Liz Mistry - Last Request

Driving down Legram’s Lane in her clapped-out Zafira, windscreen wipers going like the clappers, Nikki wondered if she had transferred her wellies from the pool car back to her own. She had a sinking feeling she hadn’t. Every so often a drop of water landed on her head and Nikki cursed. She really needed to get a new car, but the kids seemed to have an endless stream of requests for stuff that was never free. The car would have to wait. A new drip splatted on her head, rolled down her forehead and landed on her nose. She wiped it off with her sleeve. Maybe after she’d done her Inspector’s exam and got a promotion, she could treat herself to a car that didn’t leak – or maybe she’d have to repair the leaky tap in the bathroom and the thermostat on the central heating and double-glaze the kitchen window before its old wooden frame rotted and released the pane.

After taking a right at Thornton Road, Nikki joined the trail of commuters. A few hundred yards and she could already see the telltale police vehicles and crime scene vans. She abruptly took advantage of a gap in the traffic and bounced her car onto the opposite kerb. Ignoring the hoots from cars travelling in the opposite direction, she got out and turned her collar up against the rain. Typical! Weeks without a suspicious death and then you choose the day when it’s pissing down to reveal yourself. She jogged the last few hundred yards, hoping the crime scene tent would be up and she could get some shelter.

The Odeon building was all domed shapes and scaffolding. It dominated the landscape from City Park where it was situated next to the Alhambra. Work had recently begun on renovating the building with a view to making it a concert venue. Nikki hoped it would be a success. Bradford could do with the revenue a building like this could bring in. She had fond memories of visiting the cinema as a child with her mum and Anika and … but that was a thought for another day. She wasn’t going to go there.

The site behind the Odeon was a disused car park on Quebec Street facing a Cantonese restaurant that served the most delicious buffet Nikki had ever tasted and had occasional karaoke nights. Behind that was the Renault car dealership, outside which she’d parked her car. As she approached, she saw that the old car park and entry to Quebec Street was cordoned off with crime scene tape. Inside the taped area, a series of diggers and cement mixers had signed a deal with the weather to create a quagmire of khaki-coloured slime that looked as runny as slurry and smelled almost as bad.

‘There’s been a leakage,’ a drenched uniformed officer in a police-issue poncho informed her. Lowering his voice as if he feared a bevy of journos would appear in a puff of smoke to nab his quote, the officer added, ‘Sewage.’

You don’t say? Nikki took the proffered clipboard, signed herself into the crime scene and ducked under the tape. There were no stepping stones and the crime scene officers were busy, so Nikki took a moment to survey the area. Towering above the machinery, the green cupolas of the Odeon surrounded by its protective framework looked angry against the hovering rainclouds. Uniformed officers were dotted round the cordon, chatting to passers-by and drinking coffee from takeaway cups. The crime scene van, back doors open, had parked inside the cordon, as close as possible to the site. A few builders in yellow hats and T-shirts and high-vis tabards hovered near the edges. One of the men was talking to a figure in white that Nikki assumed to be Gracie Fells, the crime scene boss. She’d just decided that there was no option but for her to brave the swamp and join them when a hand on her shoulder made her jump. Shrugging it off, she swung round, a sharp retort on her lips. It was Detective Constable Sajid Malik. ‘Fuck’s sake. What you playing at?’

She glared up at the six-foot-two officer, who held his palms up in a placating gesture. Dark gelled hair was splattered across his forehead, with rain pouring down his aquiline nose and dripping off the end. Not right that even in the pissing rain he could look so bloody handsome. Pity he knew it too.

‘Sorry, Nik. Thought you heard me approach.’

Nikki doubted that was true. Saj was nothing if not an annoying little, or rather, big shit who would take great delight in making her jump. But now wasn’t the time to address that. ‘What we got?’

‘Not sure, think the builders found summat.’

‘Duh, you don’t say?’ Nikki belted him sharply on the arm. ‘For God’s sake get a move on, Saj. Let’s see what we got.’

With a quick glance down at her shiny DMs, Nikki stepped into the slurry, ignoring the grin that the DC sent in her direction. Trust him to have his wellies with him. Maybe she’d just have to make sure she splashed a bit of muck on the trousers of his too-bloody-suave suit as she traipsed to the scene. The sludge was like walking through quicksand. Not that Nikki had ever walked through quicksand but, hey – she had an imagination, didn’t she? The rain dribbled down the back of her neck and she wished she’d had the foresight to grab her parka before she left home. Sajid of course was in an ultra-smart raincoat – probably Armani as opposed to her Primani.

Shoving her fists into the pockets of her jacket, she squelched forward, Sajid following behind, like they were on a bloody bear hunt or something. Nikki saw that at last they’d managed to erect a tent. God only knew how that was going to stay upright in this weather. On reaching it, Nikki stuck her head in. ‘Boiler suits? One small, one extra-extra-large with a doubly big hood for Sajid’s over-inflated head.’

Gracie laughed and gestured to a lidded plastic box that stood by the tent flap. ‘Help yourself. Not that I think it’ll do any good. Doubt we’ll find owt forensically usable in this weather. Bloody crime scene nightmare, this is. Body’s in that hole there.’

The hole was about four foot by four – a little shorter than a grave and a little wider. Rivulets of mucky water seemed to be forging into the hole from all directions. That would be a problem for the crime scene techs. A criss-cross of muddy boot prints were rapidly being filled by the rivulets pouring towards the hole.

Gracie grimaced. ‘It’s on a slope – gonna be a nightmare to contain the water. We’ll need to keep everything we drain just in case there’s any evidence. Bloody weather!’

Nikki felt something soft slap her back and turned to see Sajid had thrown a suit to her. ‘Hobbit size – just for you.’

‘Yeah, Troll size for you then or Orc – whichever’s the biggest and ugliest.’

Even before they’d managed to struggle into their suits, Nikki’s was damp with mucky streaks all over the legs. A quick glance told her that, as expected, Sajid had managed to get his on over his dirty wellies and still had only a little bit of muck around the ankles. The man was a bloody contortionist. How the hell could he do that?

As Nikki took a couple of steps towards the hole, Gracie grabbed her arm. ‘It’s slippy. We’re not sure if the sides are going to hold. Don’t get too close.’

Heeding her warning, Nikki stood her ground, but leaned forward and peered into the rapidly filling cavity. Inside she could see the telltale shape of a skull and what might have been an arm, sticking out. ‘It’s a skeleton.’

‘Nobody tell you that? The bloke who found it did say that when he phoned it in.’

Nikki wasn’t surprised that a key detail like that hadn’t made its way to her ears. ‘Who’ve you called?’

‘Langley Campbell’s on his way.’

Beside her, Nikki sensed Sajid tense and then a voice said, ‘No, he’s not, he’s here.’

Nikki turned around to see the pathologist shimmy through the opening, already wearing a Tyvek suit and carrying his bag of tools. Sajid shuffled his feet and edged behind Nikki, avoiding Langley. Ignoring Sajid’s rudeness, Nikki smiled at the pathologist. ‘Don’t think this’ll be yours for long, Langley. It’s a skeleton and it looks like it’s been there for ages. What do you think?’