Bad Seed: a gripping serial killer thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 3) Read online

  ‘Are you okay?’ she asked. ‘You’re really not yourself today.’

  He blushed and looked down at the desk. ‘Is there a problem with my work?’

  ‘No. But you’re not on the ball. CCTV? Is that really the best suggestion that you could come up with?’

  Silence.

  ‘Dan. I can see something’s wrong. You look like you slept in a ditch last night, if you slept at all and you’re not your usual stylish self.’ She waited for him to smile. Teasing him about his clothes and hair had become part of their routine and he never refused to rise to the bait when she commented on his spotless appearance. This time though his face remained grave.

  ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘Just a bit tired. I’ve not been sleeping well, that’s all. You know how it is, pressure of the job and all that.’

  Even if Kate hadn’t known the DC very well she would have been able to tell that he was lying, but there was nothing that she could do if he refused to tell her what was wrong.

  ‘Okay, fine. I want you to follow up on the friends that Ryan Buckley rang about his wife. Check that he called and find out what they think of him. There’s a secret in that relationship and women usually tell secrets to their girlfriends. Find out what Buckley’s not telling us.’

  Hollis got up from his seat and left the incident room without another word.

  Kate sat in the morgue’s viewing gallery checking her email on her phone. Hollis had managed to speak to two of Melissa Buckley’s friends and both confirmed her husband’s story. Buckley had rung them on Saturday night and had seemed genuinely concerned about his wife’s whereabouts. Tamsin had said that he’d been fairly polite, but Lucy had insinuated that he was belligerent and that this wasn’t the first time. Both had been worried about their friend but reluctant to speculate about her relationship with Ryan. The third friend, Ellie, had her mobile turned off. Kate emailed Hollis back and urged him to keep trying. Normally she wouldn’t have bothered, as usually he could be trusted to do the right thing, but, after his earlier attitude, she was worried that he’d lost focus or that he’d miss something important. She suddenly wished that she’d sent Barratt with him, but the Dan Hollis that she knew would have resented the implication of being teamed up with another DC on such a simple assignment.

  ‘We’re about to start, if you’re ready,’ Kailisa’s voice crackled through the intercom like that of a Dalek and with approximately the same amount of emotion. Since her return to South Yorkshire, Kate had encountered the pathologist on numerous occasions and was still sometimes surprised by his brusque manner when dealing with the police. She had learnt to put up with his snapping and barbed comments because his professionalism was exceptional and his respect for the dead almost reverential.

  ‘Of course. Sorry.’ She waved her phone at him and pantomimed putting it back in her pocket. Kailisa’s assistant, a young woman with close-cropped bleached blonde hair that stood out against her dark skin, risked a flicker of a smile but Kailisa’s face remained stony and his brown eyes showed no spark of humour.

  Kate listened as the pathologist recited a preliminary description of the body which confirmed what Barratt had already told her; the woman was in her late twenties or early thirties, white and well nourished. Bruising on her upper arms and around her neck stood out starkly against her pale flesh and the wound in her abdomen was a gory smile a couple of inches below her naval. Looking at it made Kate nauseous. Not because of the dark blood and tissue but because of the implications of such a wound. Had someone deliberately targeted this woman because she was pregnant? Had her husband found out that she was carrying another man’s child and decided to get rid of them both? Or was this random? The latter seemed the least likely explanation but, until Kailisa had finished his work, Kate could only speculate.

  The pathologist was examining the bruises on the woman’s throat, angling a high-intensity light towards the left-hand side and measuring his findings with a ruler.

  ‘There are bruises to the throat and neck consistent with pressure from fingers, suggesting manual strangulation, and bruising to the upper arms which suggests that she was knelt on as he strangled her, presumably to subdue her arms and prevent her from fighting back or scratching him.’

  He manipulated the throat.

  ‘The hyoid bone appears to be fractured. X-ray will confirm. Or dissection if necessary.’

  Kate knew that he’d be reluctant to cut into the throat as there would need to be a viewing at some point to confirm the identity of the dead woman. The bruising would be relatively easy to cover with make-up but a throat wound would make the process even more difficult for the loved ones.

  His assistant noted down the findings while Kailisa checked the eyes of the victim.

  ‘Petechial haemorrhages in both eyes, also suggestive of strangulation.’

  He moved the light down the body.

  ‘There is an obvious wound to the abdomen, approximately fifteen centimetres in length and one centimetre wide, curving slightly upwards. Lack of vital response in the tissue suggests that this was carried out post-mortem.’

  Kate let out a breath that she hadn’t realised that she was holding, thankful that the horrific wound wouldn’t have caused any pain. It looked like the cause of death was probably strangulation then, but she knew better than to ask Kailisa for cause and time until he’d finished the PM. His opinion of pushy police officers had been made abundantly clear to her on more than one occasion and she’d learnt to bide her time and allow him to work through his findings in his characteristically methodical manner. He continued to scan the body with the light and a magnifying lens, occasionally using tweezers to remove items invisible to Kate, which he placed on pre-prepared slides.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ Kate said, remembering Ryan Buckley’s description and feeling faintly ridiculous for apologising to the metal box on the wall next to her. ‘But we have a potential ID on the victim. Could you possibly look for identifying marks?’

  She dug out her phone and scrolled through to the photograph of a paragraph of Buckley’s statement. ‘She might have a scar on her left knee. Small, crescent shaped.’

  The pathologist glanced up at her then leaned in to the body as though he was about to inhale her aroma. He grasped the left knee in a gloved hand and tilted it backwards and forwards to catch the light in different ways. ‘There’s something there. Small. Curved. Looks like a very old scar.’

  Kate felt her pulse begin to race. ‘Okay, thanks. She might also have three moles on her left shoulder blade. Like a triangle.’

  Kailisa gestured to his assistant who helped him to gently roll the body over so he could see the shoulders. He muttered something and the blonde woman grabbed a camera and took three quick pictures.

  ‘I’ll display the images on the screen up there,’ Kailisa said. He lowered the body carefully, took the camera and fired off a few quick shots of the knee. Three or four keystrokes on his PC and, moments later, the blank monitor in the observation gallery flickered into life.

  ‘That’s the knee,’ he said, stating the obvious as Kate stared at the image. Just below the knee cap was a small mark which could have been the scar that Ryan Buckley had been describing. ‘And here’s the shoulder.’

  The display filled with a blown-up image of the dead woman’s skin with a triangular pattern of moles clearly visible. Kate was in no doubt that she was looking at the body of Melissa Buckley.

  ‘Shit,’ she whispered, trying to work out her next move. She’d need to tell Raymond and she knew that he’d want the husband brought in for further questioning, but would that do any good? There was no evidence that Buckley had harmed his wife in any way and they might need his co-operation if they were going to be able to trace her movements.

  All she could do for the moment was watch the PM. She knew that Kailisa would be less than impressed if she walked out halfway through, and it would allow her some time to think. She observed as the pathologist performed the Y-incision and ea
sed back the skin and layers of flesh of the woman’s chest and stomach. She knew what he was looking for – the reason for the abdominal wound and, if what she suspected were true, she needed to be here to listen to his conclusions.

  Kailisa stopped working for a few seconds, his hands completely still as he tilted his head on one side and looked down at the body. She heard him say something to himself but couldn’t make out the words.

  ‘DI Fletcher,’ his voice crackled over the intercom. ‘Please come down here. There’s something that I’d like you to see. And please, remember a gown and gloves.’

  Two minutes later, and appropriately attired, Kate was staring at the dead woman trying to work out what Kailisa had seen.

  ‘Here,’ he said, indicating the abdominal wound with a gloved finger. ‘It looks like somebody tried to perform a C-section, yes?’

  Kate leaned closer.

  ‘But here,’ he peeled back layers of skin and fat to expose the abdominal cavity. ‘There is no wound. The incision doesn’t go through to the abdominal cavity. It’s broken through the skin and the first layers of fat but it doesn’t breach the fascia.’

  Kate stared at the wound, baffled.

  ‘What does that mean? Is this a C-section or not?’

  ‘Not,’ Kailisa said with a quick shake of his head. ‘This isn’t an attempt to deliver a foetus and, judging by the size and shape of the uterus there was no foetus to deliver.’

  Kate looked away as he leaned in, scalpel grasped firmly in a steady hand, to confirm his suspicion.

  ‘This woman was not pregnant, DI Fletcher, and this wound is not a caesarean section.’

  ‘So what is it?’

  ‘I have no idea. It wouldn’t be fatal as it hasn’t penetrated to the colon or any of the major organs. It serves no purpose in subduing the victim as, despite its appearance, it’s really rather superficial and it appears to have been inflicted post-mortem. If I were to hazard a guess, and I’m not known for my guesswork, as you are aware, I’d suggest that this was ritualistic in some way. It meant something to the person who did it, but that meaning may be obscure to us.’

  Kate nearly snapped at him to tell him that she was well aware of what ritualistic meant but she needed information and biting off the pathologist’s head wasn’t the best way forwards.

  ‘But it looks like a C-section? The size and the curve?’

  ‘It does,’ Kailisa confirmed. ‘There are a number of ways to perform this particular operation but only two ways to make the initial incision; a straight line or a slight upward curve. They may vary in length but the shape will always follow one of these two patterns.’

  Kate remembered the conversation that she’d had with Nick earlier.

  ‘Is it likely that whoever did this had medical training?’

  Kailisa angled the lamp so that they could both get a closer look at the wound.

  ‘Look here,’ he said, pointing to the upper edge. ‘The cut is one single line; there are no overlaps.’

  ‘So he knew what he was doing?’

  ‘Or he was in a position to be able to take his time. He wasn’t concerned about being disturbed.’

  Kate stepped back trying to picture the scene. The woman was already dead, strangled, and her attacker wanted, needed, to make some sort of statement. So he undressed her and cut her open in a way which suggested a surgical procedure.

  ‘Did he use a scalpel?’ she asked.

  Kailisa frowned and pulled an angled magnifying lens down from the array of lights and tools which hung over the dissecting table like the legs of a giant spider.

  ‘He used a fine, sharp blade consistent with a scalpel.’

  Kate took that as a yes.

  ‘So he might have access to medical equipment? Again that might suggest he’s a doctor or a surgeon.’

  Kailisa’s face was impassive as moved the lens down the body. He stopped at the woman’s pubic hair, which looked recently waxed with only a thin strip remaining, and asked his assistant for a fine comb.

  ‘She was raped?’

  Kailisa sighed heavily, his patience with her questions obviously running out.

  ‘That is what I’m trying to ascertain,’ he said, running the comb through the delicate curls. He tapped the comb on a piece of white paper and pulled the magnifying lens back.

  ‘No obvious sign of contaminant pubic hair but I’ll take a sample and test for skin cells or lice.’

  Kate shuddered and then looked away as Kailisa gently parted the woman’s legs.

  ‘I’ll swab for semen,’ he was saying. ‘If he used a condom we might find traces of lubricant but that obviously won’t give us DNA. Otherwise…’

  Kate sensed that he’d stopped moving as he stopped talking and turned to see what he’d found. He was staring at something between the woman’s legs, a swab held between his fingers, his top lip slightly curled up in either disgust or horror.

  ‘What have you found?’

  Kailisa shook his head as if he was trying to clear the image from his mind.

  ‘As you know, DI Fletcher, even with the evidence of semen or lubricant, rape can be difficult to prove. The vaginal tissues are extremely elastic and any swelling or bruising tends to subside within a few hours. However, our victim didn’t have a few hours. There are two scratches on her upper left thigh and her vulva is swollen and contused. I would suggest that her attacker penetrated her with some force.’

  ‘Bastard,’ Kate hissed. She tried to imagine what had happened. Had the attacker lured the woman into the undergrowth and then killed and raped her or had the attack occurred somewhere else and Town Fields was simply the dump site? The controlled nature of the abdominal wound certainly suggested the latter.

  ‘Anything to suggest she was killed where she was found versus being left there after the attack?’

  Kailisa indicated with a gloved finger that Kate should change her position and stand with him on the other side of the body. She usually felt frustrated by his economical use of words as a medium of communication but she wasn’t entirely sure that she was ready for what he had to say.

  ‘Here. Lividity marks on the side of the face, upper arm and the left hip. At some point soon after her death she was lying on her left side. At the scene she was on her back.’

  ‘So she was displayed? He killed her somewhere else and then left her to be found?’

  ‘Along with the clothing from the lower half of the body.’ Kailisa pointed towards a series of photographs of the scene which were laid out on a counter top which ran along one wall of the mortuary.

  Kate walked over to the images and studied them. The woman’s body was supine, naked from the waist down with the legs together. The lividity mark on her left hip was clear in the picture as was the abdominal incision. How long had she been there before Cawthorne made his grisly discovery?

  She turned to ask Kailisa the one question that she knew he always hated.

  ‘Any idea of time of death?’

  He’d removed the stomach and was in the process of examining the contents.

  ‘She was in full rigor mortis when she was brought in which suggests that she’d been dead for between eight and twenty-four hours. Body temperature indicated around the middle of that range, making adjustments for the overnight temperature on Saturday night. The stomach is empty of solids but contains a liquid which smells like coffee. Obviously I’ll need to have it tested.’

  ‘So sometime between Saturday morning and Saturday afternoon seems likely?’

  Kailisa concurred.

  It fit perfectly with the last known sighting of Melissa Buckley. And the last person to have seen her alive was her husband. Kate snatched off her gloves, picked up her phone and rang Hollis.

  Chapter 4

  Hollis glanced at the screen of his phone and then flicked the answer icon into the red. He knew that he’d be in for a bollocking later but that didn’t matter now. What mattered was the woman in front of him; the one who had been trying to mess u
p his life for the past few weeks. Suzanne Doherty.

  She’d been out of prison for four months. He knew because he’d been keeping track of her, surreptitiously of course, and had been aware of her release date. He wouldn’t have bothered if it hadn’t been for the letter. That fucking letter which made him want to curl up with shame and embarrassment. She’d addressed it to Doncaster Central and he’d been handed it as he’d signed on for work on a chilly spring morning. He remembered that morning vividly as his last moment of peace.

  The contents weren’t especially worrying; she wanted to see him when she got out, to make amends for how she’d treated him. It was the usual guilty bullshit that he’d seen a couple of times during his late teens and early twenties. His own fault really. He’d been the one to accept her olive branch when at age seventeen, she’d reached out to him. His adoptive parents had always been open with him and had always answered his questions as patiently and as fully as they could, but it wasn’t enough. At seventeen Dan Hollis had wanted answers to the big questions. He wanted to know who he was and where he came from. His memories of his life before the adoption were hazy, even though he’d lived with his biological mother until he was seven years old, and he felt a need to try to flesh out what he thought he remembered.

  He’d met up with Suzanne in a pub two days after he’d turned eighteen. She said that she’d wanted to buy him his first legal drink and looked devastated when he told her that his dad had already done that – he made sure that he called his adoptive parents mum and dad just to spite her; he hadn’t wanted to make it easy. They’d talked and she’d explained her situation; that she hadn’t been old enough to cope with a child and that she’d tried her best but it had all been too much. But, now she was older, she wanted to make it up to him.