Death Marks (The Symbolist) (9 page)

Pushing aside the results form from the Forensics report, Dove sighed, so it was Delle Woodhouse. Poor - poor girl, what hell did she suffer? And now the mother? How in God's name was she supposed to tell her? There was no going home now, her stomach growled. Damn, the sandwich machine was empty, the officers having bought every scrap and chocolate bar. Rifling through her drawer, she was sure she had a couple of Twix bars stashed away in there. Her eyes lit up, as she saw the brown and blue paper wrapping. Yes - yes. That would keep her going for the next few hours. Biting her lip, she realized she'd have to arrange that bloody Press Conference. No excuse. Bugger it. Picking up the phone, she got through to Redd's secretary. 'Hi Michelle, I've got a name now for the female body, so we can go ahead with TV and Press Conference. Would you arrange it for the Conference Room - nine AM tomorrow morning? .... Yeah ... Not looking forward to it - might shit my pants. Okay. Thanks.'

Unwrapping one of the bars, she bit into the chocolate, feeling it slide over her tongue, her teeth biting through to chewy sweetness. It went some way to comfort her, as she thought of the Press conference. She rose from her chair going over to the window. It was only a small space, but her own. It was a relief to move from the bullpen to these few feet of sanctuary. Here, she was protected from the constant ringing of phones, shouts across the room, banter or accusations, the tapping of computers. In this small box, she was not interrupted by the public, prossies screaming innocence, drunks, slurring and swearing; druggies with mournful eyes and needle-scarred arms, beseeching a fix. Here, she could think, reflect, over those minor details that might reveal a vital clue or lead. She looked out over the Downs; she actually preferred it to Redd's view over the sea.

The Downs spoke to her of limitless times, of savagery and glory, alongside the rural peace of sheep and grazing cattle. Then there were the forests, the words of an old song floated through her mind, 'God give me mountains with hills at their knees, mountains too high for the flutter of trees....' These were not high mountains but the trees spoke, inviting one to wing to their foliage, to live among their boughs, a life of kindling fire and forage. She was getting poetical again,

Sighing, she thought of the time she and Jeff spent, hidden in some leafy bower, tongues entwining, hands stroking; his eyes as green as the ferns, his cheeks a burnished tan, shoulders strong and broad, holding her in a tight embrace. Sex was glorious under the trees, nestling in the soft bed of leaves and peat, the tall ferns their fence against the world. Tears sprang to her eyes, where was he now? Did he haunt those woods in search of her? Often she would walk those paths they trod, hoping that by some miracle, she would see his ghost standing there, arms opening, she running to him, never to leave. Her tears now fell fat and bright on her rounded cheek - never to leave - never to leave? They had only a year - Jeff - only a year, their marriage so brief, his death so violent. Still he blazed bright in her heart. After eight years, she met Redd, a man distant, almost terse; a man fighting his demons. He intrigued her on many levels, walking through her dreams, on concrete pavements and stone steps. He did not smile or raise his arms to her, instead he was always walking away, deaf to her greeting.

Throwing the chocolate wrapper into the basket, she went back to her desk. Tidying the papers into one neat pile, she reached for the phone. 'Hey Jack. Hi ... I was hoping I'd catch you in. I have the DNA results here... okay, five minutes? See ya.'

In those five minutes, she phoned the Family Liaison Officer, 'Lisa? Felicity here - we have had the result of the DNA for the decapitated victim. They confirm it is Delle Wood. I'm just on my way over there with Jack. I can't leave it to someone else, as I did go and see her with Redd. We should be leaving in a few minutes, so I'll pick you up in the car park okay ... Yes ... it looks like you could be in for an overnight stay. Bye for now.'

Putting the phone down, she heard a knock on the door. 'Come in - door's open.'

His usual cheerful expression now sombre, Jack pulled a chair up to the desk. 'So - what's up?'

'I've got the results in sir, here have a look.' Pushing them over to him, she watched his expression.

'Jack - call me Jack.' Reading over the papers, he muttered, '
Poor woman. So, it is Delle Woodhouse. How the hell do we tell her that her daughter is not only dead, but decapitated? Can't someone else do this? Maybe DC Green, she's a tough bird; she could go with her partner, Crosby?'

Felicity looked at his skin now pale, his forehead creased. It would be hard for anyone to give the news. 'Sir. I was with the boss when he went to investigate. I've seen over the girl's bedroom, the whole flat, in fact, and I wouldn't put the woman through that again with a stranger. She needs us
sir. Also, it would give me a chance to go through the girl's bedroom once more. I thought I'd swept it clean, but there must be something I've missed.'

'Yeah - okay. And, it's Jack. By the way, have you heard from Redd?'

'Nope, he's still with the profiler. He rang in half an hour ago, to say they were going to visit the crime scene. He did say he might be late, so he told me to go ahead and see Mrs. Woodhouse and that maybe you would go along as well. Quite honestly, Green is competent, but I think Mrs. Woodhouse will need comforting and support. I'm not saying Green is hard hearted, but she's definitely not a shoulder to cry on.'

Jack nodded. 'Brittle bitch; Ted Papworth is besotted with her. Okay, I suppose, if you like your women stick thin.'

Felicity's eyes opened in surprise. Catching her glance, he said, 'Give me a healthy-looking woman anytime.'

She bristled, there he went again, "
Healthy-looking woman," his eyes roving over her breasts and rounded stomach. 'What exactly do you mean by a healthy-looking woman?'

His eyes gleamed, as he looked over at her legs. 'Someone with some flesh. No good kissing a bag of bones.'

Despite herself, she grinned; he was a bit too suave for her, besides her attention was wholly caught up in Redd. Straightening her back, she said, 'You ready to go? I've got DC Barrett waiting for us in the car park.'

'Yep - lead the way.'

Going through the door, Felicity said, 'Can't say I'm looking forward to this. The lady's a strong character, but I don't know she'll be able to cope with the news. I don't know how any mother could.' She didn't mention Regina's foul language or the short skirt minus a thong.

Dove took a deep breath, as the door opened, 'Regina, this is DCI Jack Cummings and DC Lisa Barrett. May we come in?'

The belligerent look had gone from Regina's eyes, now there was a questioning, a quirk of the mouth. She'd seen the TV, seen the police requesting information on the bodies. She stepped aside, 'Don't mind the mess - ain't had time to clean up.'

The cigarette smoke lay heavy overhead, the walls once white now grimed with the pale brown stains of tobacco fumes. A few framed pictures hung on the walls, a family together on a beach; a young Regina, her hair thick, lustrous, lying on a towel, a small girl digging sand at her feet, a man standing, hand on hip, proud of his family. Dove realized that was hung up since their last visit. Already Regina was forgiving her daughter. The woman who disgusted her on the prior visit, now looked vulnerable, lost and alone in the dregs of a life trailing in cigarettes and booze. Her miniskirt digging into the heavy legs looked pitiful. Where was the young girl on the beach, and now the child - decapitated?

'So have you found her? Delle? She giving you trouble. Always was a little sod yer know. Kids, what can yer do wiv em? Only the other day I said to my neighbour, you can bring em up, but you can't live their lives for em can you? Where's my bleedin' fag?'

Jack and Lisa stood just inside the small lounge, as Dove moved forward, 'Regina, sit down.'

'Nah, I got things ter do, so hurry up and say wot you gotta say. She looked at Dove with dreadful eyes, paused and spluttered, 'It's her isn't it? It's her ... on the tele.' She dropped onto the settee, her head in her hands, her shoulders shaking; sobs came from deep in her chest. 'Can't bear it - can't bear it.'

Dove went to her sitting beside her, pulling her into her arms. 'I'm sorry - so sorry.'

'Where is she? Where's my baby?'

'We're taking care of her.'

Lisa, eyes brimming, said in a small voice, 'I'll go make a cup of tea.'

Regina sobbed, 'I gotta go to her - she needs me yer know - she's always needed me. Oh God - dear God - my baby.'

Jack left the small room -a woman's tears always left him feeling helpless. He needed a moment away from the terror, the despair. Regina lifted her head, her eyes streaming. 'I hurt - hurt. Please tell me - tell me ... it's not her.'

Dove felt the hurt, her eyes stinging, throat closing up. She pushed a thin lock of brown hair from Regina's eyes, shaking her head.

'Can I see her? I gotta see her ....'

Dove held her hand. 'Is there anyone who can be with you for the identification? Mother - friend?'

Regina shook her head, her voice muffled in her hands, 'Me mum's a crack head, don't know her tits from her arse, but I've got a good mate - I know she'll come with me.'

Lisa returned, sitting on the other side of the weeping mother. Dove had yet to tell her that her daughter's death would be on the news tomorrow. Thank goodness, the decapitation was held back.

Dove looked at Lisa and nodded; now she had to tell Regina. Taking the nicotine stained fingers in her hand, she said gently, 'Regina - I want you to be strong now - strong. Sadly, Delle was hurt badly - they ... they ... took her head. I'm sorry - so sorry.'

A stunned silence followed. Regina shocked, sat very still, her face rapidly suffusing with blood; beetle red, she found her breath, 'Took her head? Don't you dare - don't you dare.' She paused, her eyes glaring. 'What the fuck - what the fucking hell do you mean - you bitch - you bitch.' She screamed, lunging at Dove, beating her about the head. 'What the fuck - what the pissing hell do you mean? I'll kill you - kill you.'

Snarling, she punched Dove on the nose, grunting, 'Head off? I'll tear yours off - fuuuick.' Grabbing Dove's corkscrew curls, she dragged her to floor, kicking and biting. Lisa tried to intervene only to be kicked in the shin by Regina.

Fighting back, blood dripping from her nose, Dove tried to get the hysterical woman onto her stomach to cuff her. But, Regina's bull like strength won. As Dove felt vicious kicks to the kidneys, Jack dived into the room and threw himself into the fight, lifting Dove up and hefting her over to Lisa. Talking non-stop to Regina, trying to calm her, he spun her on her stomach, and raising her arms behind her back, cuffed her.

Then she screamed. 'My baby ...oh dear God ... my baby.'

***

Driving back, Jack looked over to Dove, her face now clear of blood 'You okay?'

'Yeah I will be. I just couldn't manage her; I was just about to use the Taser. I feel a bit of a wimp.'

'Come on Felicity - the woman's twice your size.'

'Yeah well - they shoot the messenger don't they?'

'The Romans often did, cut their throats or beheaded them if they brought a message from the enemy camp. Hence the cliché.'

'I just feel so sorry for her. I could weep myself. At least she calmed down; Lisa will stay with her. I just wonder about the identification. Surely, the boss can think of some way? How could she cope with seeing her daughter without a head?' Dove sniffed. 'At least she didn't break my nose.'

'Apart from the tattoos, maybe there are some marks on the body she could identify. Either way, I don't think we can spare her; she'll have to see the body.'

Dove dabbed at her nose. 'Christ - it's just not fair. Poor woman, she's on her own. Regina's tough, as we know, but this is beyond anything any mother should have to face.' Pausing she said, 'I never did that search - maybe later. I did get a ticket from the last search. Delle and the Baker boy went to a nightclub - "Saturdays," the one on the pier.'

'Yeah, busy on a Saturday night.'

'I went there a couple of days ago; the bar was in full swing - dance floor crowded, but no-one seemed to have seen her or David. I think I'll go over there again, ask some questions.' Looking at her watch, she said, '
Should be opening up soon, at least the bar staff will be there.'

Slowing down, Jack frowned. 'Are you up to it? You took a beating Felicity.'

'Delle and David took more than that. We've got to get on this Jack, I don't think they'll stop with these two.'

'It's your call.' Jack took the next turning left to Marine Parade. 'I'll park outside, put the blue light on. Otherwise, we're sure to get a ticket.'

Dove felt the sea breeze, fresh and clean on her skin, lifting her hair, sweeping away the stench of Regina's smoke-filled flat. Jack was pleased to see her step become brisk, her hair like ripe corn stalks. 'I think the office is around the side here. Yes here, the light's on.'

Stepping into reception, she saw a girl at a PC, long red nails clicking on the keys. 'Can I help you?'

Dove showed her card. 'Yes - police. Is the Manager here?'

'Yes - one moment please; I'll get him for you.'

Rising, she smiled, walking swiftly to the double doors, her long skirt swishing around her ankles.

Jack said, 'I'll leave you to do the talking shall I?'

'Yes - fine. I've got photos of Delle and David, so we might strike lucky. Delle was a very attractive girl - bound to have turned heads, especially the clothes she tended to wear.'

A man in his forties wearing a typical business suit of dark grey stripes pushed through the doors followed by the receptionist. 'Hello, my name's David Ferry, Manager here. How can I help you?'

Dove stepped forward showing him her warrant card. 'Homicide. I was here with an officer, a few nights ago, questioning the barmen. We're investigating the murder of a young couple.' She showed him the photos of Delle, and then David. We have reason to believe they frequented here.' She produced the ticket. 'It's frayed, so there isn't a date on it.' We'd like to speak to some of your staff - barmen, waitresses, anyone who may have seen these two.'

The man took the photos. 'I see. I'll most certainly show it to the staff; they're getting the bar ready now. You've come at a good time.'

When was it ever a good time, Dove thought, as she followed him through to the main bar the length of the dancing area? At least, four young men and two older ones busied themselves polishing glasses, taps and mirrors, whilst half a dozen women cleaned the floor, tables and chairs in readiness for the oncoming crowd. Dove nudged Jack's arm. 'More staff here today, maybe we'll strike lucky.'

Turning, the Manager said, 'I'll introduce you to the Bar Manager.'

A taller man in a white shirt, dark trousers and black apron stepped forward, his face serious. 'Brent Mason. Can I help?'

Dove showed him the photos. 'Would you ask your people to have a look at these? We're trying to find anyone who may have seen them here?'

The bartender took them, nodding his head. Raising his arms he said, 'Everyone, your attention please. Gather round.'

The workers stopped immediately. Huddling together, they scrutinized the photos. One young man with a number-one haircut, half a dozen earrings in his ears, and a small dagger through his eyebrow, spoke through lips, pierced with clips and rings, '
Yeah, I've seen them. About two weeks ago. She's a looker yer know.'

Another young man laughed. 'Tight arse on her she has, knows how to shake the bootie.'

Dove ignored their quips, they didn't have the full picture, and she had no intention of enlightening them. 'Okay.' Trying to ignore all the cutlery on the kid's lips she said, 'Were they alone? Did you see anyone with them?'

He bit into the steel rings. 'Yeah; they were talking to these people, can't remember them, but they were nattering away; yer know.'

Dove nodded, feeling a quiver of excitement. 'Try to remember, it's important.'

'Why, they been murdered or something?'

Dove looked at him her face expressionless with flat cop's eyes. He stepped back, shrugging. 'Yeah well, I fink I remember them.'

Jack stepped forward. 'We'd like you to come down to the station. We could
—'

'I ain't done nuthin' ... really guv ... nuthin'.'

Jack suppressed a smile, for all his rings and daggers he looked like a frightened little boy. 'No - no, we'd just like to get a better idea of them - link you up with the police artist, get an identity sketch - okay? Now your name?'

'Terry.'

'Terry what?'

'Terry Paine.'

Jack saw the young man glower, his eyes almost like slits, his tongue licking the steel nails on his lips. 'I don't really remember them guv, honest.'

Jack clenched his teeth together. 'Remember them or not, we want you to come to the station.'