Tania Carver: Cage of Bones

She pulled her car up to the crime-scene tape, flashing her warrant card again, silencing the nearest uniform’s entreaty to turn away. Just ducking under the tape, walking along the closed-off country road, her heels echoing, had been thrilling. The trees either side of the road seemed to bend in, beckoning her towards the crime scene.

She looked ahead. A 4x4 had ploughed into the banked up roadside, its left front side crumpled. Behind it, blue-suited CSIs stood and knelt in the road alongside uniforms. All attention directed downwards. She speeded up. Eager to rejoin her clan, immerse herself in that life once more. Lead them.

Then she stopped dead. Looked at them once more. Crouching. Kneeling. The body. There would be the body.

Her chest was gripped by a sudden fear; her arms began to shake. Her feet wouldn’t move forward. She wanted to turn, run back to her car, put herself on the other side of the tape once more. Forget about it. Hide herself away.

Marina was right. She had said this would happen.

Marina. Rose closed her eyes, controlled her breathing. Nothing that woman or her bastard boyfriend had to say was of any relevance to her. She would prove them wrong. Show them that she was strong enough to return, cool-headed and unafraid of anything the job could throw at her. She would show them.

The shaking subsided. Her breathing returned to normal. She flexed her fingers, regaining control of her body, willing it. Yes. She would show them.

She started walking again, the viaduct behind her, the leaves on the trees slowly moving, rubbing together, like jazz brushes over drum skins. She moved slowly at first, then with purpose. She reached the gathering of uniforms and blue suits. Held up her warrant card.

‘DS Martin,’ she said, slightly too loudly, ensuring they all saw her ID. She cleared her throat. ‘What have we got here?’

A plain-suited man she hadn’t spotted stood upright. He crossed towards her. ‘Hello, Rose,’ he said. ‘Good to see you.’ He stretched out his hand for her to shake. She took it.

Her superior officer. Acting DCI Brian Glass.

Glass offered her a smile. A small one, as if rationed. A quick flicker across his lips, then gone. Back to business.

She knew him by reputation. A no-nonsense, by-the-book copper. Always well turned out, but not flashily so. Respectably suited, as if he dressed for court or cameras. Hair short and tidy but not severe, greying at the temples. Methodical, diligent, got results by hard work. Straight-backed, well-built; his aftershave could have been Eau D’Alpha Male. Tanned, healthy-looking. Very tanned, in fact, thought Rose. Not just a copper’s copper, but a copper copper.

She smiled inwardly at that thought. Noticed his eyes make a quick detour to her breasts. Smiling inwardly once more, she pushed them further out in as unconscious a way as possible. She knew what her weapons were. Wasn’t above deploying them strategically.

Another smile flashed across his lips. Appreciative, this time. And in that instant Rose knew that this was her case. She could ask of him anything that she wanted. And get it. Because underneath that straight exterior, he was just another bloke.

She had him. Right where she wanted him. Maybe not immediately, but she could work on him. And that work wouldn’t go unrewarded.

Yes. This was going to be a good case.

Phil walked away from the group, put his phone to his ear.

‘Phil? Just a quick call. About Josephina. Wondering what time you’ll be picking her up.’

He knew the voice straight away. Don Brennan, his adoptive father.

‘Hi, Don.’

Don Brennan picked up on the tone of Phil’s voice. ‘Sorry, you busy? This a bad time?’

Phil looked around. Orders given, his team were all moving away from him. He put his head down, covered the mouthpiece. ‘Kind of.’

Don’s voice changed immediately. ‘What’s happened?’

Don was an ex-copper. Responsible for Phil’s upbringing and for Phil’s career choice. He had also found it difficult to let go. Phil could understand that and tried to keep him informed as much as possible. When he could. He often joked with him, said that telling him about his day at work made him feel like the head of the CIA giving security briefings to a former US president.

Phil had suggested Don apply to work in the cold-case unit, but Don hadn’t been interested, said it wasn’t real police work, just an approximation of it. Something to appease the old-timers with. Give them a pat on the head and a sticker. Phil felt sure he would change his mind at some point.

Phil hesitated before speaking. He didn’t want to say too much about an ongoing investigation, but he also didn’t want to patronise the man he regarded as his father.

‘Someone been murdered?’

‘Wish it was that simple. I’m down on East Hill. We’ve found a child. It’s… not good.’

‘Abused?’

‘Probably. But alive. In the cellar of a house. In a cage.’ Phil expected Don to ask further questions but he was greeted with silence.

‘You there?’

‘Yes, yes… I’m still here. In a cage, you say?’ There was now no vestige whatsoever of the doting grandfather in Don’s voice. He was back in the day, back on the force. ‘What kind of cage?’

Again Phil hesitated before speaking. ‘It’s… bone. A cage made of bones.’

Phil heard nothing but the taut, static hum of silence.

‘Listen, Don, I’ll have to call you back later. Are you OK with Josephina for a while? I don’t know how long we’ll be with this.’

‘Yes, yes, fine… ’ Don sounded distracted. ‘You just… just call whenever.’

‘Will do.’ Phil looked at his watch, at the house by the allotments. ‘Look, I’ve got to go. I’ll give you a ring later, OK?’

Don said that was OK and Phil broke the connection.

His father had sounded strange, but Phil didn’t have time to dwell on that now. He looked at the house once more. Made his way towards it.

Don Brennan was in the kitchen. Sitting at the table. He replaced the phone, sat staring at it. His hand absently rubbing the stubble on his chin.

A cage… made of bones…

He heard sounds from the living room. A cheerful children’s song being sung on the TV. His wife Eileen talking to Josephina. And Josephina herself answering, her phrasing still unformed, just enjoying the sounds she could make, the novelty of communication. Laughing like all life had to offer was good.

A cage… made of bones…

He didn’t know how long he sat there, lost in his own thoughts, memories, but gradually became aware of a shadow standing before him, blotting out the light coming in from the garden.

‘What’s the matter? You all right?’

He looked up. Eileen. She read his eyes. Knew something wasn’t right. Sat down next to him. Behind them, the TV continued to play cheerfully.

‘What’s happened?’

He sighed. ‘Just spoke to Phil. He’s at a house down on East Hill.’ He fell silent, unsure how to say the next words.

‘And?’ Eileen, eager for news, even if it was bad.

‘There was a cage in there. With a child in. A cage of bones… ’

Eileen’s hand went to her mouth. ‘Oh my God… oh no… ’

They sat there, not speaking, not moving, while garden sunlight cast shadows round them and a contented child played in the next room, unaware that the world could ever be a bad place.

‘Where’s the body?’ Rose Martin said, trying not to look at the ground.

Glass looked round, back to Rose. ‘Taken away. I didn’t think you needed to see it. Very nasty.’

A flame of anger flared inside her. He didn’t think she needed to see it? He didn’t? She took a moment, composed herself. It was probably the right thing, she thought. She didn’t need to see a body, not her first day back. And she could hardly have refused if it had been there. Instant loss of respect. She waited until the anger subsided before speaking. ‘Four-by-fours tend to do that,’ she said.