No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(68)

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Lottie robed up and joined Jane in the mortuary.

‘Thanks for doing this so quickly, Jane,’ she said.

‘Slow day.’ The pathologist opened a file on her computer. ‘I have the prelims. A woman in her mid thirties. Extremely undernourished. Verging on malnutrition, I’d say. As you saw, her head had been shaved, but the follicles tell me her hair had turned grey. Blue eyes, and even though you wouldn’t think to look at her now, she was Caucasian.

‘She’d been wrapped in some kind of plastic, possibly heavy-duty bin bags. With that and decomposition, it’s difficult to pin down time of death. Plus, the use of bleach on the body doesn’t help. But the presence of flies and maggots in this cold weather makes me think she’s been dead at least a week. Possibly longer. And she may have been held indoors, somewhere warm. Too many unknown variables, I’m afraid. I’ve further analysis to do, so I may know more later today.’

‘Okay.’

‘I’ve taken samples of her DNA, which you should run through the national missing persons database. It might be the only means of identification.’

‘Did you do toxicology screens?’

‘Yes. On my initial analysis they came up negative, but I’ve sent them off for more detailed tests.’

‘Can you tell me how she died?’

‘As I said before, no visible wounds, apart from the obvious vermin activity. The body had been outdoors for around a week. You know I hate making assumptions until I’ve completed all the tests, but I’m inclined to go with natural causes.’

Lottie widened her eyes. ‘But she was wrapped in plastic and dumped in the woods.’

‘That suggests foul play after death. At the moment, I can only say that cause of death is inconclusive.’

‘Anything else?’ Lottie said. ‘I’m grasping at fast-disappearing straws now.’

‘She’d given birth.’

‘Recently?

‘No, I’d say five to ten years ago, if not more.’ Jane busied herself with a sheaf of paper.

‘Any hope of DNA?’

‘For the baby? No, but if you find the child, I may be able to match it to the mother.’

‘Thanks, Jane.’

‘I’ll let you have the full report as soon as.’

‘And you’ll call me if you find anything else?’

‘I will.’

Lottie was at the door when Jane said, ‘Oh, one other thing.’

Lottie turned around.

‘Almost forgot, as I was saving this bit for last. I found a silver Claddagh ring embedded in the junction between the oesophagus and the stomach.’

‘What?’

‘You heard me. It had been lodged there for some time. Perhaps she swallowed it or it was forced down her throat. But she never passed it.’

‘That’s terrible. Any inscription?’

‘I’ll photograph it and send it to you.’

Lottie left Jane to her Dead House. On the drive back to Ragmullin, she wondered who this mystery victim was, and how someone who might have died of natural causes came to be left out in the woods by the lake. And why had she swallowed a ring? Where was her child? Alive or dead? Then another thought struck her. Why had the victim’s head been shaved?





Fifty-Eight





Grace’s course finished early. As she left the building, she looked around her. She could feel eyes on her back. She leaned against the wall, letting the rushing crowds file past, then took a deep breath and sniffed away her fear.

She had thought of nothing all day but Mollie. Irrational behaviour was foreign to her. She was a creature of habit. Now she wanted to help a girl she hardly knew. If only she could be brave, if only she could shed her anxiety for a few hours, maybe she could confront the man she’d seen on the train. Would she be able to do that? No, of course not. Yes, Grace, you can. You will.

Shouldering her bag, she tied her scarf around her neck with shaking hands. She really needed her anxiety medication. Taking her first step away from the building, making herself as small as possible to avoid contact with people, she headed for the station. If he was on the train, she was going to approach him. And get him to tell her where he’d taken Mollie.

She headed down Talbot Street, turning her head every few seconds.

Checking.



* * *



On her return from the Dead House, Lottie bumped into Detective Maria Lynch.

‘Sorry about this morning, boss,’ Lynch said.

‘Not feeling well?’ Lottie said. ‘Come into my office.’

‘I’m a bit nauseous. Mainly in the mornings,’ Lynch said when she was seated.

‘You’re pregnant?’

‘I am. I’m thirty-five. I already have two young children and I didn’t want any more, and—’

‘Congratulations.’

‘Thanks.’

‘I’m genuinely pleased for you.’ Lottie caught the glimmer of something in Lynch’s eye. ‘You’re not happy about it?’

‘It wasn’t planned. I’m still getting used to the idea. The reason I’m telling you this early is that I may miss a few mornings, but I’ll work later in the evenings to make up for it.’