There was no body because there literally was no body. When Callanach walked into the warehouse, his eyes started watering immediately. A forensic technician handed him an anti-contamination suit, glasses and mask.
Tripp began talking as Callanach put on his gear.
‘The security guard who came on shift tonight was doing his rounds and smelled something bad. By the time he’d found the source, he was worried enough to call for help and got a mate over from the harbour master’s office. The two men opened the barrel and found a red-brown liquid.’
‘How is it possible that the smell is so strong from just one barrel?’ Callanach asked, gratefully adjusting the mask so it fit snuggly over his mouth and nose.
‘They panicked. There was a tangle of human hair caught in the top of the barrel where it had been sealed. They realised there was something nasty inside, one of them tried to grab the crow bar back out, only it was stuck under the rim. Pulled the whole lot over.’
‘Morons. Where are they?’ Callanach wasn’t in the mood to be sympathetic, however shocked the men were at their find.
‘With medics. They splashed the chemicals on their clothes and both need to go to hospital. Uniforms are with them taking statements. This way, sir.’ Tripp pointed to a metal walkway over a below-ground area. On the far side, the scene was what Callanach could only call carnage.
The liquid had spread across a huge area and technicians were trying to preserve what elements of the crime scene hadn’t been obliterated. An empty barrel was being lifted from the middle of the puddle and a photographer was capturing the details.
‘Can you identify the chemical?’ Callanach asked a man scooping up samples and writing labels on test-tubes.
‘Sodium hydroxide, most likely. Given how thoroughly it’s broken down the bones, I’d say it’s been watered down a bit. Makes the process faster and more effective. More commonly known as lye. Easy to get hold of in small quantities. You only have to provide identification if you’re buying bulk.’ Callanach watched him pick up an object with tweezers and hold it in the light for closer inspection.
‘What is it?’ Tripp asked.
The technician rotated it a few times before answering. ‘There’s some damage but I’m pretty sure it’s a human tooth. We’ll refer it to the forensic odontologist to be sure.’ He bagged the tooth and took it to the police officer who was logging evidence.
Callanach didn’t need to be told that finding the offender’s footprints was going to be impossible. The scene was a stinking, glutinous mess. He was more interested in the security guard.
Outside, the clean-up team had arrived to neutralise the environmental threat. Callanach saw the ambulance moving off and sprinted towards it, rushing into its path and making the driver swerve.
‘I don’t know what you’re doing, but we’re on our way to the hospital …’ the paramedic began.
‘Just stay put until I’ve spoken to those witnesses,’ Callanach shouted, holding up his badge. ‘Open the back.’ The door swung open to reveal two men in oxygen masks and blankets.
‘Security guard?’ he asked. The man on the right nodded.
‘Is there any CCTV on site?’ The man shook his head. ‘What about daytime security? Who was on duty before you?’
He removed his oxygen to speak. ‘No money for that, pal. They only bring us in at night to keep away the kids and druggies when it’s dark. I kept telling the company something would happen. Didn’t bloody listen.’ He began to cough and replaced his mask. Callanach stepped out of the ambulance and slammed the door.
‘Tripp, check every CCTV camera around the harbour area. Roads, car parks, private security systems. Find out where that barrel came from. I want a conference with the pathologist the second they’ve finished processing the scene.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Tripp said, scribbling in his notebook. ‘And I thought we’d do a foot search for abandoned trolleys.’ Callanach raised his eyebrows at the young constable. ‘He can’t have used his wheelie case this time. There must have been a trolley and I couldn’t see one in the building.’
‘You’re assuming it’s Jayne Magee’s body. There’s no evidence of that. This could be completely unrelated.’ Callanach was testing his constable as a means of testing himself. He’d felt it too, the sense that this was what they’d been waiting for, but it was completely different to the first body.
‘It just seems like he’s doing it again, getting rid of the body, destroying the evidence. What are the odds?’ Tripp asked.
‘All right. Get a couple of men searching for trolleys. Check with workers in the neighbouring buildings, see if anyone saw someone out of place. If it is our man, I’m not sure he’ll have blended in.’
The warehouse was typical of those used to store goods before shipping or inbound distribution. It had long since been stripped of the cranes that would have been situated outside but there were large doors for easy goods access, walkways on various levels and an office area with toilets and a staff room. Getting into the site wouldn’t have been taxing. The surrounding wire fence was easy to lift and several smashed windows offered access from which a fire door could be opened. Getting the barrel in would have been the issue. It couldn’t have been rolled for fear of spilling such dangerous cargo. But why the warehouse? The space was empty save for a few crates and long-since-retired machinery. It wasn’t a chance dumping. You’d have to know where to park, how to get in and the security detail’s hours. Callanach wished the crime scene hadn’t been so dramatically damaged. Any evidence they did recover was certain to be successfully challenged by the defence at a trial. He couldn’t shake the feeling that fate was doing everything it could to stall the investigation. The tipping of the barrel just added insult to injury. The press would be all over it. Sooner or later, a journalist would track down one of the security men and publish a tell-all, eyewitness account of the carnage on the warehouse floor. And all he could do was watch and wait. Taking a few last photos of the outside of the building, Callanach retreated to his office.
The station should have been quiet when he got back. The work that could be done overnight was being taken care of either at the crime scene or the labs. What he hadn’t expected was to see Detective Sergeant Lively holding court in the incident room, surrounded by just about every member of the team and a few faces he didn’t recognise. When Callanach walked in, the silence was as solid as a brick wall.
‘Is it her?’ Lively asked. Callanach wondered if taking the official line was better than sharing his own views. He opted for middle ground.
‘The victim has not been identified yet, although there is evidence that it was a human body in the barrel. The laboratory will be processing the remains tonight and trying to salvage what DNA is feasible. Until the forensic investigations are complete, speculation is unwise,’ Callanach said.
‘They found hair the same colour as Jayne Magee’s.’ Lively’s voice was high-pitched and his fists were clenched. Callanach wanted to stop the meeting and get him somewhere they could have a private conversation.
‘The hair colour cannot be confirmed because of the chemical. We’re not even sure that the victim is female. There’s nothing more to do tonight. I need everyone on this first thing tomorrow so go home, get some rest and be back for a detailed briefing at eight a.m.’
‘In the meantime it’s another night wasted when we should’ve been finding Jayne’s murderer. I’m not sitting around waiting for something to happen. There are people who can help.’
‘Detective Sergeant, you need to consider that this might not be Jayne Magee before you do anything,’ Callanach cautioned.
‘Oh, do I?’ Lively was too loud and too close to Callanach. Everyone else in the room was holding their breath. ‘Maybe, sir, if you hadn’t done that press conference goading the fuckin’ murderer to act, Jayne Magee wouldn’t be dead now. Perhaps it’s you who should be considering your position here.’
Callanach knew Lively was grieving but even so he was grossly out of order. In spite of his desire to vent some frustration by giving his DS the fight he wanted, losing control in front of the squad wasn’t worth the hassle it would cause. He took a step away.
‘Lower your voice when you speak to me, Sergeant. Like I said, get some rest. Perhaps tomorrow you’ll remember what chain of command means. If you’re still struggling with that in the morning, we’ll have another conversation about it.’ Callanach went to his office without looking back. The last thing the investigation needed was for emotions to be running any higher. He followed his own advice and went home.
The next day brought a 7 a.m. text alert to say that the pathologist would be available to see him at half past nine. Callanach was impressed. The forensics team had obviously worked through the night, although that meant the Chief would be frowning at the overtime figures again. A second text came through as he was scrambling eggs in preparation for what he assumed would be a long day with no lunch. He ignored the beeping and buttered his toast. If it was urgent he expected a phone call rather than a text. Before eight in the morning he should be able to get a peaceful meal in his own home.
He ate, glaring intermittently at his phone, before looking at the text. The sender was DS Lively. As tempting as it was to delete before opening, the need to find out what was happening prevailed. He hit the text icon. Lively was notifying him about a meeting between DCI Begbie and what had mysteriously been called ‘other interested parties re Jayne Magee’s murder’. Callanach felt a surge of irritation that the victim had been named before it was official, then forced himself to consider DS Lively’s perspective. It wasn’t a huge leap to think that the reverend’s remains were in the barrel.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said to the coffee cooling in front of him. ‘I don’t need this crap.’ Callanach’s first thought was that he’d begun thinking as well as speaking in English much sooner than he’d imagined. After his father’s death, his mother had insisted that they should use both languages throughout his childhood, but even so it had seemed like a huge hurdle to move away from a French-speaking country. His subconscious mind had apparently made the move more easily than his stomach. The thought that followed was how the things people said aloud were rarely lies when they didn’t realise they were talking. He reflected on how Jayne Magee’s abductor, likely turned murderer, had been overheard on the street by a cyclist. Callanach made a mental note to pull the cyclist’s statement out of the file once he got to work.
An hour later DS Salter was waiting in the corridor to accompany Callanach straight to the Chief. Ava was already there with a woman he hadn’t met before.
‘DI Luc Callanach, this is Dr Ailsa Lambert, Edinburgh’s chief forensic pathologist. I don’t think your paths have crossed yet.’ DCI Begbie did the formal introductions.
It was only when Ailsa Lambert stood up that Callanach realised how tiny she was. Less than five foot tall, he guessed, and stick thin. She craned her neck up to see his face better and stuck out her hand.
‘I was at the warehouse after you, I’m afraid. Caught me mid-autopsy, hence the delay. But Jonty Spurr spoke to me about you.’
Begbie coughed politely and motioned at Callanach to sit down. ‘Well, Ailsa, I thought we’d review both cases together. I know how busy you are but I prefer my teams to know what’s happening in each other’s camps in case we have to transfer officers between cases. Where would you like to start?’
‘Thank you, George.’ She smiled graciously, opening a folder on the tablet in her hand. ‘The baby case, I think. Awful tragedy. Both infants healthy other than the hypothermia that led to their deaths. I’ve spoken to the paediatrician who confirms the surviving child was also injury free. Apparently the baby is now doing well. I know you thought there’d been some mix up with the DNA, Ava, so I had the technicians double-check the results. Those came back the same again, so I asked for them to be reviewed by a professor I know. You were both wrong and right.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Ava said. ‘Was the blood a match for Lucy Costello’s DNA or not?’
‘It was, as far as the lab would normally cross-reference the markers. Usually they check between fifteen and twenty points of a person’s DNA and this gives an incredibly high level of certainty for positive DNA evidence. On closer study, they found four mutations called Single Nucleotide Polymorphisms. In plain terms, there were four almost imperceptible differences between the DNA on file for Lucy Costello and the blood found on the baby’s skin. This means that although the blood did not come from Lucy Costello, it could only have come from one other person. A monozygotic twin. She must be identical, or the DNA would have been distinguishable within the first set of tests.’
‘Lucy has a twin sister?’ Ava started texting as she spoke. Callanach knew he’d be doing the same – getting one of the detective constables to find a name and any accessible records. ‘But neither of the parents mentioned anything …’
‘Did you not see anything at the house?’ Begbie queried. ‘No family photos?’
‘We didn’t have a chance to go in,’ Ava replied. ‘Our suspect, Lucy, was at school so we went straight there. By the time the doctor confirmed she hadn’t given birth and the school backed up her alibi, we had no cause to enter the property.’
‘The parents didn’t mention a twin sister when we were with them. They must have had their suspicions that we were talking to the wrong daughter,’ Callanach said.
‘Has John Costello made a complaint yet, sir?’ Ava asked Begbie.
‘No,’ the DCI confirmed.
‘Lucy’s father more than suspected,’ Ava said, her face reddening, ‘he damned well knew. That was what all his posturing was about. I’ll find out which school she’s at before speaking to the parents again. Thanks, Ailsa. Do you mind if I scoot? I’ve got to get my team together.’
‘Off you go, dear,’ Dr Lambert said. ‘And give my best to your mother.’ The pathologist kissed her on each cheek before Ava ran for the door. Callanach wondered how small Edinburgh’s community of the great and good was, that the chief pathologist should be friends with a DI’s mother. No wonder Ava thought her team disliked her privileged upbringing.
‘Right then, Luc,’ Ailsa said, assuming the air of a matronly aunt and changing folders with a swipe across the glass. ‘The remains in the barrel. Definitely human. Fragments of the pelvis confirm that the subject was an adult female. The bones, or what pieces were left, were too badly decomposed and altered by the chemicals for DNA testing but the hair caught in the rim of the barrel belonged to your missing person, Jayne Magee. Not a great surprise, if your face is anything to go by.’
‘Sadly, it’s not,’ Callanach said. ‘How long did it take for the body to decompose?’
‘Our findings are less reliable than usual as most of the liquid seeped into the floor, but I’d say two days. The compound had been prepared to maximise the speed of dissolution. If whoever did this hadn’t added just the right amount of water, we might still have some soft tissue.’
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I’ll notify the family and prepare a press release. Thank you, Dr Lambert. I appreciate how quickly this has been processed.’
‘There was one interesting thing,’ she added. Callanach stopped packing away his notebook. ‘The teeth. They weren’t all present, not that we could find. The ones that were in the barrel are damaged but intact enough for us to have the forensic odontologist check them against Jayne Magee’s records. He’s certain they’re a match but we’ve only got teeth from the lower jaw. The upper teeth were either missing or completely dissolved.’
Callanach made notes as he considered what that meant. ‘How could the upper teeth have dissolved when the lower teeth were only slightly damaged?’
‘A good question,’ she said. ‘Not only that, but why would the teeth retrieved not have dissolved to the same extent as the bones, which was almost absolute?’
‘Do bones and teeth normally dissolve at the same rate?’ he asked.
‘Not exactly the same, but given how thorough he was with the chemicals I’d have thought they should have suffered more damage than they did. It’s a conundrum. We’re doing some tests to check the breakdown rate but that’s likely to take a few days. I’ll get back to you.’
Callanach left the pathologist and the Chief talking crime rates and politics. He had to speak to DS Lively first and he wasn’t looking forward to it. He didn’t have to go far to find him. Lively was sitting in Callanach’s office with a tweed-suited white-bearded gentleman Callanach didn’t recognise and another man in a clerical collar. Tripp was looking distinctly nervous by the door and had obviously been waiting for him.
‘I did say we should wait in a conference room. I’m so sorry …’ the constable said.
‘And I said that in the circumstances you wouldn’t mind,’ DS Lively interrupted. His red eyes and lank hair painted a picture of too little sleep and self-care. His voice was strained but he was keeping the volume and the language to more acceptable levels than their last encounter. Not for his benefit, Callanach thought. The men he’d brought with him commanded more respect than he.
‘Don’t worry about it, Tripp,’ Callanach said. ‘You can go.’ Tripp looked more relieved than annoyed at being dismissed, and disappeared. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Luc Callanach, but I’m sure you already know that.’ He extended a hand to each stranger.
‘This is the Reverend Canon Paul Churchill who worked with Jayne,’ Lively said. ‘And Professor Edwin Harris. We’re here to talk about the next steps in the investigation.’
Callanach took a breath. It was normal for involved parties to want an explanation. What irritated him was Lively’s rallying the troops without warning.
‘Thank you, Sergeant, but the victim’s family has not yet been informed about yesterday’s events so this discussion is premature.’
‘Let me stop you there,’ Professor Harris said. ‘I understand the procedures. I worked with law enforcement for a number of years. Reverend Paul spoke to Jayne’s family last night so that’s not going to hamper us.’
‘You spoke to her family? Without police officers present who’ve had specific bereavement training?’ Callanach turned to stare directly at Lively. ‘When all you have is conjecture. It’s a blatant breach of protocol. You know that’s a disciplinary matter, right, Detective Sergeant?’
Harris raised a hand between Callanach and Lively to break the stand-off. Lively redirected his gaze to the professor. Callanach continued to glare at his sergeant.
‘Detective Inspector, let’s not get hung up on who said what and when. We’re both professionals and there is a high statistical likelihood that the remains do indeed belong to the Reverend Magee. In the circumstances, I’d have hoped you might take a rather more practical approach. The main concern is that time is of the essence, and I’m here to help.’
Callanach recognised a blind-siding when he was getting one. ‘And what help, exactly, are you offering?’
The Reverend Paul stepped in and the speech took on the feeling of a well-rehearsed sketch, with the professor dropping his head in what Callanach sensed was a rather false show of embarrassment.
‘Professor Harris is a world renowned and respected profiler, DI Callanach. He’s retired but still lectures internationally and has written books on the subject. He’s also been a faithful member of our congregation for numerous years and was well acquainted with Jayne. The professor has offered his assistance and the church is happy to pay, to move forward what DS Lively has told us is a frustratingly stagnant investigation at present.’
‘I’m afraid that’s not appropriate,’ Callanach said. ‘You would need access to restricted information and profiling after only two murders isn’t generally done.’
‘DCI Begbie said he’ll grant security clearance as Professor Harris worked with the department previously. As long as St Mary’s is paying, we’ve got the go-ahead,’ Lively said.
‘We were supposed to be having a meeting about this later today,’ Callanach replied.
‘The Chief said I should make sure you were up to speed. I already have Elaine Buxton’s mother’s consent to release her files to Professor Harris.’ Lively presented it as a done deal.
‘I’d like access to all the information immediately,’ Professor Harris assumed command, his credentials having been presented. ‘And an office would be useful. It’ll save a lot of time if I don’t have to move around too much.’ He stroked one side of his nose as he talked, his voice so soft it was almost a whisper, his smile completely self-assured. The man wasn’t asking permission.
‘I’d prefer to have that meeting with the Chief before I authorise the release of information,’ Callanach said. ‘And there are other matters that need my urgent attention. I appreciate you coming in, gentlemen.’ He stood up and walked between them to open the office door.
‘You know, Inspector, the sooner I assess the evidence, the sooner I can say who you should be looking for,’ Harris said, smile still in place but voice firmer now.
‘I’ll remember that,’ Callanach replied.
Lively was purple but the Reverend put a calming hand on his arm and spoke just loudly enough to make sure Callanach would hear his words.
‘Don’t trouble yourself, Matthew. I’ll speak with the Chief Inspector personally.’
They made their way down the corridor with Harris loudly proclaiming the dangers of lost time. Callanach grabbed his phone and dialled Ava’s mobile. He needed information and a sounding board before he spoke to the Chief.
‘Ava, can we talk?’
‘I’m getting into my car in three minutes. If you’re in it too, you can have my full attention on the way to St Gabriella’s High School. That’s the best I can offer,’ she said. He grabbed his jacket and ran.