

  ‘Who dealt with the initial incident?’ Dylan asked.

  ‘I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Was it a uniform job?’

  ‘I don’t have that information to hand, sir.’

  Dylan was thoughtful. He hadn’t heard that CID had been involved, so that in itself was suspicious, yet there didn’t appear to be an obvious cause of death. Had someone in his office attended and not informed him? He could feel the adrenalin pumping through his veins.

  ‘Who was night detective Thursday night into Friday morning, Vicky?’ Dylan called.

  ‘Ned,’ she shouted back.

  ‘That’d be Detective Constable Duncan Granger to you, PC Robinson,’ he said.

  ‘The address we have for Kirsty Gallagher is 14, Bankfield Terrace, Harrowfield, sir,’ she said.

  Dylan knew the Boothtown area well. The houses were back-to-back, one bedroom, terrace properties.

  ‘Did she live alone?’

  ‘That, I don’t know, sir.’

  ‘Who called the ambulance, do we know?’

  PC Robinson shook her head. ‘Vicky? Come on we’ve another job to go to,’ Dylan said, scribbling a note in his pocket book. ‘Control Room,’ he said over the airways. ‘I want a thorough search of the immediate vicinity of the mortuary and the seizure of any CCTV in the area.’

  PC Robinson excused herself to speak to the CSI Supervisor. Vicky joined Dylan.

  ‘Well I’ve dealt with funeral directors selling family flowers on market stalls, even crematorium attendants removing the brass handles from coffins and re-selling them, but this beats the lot...’

  ‘I once charged someone with necrophilia,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Did you?’ Vicky asked. PC Robinson looked across at her in a peculiar manner. ‘Is nothing sacred?’ Vicky said in a much quieter voice.

  ‘It would appear not,’ said Dylan casting a glance across at Derek Harper’s sorry looking face. ‘Why do you think people choose cremation rather than burial these days?’ he asked.

  ‘Well, personally I’m claustrophobic and hate rodents so I can’t stand the thought of being put in a box and buried six foot under for little animals to nibble away at me.’

  ‘Mmm... me neither,’ he said barely moving his lips. ‘Come on, we’ve got enquiries to make and I need some coffee,’ he said steering her out of the door.

  ‘By Christ, get your priorities right, why don’t you?’

  ‘I intend to,’ he said giving her a lopsided grin. ‘Where the hell is Kirsty Gallagher and who would take her body from a bloody mortuary?’ he asked looking puzzled.

  ‘More’s the question, who would want to and why?’ asked Vicky curling her upper lip.

  ‘Operational Support Unit will do a thorough search for us here. We�
��ll call at the cafe on the way to the canal.’

  Vicky’s brows furrowed. ‘The canal?’

  ‘Clothing’s been found on the banking and the underwater search team are probably in the water, about now,’ he said looking at his watch, ‘checking for a body.’

  ‘Lovely,’ Vicky said flatly.

  ‘Come on. What other job would give you as much excitement as this on a Sunday morning?’ Dylan asked deeply breathing in a lungful of fresh air as they departed the mortuary.

  ‘Or, I could still be snuggled up in my nice warm pit,’ she said nuzzling into her sheepskin jacket collar.

  ‘A day away from work is a day wasted!’ Dylan said.

  ‘Is that what you tell Jen?’

  ‘I don’t know what you mean. Jen wants to go back to work and I’m supporting her,’ he said.

  ‘So, when’s her first day back then?’

  ‘Tomorrow. You know what she’s like. She’s got me all organised. I’m to take Maisy to the childminder’s.’

  Vicky raised her eyebrows at him.

  ‘Well unless this is a runner…’ He stopped and looked at her hesitantly. ‘That might be a problem. But it’ll work out,’ he said, shrugging his shoulders. ‘She’ll have a back-up plan for if I’m not there.’

  ‘Let’s hope so,’ Vicky said, with a look of apprehension.

  Chapter Three

  ‘Wherever Kirsty Gallagher’s body is, unless she’s refrigerated, it’s going to be decomposing and might hamper the interpretation of the post-mortem findings,’ Dylan said pensively as they waited for their coffee.

  ‘But it won’t change the value of the PM will it? A lot of countries embalm bodies as a matter of course before disposal, don’t they, making refrigeration unnecessary?’

  ‘Yes, but they’re usually buried within three days anyway, mainly because of the heat.’

  ‘The main purpose of embalming is sanitisation, presentation and preservation. Stems back to the ancient Egyptians’ beliefs that mummy’s empowered the soul after death which they believed would return to the preserved corpse,’ she said unwrapping a knife and fork from a cheap white serviette.

  ‘Hey, I’m impressed,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Don’t be, it’s a morbid fascination of mine,’ said Vicky indifferently as she picked up the salt and pepper pot and re-homed them on the table next to her side plate.

  ‘Reactions to death. That is something you need to be aware of when dealing with families of the bereaved.’

  ‘Well, if I was hoping for an uplifting sort of day – I guess I’m not going to get one,’ she said. With eyes raising up to the ceiling she breathed in deeply through her flared nostrils. ‘You superstitious?’ she asked, stifling a yawn.

  ‘No, not really. Why?’

  ‘They say everything comes in threes’ Vicky said, with menace.

  ‘And I think I’d rather have you hungover than thinking too deeply,’ he said.

  ***

  The cafe was quiet. Hot fat could be heard spitting from a large, cast iron frying pan that sat upon the old, black gas range in the corner. A yellow, gooey residue mixed with crusty baked bean sauce resided on an abandoned plate at the table next to them. Bacon and egg sandwiches, dipped in tomato juice and mugs of coffee was on their order, and they waited patiently. The break allowed them to gather their thoughts. The middle-aged man who sat at a neighbouring table wiped his plate with a wedge of fried bread that resembled a sponge. When he placed it in his mouth he put his forearms on the table, either side of his plate and sighed with deep satisfaction. He belched loudly after draining his pint pot. Vicky looked at him with distaste. ‘Dirty bastard,’ she said, turning as she did so towards the table covered in a red gingham vinyl tablecloth in the far corner.

  ‘Kettle calling pot comes to mind,’ said Dylan.

  ‘Touché,’ she said. Dylan’s eyes followed her gaze but the occupant of the table had her head bent and her face was obscured.

  ‘Don’t look now but I think that’s Jen’s friend Penny,’ she said. ‘Looks like she might be waiting for someone. She keeps looking at her watch.’

  ‘Good, in that case she won’t come over,’ Dylan said, leaning towards Vicky. The plates of food were put before them.

  ‘Brown or red?’ asked the waitress.

  ‘Both,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Enjoy,’ said the young waitress with a smiley, sing-song voice as she put the bottles of sauce on their table.

  ‘No worries there,’ he said to the young girl, nodding in Vicky’s direction as she tucked in.

  ‘What? I need something to line my stomach don’t I?’ she said.

  ***

  Not half an hour later with their stomachs full and strong coffee starting to kick in, Dylan turned off the car engine in the lay-by at Fishpond Lock.

  ‘The woman in the cafe?’ she said as they alighted.

  ‘Penny Sanderson?’

  ‘Maybe she was waiting for that guy who passed us just now, running across the car park, towards the cafe, with the flowers. I thought I recognised him.’

  ‘An ex of yours maybe?’ Dylan said.

  ‘He would have been history right sharp, if he had asked to meet me in a transport cafe and brought flowers from the garage.’

  ‘How do you know the flowers were from the garage?’

  ‘It’s the nearest place. You don’t need to be Einstein to work that one out.’

  ‘What do I always tell you? Never assume, Vicky, never assume.’

  ‘Hello,’ the uniformed sergeant called as Dylan and Vicky approached her. ‘It may be something, then again may be nothing sir, but we’ve a full set of abandoned men’s clothing here. Thought I’d better let you know about it, with you being on-call. The search team divers say it’s about ten foot deep here.’

  ‘No ID I suppose?’

  ‘No such luck. The men’s clothing rules out the body from the mortuary, I guess?’ she said with a lopsided grin.

  ‘So, we’re looking for a streaker?’ Vicky said, apathetically scanning the canal path in both directions.

  Sergeant Megnicks studied Vicky with a poker face.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Vicky,’ Dylan growled, pausing to stare in her direction before addressing the pile of clothes at his feet. Bending down he could all but see his reflection in the handmade, size ten leather brogues. ‘Suggests to me maturity and wealth. What does it suggest to you, Vicky? ’ he asked, looking up with a raised quizzical brow.

  ‘Suicide, sir?’ she said.

  Dylan tutted and shook his head. ‘What’s the golden rule?’

  ‘Never assume,’ she said, thrusting her hands into her coat pockets.

  ‘Come on, think. Why would anyone take their clothes off and fold them so neatly if they intended to kill themselves?’ he asked, questioning himself as well as his detective. He stood very still and instinctively surveyed the surroundings with his experienced eye.

  Derelict factory buildings with broken windows and crumbling concrete bordered the opposite banking of the water, where he could indeed see a marker board indicating the ten foot depth. What would the dark waters and the Underwater Search Unit personnel tell him? They were already in their drysuits routinely searching.

  ‘You’re assuming he’s old and worth a bob or two because of his clothes,’ said Vicky.

  ‘Where is he?’ Dylan said studiously looking down in the water from the water’s edge.

  ‘There’s no sign of a struggle, so he’s one of two things. He’s either down there, or running around starkers. I’ve heard reports of that sort of thing in this area,’ she said.

  ‘Rather him than me,’ PS Megnicks grimaced. ‘Have you seen the colour of the water?’

  Suddenly there was a splash nearby. Vicky took one step closer to Dylan. The water separated, a diver’s head appeared, which initially looked like that of a seal. Instantly PS Megnicks was off in the direction of the commotion. She spoke with the diver and all went quiet as the diver
went back underwater. The rest looked on. A million scenarios came into Dylan’s head as he waited in silence.

  ‘Penny for them?’ asked Vicky, noticing how quiet he had become. ‘What a horrible job it must be to be a diver, unable to see anything and having to rely on a fumble around. I certainly wouldn’t want to swap my uniform for a wetsuit.’

  ‘What uniform?’ Dylan said looking her up and down.

  ‘Drysuit.’ Sergeant Megnicks said.

  Vicky looked at her with a scowl as she walked towards her.

  Dylan observed the divers, attached to their attendants on the banking – their communications lifeline. They continued to search quietly and methodically in a mesmerising arc formation.

  ‘I used to call them wetsuits too until I joined the unit. But I soon learned that a dry suit provides thermal insulation or a passive thermal protection to the wearer immersed in water,’ said Carey Megnicks.

  Vicky cocked her head to one side. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘The drysuit protects the whole human body except for the hands and feet. The main difference between wet and dry suits is that drysuits are made to stop water entering. This generally allows better insulation. Drysuits are more suitable for use in cold water. However, saying that they can be awfully uncomfortable in hot weather.’

  ‘I bet.’

  Before PS Megnicks had time to continue in her instruction, a diver, hand in the air, confirmed a find and they moved into the next phase of their well-practiced operation, to remove the body from the water to the canal side. A white waxy arm broke through the dark water and within minutes a naked corpse lay upon a sterile body sheet, on the canal banking in front of Dylan and Vicky.

  Dylan closely scanned the marble-looking deceased, his mind noting all that he surveyed. A hairless body with something attached to the nipples?

  ‘Well, he certainly had no intentions of coming back up,’ Vicky said pointing to the rope that was wrapped around the dead man’s ankles, tied to a concrete block. His hand clutched a swatch of grass that they could also see growing at the water’s edge.