The pathologist nodded. ‘We’re now going to get everything processed and updated on the system. Anything else you need to know for now?’
‘Have you got anything else?’
‘His liver is fatty and he’s pre-diabetic. He wasn’t in good shape at all.’
She hoped that he could answer the next question with some accuracy. ‘Do you have a more precise time of death?’
‘Given the conditions in which he was left out in, the development of his injuries and the stages of decomposition, between eighteen hundred and nineteen hundred on Thursday.’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll email you in a while.’
The pathologist gave a slight bow, before turning on his heel and leaving them in the viewing room.
‘Why would the killer place red liquorice in his throat after killing him? Red liquorice? What’s all that about?’ She shivered as she thought of Dale being beaten and tortured. She pictured the coarse rope constricting his throat as he choked. His fingers grabbing at the rope as his nail tore away from his skin, as his nose and ears began to bleed until he convulsed then died. Two people, there had to be two, she knew Jacob was right about that. Were they both at the murder scene? She imagined a damp, mouldy building. That could be anyone’s garage or lean to. Mould was common. There were a lot of old estates and buildings in Cleevesford.
‘You alright, guv. You look a bit green. It’s not like you to get sick at post-mortems. Shall I grab the bin?’
She shook her head and tapped him on the arm. ‘Don’t be daft. I just keep thinking about the torn fingernail and the liquorice. Gross. Do you think person number two in all this could be Susan?’
‘I think anything’s possible.’
‘You know that Mary gave me a box full of poems and drawings?’
‘Yes.’
‘There was a little piece of red liquorice in that box. We need to book it into evidence as soon as we get back to the station. There was also a piece in Dale’s bin, when we searched the house. It all needs crossmatching.’
She glanced at her watch. They were now running late. Midday had come and gone. She zipped up her coat. ‘Let’s go.’
Forty-Four
Phoebe hurried to the park, checking her phone. ‘Please wait for me, Mum,’ she muttered under her breath as she splashed in a puddle. She hurried across the field, her trainers soaking through as she trudged through the mud. The misty skies fell down on the earth.
She glanced at the cut through and couldn’t see anyone waiting. ‘Mum,’ she called as she climbed through and ran towards the swings. ‘Mum.’
Silence.
She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked her messages, nothing from her mum.
Phoebe flinched as a gloved hand reached across her face, clasping a piece of rag over her mouth. That wasn’t her mum’s hand, it was large and thick fingered. She tried to scream but he clamped his hand harder. Gasping, she could taste the coarseness of the rag in her mouth and the sweetness of what was on it.
Woozy. The sky had turned onto its side and was falling, that’s how it looked to her. Or, was it she who had tilted.
She flapped her arms but she was weakening every time she inhaled. Minutes had passed and he’d remained behind her, gripping her with the rag over her face. Kicking back made no difference. Whatever she did, he just stood firm.
Her coat ripped on the bushes as he dragged her further into the thicket. The road was close, she could hear cars coming and going down the carriageway but behind the thicket was a smaller road where she knew people parked up at night to take drugs and have parties.
With speckled vision, she tried to look up at his face, shaking as soon as she recognised him. It was the man she’d seen walking outside her dad’s flat last night. Now closer to him, she knew she’d seen him before that, just the once.
A tear ran down her face. Cold and wet, her coat had ripped. Her dad was going to be mad when he saw it. He would be angry at her not being at a friend’s house across the way. She was in such big trouble. Where was her mum?
Weak. She was losing the battle. One more breath and she felt herself going, sleeping… and gone.
‘Go to sleep my angel.’ He threw her little body into the boot of his car and kissed the sleepy girl on the forehead.
Forty-Five
