After a quick catch up with DS Stevens, Rego learned that there were no hits on the missing persons database or on social media, which meant they needed that draft press release as soon as possible. Then he made a call to brief the Super and DCI Finch on all three incidents that the station had been dealing with. Finch agreed to the dedicated phone line and gave him the email address of the Press Office which was made up of a team of civilians with media training, if and when he needed them – which was looking more likely with every passing hour. Not ideal, but you did what you could.
Then Rego drove back to Penzance and the offices of the Isles of Scilly Steamship Company.
He learned that there was only one sailing a day, leaving at 9.45am and taking nearly three hours in good weather to reach St Mary’s, the largest of the small group of islands which lay thirty miles off the Cornish coast. The ferry then arrived back at around seven in the evening.
The booking clerk paled at the suggestion that they might have lost a passenger, especially when she admitted that although tickets were checked on embarkation, no one counted off the passengers at the other end. In other words, it was entirely possible that someone could have jumped or fallen overboard without anyone knowing.
Rego wasn’t completely surprised by this information, but it didn’t help him.
“Well, if you could send over CCTV of embarkation for the last 72 hours and of people leaving the ship,” he said, handing over a business card with his information.
Then the Coroner’s officer called, informing Rego that the pathologist had arranged the post-mortem for 3pm. Rego dropped Tamsyn at the police station and headed back up the A30 to Truro, the administrative seat for Cornwall.
Tamsyn watched him leave, raising her arm to wave goodbye but realising just in time that would be more than a little weird and a lot inappropriate. Gran had once told her that she had the eager-to-please personality of a Golden Retriever – although she wasn’t sure that it had been meant as a compliment. She knew that she tended to be a people-pleaser, and she knew that she had to toughen up. But being known as ‘the kid with the dead dad’ had made her different, so she’d tried hard to fit in, especially at school. It had never quite worked.
She groaned when she realised that DI Rego had driven off with her gym bag containing her civilian clothes and a stack of sandwiches that her grandmother had insisted on packing her for lunch. She’d felt too nervous to eat breakfast, but now she was really hungry.
It had been an interesting morning to say the least, and her brain was buzzing with new information and ideas. Seeing the body had been a strange experience – somehow shocking but unreal, too. Over the years, she’d seen a lot of dead seals and dolphins that had been washed up, once even the carcass of a cow that had fallen off a cliff, but the body today had seemed so … not human. It was as if her mind refused to admit that a walking, talking, thinking, feeling being had become that.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding her again that her sandwiches were on their way to Truro. Sighing, she made her away to the station’s staff entrance and let herself in. She found an empty desk and typed up her notes with an account of what had happened and what she’d done. During training, she’d been surprised by how detailed these had to be, even things like having the right equipment, how you dealt with members of the public, considerations you used when taking a statement.
As a student officer, Tamsyn had to complete a long list of competencies – this report was just the start. Her tutor would then put his own comments on it, send it back to Tamsyn, and only then it would be sent to the training team. Tamsyn would face three years as a probationer while she completed her degree, and during that time she had to experience the full range of duties and responsibilities that an officer would come across. She’d be expected to work with different units such as Response, Neighbourhood Policing and Investigations, Crime, and Public Protection.
When she was finally finished, she wasn’t sure what to do next so was glad when she saw Jamie walking up to her.
“Hi, Tamsyn! How’d it go?”
“Yeah, it was good, thanks. I mean … not good, but interesting.”
“Don’t worry, I know what you mean. We’ll be handing over to the late shift shortly and we always debrief so everyone is up to speed on who’s been doing what. Have you written up your candidate’s report?”
“Yes, I hope I’ve got it right.”
“Good, next important thing – the kitchen is this way,” and he led her upstairs to a small, cluttered area, with surfaces covered with used mugs.
“Each shift has our own kitty, and the coffee, tea and sugar is locked away. A- and C-teams are the worst – bunch of thieving toe rags,” he said cheerfully. “Milk is kept in the fridge, so that’s a free for all.” He grinned at her. “The biggest squabbles are different shifts nicking each other’s milk … or someone leaving milk that’s gone off and you accidentally pour it into your coffee.”
Tamsyn smiled. “I’ll remember to do the sniff test.”
“Or drink it black,” he suggested, pulling a face.
The cup of tea that she’d had at Mrs Polpenn’s had been a godsend, but Tamsyn was hungry. Coffee would help. Sort of.
Mug in hand, Jamie led her to the conference room and introduced her to Sergeant Carter who’d been dealing with the RTC before Tamsyn had come on duty.
“Good to meet you, Tamsyn,” he said. “I hear you were swept up by the new DI. First unexplained death – something for the response and investigations part of your portfolio.”
The sergeant checked that each officer was accounted for, then introduced her to the rest of E-team and the other student officer, a massively built former Royal Marine called Jason.
“Your tutor, Sergeant Terwillis, will be back tomorrow, so, Tamsyn and Jason, he’ll tell who you’re double-crewing with. And I believe you’ll get to meet our boss, Inspector Maura Walters, too.”
Tamsyn knew that she couldn’t expect to work on the DI’s investigation but it was important and she’d felt like she’d been useful.
Sergeant Carter carried on with debriefing the other six officers, and Tamsyn heard that the RTC had been handed over to Traffic at Camborne when criminality had been negated.
As she listened to the other officers who’d dealt with two domestics, one attempted shop-lifting, theft of a caravan, criminal damage, one drug overdose and one homeless woman with mental health issues who was probably going to be Sectioned, she studied the men who were now her teammates, her backup. She was disappointed that there weren’t any other women on E-team, although she knew there were seven others based in Penzance and she’d meet them eventually.
Jamie reported on the body at Lamorna Cove then Sergeant Carter turned to Tamsyn.
“Okay, Tamsyn, let’s hear your debrief.”
Flushed and feeling sweaty to be the focus of everyone’s attention, Tamsyn reported back on the interviews with Mrs Polpenn and the office manager at the Scillonian.
She felt as if she’d babbled and stammered her way through it, but Sergeant Carter nodded and gave a small smile when she’d finished. Then he handed over to B-team and dismissed them.
“Pretty good first shift,” Jamie said to her. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, yawning widely. “I’m really tired though. Hey, I didn’t get around to finding the women’s locker room this morning, can you tell me where it is?”
They both looked up as Chloe walked into the room.
“Great timing,” Jamie smiled. “Chloe can show you.”
“Show her what?” Chloe asked, her dark eyes flicking to Tamsyn.
“Where the women’s locker room is.”
Chloe smirked.
“I don’t think being a detective is in your future if you can’t even find the locker room.”
Jamie laughed but Tamsyn was tired and irritated enough to snap back sarcastically.
“It’s great being part of a team. Thanks for the warm welcome, Chloe.”
As she walked out of the room, she heard Chloe say, “That girl is such a bitch,” but missed Jamie’s reply.
“Takes one to know one.”
Tamsyn was annoyed with Chloe, but mostly with herself for letting the skank get to her.
“Hey, are you okay?”
A woman a few years older than Tamsyn was looking at her with a concerned expression.
“Oh, yeah, just…”
Tamsyn shook her head and the woman smiled sympathetically.
“Some days, yeah? I’m Jasmine Flowers, but they call me ‘Rosie’. I’m on C-team but I had to come in early today. I guess you must be one of the new student officers.”
“Yes! I’m Tam … Tamsyn Poldhu. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Welcome to the team. Do you have a locker yet, Tam?”
Tamsyn shook her head.
“No problem, I’ll take you. Anyway, someone should have shown you how to store your incapacitant spray safely. Where have you left your civvies?”
Tamsyn groaned. “I left them…” in the boot of the DI’s car “in a patrol car.”
She wasn’t sure why she’d altered what she’d been about to say, but leaving your clothes in the boss’s car sounded a bit suspect. Make that a lot suspect.
Rosie laughed, none the wiser.
“Easily done. Don’t worry, they’ll turn up. Maybe keep a spare set in your locker anyway. So, tell me about your first day…”
* * *
It took Rego some time to find his way across the sprawling hospital site at Truro to the mortuary where the post-mortem was to take place.
Dr Blake was the Home Office pathologist, an austere man with the appearance of an undertaker. The mortuary assistant was a heavy-set older woman with a strong Filipino accent who introduced herself simply as Lana.
Dr Blake handed Rego an apron, mask and gloves, then asked him to stand to one side while he switched on a video camera, beginning the painstaking work with an external exam.
“This is the body of an adult female, slightly undernourished, found in seawater at 6.35am, 26th March. She is 159cm in height and current body weight is 49kg. X-rays show signs of historic breaks in both arms, but nothing recent. We have also taken dental images for identification purposes.” He paused and leaned in closer. “A visual exam of the anterior shows no evidence of knife wounds, bullet wounds, or puncture marks. Some predation of the soft tissue,” and he glanced up at Rego. “Probably crabs and lobster.”
“So I’ve been told,” Rego said drily as he made notes in his day book.
“Peck marks from seagulls – possibly where the bulbus oculi have gone. Tearing around the eye sockets consistent with beak marks.” He flexed one of the body’s arms. “No signs of rigor.”
“Can you tell her race?”
“Hmm. I’d guess white, but the pale colour could be the result of skin sloughing due to immersion in salt water. The skin’s outer layer, the epidermis, that’s where human pigmentation is contained.” He turned to the mortuary assistant. “Can you help me turn the body please, Lana?”
Rego had never got used to the cold weight of a dead body, and watching as the woman’s torso was turned face down was deeply unsettling.
“Posterior shows no outward wounds but mottling in the buttocks and shoulder blades is from livor mortis, suggesting she died lying down.”
“On a hard surface?” Rego asked, surprise in his voice.
“Potentially,” the pathologist said, without looking up. “These marks are interesting – the victim wasn’t lying on something completely flat … it looks like,” he paused, “something slatted? A bench or a large crate, perhaps.”
“Can you estimate the time of death?”
“I can estimate,” Dr Blake said mildly. “There are three pathways to death, Inspector: putrefaction, mummification, and saponification which requires a cool setting and poorly oxygenated water. All three can occur separately or in combination.” He still hadn’t looked up from his work. “However, determining the post-mortem submerged interval is challenging. I will examine the decomposition stage of several areas of the body, but…” and he glanced up at Rego over his mask, “I have to consider water salinity, depth, tides and sea temperature, but…”
“But?” Rego encouraged.
“I’d say that this unfortunate woman has been dead between 36 and 72 hours.” He acknowledged Rego’s frustration. “I’ll try to narrow that down for you but since she’s been in cold water, time of death is more difficult to determine.”
“Of course,” Rego said tiredly.
“I do have something for you, Inspector,” Dr Blake said, peering up at him over his mask. “Friction ridges on the victim’s fingers are still evident so we should be able to get you some fingerprints. One moment..."
Rego had been to many, many post-mortems – it was a rite of passage for new officers to ensure that they could still function while seeing a dead body being autopsied – but even he had to look away when the skin on the victim’s hand was removed and the mortician’s assistant slipped her hand inside the discarded skin, wearing it like a glove.
“Voila!” said Dr Blake, very pleased with himself. “I’ll have those fingerprints for you in a jiffy.”
Rego swallowed. “Thank you.”
Dr Blake continued his grisly work.
“Is there any bruising, doctor?” Rego asked.
“Hmm, yes. See here?”
Dr Blake pointed at some faint, finger-shaped bruises around the jaw line. The hairs on the back of Rego’s neck stood up.
“Could those have occurred after death?”
Dr Blake shook his head.
“Bruises are a physiological process of trauma affecting the living body and cannot occur after death. Darker areas of haemorrhagic fluids that accumulate beneath the skin after death due to gravity are not bruises. Of course, I’ll check.”
“Any sign of sexual assault?”
“No bruising or tearing that I can see at present, but early days yet.”
Dr Blake photographed the tattoo, before cutting it out to preserve so forensic scientists could use enhancing techniques to get a clearer image.
Rego’s phone rang so he stepped away to take the call. DS Stevens reported that nothing had shown up on the miss-pers database, and a trawl of social media hadn’t turned up any descriptions matching the dead woman. A draft press release had been emailed to him with a dedicated phone number for the public, but it still needed information of height, weight, hair colour and the tattoo.
Rego thanked him then glanced down at his notes as he spoke to the pathologist.
“No wounds, no breaks, no underlying health issues that you’ve been able to determine so far. No signs of sexual assault, and we’re not even sure she drowned.” Rego let out a long, frustrated breath. “No evidence of how she died.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”
Rego glanced up as Dr Blake stood up straight, his expression above the mask tight.
“I’d say she bled to death and her body was later thrown in the sea.”
The air in the room seemed unbearably still.
“I thought you said there were no knife wounds?”
“No surface ones.”
“Then?”
The pathologist met his gaze.
“I’m halting this post-mortem.”
“What? Why?”
“There is evidence of sharp force injury: her tongue was cut out.”