Mark Sennen - Tell Tale - A DI Charlotte Savage Novel

‘It’s a strange position,’ Savage said. ‘Whatever the killer meant by posing her like that is beyond me. If she was posed.’

‘I can’t see how she fell with the arm behind her head,’ Layton said. He gestured at the trees and the undergrowth. ‘It would take some effort to force it into that position. I don’t think it could have happened by accident.’

Savage noticed the scratches Layton had mentioned. They were shallow enough to have been caused by brambles or cat’s claws or fingernails. They certainly weren’t terminal. Her eyes followed the outstretched leg from the toe up to the thigh to the dark triangle of pubic hair.

‘Any sign of sexual assault?’

‘No.’ Layton shook his head. ‘Nothing I can see from an external examination. Small blessing that it is.’

Savage moved her attention to where the woodland encroached on the circle of light. There were no paths and the scrub was dense. Layton was right, Ana couldn’t have run fast enough to cause her limbs to twist round in the way they lay. Yet the scratches suggested she had been running. Savage tried to imagine her last moments. How long had Ana been stumbling around the woodland naked? Had she managed to avoid the killer for hours and then somehow come across him again? She’d fallen and the killer had pounced on her. As his hands had closed around her delicate neck she’d screamed and thrashed. The killer had hit her and then pinned her leg with his body. In the struggle her arm had been twisted behind her neck. Maybe the killer had used his forearm to crush the girl’s windpipe while the other hand held her arm. And yet, Savage reminded herself, none of that had happened here. If Layton was correct the body had been dumped recently. It was even possible Ana had been alive as the teams had searched for her that very morning.

‘Any sign of which way the killer came?’

‘No,’ Layton said. The CSI sighed. ‘In fact I can’t find any meaningful footprints. That could be because he – or she – came up the drainage ditch. I’m thinking of damming the ditch and draining the water to see if I can find any footprints. The only other conclusion would be that she’d flown here by magic, right?’

Savage nodded. ‘Where’s Nesbit got to? The sooner we can get the time of death the better.’

‘On his way,’ Layton said. He turned and padded back towards the body to join the other CSIs. Savage stood for a moment and then made her way down the avenue of lights back to the perimeter and from there to the car park. She stood next to her car and gazed across the ink-black water, where pinpricks of starlight speckled the surface. After dark, there was no reason for anybody to come here, but in the day Fernworthy Reservoir was a popular place. There would be families picnicking, fishermen fishing, walkers and mountain bikers exploring the woodland. It was inconceivable Ana had been attacked anywhere near here in the daytime – or even been moved here – without somebody noticing. Unless, as Layton had suggested, magic was involved.

Savage stood next to the mobile incident room van and watched Dr Andrew Nesbit, the pathologist, climb out of his car in the gloom. He put his black bag on top of the car and began to put on a protective suit, pulling the outfit up over a tweed jacket and tie. She guessed he’d be unimpressed with John Layton’s hypothesis concerning magic. The methodical way he put on the suit, gloves, hat and mask said it all. When it came to performing his job, scientific method was everything. There was no room for spirituality. His gangly form had been compared by many to a spider, but Savage wondered if a robot might be a more apposite choice. His matchstick-like limbs moved efficiently to ensure the gear went on with the minimum of fuss, although Savage was surprised when he performed a small flourish as he snapped the latex gloves in place. Perhaps the pathologist didn’t realise anybody was watching.

‘Charlotte,’ Nesbit said, as he walked over to the van. He looked up at the clear sky above, and as he did so, starlight glinted on his half-moon glasses. ‘Beautiful evening. I must admit I don’t get up on the moor as much as I’d like. Then again, I don’t get anywhere as much as I’d like these days. And to be honest, you guys don’t help. Catching them, Charlotte, that’s the thing, hey?’

‘We do try, you know?’ Savage gestured towards the woodland. ‘Sometimes we need help though.’

‘She’s in there, then?’ Nesbit followed Savage’s gaze. ‘Not in the lake?’

‘No, but it was an easy mistake to make. Her clothes were found by the water’s edge.’

‘And nobody thought to search the woodland just to make sure?’

Savage sighed. ‘Moot point. The entire area was searched but somehow they either missed the body or it wasn’t there.’

‘So the clothes were dumped first and then the killer returned with the body?’

‘I’m hoping you might be able to explain that.’ Savage pointed at the wood once more. ‘Shall we?’

As they reached the scene, Savage paused, and let Nesbit continue on his own to where Layton was bent over a nearby bush, torch in hand.

‘Finger tipped ten metres all around and found nothing,’ the CSI said, straightening. ‘Not even a footprint. Got a pump coming to drain the ditch.’

Nesbit nodded and peered at the corpse of Anasztáz Róka, the girl’s flesh white as porcelain in the light from the floods. ‘I can see why you wanted me out here. She’s in a strange position, isn’t she? Let’s see …’

Nesbit dropped his bag down onto a nearby tree stump and then stepped over to the body. He moved his head in small movements, taking in every aspect. Then he reached down and took the girl’s lower leg in both hands. He flexed the leg back and forth and then mumbled to himself. Next, he reached for the arm and did the same.

‘Andrew?’ Savage said. ‘Anything interesting?’

‘Dislocated.’ Nesbit looked over at Savage and then at the ground surrounding the body. ‘The knee and the shoulder. Difficult to see how this happened here. A considerable amount of force must have been used and there’s no sign of a struggle. Am I right, John?’

‘Yes. As I said there’s nothing on the ground. No indentations, no scuffing, no footprints. There are some small marks to one side of the body, possibly made when she fell or was placed.’

‘There’s some bruising on the arms and legs and also the torso.’ Nesbit bent and examined the legs again. ‘Some marks on her ankles too. Indentations, as if something has been wrapped around them. Rope or chain maybe. The dislocations happened while she was alive. Painful as they would have been, they aren’t what killed her.’

‘Any idea what did?’ Savage said. ‘Strangulation, possibly?’

Nesbit bent to the body again. His fingers moved to the girl’s forehead and he lifted each eyelid in turn. Then he examined the neck, spidery fingers creeping across the pale skin.

‘No signs of petechiae in the eyes, no marks on the neck, no sign a ligature was used.’ Nesbit looked across at Savage and shook his head. ‘I’ll know more when I get her on the table back home.’

Savage forced herself to suppress a smile. She assumed Nesbit was talking about the mortuary rather than where he lived.

‘What about the time of death, anything you can tell me?’

‘If you give me a moment I’ll take a temperature reading, but the rigor stage has passed. Looking at the appearance of the body I would think something between twenty-four and forty-eight hours, no longer.’

‘The bag containing Ana’s clothing was found this morning. The fisherman who found the bag had been in the same spot two days before and swore it wasn’t there then. So we’re looking at some time in the night before last.’