Endangering Innocents (14 page)

Between Ladderedge and the village of Rudyard, a small nature reserve runs along the muddy bank of a stream. In times when foot and mouth is not a threat it is a popular walkway, leading from the base of the town, skirting the golf club, crossing a wooden humpbacked bridge and arriving two miles later at the still delightful resort of Rudyard. But now dogwalkers were banned by Staffordshire County Council. And ramblers and hikers faced prosecution if they trespassed. The countryside was closed. Only pubs and paved areas still welcomed business.

It took Joanna and Mike less than ten minutes to arrive at the golf club, two other carloads of officers arriving at the same time. They abandoned their vehicles in the car park, crossed the bridge and walked along the track, Korpanski filling her in on the few details.

“She was found by a guy taking a short cut home early this morning.”

“How early?”

Mike’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Very early. Around four am. And he’s desperate for it not to be made public that he found the body.”

She nodded. “So what do we know?”

“It’s a child, wrapped up in some material. Partially covered. He stumbled into it. Otherwise it might have been a couple more weeks before she was found. That’s all the team said.”

“How long has she been there?”

“Come on, Jo,” he said. “You know the score.”

She gave a weak smile. “And they’ve asked Matthew to come out?”

Korpanski nodded meaningfully.

“Right then.” But all she could think of was a life lost, a life found. She must face Matthew sooner or later. She already knew he would be delighted. And because he would welcome the straitjacket of parenthood for the second time around she knew her resentment of her state would alienate them.

It had been an issue she had skilfully avoided - so far, ducking the subject whenever Matthew brought it up.

But she had always known it would, one day, divide them. Maybe for ever. She would lose him over this issue. Or lose herself. She loved him. But how much?

She wanted to scream, “I don’t want a baby.”

Instead she lectured herself over and over.

Concentrate on the job, Piercy. They’ve found little Madeline. It’s up to you now to hunt down her killer.

Korpanski was eyeing her carefully, wisely saying nothing, but - she thought - knowing everything. He knew her well. She met his dark gaze with a chin as firm as her resolve.

Eight of them made their way towards the spot currently being marked out by police tape, Korpanski striding in the fore. “We’d have found her earlier if the dogwalkers had been coming this way. But nobody’s been here.”

And the fingertip search hadn’t extended this far out.

Yet they were only four or so miles from Horton School.

It was the moment she had dreaded.

A small mound of earth, a hand, a foot. Mud slimily covering her face.

Scraps of material wrapping up what was exposed of her small body. She felt a pang of failure. In her heart she had known Madeline was dead but she had seen the little girl before. And failed to protect her. It was difficult
to convince herself that she could not, somehow, have prevented this.

The officers present all knew their job. Not to disturb the crime scene. They hung back while the police photographers recorded the scene. With video and still cameras. It was easy to see the footprints of the man who had found her, a couple of tiny mounds where he must have scraped the mud away from her features.

“You’ve rung Matthew?” She addressed the junior constable rather than Korpanski.

“He’s on his way, Ma’am.”

She gave the PC a grateful smile.

Would Matthew sense a change in her?

She could not tell him here and now. Too public. But she could not believe he would not instinctively know something that would affect him so much.

She heard his voice first, speaking to Korpanski, before she saw him. She turned around and his tall, slim figure in brown jeans and an olive green crew-necked sweater was in view. She gave him a chummy smile, warm with pleasure at seeing him - yet cold with dread. The happier she was in his presence the more deprived she would be by lack of it.

Before Matthew came near the pile of earth he spoke to Barra in a low voice. “Got the trace evidence?”

“You’re OK to go in there, Sir.”

Matthew always carried with him a box of tricks. Gloves, thermometers, reagents, specimen pots, swabs, plastic bags, large, brown cardboard labels. As the officers cleared soil away from the child’s body, Joanna saw more of the material which wrapped her. It must have once been a bright blue, covered in gold stars. Possibly a curtain. Now it was simply a filthy rag. Damp and discoloured.

A team of officers began clearing the soil away, taking samples as they worked. All was recorded by video camera.

The child lay face up, a muddy, cold creature, pale as death, lying quite straight, her eyes closed, the lids caked in sticky, Staffordshire clay. A stick was clasped in her right hand which lay across her chest. Her left hand, the one the late-night walker had stumbled across, reached out above her head, the arm at a strange angle. Her legs were quite straight, the feet pointing upright. The cloth swathed her body and was tucked around it but the left shoulder was bare.

Matthew was gentle in his handling. He brushed away the soil from the little girl’s face and torso, tested her limbs for rigidity, checked her eyes and shut the lids again. Not before Joanna had seen that where the dark eyes should have been was a seething mass of maggots. “I think I’d better finish the examination in the mortuary,” he said. “I don’t think there’s much to glean from here.” He was bagging up the hands as he spoke.

“How long has she lain here, Matt?”

His eyes were on her then, brilliant green, perceptive. For the briefest of moments she believed he saw everything. The next, his smile was grim. His thoughts were on Madeline.

“I’m going to take a few samples of the insect life around here,” he said. “For an entymologist to take a peek at. But at a rough guess she’s been here for a few weeks. I think it’s possible she was buried a day or two after she died. When did she disappear?”

“Friday the thirteenth.”

“Jo - this is really just a rough guess. I don’t want you to set too much store by it but I think she might have died sometime during that weekend - and was buried
here sometime in the following week. I’m really not in a position to be sure. I’ll have to consult various other experts.”

He had laid one of her ghosts to rest - that Madeline had been alive and they could have found her, prevented her death.

“And cause of death?”

“Haven’t a clue except I’ve a strong suspicion that this arm …” His gloved hand brushed Madeline’s left elbow, “… is broken. And I suspect there’s some bruising on her face underneath all this mud. What else I don’t know.”

“And the P.M.?”

“This afternoon. If possible I’d like the parents to identify her before I touch her.”

“I’ll bring them down.”

“Thanks.” A swift smile and he was gone.

Carly Wiltshaw was a woman who had suffered too much. Her eyes were hollow as she stared back at Joanna. “Is it her?” she asked hoarsely. “My little girl?”

“We think so.”

Joanna could hardly point out that there weren’t exactly many little girls who fitted Madeline’s description missing from home. There was not some great lineup of dead five-year-olds to choose from.

It was Madeline.

It had to be.

Carly stayed silent during the drive to the mortuary and Joanna was only glad that Huke wasn’t around. She had registered that Carly hadn’t rung him on hearing the news but had left the house without leaving word. Not a note or a telephone call.

She stored the fact away like a squirrel stores nuts, to take out and digest later.

The warm sunshine seemed almost cruel beaming down on the stricken woman as they pulled onto the mortuary car-park. Carly’s head was down and she bent almost double, as though in pain, for the swift sprint to reach the mortuary door.

Alan, the attendant, must have been watching for them. Joanna didn’t need to use the intercom. As soon as they arrived he pulled the door open. It slammed shut behind them and Joanna felt a flood of relief that the Press had not yet tracked them down.

The body looked terribly small underneath the purple velvet cloth they used to cover all except the face.

Someone, probably Alan, had made a good job of cleaning the white face. Madeline looked like a tiny, wax doll. Carly stood over her for a few minutes. There was no crying. There was no outward display of emotion. She was a dessicated woman, parched of all tears.

Joanna moved towards her, genuinely concerned at the lack of emotion but Carly pushed her back with a firm hand on her arm. “I want a fag,” she said through gritted, grim teeth.

Joanna saw Matthew’s startled face peering at them through the viewing room window and wondered whether he too had picked up on the hatred seething from Madeline’s mother’s mouth as it mingled with exhaled tobacco smoke.

She followed Carly into the ante-room and watched her suck on the cigarette until the ash was long. She still needed formal identification.

“It was her, wasn’t it? Your daughter I mean?”

Carly turned a haggard face to her and nodded. “It’s Madeline,” she said. “Now get me out of here before I’m sick.”

Joanna detailed a young constable, Paul Ruthin, to drive Carly back to Leek while she returned to the mortuary. Matthew liked as little delay as possible before commencing the post mortem. The SOCOs were assembled, waiting. Joanna threaded a gown over her clothes and entered the operations room to watch Matthew work.

He’d always been sensitive to her emotions and knowing she hated watching his work she also knew he would attribute her silence and pallor as being a symptom of upset about Madeline. She did not contradict him.

“You all right, Jo?”

She nodded and wished it had all been so different - that she was not pregnant, that Madeline Wiltshaw was still alive. That the clock could tick backwards.

Her eyes dropped downwards.

Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?

She should be used to the post mortem procedure by now. In many ways it was always the same. Strip the flesh from the bones, examine internal organs, disturb every innermost inch of the tiny child.

An hour later Matthew was scrubbing his hands.

“Well,” he said quietly. “That little body has a tale to tell. There are old injuries. And new ones too. I’ll get some x-rays to confirm but there isn’t any doubt about it. Broken ribs - about eighteen months ago, a fractured skull at some point, a greenstick fracture to her clavicle.” His anger suddenly burst through. “How the hell she stayed away from hospital casualty departments I don’t know.”

“So Gloria Parsons was right?”

He carried on scrubbing his fingernails as though he wanted to clean all contact out from under them.

Joanna pressed her point home. “She suspected Madeline was being ill treated.”

“She was right.”

“So what happened to her? What did she die of?”

He took a deep breath in. “There is a certain amount of facial bruising done shortly before death. With arrested bleeding. Her left arm has been broken in two places - one a displaced fracture of the humerus and I can feel a break in the radius too. Apart from that her back is quite badly bruised. None of these injuries would have proved fatal. Oh - and she was bitten by a dog roughly twenty four hours before she died.”

Crowdeane
.

“So what did she die of?”

“I suspect suffocation.”

“Suffocation?”

“She was dead before she was buried. There isn’t any soil in the mouth or oral passages. There is some vomit in her oropharynx but that didn’t kill her. Her lips are a little blue. And there is some evidence of venous congestion particularly in the face. Apart from that there is very little to find. Above all there is no soft tissue damage to the face.”

“English - please.”

“It wasn’t a traumatic suffocation, Jo. Or at least there isn’t any evidence to support that theory. No one
pressed
anything to her face. She would have struggled and I would have expected to find damage inside the mouth or on the nose. My guess. And this is only a guess, Jo, is that she was confined somewhere - in a room with no air, a box, a trunk. You need to look for somewhere she might have been shut in without ventilation. Even somewhere like a central heating boiler room which wasn’t properly vented. Your boys have taken samples from underneath her fingernails. It’s possible something may turn up there.”

“And other abuse?”

He knew exactly what she meant. “No. There’s no evidence of sexual assault.”

What a warped brand of relief to listen to a catalogue of suffering - and yet feel some pleasure that it was no worse.

“Can you be more specific about how long she’d lain in the place where she died before she was moved to her grave? Or how long she’d been buried for?”

“Well - there’s some hypostasis or blood pooling on her right side so we know her body was moved after death. Certainly she lay for a few hours before she was
partially buried. As to how long she was buried for I can only guess. I think she died within forty-eight hours of her disappearance and was buried hours later rather than days. There’s been little decomposition. However there’s been some insect activity in the body that’ll need an expert in the field. He may be able to narrow the window of time of death.”

“Anyone in mind?”

“A guy called Tim. Old mate of mine. Biologist. I’ve already rung him. He’s on his way over. He’s an expert on insect activity post mortem.”

“Thanks,” she said. “I’d better get back to the station and organise a briefing.”

“Sorry I can’t point the finger,” Matthew said, walking her towards the door, “tell you to arrest a red headed, left-handed man with a limp. But that’s all I’ve got to give you so far. The samples from under her fingernails will be sent to the forensic lab. They might be able to give you some more information about her place of imprisonment. And as soon as I’ve got something concrete to tell you about the insect activity I’ll write a full report.”

He bent then and kissed her cheek. Suddenly flooded with affection she looped her arm around his neck. “Matthew,” she said.

“All right.” He patted her shoulder and she moved away.

She used her mobile to contact Korpanski and left him to organise a briefing for later on in the day. But as she drove slowly back to Leek she was realising this entire case had been cloudy from beginning to end. Even now, after finding Madeline’s body, she was still unsure what exactly had happened. Huke was the obvious suspect for the old, violent attacks. His character fitted. But
assault on a little girl was more his scene than imprisoning her. Besides - had he had the opportunity to inflict the injuries on Madeline after she had vanished - viz. the broken arm? The police had been at the house all the time from the Friday afternoon around about six o’ clock. They had returned with Carly after she had finally left the school. He was almost certainly the bully, but who had finally killed her? Where had she died? How had she died?

Baldwin?

The injuries were not suggestive of a paedophile - even if Baldwin was one.

Korpanski met her at the door of the station. “They’re ready for you,” he said.

As usual in a case of child murder there was an atmosphere of depression in the room. Many of the officers, male and female, had children of their own. While Madeline had been missing there had been a chance she might still have been alive though hope had soon leaked away like the sands through the hour-glass of time. As days had gone by they had all become more pessimistic. And now her body had been found there was no place for hope. Only resolve - to find her killer. Or the person responsible for her death.

And Matthew’s post mortem had revealed that the two descriptions were subtly different.

She began with facts. Always present facts before conjecture.

“The body found between Rudyard and Ladderedge has been formally identified by Mrs Carly Wiltshaw as being that of her daughter, Madeline, who went missing from Horton Primary School on Friday, April the thirteenth this year at approximately three fifteen pm.

“Early evidence suggests she suffocated - the pathologist believes she might have been confined in a small space - a box, a trunk, some small, stuffy room with no air exchange. Doctor Levin mentioned a central heating boiler improperly vented. Some clues might be gleaned from scrapings taken from beneath her fingernails. We await forensic analysis.

“There is no evidence of sexual assault on the little girl.”

She didn’t need to scan the room to register the relief this bald statement precipitated amongst the gathered officers.

“But again we may gather some clue from the material her body was wrapped in which will be subjected to forensic scrutiny.” She held up the bag which encased the material taken from around Madeline’s body. “This is hemmed material, not sewn, as would be a curtain. No fitting is attached to it. Observation suggests it was quite new when someone wrapped it around Madeline’s body. Early enquiries have revealed it is currently produced in large quantities and supplied to the supermarket chain, Tesco’s, for making into quilt covers. The interest in magic provoked by Harry Potter has made the gold stars on a blue background quite a bestseller for children’s bedding. They’ve produced yards and yards of it. Unfortunately not only is this large quantity of material manufactured here in Leek, in Canterbury Mill, but the factory which makes it up into curtains, quilt covers and pillow cases is also here in Leek. In other words the entire town is awash with the stuff. Faulty bales are even supplied to the Wednesday street market. It’s going to be very difficult to trace the connection.”

Some muttering rippled around the room. She could guess what they said.

Sod’s law.

And she agreed.

“There are two other significant facts. The first is that Madeline Wiltshaw had been the victim of physical abuse. There were old fractures which the pathologist dates at roughly starting from eighteen months ago. Madeline’s body will be x-rayed for confirmation. There was also extensive bruising, some old, some recent, particularly on the face, as well as a broken arm sustained shortly before her death. She had also been bitten on her ankle, probably by a dog.”

She waited a few seconds to allow the officers to absorb this fact before continuing.

“There was evidence of insect activity in some of the exposed body parts: the eyes and in the mouth. They are being looked at by an entymologist and may narrow the window of time of death and the interval between the event and subsequent burial.”

She glanced around at the now silent officers. “So - to recap. Madeline did not die of natural causes but of suffocation. She was imprisoned somewhere and starved of oxygen. We await forensic help to give us the clues as to the whereabouts of her prison but that is where our investigations will start. We need to know
where
she died. Though Madeline’s stepfather is a suspect responsible for her old injuries Baldwin is still our chief - our only - suspect in her abduction. However if he had any hand in her death he did not, as far as we now know - do so for sexual gratification. There is no evidence that she was sexually assaulted. Apart from the fact that her body, when found, was naked.”

It was difficult to decide whether the reaction around the room was of disquiet, relief or disbelief.