Nine Elms (Kate Marshall #1)(98)

Now it was time to break into Kate’s house and wait.





59

Tristan stood with Victoria in Jepson’s Wood as the second cadaver dog, Khloe, worked her way across the clearing, her nose hovering across the forest floor. She stopped in the same place as Kim, sat on her haunches, and barked.

Forensic officers arrived within the hour. Tristan and Victoria moved closer and watched as three forensic officers cleared away a section of the leaves and pine needles and began to dig. A few minutes later it started to rain, and a tarpaulin was hastily put up so they could continue. Tristan and Victoria were given an umbrella, and he held it for them both as they listened to the rhythmic sound of spades in soil and the rain clattering on the tarpaulin.

“I’ve never been back here,” said Victoria, breaking the silence. “Not since it happened. Do you mind if I hold your hand? I’m shaking so much.”

“Of course,” he said. He took her hand, and it was freezing cold. An hour passed as the team dug deeper, the pile of soil beside the hole growing larger. The rain continued to hammer down, and the clouds grew thick, casting the forest clearing in a thick gloom.

The smell of the rain on the soil and plants was fresh, and it didn’t seem like they were going to find a body the deeper they dug. Tristan was just thinking they would soon give up, as the hole was very deep, when a yell went up from one of the forensic officers.

“We have something!” came a voice. “We need a flashlight!”

Tristan moved with Victoria to the edge. He could see it was now two meters deep, and roots from the surrounding trees poked through the edges of the hole.

“I can’t look,” said Victoria, putting her head on his shoulder.

The forensic officers were red in the face, and their blue coveralls were caked in the peaty soil.

Tristan watched as the police officers started to dig more carefully, scraping away the soil. Then they started to use large, coarse brushes, tilling away at the soil.

A police officer brought over a light on a stand and shone it into the hole. The muddy shape of a skull with teeth was looking up at them from the dark soil. They moved down with the brushes, pulling away the muddy clods of earth, and uncovered a small skeleton, intact.

“Oh my God,” said Tristan, his heart beating fast in his chest. Victoria turned and looked into the hole. She gave a sharp intake of breath and began to shake violently.

“I’ve never seen a dead person before,” she said.

“It’s okay,” said Tristan. Victoria slumped back and sat down on the wet earth.

Tristan moved closer as the forensic officer started to clean the bones with a finer brush. He could see there were still wisps of hair stuck to the dome of the skull, and a ragged piece of material. As they reached the feet, there was a pair of leather sandals, and beside it, what looked like a slim, square handbag and strap.

The sandals and the bag were the first things taken out of the soil and bagged up. Tristan asked to see them, and he took out a photo that Malcolm Murray’s neighbor had sent. It showed a picture of Caitlyn in the clothes she’d worn the day she went missing. In the photo, she wore a thin blue summer dress that had a row of white flowers printed on the hem. Her sandals and bag were both made of blue leather and had a matching pattern of white flowers.

“I remember her wearing that outfit one day to work,” said Victoria, peering at the photo.

“Caitlyn’s mother said she was wearing this the day she went missing,” said Tristan.

Tristan compared the photo with the leather handbag and then the sandals in the plastic evidence bags. They were covered in soil, and stained a dark brown, but the front flap of the handbag was still intact, and he rubbed at a pattern of flowers indented into the leather.

He handed the evidence bags back to the officer. This had to be her. It had to be Caitlyn.

“We’ll have to look at dental records and DNA, but there is a high chance these are the remains of Caitlyn Murray,” said the officer.

“Oh my God,” said Victoria. “I never thought it could be true . . . I never really thought they did it and dumped her here.”

Yes! thought Tristan, feeling triumph mixed with sadness. Yes, we found her.





60

Kate was on the beach with Myra and Jake, trying to coax a huge crab out from a rock pool, when her phone rang. She took it from the pocket of her jeans, thinking it was Tristan with news, but saw it was Alan Hexham.

“Hello, Kate,” he said. The wind had got up and was now roaring across the beach and whipping up the tops of the waves to white. She came away from the rock pools and up the beach.

“Hi, I wondered where you’d got to. Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Sorry. I had to go and work up north for a week. Listen, I’ve got the postmortem files that I can share with you on Abigail Clarke. I also got something back that I thought would be of interest.”

“Hang on, Alan,” she said. She signaled to Myra and Jake. “I need to take this. I’m going to go up the beach out of the wind.”

Myra nodded and turned back to Jake, who was concentrating on the rock pool. Kate came up the beach and into the dunes, where the wind dropped.

“Sorry, go on, Alan,” she said.

“I was looking over the files of all the victims; because of the nature of Abigail Clarke’s attack, I can’t find anything to link it to the other young women, even though the police suspect it was the same person . . . I did notice that there were a few discrepancies with Emma Newman—nothing major, but I thought I’d tell you before I send it all over. She was eighteen, not seventeen as was first reported. She was reported missing—a woman where she worked made a call—and Emma’s boyfriend at the time was given the wrong name in the police file.”