High Moor 2: Moonstruck (3 page)

The doors slid open, and he stepped out. Here, the bright decoration adorning the public areas was conspicuous by its absence. Instead, cold white ceramic tiles covered the lower part of the walls, while the old beige paintwork above them blistered with age and salt residue from the brickwork. The air smelled thickly of disinfectant and formaldehyde. Harsh fluorescent lighting ran the length of the corridor, buzzing and flickering. He’d reported the fault to the maintenance department numerous times and so far no one had bothered to come down here to fix it. He’d speak to them again about it, once he’d performed the next autopsy, and his mood was sufficiently foul.

A door swung open, and his assistant, Susan Turnbull, stepped into the corridor. She already wore her hospital scrubs, ready for the afternoon’s procedure.

“How was lunch, Henry? Did they manage to come up with something edible today?”

He shook his head. “Not even close. It was the hotpot again, but I have no idea what meat they put in it.
If
it was lamb like they claim, the poor thing must have had something very wrong with it. Are we set for this afternoon?”

Susan nodded. “Jenkins brought the body down from the morgue about ten minutes ago. It’s still bagged up, so I’ve not had a chance to see how bad it is yet,” she winked at him, “I thought I’d save the honours for you.”

He groaned. “You’re too kind. I’ll go scrub up, and meet you in the lab. Don’t start without me.”

Susan smiled sweetly at him. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Henry. I don’t want to deprive you of all the fun.”

Five minutes later, Henry entered the pathology lab. The black body bag rested on the metal table in the centre of the room. He sighed, put on a pair of rubber gloves, and waited while Susan turned on the light above the autopsy slab. Steeling himself, he unzipped the bag.

The corpse was in remarkably good condition. He noted several bites and scratches, but it was nowhere near the horror show that he’d been expecting.

“So, we have a female. Mid−thirties. Hmm, the police report says the cause of death appeared to be multiple gunshot wounds, but I can’t see any evidence of that, just several contusions that seem to be from an animal attack,”

Susan pursed her lips in annoyance. “It’ll be that idiot, Jenkins. He’s fucked the paperwork up again. I’m going to put my foot up his arse when we get done here.”

“Well, never mind that now. Let’s see if we can establish exactly how Miss Williams, if that is her name, really did die. Susan, can you pass me the scalpel?”

Henry took the blade and pressed it against the dead woman’s stomach. The scalpel sliced through the flesh easily as he opened her up. Blood welled up from the cut.

“Jesus Christ!”

Susan looked puzzled. “What’s the matter?”

“Look, she’s bleeding! Dead bodies don’t bleed. This is a living person. Get a crash team down here now, and tell intensive care to get ready to receive a patient, while I sew this incision closed. Then tell that cretin Jenkins that I’d like a word with him in my office.”

***

15th November 2008. High Moor Police Station. 16.25.

The door to the interview room swung open, disgorging the two police officers into the corridor.

Olivia turned to her boss. “Well, that was quite a story, wasn’t it? Do you believe any of it?”

Phil laughed. “What? That he’s a werewolf? Don’t be daft. Mr Simpson should really check his facts. Last night wasn’t even a full moon. He’s taking the piss out of us, and angling for an insanity plea, that’s all.”

“So what do you think really happened?”

Phil shook his head. “Damned if I know. Given that most of the casualties were naked, I’d guess that it was some sort of sick, drug−fuelled sex act gone wrong.”

Olivia grinned. “You think they were dogging?”

“That’s not funny, Olivia.” He smiled in spite of himself. “OK, maybe a little. I don’t want a word of what he said repeated. There’d be hell to pay if the press got hold of the werewolf angle. Franks would nail both our arses to the wall.”

“Fair enough. So, what do you think we should do next?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it? I want you to go to the magistrates and get a search warrant authorised for John Simpson’s house in High Moor and, while you’re at it, get one for the Wilkinson place as well. I want to have forensics teams in both properties by the end of the day.”

“We might struggle for resources. Do you want to pull one of the teams out of the Harrison house?”

Phil considered this for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, but send some uniforms round to Simpson and Wilkinson’s first. See if there’s anything obvious lying around, but tell them to look and not touch, and not to enter the properties unless there’s a clear means of entry. I don’t want to risk invalidating evidence because we didn’t follow procedure.”

“Okay, boss. What are you going to do?”

“Well, I’m going to get a psychiatrist to do an assessment of Mr Simpson, so we can head off the insanity plea that he’s working up to. We’ll get a blood sample and have them check for drugs. After that I’ll go to the hospital to see if the pathologist can tell me anymore about the casualties and, while I’m there, get an update on Mr Wilkinson’s condition. Apart from Simpson, he’s the only other witness. Maybe, if he survives, we’ll get more sense out of him.”

Olivia nodded. “What about Simpson? We’ve not charged him with anything yet.”

“Speak to the CPS before you go to the magistrates, and see if they think we have enough to get him on something. We’ll need to get him booked into the court for Monday morning so we can get him remanded into custody. In the meantime, ask a couple of the uniforms to stick him back in his cell. Maybe he’ll feel like changing his story after he’s had some time to think about it.”

Olivia nodded. “Okay, but you’ll have to attend the hearing. I’ve got a scan booked at the hospital.”

Phil smiled. “You’re still hardly showing. How far along are you now?”

Olivia put her hand against her stomach. “Almost seven months. I’m hoping she doesn’t take after her father. Matt’s mam says that he was tiny until the eighth month, then piled the weight and size on. Apparently she needed stitches. Not the sort of mental image you want of your mother−in−law. Ever.”

Phil winced. “Thanks for sharing. I’ve met Matt’s mother, remember. Come on, let’s get on with it. I’ve got a meeting with the pathologist in an hour, and the old bugger doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

***

15th November 2008. University Hospital of Durham. 17.10

Susan rubbed her eyes and leant back against cold concrete. The sound of Henry’s voice echoed off the unyielding ceramic tiles. The walls muffled the sound so that the details of his conversation with Jenkins were lost, but she could make out enough to tell her she wouldn’t have changed places with him for anything. Henry’s voice went up another few decibels, meaning she was able to make out some of the words. Idiot seemed to be cropping up on a regular basis, as well as prosecution, criminal negligence and fuckwit.

She massaged her temples. The last few hours had been a blur. No one was certain of the woman’s identity, what was wrong with her, or how she’d ended up on the pathologist’s table when she was clearly still alive. She’d called an emergency medical team and rushed the woman to intensive care. Henry had ordered a battery of tests to try and determine exactly what was wrong, but they would take time that Susan wasn’t sure the woman had. Her vitals were weak, and even in intensive care, they were struggling to keep her stable.

What
she
needed was a coffee. A real one, not the acrid sludge served up by the vending machine. She turned and began walking to the elevator, when the doors slid open, and three people, two men and a red haired woman, stepped out.

She hurried along the corridor to intercept the strangers. “Excuse me, but you’re not supposed to be down here. This area is off limits to the public.”

One of them, a heavy set man in his forties, smiled and flashed an ID card at her. When he spoke, it was with a thick eastern European accent. “I’m Detective Sergeant Pawlac, and this is my colleague, DC Braun from Durham Constabulary. We’re here with Marie William’s cousin, to formally identify the body. Were you not told that we were coming?”

Susan smiled. “Miss Williams, I’m afraid there’s been something of a mix up. I don’t want to get your hopes up, but there’s a chance that we have some good news for you.”

The woman looked at Susan and wiped a tear from her eye. “What do you mean?”

“The person brought in last night isn’t dead. She’s in intensive care at the moment, but we aren’t completely certain who she is because her injuries don’t match the police report. If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her and you can tell us whether she really is your cousin.”

The woman looked at Sergeant Pawlac and raised an eyebrow, then turned back to Susan. “That’s wonderful news. Please, I need to see her. I have to be sure that she’s alright before I call the rest of the family.”

Susan frowned. The cousin had almost sounded sarcastic. She shook the doubt away. People dealt with things in their own way and anyway, she was Scottish. They always sounded sarcastic. She smiled her best smile and motioned back along the corridor. “Of course, please follow me.”

She walked to the elevator and hit call. The two police officers and the woman followed her into the lift, and she pressed the button for the second floor.

It was large enough to hold a stretcher and a team of medics, and she used it every day, but for some reason a wave of claustrophobia washed over her. Her heart raced and her legs turned to rubber as adrenaline coursed through her system.

Sergeant Pawlac put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Susan flinched at his touch. Waves of gooseflesh surged across her back. “I’m fine, just a little tired.” Standing this close, her nostrils twitched at the smell of the man. Not body odour exactly. An earthy, musk−laden scent that was reminiscent of wet dog. She jumped as her back hit the elevator door. She hadn’t realised that she’d been backing away. She opened her mouth, intending to make a joke of it, when the door slid open and she stumbled out into the corridor. The claustrophobia faded, although her heart still pounded. Cheeks burning with embarrassment, she straightened her smock and attempted a smile. “Please, follow me. She’s just down here on the right.”

She walked along the corridor as quickly as she could without breaking into a run.
For goodness’ sake, Susan, get a bloody hold of yourself.
The urge to walk faster surged up from within on another tidal wave of adrenaline, but she crushed the rising panic and forced herself to take steady, measured steps until they reached Marie William’s room. She opened the door, letting it swing open. She put out her hand and motioned for the others to go inside. Her heart fluttered again.
For fuck’s sake, what the hell is wrong with me?
Susan moved to follow the others, but found herself just standing in the doorway, unwilling to cross the threshold into the dark room.

Marie Williams, or the woman they thought was Marie Williams, lay on the bed with a saline drip attached to her arm. A thick plastic tube ran from the unconscious woman’s mouth to a ventilator by her bedside, while a monitor above her head displayed her blood pressure and heart rate.

Susan reached out and put her hand on the red haired woman’s arm, then recoiled in shock. Her skin was hot. Not warm, actually hot. “Miss Williams? Is this your cousin?”

The red haired woman stifled a sob and pushed past Susan, into the corridor. “I’m sorry, I just…I just need a moment. “ Then she turned and walked away, back towards the elevator, shuddering with barely suppressed tears.

Detective Constable Braun shrugged his shoulders. “It would have been nice of her to tell us if this woman is her cousin first, but I’m sure she’ll let us know when she comes back. So, tell me, what do you think is wrong with her?”

Susan shrugged. “They’re running some tests now, but they seem to suspect some kind of heavy metal poisoning. Possibly mercury. Is there anything you might be able to tell us about where she was found?”

Inspector Pawlac shook his head. “I’m afraid that I’m not authorised to comment on an ongoing investigation, beyond what was in the report. There’s no need for you to wait. We’ll stay here until her cousin comes back, and when we get a formal identification, we’ll let you know.”

Susan nodded and tried to hide her relief. She really didn’t want to wait in that room with these men, even if they were police officers. “I’ve been meaning to get a coffee. Can I get either of you anything?”

Both men shook their heads, and Susan stepped back from the doorway. She was about to leave, when she remembered something. “Oh, should I tell your colleague that you’re here when he comes down later? He’s with the other one at the minute, but he’s got a meeting with Doctor Pearce afterwards.”

The two police officers exchanged glances, then Inspector Pawlac turned and shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry about that. We’ll catch up with him later, and compare notes back at the station.”

Susan managed a weak smile and then scurried away, towards the hospital cafeteria. She’d never been so relieved to get away from two people before, but she couldn’t have said why.

***

15th November 2008. University Hospital of Durham. 17.30

Colin Jenkins hunched over the microscope and felt the black cloud of anger well up again, burning behind his eyes until all he wanted to do was storm back into Dr Pearce’s office, and punch him right in his stupid fat nose.
I wouldn’t mind, but I didn’t do anything wrong.
Out of morbid curiosity, he’d sneaked a look at the corpse when the police brought it in. The woman had been almost cut in half by automatic weapons fire, with exit wounds on her back the size of his fist. He couldn’t tell Pearce that, though. The cranky old bastard was wound up enough. If he found out his lab tech had been checking out the naked dead girl, then he could kiss his job goodbye.

He refocused the microscope and looked at the blood sample taken from the Harrison man that morning.
That can’t be right?
The white blood cell count was through the roof, and the red blood cells were stacking in strange groups, in the same way that animal cells sometimes did. The culture was filled with tiny white dots that swarmed through the plasma. He increased the magnification and watched the cells seethe and multiply.