Perfect Silence

‘Agreed,’ Salter said. ‘And congratulations on the promotion ma’am, even if I am a few months late saying it.’

‘I’m not sure congratulations is the right word. Feels more like a punishment most days. Where have you and DS Lively been this morning?’

‘Someone slashed the letter Z into the face of a homeless drug addict. He was found this morning covered in blood. No witnesses, no leads. The victim’s taken a drug – it’s sufficiently strong that he’s still unaware of what’s happened to him. Lively’s downstairs now booking him in as a drunk and incapable, in the hope that we’ll be able to take a statement in a few hours.’

‘Spice?’ Ava asked.

‘That’s Lively’s theory. Paramedics seemed to agree,’ Salter said.

‘The city’s riddled with it,’ Ava said. ‘Let the drug squad know. If there’s a new batch on the streets that’s turning users violent, they ought to start checking it out.’

‘Salter,’ Callanach said, walking out of the incident room to join them. He hugged her and Salter blushed.

‘Sir,’ she said. ‘Nice to see you again, but I’d better get going. I need to write up my notes, and DS Lively’ll go off on one if there’s no coffee ready when he comes up from the cells.’ She hustled away into the kitchenette.

‘Wow,’ Ava said, turning to Callanach. ‘Are you okay? That’s the most emotional I’ve seen you since … ever, actually.’

‘You’re funny,’ Callanach said. ‘Should she be back so soon, though? After all she went through and the loss of the baby.’

‘Give her time,’ Ava said. ‘I suspect she’s pressing the bruise to see how much it hurts. Keep an eye on her. Let me know if you think there’s a problem. Salter’s a good detective. We need officers like her.’

DC Max Tripp poked his head out of the incident room and called to them. ‘Ma’am, we’ve got some background on Zoey Cole and her stepfather, Christopher Myers. You’re going to want to hear this straight away,’ he said.

Chapter Four (#ub69f8a1f-fa1d-583b-a431-2132bef6c32e)

Zoey Cole lay on a trolley beneath a sheet. Ava and Callanach stood silently, waiting for Jonty Spurr to join them. A worker from the domestic violence shelter had provided an up-to-date photo, and attended the previous evening to positively identify the body.

‘Good morning to you both,’ Jonty said, snapping on gloves as he entered. ‘Public records have Zoey as eighteen years of age and I would concur with that. In addition, I spoke to the shelter worker who attended yesterday.’ Jonty flicked through his notes. ‘Here we are, a Miss Sandra Tilly. She explained that Zoey had complained of pain in her hands from badly reset finger fractures on her left hand. I found three old breaks, I suspect from two separate incidents in time. In addition, four healed rib fractures and a probable broken nose, although that one is always harder to be sure about.’

‘Makes sense,’ Ava said. ‘Zoey was living at the shelter having left home. She claimed that her stepfather had been violent to her over a number of years. Mother was aware but did nothing to correct the situation.’

‘There was never a police investigation?’ Jonty asked.

‘No. Zoey didn’t want to press charges because her mother was still living there,’ Ava said.

‘MIT hasn’t spoken to the stepfather or mother in person yet,’ Callanach added. ‘Uniforms went round yesterday and notified them of the death. That was before we had the full story. We wanted to get the facts from you before following up with a formal interview of the stepfather.’

‘You may want to hold fire on that. I’ve been making my own enquiries overnight, but they’ve come up blank so far. Let me show you what we’re dealing with.’

Jonty removed the sheet to reveal Zoey’s naked body. The skin on her abdomen that had peeled back and lost its form had been laid back down and repositioned to reveal an outline.

‘What the fuck?’ Ava said, stepping closer to look directly down onto it.

‘My exact words when I began laying the skin flat,’ Jonty said.

Dried blood around the incision added a freakish outline to the miniature figure cut from Zoey’s skin. A head shape had been taken from the area between her ribcages. Tiny arms spanned out to her sides and the legs extended down towards the top of Zoey’s thighs.

‘Was she pregnant?’ Callanach asked. ‘Is this supposed to represent a baby?’

‘That was the first thing I checked when I identified the shape, but she wasn’t pregnant at death, nor has she ever given birth. That doesn’t exclude the possibility that she hadn’t ever conceived and decided on a termination.’

‘In which case we might be looking for a boyfriend. Someone who resented her decision,’ Ava said. ‘You said you were doing some research overnight, Jonty. What were you looking for?’

‘Other similar cases. I found nothing, I’m pleased to say. In twenty-five years, I’ve not come across anything so outrageous. Will you help me turn Zoey over, Luc?’ Callanach stepped forward and assisted. ‘It’s exactly the same shape, cut out of the skin in her back. That would have been a more difficult procedure as the skin is tighter and there is less loose flesh.’

‘Tell me she wasn’t conscious when this was done,’ Ava said.

‘There’s good and bad news on that front,’ Jonty said, pointing at a few places along the cut line. ‘I believe she was conscious, although the likelihood is that she would have passed out quickly from shock if she could see what was happening. You can see at these two points that an outline was drawn onto Zoey before the incisions were made. The ink is still just about visible although hard to make out.’

‘What was the cut made with?’ Callanach asked.

‘A scalpel, medical grade. Easy to get hold of. We ran some tests on the skin around the edge of the incisions and have found substantial amounts of topical numbing cream. I think your murderer rubbed the cream into Zoey’s abdomen and back over several days in advance of doing this to her.’

‘They couldn’t just have killed her first?’ Ava asked.

‘Not what they wanted, apparently,’ Jonty said. ‘There are also four injection sites. I’ve sent off tissue samples to the lab and confirmation will take a couple of days, but given the proximity to the incisions,’ he pointed at tiny pin pricks at each shoulder and leg area of the cut-out shape, ‘I’d say the surgeon – and I use that term as loosely as possible – injected Zoey with a local anaesthetic before starting. Both sides have the same marks.’

‘Why bother?’ Callanach asked. ‘And before you say it, Jonty, I know that deduction is our remit, not yours. But if torture was the idea, surely there was no point alleviating the pain.’

‘As a medic, the answer is simple. If Zoey had felt the full extent of the cuts, she’d have moved her body in a way which would have made cutting clean edges impossible. Also, she’d have died from shock, I think. Her heart wouldn’t have coped. Her breathing would have suffered. The small amount of anaesthesia allowed her to live through the operation, and to make it easier to cut out the baby shape.’

‘Then the killer packed her wounds and drove her somewhere public to die?’ Callanach asked.

‘That’s where you take over,’ Jonty said. ‘The incisions were made not long before dumping her at the roadside. The wound packs wouldn’t have stemmed the blood flow for long, and the loss of an area of skin that size would have killed her sooner or later whether infection had kicked in or not.’

‘Where would the murderer have got the local anaesthetic from?’ Ava asked.

‘A contact in the medical profession. Theft from a hospital or GP surgery. Quite possibly from the internet. There are sites that specialise in providing medical supplies no questions asked, and this wouldn’t normally be regarded as a high-risk item to sell. Tracing it will be almost impossible, which brings me to the gown she was wearing when she was found.’

‘It wasn’t a dress?’ Ava asked.

‘No. It was difficult to establish at first because of all the blood, but the opening is at the back, with three ties evenly spaced from the top down, which would have given easy access to her abdomen and back as necessary. No branding or label, and a very standard cheap cotton mix material, often found in clothing transported from China.’

‘The chances of tracing its source?’ Luc asked.

‘Several thousand to one, I’d say,’ Jonty replied.

Ava sighed. ‘You said surgeon, but loosely. So is this a medical professional? What’s your opinion on the surgical skills?’ she asked.

‘It’s not butchery, but it’s not anyone who’s been trained. They made a poor job of lifting the skin away – all layers, epidermis, dermis and the subcutaneous fat. At one point the depth is one centimetre, but it thins out at the ends of the arms and legs to three millimetres. If you look closely you can see some hacking with the blade to lift the skin section out,’ Jonty said, pointing.

‘I’ll take your word for that,’ Ava said. ‘What about the restraints? I can’t see anything obvious.’

‘That’s because it was cleverly done. There’s an area of skin worn off the ankles and wrists, between two and three inches wide with no knot mark. I’m assuming a binding was used to secure the limb against an immovable object like a pole. That would explain the lack of obvious bruising. A thinner binding would have chafed. Under a microscope you can see that the binding has left green fibres on Zoey’s skin.’

‘Her captor didn’t find that out by chance,’ said Callanach. ‘Either they’ve done it before, practised, or they spent a long time researching. Any DNA or prints on the body?’

‘Not that we’ve found,’ Jonty said. ‘Your murderer wore gloves. They probably washed her just prior to cutting the skin. Obviously the lower legs, arms and face had dirt, dust and foliage on them from crawling up the road, but nothing that will help identify her captor. There’s only one other thing of note. A section of hair has been cut from Zoey’s head. The roots are intact so it wasn’t pulled out. It’s not very much, but it does beg the question why.’