Three feet away stood Colin Smith, Decorart. His thin, childlike body and choirboy face did nothing to lessen the threat Gina felt. She took a half-step backwards and then something snapped inside her. With a cry of rage, Gina launched herself at Colin with the blind intention of beating her tormentor to the ground.
‘Let me go! Let me go! Let me go!’ she screamed, her fists raised to attack him.
Despite his slight build, Colin held her wrists easily and waited until her shouting became pleading and the adrenalin-fuelled rush of strength left her body. Gina sagged and he lowered her to the floor.
‘I’ll leave you to appreciate the situation. There’s no escape. Take your time. There’s no hurry. I’m here. I’ll be waiting.’
Once more slumped against the wall, Gina felt numb. Her mind and body were devoid of strength. Overwhelmed by an immobilising sense of helplessness, she appeared impassive despite the thoughts raging in her head. The only sign of movement came from the tears that escaped her eyes and dripped steadily onto her crumpled shirt.
Glum faces stared from cars in a tailback from the ferry terminal in central Dover. The grey evening was not an ideal start to a summer holiday, but for DI Ogborne and DC Eastham, unexplained deaths came in all weathers. When they reached the far side of town, Jenny parked behind a line of police vehicles near the entrance to Maxton House, an unremarkable block of flats just off the Folkestone Road. Together they approached the uniformed officer guarding the door and showed their Warrant Cards.
‘Who found her?’ asked Ed.
‘Parents, Ma’am. They’re in the van with a WPC.’
‘And the body?’
‘Second-floor flat, two flights up and turn right.’
The two detectives became aware of the smell on reaching the second floor. It was far from overpowering; nevertheless, the WPC standing with her back to the door of the flat had a handkerchief held to her nose. Barely glancing at their Warrant Cards, she lowered the handkerchief to indicate fresh coveralls, overshoes, face masks and latex gloves, housed in bags leaning against the opposite wall. Despite the presence of a senior officer she was unable to hide her distress.
‘Your first?’ asked Ed as she pulled on the protective clothing. ‘I guess it’s not pleasant.’
‘I don’t know, Ma’am, I’ve not been inside.’
‘Probably for the best.’ Ed nodded to Jenny. ‘Ready?’
The full force of the smell hit them as they opened the door and stepped inside. Ed heard Jenny gasp and knew she’d immediately wish she hadn’t. Touching the DC’s arm Ed said, ‘If someone had told me she’d been dead for days, I’d have brought my Vicks. Remember next time.’
It was a small one-bedroom flat, with a few pieces of cheap pine furniture and a notable absence of lampshades. Blonde artificial wood flooring and dull off-white paintwork completed the decoration. There were no ornaments and no pictures on the walls. Through an open bedroom doorway Ed could see a pathologist leaning over a small double bed, examining the discoloured body of a young woman. The dead woman was lying on her side wearing a T-shirt and knee-length skirt. A duvet was folded on the floor at the foot of the bed.
‘DI Ed Ogborne and DC Jenny Eastham, Canterbury CID. What have we got?’
‘Dorling, Buckland Hospital. I’ve just about finished. You’ve got a young woman in her early twenties. Like many these days she’s above average weight for her height. I estimate she’s been dead some six to ten days. When I get her back to the lab, potassium levels in the vitreous humour of the eye might provide a more precise estimate, but I’m doubtful; putrefaction has already started. I’ve found no superficial signs of injury. My initial impression is SCD, Sudden Cardiac Death. Given her age it’s likely she was congenitally predisposed.’
‘Anything unusual?’ asked Ed.
‘Almost certainly she’s been moved after death. The discolouration due to putrefaction is strong, but from what I can see of the livor mortis pattern, I’d say she died on her back and was turned onto her side two or three hours later. I’ll need to confirm that at the post-mortem.’
‘Any chance of fingerprints?’
‘A week or so after death shouldn’t be a problem. When can we have the body?’
‘Forensics will arrange it.’
As the pathologist gathered his things and left, Ed turned to Jenny.
‘If the body was moved, that means somebody was here a few hours after she died. The question is: was the same person here when she died? Either way, why didn’t they call the emergency services?’ Ed indicated the body. ‘Why leave the poor girl to decompose in a locked flat?’
Jenny, who was standing further from the bed, kept her eyes on Ed’s face. ‘I can’t imagine anyone being so callous.’
Sensitive to her young DC’s discomfort, Ed sent Jenny to look at the rest of the flat while she stayed in the bedroom. Apparently oblivious to the smell and horror of the discoloured body, Ed bent close to examine the victim before standing back to study the position of the dead woman on the bed. After a quick glance around the sparsely furnished bedroom, Ed called Jenny to join her.
‘What do you make of this bed?’
Jenny came closer for a quick look and stepped back.
‘The sheet’s not new, but it doesn’t look slept on. Apart from the marks made by escaping body fluids, it’s actually very clean, just like everything in the main room and bathroom.’
‘Same in here: not only the room and the bedding, but also the head and foot of the bed appear to have been thoroughly cleaned.’
‘We need to speak to the parents. Go down to the van and have an initial chat with them. I’ll stay here until forensics arrive.’
With a look of relief, Jenny turned to go.
‘Oh, and Jenny, check the doors for any signs of forced entry.’
Gina opened her eyes. She was still slumped against the wall near the door to her flat. Her back ached and her joints were stiff, but these, and other sensations, were overridden by a debilitating sense of listlessness. After fitful hours of weeping, she no longer had the strength to struggle or scream for help. He was right. No one had come. No one could hear her. She was on her own.
There were noises from the kitchen. It sounded as if he were eating. Gina felt sick at the thought of food and then became aware she was terribly thirsty. The glass of champagne was still near her feet. Without thinking, she reached and took a sip. Too late she realized it might be drugged.
‘Ah, Ms Hamilton, you’re awake. I’m pleased to see you’ve decided to try the champagne. That glass must be flat. Let me get you a fresh one.’
‘I want you to leave.’
It was more a weary plea than a demand. Gina felt helpless and too exhausted to insist. The terror she’d experienced as she fumbled with her keys, the horror she’d felt when she grasped she was imprisoned and at his mercy, those extreme emotions had left her body; she could acknowledge them in her head but she lacked the energy to experience their intensity. Physically, her body had shut down.
‘Please go, go and leave me alone.’
‘Let’s not repeat ourselves. Accept the situation. If I wanted to hurt you, I could have done it when you arrived. I could have done it any time since. I could do it now, but I have no intention of hurting you.’