The Mobile Police Incident Unit was visible from half a mile away. It looked out of place in its surroundings, almost dwarfing High Shaw, a single-storey farm cottage bordered by a dry-stone wall. Daniels drove towards it along a narrow country lane and managed to squeeze her pool car alongside.
She got out, removing a TO LET sign tied loosely to the gatepost. Laying it flat on the ground, she placed a heavy stone on top of it to prevent it blowing away. In this part of the world, particularly on high ground, gale-force winds were commonplace; what wasn’t securely nailed down often went walkabout.
The pretty front garden was awash with spring bulbs in pots made out of spent tyres. There was a child’s swing in the garden and a gravel path leading up to the front door.
Daniels pushed it open.
‘Don’t shoot!’ Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley yelled, holding his hands in the air.
The DCI grinned as members of her team fell to the floor clutching their chests, writhing around in agony as if they’d been mortally wounded the minute she’d walked through the door.
‘Get up, you idiots. We’ve got work to do,’ she said.
Setting her briefcase on the floor, Daniels found herself surrounded by officers keen to welcome her back to duty. Although touched by their enthusiasm and good wishes, she didn’t want a fuss. Taking a man’s life, albeit in self-defence, still gave her nightmares. It wasn’t something she’d ever be proud of – even when the man in question was a dangerous psychopath.
Turning her attention to her current case, she instructed her team on how she’d like the place arranged. DCs Maxwell and Brown began clearing the floor space for computer desks, moving a heavy sofa out into the wooden garage at the rear of the cottage. DS Robson fetched a drywipe whiteboard from his car and positioned it at the far end of the room. It would act as a makeshift murder wall during their stay. DC Carmichael brought in her laptop, and was logging on within seconds.
It was an incident room – of sorts.
DS Gormley’s face lit up as Daniels walked towards him.
‘We’re dealing with another mean bastard then.’ His tone was grim.
Daniels nodded, handing him a set of Polaroids taken at the crime scene.
He sifted through them, sickened by what he saw. ‘Suppose we should look on the bright side . . . if the body hadn’t been found when it was, the scene could’ve been crawling with bloody tourists, all with souvenir snaps of their own to take home. It would’ve been a nightmare. What piece of shit would lob a young lass out of a plane?’
‘We don’t know that for sure,’ Daniels warned. ‘Not until Stanton confirms it. If and when he does, we keep it to ourselves. We don’t go public – not yet, anyway. This is God’s country, Hank. Folks round here don’t even lock their doors at night. They won’t know what’s hit them.’
Gormley handed the photographs back. They helped themselves to a mug of tea being offered on a plastic tray by a community support officer drafted in at short notice. Daniels thanked him, her eyes scanning the room, her mind drifting back to her childhood when she lived in a former gamekeeper’s cottage much like this one. She felt at home at High Shaw, decided right there and then that she’d stay over for as long as they needed to use the property. There was no point driving backwards and forwards to the city every day. There was no one at home waiting for her – hadn’t been for months.
The ache in Daniels’ heart subsided as Detective Constable Carmichael walked towards her, a requisition sheet in her hands, a smile on her young face. Lisa had impressed everyone since joining the murder investigation team and she was fast emerging as their in-house technical expert.
‘Sorry to interrupt, boss. The BT lads are here to fix up the comms.’
‘OK, Lisa, you better let them in.’
As Carmichael wandered away in the direction of the front door, Daniels took another sip of tea and turned to face Gormley. ‘This has got to be the prettiest incident room I ever worked in, Hank. How come you found it so quickly?’
Gormley tapped the side of his nose. ‘I know people who know people. Mate of mine’s brother-in-law is an estate agent in Hexham. This place is a holiday let normally. Cancelled at short notice, so the owner tells me.’
‘I want to know why and by whom, soon as you can.’
‘Already taken care of . . .’ Gormley gave her a disparaging look. ‘Place was booked by a Norwegian guy for a fortnight. Poor bugger had a heart attack and couldn’t travel. And before you ask, he’s in hospital in Stavanger. I checked.’
Daniels grinned. She should have known better than to ask. Hank Gormley was a skilled detective who knew the risks of taking things at face value. He always had his wits about him, had never let her down.
‘You OK?’ He eyed her over the top of his bifocals as she massaged her right shoulder. ‘I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘How did the hearing go?’
Daniels knew he was worried about her. She also knew she wasn’t looking her best following a close encounter with a serial killer. But it was time to put all that behind her and concentrate on her job. She’d never been the type to sit around and mope. As far as she was concerned, you just had to get on with it. She’d done that when her mother died and she’d do it again now.
‘Piece of cake . . .’ she said finally. ‘No case to answer.’
‘What time’s the briefing?’
‘It’ll have to wait. Finish setting up and get things rolling. I’ve got to nip back to HQ and pick up my car.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘The guv’nor wants to see me. I hope to God he doesn’t want chapter and verse on the Professional Standards enquiry. It was a complete waste of time and money. There’s nothing to tell.’
Gormley led her to a quiet corner and dropped his voice a little. ‘It’s none of my business, but shouldn’t you still be on leave? You look like shit!’
She made a face. ‘So what’s your excuse?’
‘You need to take it easy, Kate. You’ve had a tough time of it lately.’
‘Back off, Hank. And stop acting like my minder; I’m a big girl now.’
‘Nice to see your brush with death hasn’t softened you up any.’
‘I told you, I’m fine . . .’ She patted his upper arm. ‘Don’t fuss!’
She left him to it, heading outside with his words ringing in her ears. He wasn’t alone in thinking she’d returned to work too early: her doctor, her father, her ex-boss – Detective Chief Superintendent Bright – all thought the same. Then again, Bright was master of the art of do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do. He’d recently lost his wife and had point-blank refused to take compassionate leave. So why should she? She was still thinking about him as she turned left on to the Military Road and put her foot down.
Her phone rang as the pool car picked up speed. Tim Stanton had completed the post-mortem and his preliminary findings were not what she wanted to hear.
‘Are you sure?’ she asked.
‘There’s absolutely no doubt. Just about every bone in her body was broken. Estimated time of death around three a.m., give or take . . .’ He sighed heavily, his tone of voice harder than before. ‘And there’s something else . . .’
Whatever it was, it wouldn’t be good news.
‘Tim, what is it?’
‘I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but she was alive when she hit the ground.’
His words made Daniels’ whole body shudder. She’d seen death in all its grisly forms in her years at the sharp end, but this MO was a first; a despicable act of cruelty and inconceivable even for the most hardened of professionals to take on board. Stanton’s voice faded in and out, partly due to a weak satellite signal, mostly because she was imagining the horror of a young girl falling through the air and landing on open ground with a dull thud.
Organs rupturing on impact.
Bones splintering.
Death.
Daniels swallowed hard. ‘Is it possible to calculate the height she was thrown from? I assume crime scene investigators took a cast of the ground?’
‘They did indeed. They’re doing the maths and will give you a call.’
A horse rider up ahead required Daniels’ full attention. She depressed her brake, slowed to a crawl and gave the rider a wide berth. The young woman turned her head slowly, acknowledging her courtesy with a wave. As their eyes locked, Daniels’ car nearly left the road as the dead girl’s face stared back at her.
‘Kate? You still there?’
‘Yeah, sorry. Any evidence of sexual assault?’
‘None.’
‘News on her ID?’
‘Yes and no. Hang on a second . . .’ The phone went down on a hard surface. Daniels could hear the rustling of papers. She assumed Stanton was looking for something. Then he picked up again. ‘I found a receipt in the pocket of her jeans. It’s from Durham University Bookshop. If her reading material is anything to go by, I’d say she was a med student.’