Michael Wood - The Hangman’s Hold

Matilda stole a glance at Faith in the SOCO room who was hiding a smile. ‘I’m fine. I was … thinking.’

‘Well, have a think about this. Your man here was strangled before he was hanged.’

‘Really?’ she asked. ‘He didn’t die by hanging?’

‘He may well have been unconscious when he was finally strung up but if you look at the rope marks on his neck, they run horizontally.’ Simon beckoned her closer to the body. ‘As you can see, the rope was tied around his neck, but it’s not a firm mark at the back. I think he was subdued in a stranglehold, so the killer would have more control.’

‘I don’t understand,’ Matilda frowned, trying, but failing, to picture the scenario.

Simon let out a heavy sigh. ‘Imagine the killer standing behind you. He has his arm wrapped around your neck squeezing hard to render you unconscious, or on the cusp of passing out. He lets go. You fall to the floor, gasping for breath, and he throws the noose over your head and hangs you up with it. The rope cuts into your throat and goes up the side of your neck around the back of your ears. It’s a very slow and painful death.’

‘Right,’ was all Matilda could say. She changed her mind on what type of person could overpower someone of Brian Appleby’s build. They needn’t be stronger, taller, fitter; the element of surprise was more than enough.

‘Do you know the signs of ante-mortem hanging, DCI Darke?’ he asked.

‘The presence of ecchymosis around the ligature and the dribbling line of dried saliva down the front of his shirt,’ Matilda replied with a slight smile on her face.

‘Very good,’ he said, a slight condescending tone to his voice. ‘Not just a pretty face, DCI Darke,’ he added, for want of something better to say.

Or maybe I called Adele this morning and she told me what to look for.

‘Judging by the crime scene photographs, this is a partial hanging as his toes were found to be touching the floor. Is that correct?’

‘They were just touching the ground, yes.’

‘The weight of the head, arms and chest provide the fatal pressure on the neck. Mr Appleby was a well-built chap. His own muscle was his killer. I’m going to cut through the rope and leave the knot intact. I’m sure your Forensics are capable of tracing the rope and finding skin samples within the fibres.’

‘How long would he have taken to die?’ Matilda asked.

‘I’m surprised you don’t already know the answer to that, DCI Darke,’ he smiled at her through his face mask, his eyes twinkled. ‘It depends on how long he was struggling with his assailant. The usual time period for death by hanging is three to five minutes. He will have lost consciousness fairly quickly. However, when you’re dying, those few minutes can seem like an eternity.’

Dr Browes cut through the rope. ‘As I expected, a simple slip knot. A decent enough rope too, not too thick, not brittle. Your hangman wasn’t an opportunist. He, for argument’s sake let’s call him a he, knew the size of his victim and brought along the adequate tools required.’

‘Thirteen twists too,’ Matilda said, remembering Diana Black’s comment from Thursday morning. ‘A typical hangman’s noose, I believe.’ She was enjoying being smug.

Simon Browes ignored her. ‘I’m going to cut him open and take a look at his organs now. Not squeamish are you, DCI Darke?’

‘Not at all,’ she lied.

‘Ms Dauman?’

‘Of course not,’ another lie.

‘Are you all right now?’ Lucy Dauman asked as she stood over DCI Darke with a glass of water.

Matilda looked around her, wondering how she had got from the autopsy suite to Adele’s office.

‘Yes, I’m fine. It’s been years since I’ve collapsed at a post-mortem.’

‘I haven’t been doing this job long. I always think I’m going to faint. I get warm and feel sick, but I’ve managed to control myself so far.’ She smiled.

It wasn’t the sight of the scalpel cutting into the body, the smell coming from the internal organs or the sounds of ribs being broken: it was Dr Simon Browes’s haphazard manner and lack of respect for the man on his table. He ran the scalpel down Brian Appleby’s chest like he was opening a parcel from Amazon. He tore back the skin and cracked open the ribcage like a starving cannibal. The fact Matilda hadn’t eaten since first thing hadn’t helped either.

‘Have some more water, you still look a little flushed.’ Lucy handed Matilda the glass.

‘Is he always like that?’

‘I’ve no idea. Today’s the first time I’ve met him. He’s good at his job though, you can’t deny that.’

Matilda took another large slug of water and a deep breath. ‘Is the post-mortem complete?’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I’m guessing Dr Browes is waiting for me to do the post-autopsy briefing.’

‘He is.’

‘I hope he’s changed his clothes,’ she said, slowly getting up from the chair. ‘I don’t think I could stand the sight of any more blood today.’

By the time Matilda saw natural daylight she had been in the Medico-Legal Centre for over six hours. Faith had returned to the station, probably telling everyone how Matilda had fainted during a post-mortem. A DCI collapsing at the sight of blood would be comedy gold among the uniformed officers. They were just getting over the video Rory filmed on his mobile phone last year of Matilda being lifted over floodwater by a hunky fireman.

The post-autopsy briefing was conducted in the windowless family room. The heady smell of different fragrances of air freshener, coupled with Dr Simon Browes delighting in giving Matilda all the details in glorious technicolour, made her want to vomit all over his designer shirt and tight trousers.

In the end, he summed up what Matilda had already surmised: Brian Appleby died by strangulation. The blood and skin samples under his fingernails were evidence he struggled. Unfortunately, the samples belonged to him. He had pulled at the rope as it tightened around his neck and squeezed the life out of him.

As Matilda made her way, delicately, to the car park, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for Brian. Then she remembered who he was, how he had fooled Adele, and his victims. She felt sick. She needed something to eat.

A tentative knock on the glass door caused Matilda to look up from her cluttered desk.

‘Ma’am, can I have a word?’

‘Of course, Ranjeet, come on in.’

DC Ranjeet Deshwal had recently transferred from West Yorkshire Police. He was in his mid-twenties, slim with the shiniest black hair Matilda had ever seen. He wore rimless glasses and a stud in each ear. She wanted to ask him how he managed to get the knot in his tie so big but, when she looked at his neck, all she could picture was the lifeless body of Brian Appleby hanging from his ceiling.

‘DI Christian Brady is observing an interview,’ he began in a thick West Yorkshire accent. ‘He wanted me to tell you that three lads have been arrested in Gleadless for the assault on Alec Routledge. One of them has admitted it and landed his two mates in it too. They don’t know anything about Brian Appleby, though.’

‘I never thought they were linked. Thanks for telling me, Ranjeet.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘How are you settling into South Yorkshire Police?’ she asked as he was heading for the door.

He stopped in the doorway and turned around. Matilda was pretty sure his smile was fake. ‘I’m enjoying it. Great bunch of people.’ He nodded several times before leaving the office.

Matilda tried hard not to smile. A great bunch of people? Was that true? She looked through the window at the officers going about their duties. There was only Scott and Faith she knew by first name. The room was packed yet she didn’t know a single one of them. You’re to blame for that. Invite them out for a drink.