Shattered bones, p.1
Shattered Bones, page 1
Shattered Bones
Maya Barton #Book 2
Kate Bendelow
Copyright © 2021 Kate Bendelow
The right of Kate Bendelow to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2021 by Bloodhound Books.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
Print ISBN 978-1-914614-61-3
Contents
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Also by Kate Bendelow
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Then
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Then
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Then
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Acknowledgements
A note from the publisher
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Also by Kate Bendelow
Definitely Dead (Maya Barton #Book 1)
* * *
Non-fiction
The Real CSI: A Forensic Handbook for Crime Writers
To Dorothy & Kenneth Bendelow,
Also known as Mum #2 and Daddy. I’m truly blessed to have you as my in-laws.
Thanks for everything you do. Including all the gorgeous food, stunning hanging baskets, babysitting and causing minimal damage when you’ve set fire to my Christmas table (Dad).
I love you both.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice.
— Psalm 51:7-8
Prologue
Trevor Dawlish had never been an angry man. It wasn’t in his nature. He was renowned for being mild-mannered. He was studious, polite, thoughtful, dependable, and honest.
Honest? Well, most of the time…
The majority of the time.
He had his ‘little-white-lies’. Okay, and one filthy black lie. That didn’t make him a duplicitous person, surely.
He protected secrets and held his counsel, but didn’t everyone?
He wasn’t harming anyone with the confidences he kept.
Up until now.
Now he could harm someone.
Now, he was raging with an intensity so strong it was a physical burn. A pain so raw and visceral, nothing he thought or did could shake it off.
He was hurting.
He was shaking, fists clenched so hard, his fingernails buried into the palm of his hands leaving half-moon furrows in the flesh.
Right now, Trevor felt like he could kill.
And, as God was his witness, he’d smile while he was doing it.
As God was his witness, he would sing his exaltations as he squeezed out every last breath of the person who had wronged him. And then he would shatter every single bone in their body…
1
The biting wind plucked and twisted the crime-scene tape. It had been strung across the canal bank from a fence post to the remains of a burnt litter bin. It hung miserably, like a piece of pathetic party bunting. Moody, plump clouds chased each other across the skyline casting watery shadows onto the towpath. The weather was typical for late October, the sun barely a pallid smile as if it knew an hour’s daylight was about to be snatched away, and it resented the prospect.
Next to the crime-scene tape, a uniformed police officer was stamping his feet in a desperate attempt to stay warm. He was also willing the pressure in his bladder to subside. The sound of water lapping against the canal bank was doing nothing to take his mind off the mounting urge to piss. Had he been alone, he would have relieved himself against the bin, but the presence of two SOCOs, CID, and the underwater search unit meant he couldn’t.
Plus, it would be just his luck that the minute he whipped his dick out, the press would descend on the otherwise secluded location. He would have to wait until he got back to Beech Field police station, which he suspected would not be happening any time soon.
‘You’re going to have to be really careful when you pull the body out. From what I can see, he looks like he’s about to pop.’
SOCO Maya Barton’s voice was muffled behind the face mask, as she addressed Steve Bower, the sergeant from the underwater search unit. Bower was lowering himself gingerly into the canal as the wind battered against him. Maya didn’t envy him the task in hand as she watched him submerge into the murky water. It wasn’t just the biting wind tearing across the canal bank that caused her to shiver violently, it was the thought of the foreboding water, swirling menacingly below.
Maya took a small step back, so she could shelter against the crime-scene tent. DC Mike Malone stood stalwart, feet firmly planted on the canal bank, seemingly immune to the biting wind. Late fifties, with grey hair and a stocky build, Malone had pretty much seen and done it all during his extensive career and was rarely flustered; if anything, like now, he carried an air of perpetual boredom.
Maya’s colleague, Chris Makin, had already taken refuge inside the tent and was peeping sullenly from the confines of the white canvas. Despite his bulky frame being ensconced in a scene suit, he was shivering. His thickset eyebrows were furrowed in a frown, and he exuded irritability. His dark hair, peppered with silver, and his thick-rimmed, black glasses made him appear older than his late forties.
‘How long does it take to get a body out of the water for fuck’s sake? God, they do some pissing about.’
Maya grinned beneath her mask. ‘Don’t take it out on them. It’s a crap enough job as it is, without you having a go. You’re just hangry.’
‘Hangry? What are you talking about, woman?’
Maya laughed. ‘It’s a word used to describe someone who is irritable and in a shitty mood just because they’re hungry. It has something to do with your blood sugar being low and your body releasing certain hormones that cause you to feel tetchy. I told you before, I’ve got an apple in the van. You should have eaten that before we got suited up.’
‘An apple? A fucking apple? Who’s ever eaten an apple and felt full?’
Maya ignored him as she watched Bower steady himself. At six foot three he looked like he could just about stand on the surface as the water touched the top of his shoulders. Despite the choppiness, there was no chance of the body floating away, as it had been snagged securely against a piece of shrubbery that stretched into the canal. Bower’s colleague, Mel Gregory, was crouching on the towpath close to the cadaver, ready to lower the orange, plastic body scoop into the water.
‘You all right, Steve? Can you get him on from there or do you need me to come in too?’ Mel called.
‘Nah, you’re all r
ight. Don’t break the habit of a lifetime by getting wet, eh. You’re better staying up there, so you can help heave him out once he’s strapped on.’
‘Do you want the body bag?’
‘No, we’re secluded enough here, I’m happy to keep him on the scoop. That okay with you, Maya?’
Maya considered it a moment. The underwater search unit used a mesh body bag to remove cadavers from the water, but in view of the fact the body had clearly been there some time and, as Steve had said, they were in a secluded location away from prying eyes and cameras. ‘It’s fine thanks, Steve. He can go straight into the tent when he’s out.’
‘Get ready with your camera then, Maya.’
Shivering again, Maya stepped away from the tent and approached the edge of the water.
Maya adjusted her camera settings. ‘Where the hell is Jack, he should be here for this.’
Malone shrugged. ‘The DI should be here for this too, but have you ever known Redford turn out in wet weather? Jack has gone to phone him. In other words, he’s keeping his arse warm in the car while we do all the donkey work. I’ll ring him on his personal number and see if I can chivvy him along.’ He fished down the front of his scene suit, so he could reach for his mobile.
‘Can you shift him okay, Steve?’ asked Mel.
Maya heard a grunt of confirmation as Bower disappeared behind the shrub. She could see the foliage bending and heard a handful of branches breaking.
‘Got him. His hood was snagged on the lower branches. Fucking hell, he really is ready to pop. He’s as bloated as a toad. Hold it steady, Mel, while I fasten him on.’ There was another grunt and the foliage dipped violently. ‘Right, he’s ready, start to pull him up.’
Maya watched as the body scoop, now filled with the decomposed corpse, was heaved out of the water. The plastic scraped across the stones of the towpath, like a child’s sledge over slush and ice. Mel backed away allowing Maya to take several photographs.
‘Come on, love. It looks like it’s going to start pissing it down any minute, we better get him in the tent.’ Chris was at her shoulder surveying the cadaver.
‘Yeah, we don’t want him getting wet, do we?’ Maya rolled her eyes.
Bower emerged from the water, and he and Mel heaved the body scoop towards the crime-scene tent. From there, they carefully lifted the cadaver and placed it on the waiting body sheet on the floor of the tent. His clothing was worn at the edges, the current having made light work of the hems. Maya took a series of initial photographs before carefully removing the bags that Steve had placed over the cadaver’s head, hands, and feet for preservation purposes.
He was dressed in jeans, black socks, and a nondescript black hooded top. He had one trainer remaining, the other most likely removed by the swirling water. The exposed foot hung oddly in his sock suggesting the bones had been shattered when the current had dragged him along the coarse riverbed. Maya took a few more photographs before placing her camera carefully out of harm’s way. She crouched down to survey the corpse more closely.
He was severely bloated. His face and neck had been eaten away, leaving no facial features. Instead, his teeth, nasal cavity and eyes remained crudely exposed without the aesthetics of lips, nose and eyelids. The remaining flesh was a shining, marbled grey colour. Maya suspected that under his clothing, the skin would have begun to peel away. His hands were exposed and due to prolonged contact with water, the epidermis was becoming detached.
Maya knew this would make fingerprinting the cadaver difficult but not impossible. If need be, they could employ a technique called double-glove. If the epidermis became completely detached, the SOCO or fingerprint technician would ‘wear’ the cadaver’s skin over a nitrile glove, while inked fingerprint impressions were taken.
‘What do you think of what’s left of his eyes?’ asked Maya.
‘Beautiful windows to the soul,’ Chris murmured.
‘Sod off.’ She grinned. ‘Seriously, does that look like petechial haemorrhaging to you?’
Chris looked closer at the glazed, exposed eyeball and noticed the red spots she was referring to.
‘Well spotted, mate, but it may also be post mortem pooling which can look like asphyxiation. It’s a bit too faint to say for sure because of decomposition.’
‘Would drowning cause that?’ Maya straightened up to peruse the rest of the corpse, looking for more clues.
‘Not usually. If he’d been coughing or vomiting excessively, that could account for it. Likewise, if he’d been–’
‘Strangled,’ Maya said, finishing his sentence for him.
Chris inched forward from where he was still squatting, to move the clothing further away from the neck area, but the front had been too eaten away to provide any obvious clues.
‘Fucking hell, he stinks,’ said a voice. Maya turned away from the corpse to see DS Jack Dwyer framing the entrance to the crime-scene tent next to Malone. He was ensconced in a white crime-scene suit, which Maya noted with amusement made him look incredibly stooped and uncomfortable. It was hardly surprising as Maya had supplied him with a small size, knowing full well he would need a large because of his height. Still, there was no love lost between the two of them and although it was a childish prank, Maya counted her victories where she could. She scored this up as strike one.
‘Have you photographed him?’ Jack asked Maya unnecessarily.
‘No, I’ve committed it to memory so I can interpret what I’ve seen later by the medium of dance.’
‘So, what are we thinking?’ he said, clearly unwilling to venture any further into the tent. Maya straightened up to face Jack and beckoned him closer, forcing him to take in the full Technicolor and accompanying scents of the cadaver. She knew full well Jack despised being around bodies, let alone one that was so severely decomposed. She knew if it was up to him, he would avoid getting too close where possible. Strike two.
‘Well, if this was his Tinder profile picture, I certainly wouldn’t be swiping right.’
‘You’ve got a high opinion of yourself when it comes to men.’ Jack raised an eyebrow below the hood of his scene suit.
‘You think? I’d still much rather go to bed with him than you, any day of the week.’
‘Ouch,’ Chris muttered from under his mask.
Strike three.
Jack chose to deliberately ignore Maya’s comment as he took a perfunctory look at the body. ‘I can’t tell if it’s our missing person on account of the fact this fella has no face. He’s described as wearing jeans and a dark top when he was last seen so it could be our man judging by the clothing. He’s described as average build and height. He was last seen on the 5 October, just over a fortnight ago. How does that match with the rate of decomposition?’
