upwards to look past Travilcock’s figure and then he spotted it. “That’s a body,” he said with unarguable certainty.
The WPC righted the helicopter and stole a quick glance at her instructor. “How can you be so sure?” she asked, surprised.
“Experience, Travilcock. Experience.” He smiled thinly. “I have been on so many searches and found so many bodies in the past, that I have come to recognise one when I see it.” MacKay was on the radio, contacting base as he spoke.
A little more than an hour later, Sampler, Miller and the pathologist, Doctor Sallie Dunning, were speeding their way to the scene, directed by the helicopter as it hovered over the spot. Sallie was half a mile behind the detectives and in front of the forensic team, who were just assembling back at New Scotland Yard.
Nearing the spot, Sampler parked his car and the two made their way through the bushes toward the clearing. Both men were thinking the same: the area was so similar to the others, apart from the first, where the young Kylie Johnson was found, that being an open field in plain view of any passer-by.
Great care was taken on the approach, every branch and every piece of ground being inspected before moving on. They did not want to spoil any evidence that may interest forensics. Minutes passed and then they were there. The clearing came upon them suddenly and both men stopped at the edge of the bushes through which they had come, surveying the scene. As almost expected, their gaze fell on a peaceful sight; a woman lying in repose, clothes more or less undisturbed, no signs of struggle and no signs of footmarks in the sturdy grass. They moved forward, again very carefully, with Sampler taking the lead.
He reached the body and studied the face, slightly contorted with the struggle against whatever poison, for he was sure it was poison that had killed her. No doubt a large dosage. This appeared to be a woman in her early forties, still carrying a smoothness of skin and probably a bloom to her cheeks in life, neatly dressed. It occurred to Graham that she might have come out here on a date. The face bore signs of carefully applied makeup, but the lipstick had become smudged and faded around the mouth, giving the impression, correctly, that it had indulged in some amount of kissing prior to death. That would mean DNA being in evidence. As before, the DNA would need to be matched with that already found, and match, it would.
“Ah! There it is!” he muttered.
“What is?” asked his colleague, who was walking slowly around the victim, keeping a distance of three feet or so.
“The bunch of feathers.” Pointing. “There half hidden beneath her left thigh.” That was the clincher. The men exchanged knowing glances. It was the work of their man again.
At that moment, Dunning broke through, brushing away debris that had clung to her on her path to the scene. Walking up to Graham, she gave him a sweet smile, said hello to both men and announced that she would wait for forensics before carrying out her inspection.
The three came together and stood awaiting the arrival of the men in white polypropylene suits. Sallie chatted about her morning; how she had got up late, not oversleeping, simply too cosy to get up. She laughed, a pleasant tinkling sound, as she shook her hair away from her face. The small movement and sound inexplicably caused Graham’s heart to flutter. He looked at Sallie, his glance remaining that little bit too long.
She looked quickly at him and then she, too, lingered on the experienced face of the Detective Inspector. A tiny electrical impulse crackled silently between the pair, and Sallie’s eyes took on a darker hue. Their heads moved almost imperceptibly to each other, ready to make the inevitable kiss. Then, as one, they realised the point they had reached and both took a small step backwards as though recoiling from some unwanted experience. Even so, Graham’s eyes swept down the woman’s body appreciatively, his thoughts becoming instantly lustful. Sallie recognised the expression and accepted it with another warm smile.
Quick to react to the developing situation, one that had become clear to him, Clive stepped between the two as naturally as he could, mentioning the helicopter as a means of breaking the spell. “Look, Graham, the ‘copter’s on its way now.”
The move succeeded as the couple looked skywards and waved at the disappearing machine. A noise behind them heralded the team of forensic officers. They moved into the clearing suitably dressed for the work, little plastic bags, gloves and tweezers at the ready, expertly seeking any disturbance to the area, bending to pick some object up and seal it in the bag, at the same time marking the date, time, object and it’s location. The initials of the officer were then added. Without a word they carried out their task, gently easing the three onlookers aside as they moved to the corpse.
The whole inspection by the forensic team took up a full hour before they left the immediate area where the body lay and retraced their steps back to the undergrowth, checking again as they went.
Sallie, now becoming impatient, moved to the lifeless form of Mary Stewart and began her examination. Speaking in a low voice into the tiny recorder that she always carried on such missions, she recorded every detail: the position of the body, the surrounding area, the lack of signs of a struggle, every mark, scar and pimple on the body, as she carefully removed parts of clothing to afford a clearer view, gently replacing them as they originally were. It was clear that sex had taken place but to what extent would be a matter for the pathology room inspection later. Rising, she answered Sampler’s unasked question. “I would say that death was caused by some form of poisoning and that it occurred approximately twenty-four hours ago. I’ll know better when we get her to the lab.”
The woman once again bewitched Sampler as she turned to face him, the seriousness of the job showing on her face. His breath stopped for seconds as his heart tightened in his chest, his lips becoming dry.
Sallie recognised again the interest, and she broke into a smile, enjoying this unexpected command of the rugged detective. He was very attractive to her, she had always felt that, viewing him from an office environment but she had never allowed the feeling to develop, knowing him to be happily married man who had never shown any previous signs of interest in her. Indeed their paths had not previously crossed, she never being around on Graham’s visits to the laboratory.
Now, however, amidst the horror of a murder, with the body lying cold less than two feet from her, she warmed to the tingling that had begun. She moved past the two men, making sure that her body brushed against Sampler on the way. “I’ll see you at the laboratory later, if that’s okay,” she called over her shoulder.
Sampler came to life. “Yes. I’ll give you a ring in a couple of hours.”
“Right,” he heard as the pathologist became lost in the bushes. He followed with Miller close behind. They broke through the vegetation and reached their car as Sallie’s disappeared round a bend. “You drive, Clive,” said Sampler. “I want to think a bit.”
On the journey back to the Met, Graham had begun wondering at how he had become so taken with the young pathologist. He had noticed her before, that much was true, but not really in that way. After all, he really was happily married and he would not wish to do anything that might interfere with that state of affairs. Still… she did seem to reciprocate. For a few miles, he fantasised about adult activity with her…and she was great…as was he!
Suddenly returning to the world, he was aware that Clive was speaking to him and it occurred to him that he had been for some time.
From then, they talked about the latest murder and the similarities to the others. How were they going to catch this man? The clues, such as they were, led in no definite direction. By the time they had arrived back at the Yard, Graham had decided that the only way forward now, was to go back on the case and interview the bereaved and friends and relatives to see if there was a common denominator. Long, painstaking work, but it needed to be done and he felt that they would be better served carrying out the enquiries themselves.
A little over three hours later, with Graham and Clive deeply immersed in the murder case files, the telephone rang. “Yes!” barked Graham.
His mood suddenly altered when he recognised the sweet, warm voice of Sallie Dunning. “Oh, yes, Sallie,” he said, his voice noticeably softening. Clive felt like vomiting! “Have you completed the examination?” Still sickly- sweetly. A pause and then: “Oh, okay. I’ll pop round right away.”
Replacing the phone, he looked up at Clive to tell him to remain here whilst he went to see Sallie; no point
