Death rites, p.3
Death Rites, page 3
‘That’s pretty much what I was expecting.’
‘This place is all about reputation. Staff are warned that under no circumstances should their behaviour bring the college into disrepute. That’s in relation to their private or professional lives. They’re hot on equality and diversity here, at least in theory, but I sometimes think the toll is on the female staff.’
‘What do you mean?’
Erin glanced over her shoulder and lowered her voice. ‘My advice is to keep your head down. I’ll explain more another time. You like Professor Kantz?’
‘He seems nice.’
‘Well, you should be fine. His wife is the lieutenant at the police precinct – a big cheese – so as well as holding down the job, he does a lot of the childcare. No big deal, but he’s a little, well, absent.’
‘He seemed distracted this morning. Said he had to drive his daughter to work as his wife was busy.’
‘Really? As I said, the majority of childcare falls to him. Nothing dramatic on the criminal front has gone on in the night, take it from me. If there’s a fatality, I’d know about it.’
‘A quiet morning then.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Erin grinned at her. She clinked cups with Carla. ‘You and I will get on great.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ Carla was beginning to feel invigorated, down as much to the conversation as the coffee.
‘Go for it.’
‘I’ve been given the office of a colleague who died.’
Erin whipped her cup back onto its saucer with a clank. ‘Don’t tell me they put you in Lauren’s room?’
‘You knew her?’
‘Not well. Just to smile at in corridors. I undertook the autopsy after her death, which was a little unusual as I rarely know the cadavers I dissect.’
‘Max Hazen said she drowned.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so.’ Erin bit into her own pastry and kept her eyes on Carla. ‘She killed herself.’
Carla winced.
‘I’m sorry.’ Erin reached over to touch her arm. ‘I got the bare bones of your story from Albert. I thought I should tell you rather than you finding out in passing. Do you want to talk about your husband at all?’
Carla shrugged. ‘Not really. It was three years ago, although some days it feels like it was only yesterday. Dan was ill for a long time before he took his own life and, in some ways, it was a blessed relief, although I have to be careful who I say that to.’ Carla stopped. ‘You say you got my story from Albert. How does he know?’
‘I told you, people like Albert make sure they know what they need to. It wasn’t prurient gossip if that’s what you were worried about. I had a catch-up with the prof when I was matched with you as a mentor, and he mentioned it. I’d have thought they’d have been a bit more fucking sensitive than putting you in Lauren’s room though.’
‘Max told me it was an accident.’
Erin rolled her eyes. ‘Perhaps he was trying to spare your feelings too. Who goes swimming at ten o’clock at night, especially in the river?’
‘Did she leave a note?’
‘No. Did your husband?’
Carla shook her head. ‘No need.’
‘There you go. As I said, who goes swimming at night? Still, the absence of a note means there was some reasonable doubt. But it was a clear case of drowning. Nothing to suggest foul play.’
‘They’ve left all her stuff in my room. I feel like I’m inhabiting the office of a dead person.’
‘Right.’ Erin wiped her hands on her trousers. ‘That’s what I’m here for. You don’t want a mentor; I saw it on your face when we met and I’m not really the nurturing sort. When it comes to practical stuff though, I’m your gal. Leave it with me.’
‘You sure?’
Erin frowned as her phone rang in her pocket. ‘Give me a moment, would you?’ She took the call and listened in silence. Carla took the opportunity to glance around the cafe, trying to separate the academics from tourists. As in Oxford, it was pretty easy to do – an innocuous pastime, although she wondered what Patricia had meant about the dark side of life here. Nothing here in this cafe to suggest Jericho was anything but a well-heeled campus town.
Erin cut the call and swallowed her coffee in one gulp. ‘I spoke too soon about it being a quiet night – there’s been a death and I’m needed at the scene.’
Carla slid off the chair. ‘Of course. Don’t worry about me. I’ll get back to my office and track down my access pass. I need it all sorted before I start teaching next week.’
‘Finish your coffee first,’ said Erin. ‘I’ll sprint back to the campus and pick up my car. Take your time.’
‘Sounds urgent,’ said Carla, settling back down. ‘I hope it’s nothing too terrible.’
7
Erin smelled the stink in the air before she opened her car door. The stench of scorched flesh crept through the air conditioning system and into the car. She fought the desire to retch and fumbled for the face mask she’d stashed in her back pocket. She was in Silent Brook, a piece of scrub near the town’s railroad. It also had a darker history, but she wouldn’t think of that now. You had to go through an underpass to reach the land where the homeless would light meagre fires even in the summer. It attracted the criminal and the dispossessed and this wouldn’t be the first body who’d arrived fresh from Silent Brook, ready for her examinations. There was a huddle of uniformed personnel – paramedics, firefighters, a city ranger and, of course, police officers. Scott peeled away from the group and walked towards her.
‘I got the call half an hour ago. It’s clearly suspicious and they want you to take a look in situ before the autopsy. You’ll soon see why.’
Erin nodded and walked towards the crime scene tape, her eyes all the time on the charred shape lying on the floor. On the way over, Erin had steeled herself for the scene of death. Burnt cadavers weren’t the worst that she had to deal with; drowning victims with their seal-grey skin made her want to retch even after all these years. Casualties of fire more closely resembled the casts she’d seen on a visit to Pompeii on her honeymoon, charred shells of people who had once been living humans. Victims of fire in enclosed spaces were often found in a procubitus position, their faces to the floor as they’d attempted to crawl away from the fire. Here, in the open air, the victim, a woman possibly, judging by size, was sitting upright with her legs bent and arms crossed to her chest, elbows out, a classic pugilistic pose, although thermal heat had robbed the deceased of her hands and feet.
Erin eyes travelled down the cadaver, and she swallowed, wishing she hadn’t eaten anything with her coffee. The abdominal cavity had ruptured, possibly a result of the fire, and exposed the organs of the victim. Even from here, she could see the shrunken and split uterus. Definitely a woman then, and Erin was suddenly reminded of a car crash victim whose unborn baby had still been visible within the pelvis. Christ, get a grip, she told herself.
Erin looked beyond the body to the scorched ground on which the victim sat, noting that the fire hadn’t spread far through the tinder-dry grass. It suggested a fierce sudden blaze, possibly helped by an accelerant. She bent down to step through the tape when she felt an arm jerk her back. It was Perez, nearly her height but at least fifty pounds heavier. ‘You can’t go in there yet. There’s stuff around the body we need you to look at.’
‘There’s always paraphernalia around the victim.’
Erin glanced at Scott, who shrugged. ‘Not like this there isn’t. Lean forward and look for yourself.’
Erin stepped in the direction of the body and took in the small yellow flags laid by the police next to the objects. There was a beer bottle filled with a yellowish liquid, probably urine, two syringe needles, a piece of pale blue glass and a leather boot at least a size thirteen, so unlikely to belong to the woman. Near the victim’s feet was a brown mass of organic matter that looked like animal fur. The usual detritus. Erin glanced around the waste ground. It was a dumping place. Hidden from the road, an area where you’d come if you wanted to abandon a litter of puppies or discard an old sofa.
‘I don’t understand why they’ve been flagged.’
‘Take a closer look at the ground.’
Erin squatted and took in the scorched grass which crept underneath each object. If the ground had been burning, the shoe and plastic syringes should have melted, and the glass objects would show signs of thermal shock. The intact items had been placed next to the body after the fire.
‘What are your thoughts on this, Amy? I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like this before.’
Perez scratched her thigh. ‘Working hypothesis is that either people came down and had a party around the burnt body or the killer put the objects there after the fire had burned out.’
‘Damn.’ That sounded like some weird shit and beyond Erin’s remit. Focus on the body, she told herself. That’s why you’re here.
‘I know. And here’s the lieutenant now.’
Erin turned as Viv Kantz stepped out of the car. Only half an hour earlier she’d been sitting in a coffee shop with Carla, talking about the cop’s domestic arrangements.
‘Does she normally come down to scenes of crimes?’ asked Erin.
‘Nope.’ Perez nodded at Baros, who was sharing a joke with a paramedic. ‘Baros updated her by phone, and she wanted to take a look. Regular party this is turning out to be.’
Viv reached them, panting slightly. She was either seriously unfit or under the weather. Her olive skin was flushed from the exertion and Erin could see she was making an effort not to look flustered.
‘Perez,’ Viv acknowledged her colleague with a nod. ‘Give me a few moments with the doctor.’
Perez rocked on her heels and left them.
‘You’ve taken a look?’ Viv asked Erin.
‘I’ve seen what I need. I’ll do the autopsy today back at the facility.’
‘Two kids found the body. Brothers.’ Viv wiped her face. ‘Can you imagine that? They’d decided to skip school and they gravitated here.’
Erin made a face. ‘This place has a nasty reputation. Do you have an ID?’
‘No purse or wallet apparently. Not even signs of melted plastic as far as we can see. The killer probably took her bag away. Did Perez show you the items scattered around the body?’
‘She did, although I’m not sure what they’re supposed to signify. Perhaps the syringes were put there so we’d assume the victim was an addict.’
‘It’s a good guess but nothing more. This type of shit’s beyond both our remit. Look,’ Viv paused, lowering her voice, ‘how about I call Albert and get one of his lot down here. The syringes are one thing, but there’s a hank of hair near the woman’s feet.’
‘From the victim?’
‘I’m not sure, but your colleague Scott reckons it is, so I’m thinking ritual, which is way out of my area of expertise.’
Erin glanced over at Scott. ‘Ritual? Not my area either.’
‘Well, the archaeologists love it, I’ve heard. No harm in asking for another opinion, is there? Get a member of Albert’s team down here to give the scene a once-over before we move the body. What’s your opinion?’
Erin thought of Carla. Clever, professional and at a loss what to do this week in the unfamiliar town. ‘Albert’s got a new colleague who’s at a loose end until term starts in earnest next week. She’s stuck in a mire of office and personnel issues. How about I give her a call so she can get her brain working on something other than admin? Her name’s Carla James. I think she could do with occupying herself this week.’
‘The Brit Albert told me about? Why not?’ They turned to look at the body. ‘Be a nice mystery for her to solve,’ continued Viv. ‘Welcome to Jericho.’
8
With Erin gone, Carla ordered another coffee and used her phone to search for used car showrooms. She’d meant to ask Erin for a recommendation, but her mentor had shot off as if the soles of her feet were on fire. Carla knew that look, had felt it herself. The scent of the hunt, although she didn’t personally like the analogy as she was opposed to animal sports. But still, Erin had left with that glint in her eyes. Carla found a used dealer lot near her lodgings in Hoyt Lane and flicked through what they had to offer. She wanted something compact and not too expensive to fix if anything went wrong. They had a couple of small Japanese cars that seemed to fit the bill and she would drop by to see them on her way home that evening. Jericho, she had decided, was a place where you needed your own transport, a marked contrast to her life in Oxford where her trusty black bike had conveyed her around the city. Carla missed her bike, and she frowned trying to remember if it was in storage with her other things. It must be, although she couldn’t for the life of her remember wheeling it into the container.
On the way back to her office, Carla managed to find the IT department to get her email account set up and was issued with a pass that would allow her to come and go around campus. The sensation of the lanyard around her neck made her feel less a newcomer, probably also helped by her chat with Erin. Interestingly, her mentor had given little away about herself. She was in her mid-forties, Carla guessed, with striking red hair which showed no signs of grey. Carla had checked out Erin’s hands but spotted no ring to suggest she was married. That was as far as her detective skills took her.
Back in Lauren’s office – it was impossible to think of it as anything else – Carla opened a cupboard, found an empty space and cleared the drawers of her predecessor’s desk and then the biros, academic journals and various items scattered on top of the desk. When the movers came in, they’d just need to put everything into boxes to send on to the woman’s family. One side of the cupboard she saw was filled with notebooks. Like Carla, Lauren had favoured spiral pads and there must be around forty in there. Lauren had numbered them and scribbled on the cover page the dates that each notebook covered. Carla grabbed one at random and flicked through the pages. It detailed a dig in Arizona and on the pages, parched white from the sun, Lauren had noted the results of each day along with suggestions for the next. Lauren had been a good sketcher; amongst the plans and site outlines was a drawing of a dog. Carla shut the book and placed it back among the others.
As she moved her laptop to plug it into the charger, Carla saw an envelope had been placed underneath the computer with her name on it. She lifted the flap and saw it was an invite to a cheese and wine soirée in Albert’s room in three weeks’ time. RSVP to his secretary Lizzie. Carla tapped the envelope on the desk, thinking. Whoever had placed it on her desk had a key to the room. Whatever the etiquette was here, she wasn’t happy about people coming and going as they pleased. She wouldn’t have left her laptop here for a start if she thought people could access it. She doubted that it had been Albert who had placed the handwritten invite. His manner had suggested he’d be busy all day. Perhaps it was Lizzie herself who’d entered while Carla was out.
Envelope in hand, Carla slung her bag over her shoulder and set off to find Lizzie’s office. After a few minutes of fruitless knocking on doors and receiving no reply, Carla gave up and went to find the refectory, suddenly hungry. At least it was around lunchtime, which was good news for her jet lag. She’d woken up ravenous around three in the morning the previous night and had scoffed a packet of biscuits she’d bought at the airport in anticipation of this event.
The refectory, she soon realised, was called the cafeteria in Jericho and was a cheerful room with white walls and exposed brickwork. Few tables had been taken, another lull before the students arrived in earnest, and Carla ordered a bowl of bean soup, having long ago realised that liquid was a good thing when tired and dehydrated. She took the tray to an empty table and dipped her spoon into the broth, savouring its tomatoey richness. She was on her second spoonful when a voice in her ear made her jump.
‘You’ll get better fare at the party. Excellent Californian wine along with European cheeses, although that’ll be less of a novelty for you.’
Carla turned round and regarded a man around her own age wearing a wool jacket over a black roll-neck jumper. His curly hair was cropped short at the sides but longer on top with a side parting, giving him an air of Dylan Thomas. He had his eyes on the white envelope she’d placed on the tray.
‘You made me jump. I’m—’
‘The new prof. I know.’ He walked around to the other side of the table and pulled out a chair. Be my guest, she thought. ‘I’m Jack Caron. I spotted you across the cafeteria and thought I’d come and say hello. This is only my second year, and I can remember my first week vividly. It felt like I’d landed on Mars.’
Carla put down her spoon, glad of someone to talk to. ‘Not just me then wondering if I’ve made a big mistake.’
He frowned, pulling the wrapping off his own sandwich. ‘Seriously? I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’ve been given a mentor?’
‘Erin Collins.’
‘The medical examiner? Lucky you. I was given a physicist in his sixties who I saw once and who then refused to answer my calls. You’ve come from Oxford, I hear?’
‘Yes. You?’
‘I did my doctorate at Yale.’
‘Your accent, though.’ Carla frowned. There was an inflection in his voice she couldn’t place.
‘My father’s family are originally from Montreal. Well spotted, by the way. I thought I’d lost the accent.’ He sounded annoyed, his lips pinched as he looked around the room.
‘You like it here?’
‘I do.’ Jack took a bite of his sandwich while switching off his buzzing phone with his free hand. Carla saw he was wearing an expensive-looking watch and his whole attire confused her. His look was half beatnik, half preppy. ‘The atmosphere’s a little rarefied for me, but where there’s money there’s opportunities for funding, which is what we’re all chasing. Where were you over the summer?’
