DEAD GONE. Luca Veste
The great glass windows gave it the appearance of a huge greenhouse looked dull and lifeless in the muggy morning light.
Murphy and Rossi entered the tent that was being erected around the body. The treeline was thicker there, the ground, still not completely unfrozen from the harsh winter, crunching underneath his feet.
The click and whirr of photographs being taken was the only soundtrack to the scene. Murphy let his eyes be drawn to the girl. Early twenties he figured. Plain looking, dressed conservatively in black trousers and a red v-necked jumper. One earring, which meant either one was missing or was now a souvenir.
His money, as always, was on the latter. Always to the morbid thought first. To be fair, he was usually right.
Murphy side-stepped around the edge, carefully avoiding anything that looked important, and stood at the foot of the body, taking it in. She had the distinctive pallor of the dead; pale, the colour drained out of her as the blood stopped flowing. The clothes looked new, unworn, the creases on the jumper looking like they were from packaging, rather than wear.
She was spread-eagled, arms outstretched in a V, her legs doing the same. Carefully placed in the position. It looked unnatural, posed, which was probably the intention, Murphy thought. Her face was what drew his gaze. Half-lidded eyes, staring right through him. Blue, glazed, the last image they’d captured that of whoever had left her here. Her mouth was slightly parted, the top row of teeth on show in a final grimace. Ugly, red marks over her bare neck.
Dr Stuart Houghton, Stu to his friends, was crouched next to the girl. He’d been the lead pathologist in the city for as long as Murphy had been working. His grey hair was thinning, his posture stooped, as he stood up from his haunches. His short, squat stature only enhanced by the ever-growing paunch he was cultivating around his middle. He turned to look at Murphy.
‘Dr Houghton, what have we got?’
‘Took your time, Dave.’
Murphy shot his hands to his mouth. ‘Calling me Dave when you know I don’t like it? You never fail to shock. And it was only because I knew you’d be here already. What can you tell me?’
‘Are you running this one?’ Houghton said.
Murphy gazed at the pathologist and shrugged his shoulders. ‘I just do as I’m told.’
Houghton pursed his lips at him. ‘Well then, can’t tell you much at the moment,’ he said, gesturing towards the young woman. ‘This is how she was found, her arms and legs outstretched like she’s doing a star jump, only lying down. There’s no evidence around the body as far as we can tell so far, and she’s been dead around twelve hours. No ID, handbag, purse, nothing. Other than that you’ll have to wait for the post-mortem. We’re moving her out now.’
‘Why suspicious then?’ Murphy asked, knowing the answer but wanting to piss off the doc a little more.
Houghton muttered something under his breath before continuing. ‘As you can no doubt already see, there’s bruises around her neck which indicate asphyxiation. First paramedic on the scene noticed them, and, in my opinion correctly, assumed it was better to call in the big boys.’
Murphy looked closer at the girl. Large bruises under her chin, turning darker as time passed. A large birthmark, or mole, the colour of strong coffee on the lower left side of her neck.
‘Did she die here?’
‘Not certain yet, but I’m almost positive she didn’t. No signs of struggle around the area. The grass is flattened only in the immediate vicinity of the body.’
‘Any other distinguishing features aside from the mole, I need to know about straight away. And let us know when the post-mortem is.’
Houghton nodded, and went back to work.
Murphy left the tent, Rossi trailing behind him. ‘We’ll take a statement from the witness and then we should try and find out who she is.’
Rossi nodded and set off towards the witness. Murphy began the process of removing his gloves and looking around the area, seeing a few familiar faces from older crime scenes about the place. He nodded and exchanged greetings with some of them.
No one stopped to talk to him.
He wasn’t surprised. He gave one last look at the finished tent, the uniforms walking around the area, looking under the bushes and scouring the ground.
Back to it.
2
Sunday 27th January 2013 – Day One
‘This is Eddie Bishop,’ Rossi said as she led the dog walker towards Murphy. He was a grey-haired man with a stooped posture, a little Jack Russell padding alongside him. Yellow, stained teeth grimaced back at Murphy, the man’s wrinkled hands gripping the lead tighter, as he kept the dog close by.
‘Just a couple of questions, Mr Bishop.’
‘Eddie is fine.’
‘Okay, Eddie,’ Murphy replied, noting the softness of the infamous Scouse accent. Softness which you only really heard from the older inhabitants of the city nowadays. ‘Do you walk this way often?’ he continued.
‘Twice a day, first thing in the morning, again in the evening.’
Murphy watched as Rossi wrote down the conversation in her notepad. ‘And the dog found the victim.’
Eddie’s face grew serious as he explained how he’d found the dog standing over the young woman. ‘Terrible shame. Will take me a long time to get over this, I’ll tell you that for nothing.’
‘And you didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary this morning. Anything at all?’ Murphy asked.
Eddie shook his head. ‘Same as always, just me and Floyd.’ he replied, gesturing at the dog.
Murphy finished up with Eddie, explaining the need for a formal statement and promising to keep him informed, knowing that would be highly unlikely.
‘Anything else?’ Murphy asked Rossi, as she finished writing the conversation down in her notepad.
‘There’s someone who keeps telling uniforms at the gate that he heard something. Might be an idea to check that out.’
‘Okay. We’ll do that now.’
Murphy stopped to take in the place. The park was big enough to get lost in, vast areas of green and small wooded areas surrounding it.
‘In the dark, you could become invisible in a place like this,’ Murphy said to Rossi as they neared the gates.
‘True. Perfect places for this type of thing. In and out, probably without being seen in the early hours,’ Rossi replied, stepping underneath the crime scene tape. ‘I’ll be coming to interview this witness with you, yeah? I mean, I guess I’m getting to partner up with you on this one?’
Murphy paused. ‘Let me see. We’ve worked together on and off for about two years, right?’
Rossi nodded her head up and down slowly.
‘Ever known me to choose to work with Brannon?’
She smiled and mocked a salute. ‘I’ll just go and get a new notepad from the car.’
Murphy watched as she walked towards her car parked over the road, her posture straight and assured. The trouser suit looked new.
‘Sir. Sir!’
Murphy stopped and turned. Sighed for effect. ‘What do you want, Brannon?’
DS Brannon stopped jogging and bent down with his hands on his knees, panting. ‘I … sorry …’ He brought himself up again. ‘I just wondered if there was anything I can do?’
‘Haven’t you already got something to do?’
‘I