Michael Wood - The Hangman’s Hold

Valerie slapped the newspaper down in front of Matilda. She leaned forward, refusing to pick it up, as if it was covered with some kind of flesh-eating bacteria. The bottom of the front page said the story was continued on page five. Matilda couldn’t resist. She opened the paper and continued reading.

‘Who the hell leaked all this?’ Valerie fumed. ‘Murder hasn’t been confirmed yet, and how did they know he was a paedophile? And where did this execution part come from?’

‘I have no idea,’ Matilda said, reading the rest of the story. ‘Is this true?’

‘What?’

‘This other story at the bottom. Are we getting a Major Crimes Unit?’

‘It’s being mooted.’

‘Why? It’s not been a year since the Murder Room was abolished.’

‘We have twenty-six unsolved murders on our books at present. We need a team whose sole purpose is major crimes and cold cases. Look, we’re deviating from the point. Who leaked this?’

‘I don’t know. I will find out though, trust me.’

‘When you do, I want them handed over to me,’ she said. Her wrinkled face was red with fury. ‘I will not have any officers on my force spilling information to the press for the price of a few pints.’

As Matilda left the room she started thinking of the new faces she’d seen around the station lately. When the Murder Investigation Team was up and running, she had her own small team of faithful, dedicated officers – Sian, Aaron, Rory and Scott. When it closed and they merged with CID, she had welcomed Faith and Christian into her fold. Now there was Kesinka Rani and Ranjeet Deshwal, who she didn’t know at all. And every time she saw a uniformed officer it seemed to be a different face. Then there were a whole new bunch in the forensic team at Brian Appleby’s house. It was a fact of life that things changed, people moved on, and new ones arrived. Matilda wasn’t well known for allowing many people into her confidence. For the sake of her own sanity, she would need to adapt, trust, and bond. The very thought filled her with dread.

Doctor Simon Browes was a man who always had a smile on his face and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Even during the more disturbing aspects of his job. For a forensic pathologist, he was jovial, sprightly, and full of life. At thirty-five, he was younger than Adele Kean, and he oozed confidence. There wasn’t anything special in his appearance. He didn’t have film-star good looks, a chiselled jawline or a rippling torso, but his charm made him very attractive to the opposite sex.

Usually working in Nottingham, Simon had received the call to fill in for Adele and arrived in the steel city in record time. He was dedicated to his job and would drop anything if necessary, much to the consternation of his wife and three children.

Lucy Dauman greeted him in the pathology suite and showed him into Adele’s impossibly tiny and cluttered office. Lucy had cleared some space on the desk for him to use to write up his reports and had found him a clean mug with no chips or cracks.

‘So, Victoria has headed for pastures new?’ he asked, taking off his duffel coat and looking around for a hook. He draped it over the back of his chair.

‘Yes. Stockport. I think she has family there.’

‘And what about you?’

‘What about me?’ Lucy asked with a frown.

‘What’s your story?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Everyone has a story,’ he said, leaning against the desk and folding his arms. At six-foot one he towered over the five-foot five technical assistant. His steely glare was bewitching.

‘I don’t.’ She blushed, tucking her blonde hair behind her ears. ‘I’m twenty-six, I live with my sister, have a cat called Odie and student debts that would make Greece look well managed.’

Simon smiled. ‘Single?’

‘Ye-es,’ she said slowly. She had already clocked his wedding ring and wondered where this conversation was going. She didn’t want there to be any awkwardness, particularly in such a confined space.

The door to the autopsy suite was pulled open and Matilda Darke entered the room.

‘Ah, DCI Darke is here,’ Lucy said, quickly. ‘Let me introduce you.’

Unfortunately, Lucy didn’t get a chance. She was about to open her mouth to speak when Simon overtook her and approached Matilda with large strides, holding his hand out for her to shake.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Darke, great name for a detective, pleasure to meet you finally,’ he said with a Cheshire cat smile.

Matilda shook his hand. ‘Likewise,’ she said. ‘You are?’

‘Sorry, Simon Browes, forensic pathologist. I believe I’m replacing Adele Kean on this particular case. She has a personal connection, I’ve been informed.’

‘Well, she—’

Simon held up his hands. ‘You don’t need to tell me, none of my business.’ He clapped his hands together. ‘Shall we begin? I’ll go and scrub up. Will you be joining us, DCI Darke?’

Dressed in ill-fitting green theatre scrubs, apron, gloves, wellington boots, hat and face mask, Matilda stepped carefully through the footbath and into the small and dimly lit post-mortem suite.

There was one fixed table in the centre of the room. On it lay Brian Appleby covered in a white sheet. Four other people stood nearby – Simon Browes, Lucy Dauman, and two others who looked identical in their scrubs. One was a Forensic Imaging Specialist, to photograph the post-mortem at every stage; the other was the Crime Scene Manager, there to collect trace evidence. Under their protective layers, Matilda couldn’t tell who was who.

In the corner, was a brightly lit anteroom known as the SOCO room. This was where the evidence was passed through to a waiting detective constable. In this case, Faith had made the journey from the police station. Her expression showed that she wasn’t happy about being here, but at least there was a wall of glass between her and the gruesome act of an autopsy.

‘What did the results of the digital autopsy show?’ Matilda asked.

‘We haven’t done one,’ Lucy said.

‘Why not?’

‘I was told this was death by hanging,’ Simon said.

‘It is.’

‘Then we don’t need a digital autopsy. The majority of what we need to know is external. As for internal, bruising won’t show up on the scans. It will save time and money for me to perform a straight invasive post-mortem.’

‘What about the organs?’ Matilda asked.

‘What about them?’ he asked, getting slightly irate at the delay.

‘Don’t we need to do a digital autopsy to see their condition?’

‘As far as I have been made aware, there are no gunshot or stab wounds. We’re not looking for the trajectory of a bullet or a snapped-off point of a knife. May I begin?’

‘By all means,’ Matilda said, reluctantly stepping back so as not to get in the way. She doubted if radiologist Claire Alexander would be happy.

Lucy removed the sheet and was presented with a body bag lying on the table. She broke the lock and opened the bag revealing a pale Brian Appleby inside.

Matilda angled her head to one side and studied Brian’s face. She could understand why Adele had been attracted to him. He had thick, dark brown hair, a firm jawline, smooth skin and just the hint of grey in his stubble, giving him a distinguished look. Matilda had to remind herself this man had sexually assaulted three young girls. There could even have been more. He had used his charms to convince Adele he was an upstanding member of the community, just unlucky in love. What did he need to do to win over a fifteen-year-old girl?

‘Did you hear me?’

Matilda looked up to see all eyes on her. ‘Sorry?’

‘DCI Darke, if you’re not comfortable viewing a post-mortem you don’t have to stay,’ Simon admonished.