Killing The Taxman

Chapter 7-1

Following the 999-call made by Charles Manson, the first response team on the scene had been the recently promoted Sgt Carol Tombohm, along with PC Valerie Overton. Led to the site by a still very shaken Manson, Tombohm quickly assessed the situation and immediately called for a Senior Investigating Officer from West Garside CID to attend. She then set up a taped cordon around the site, and organised a scene log, recording details of every authorised entry to the site.

As soon as Grace arrived, together with DS Terry Horton, she viewed the hanging body and then called for Crime Scene Investigation officers from Wakefield attend. Next, she consulted with the station Superintendent, Andy Claybourne, and appointed herself as the SIO with Terry as her D/SIO.

Whilst waiting for CSI, Grace and Terry stood some twenty yards from the body so as not to disturb the scene or compromise any forensic evidence which might be around the base of the grand old oak tree.

‘Doesn’t feel right to me,’ Grace said, rubbing her hands together from the fierce cold as she studied the grisly scene.

The closest entrance to the tree in Shallito Woods was about 100 yards away on Bowshaw Lane in the Marpleside district of West Garside, a small industrial town approximately 16 miles from Sheffield.

‘I mean, who carries a ladder out into the middle of these woods just so they can hang themselves? Makes no sense.’ Grace pointed to the five-step aluminium ladder lying on its side below the body. ‘I mean, why come out all the way out here in the freezing cold if you’re going to hang yourself? You’d just do it from the nearest tree, wouldn’t you?’

‘Maybe she did it out here so as not to frighten local kids playing in the woods near the road?’ Terry suggested, but without much conviction, saying it simply for the sake of something to say.

‘Yes maybe, could be, but it still doesn’t feel right, you know what I mean?’ Grace stared intently at the body, puzzled. There was something not right about it … something she could not quite figure out.

The body was hanging by the neck. From the position of the rope, the slipknot appeared to be at the back of her neck and so her head hung low, chin against her upper chest, making her face difficult to see. She wore a padded, black hooded jacket with the hood up, from which thick locks of blonde hair protruded, hanging in a fringe almost like a curtain, which the wind whipped back and forth in a frenzy.

Beneath the jacket, she wore a long ankle-length scarlet satin dress; which the wind flattened it against her thighs and lower legs as if in tease, to give a tantalising glimpse of her shapely legs. She was wearing sheer black tights or stockings through which, even from a distance, it was possible to see that her toenails were painted a bright glittery silver, as were the nails of her dangling fingers.

Terry looked around, also puzzled. ‘Shoes!’ he exclaimed. ‘Where are her shoes? She couldn’t have walked here barefoot. Her feet are clean. Look! If she’d walked here without shoes, her tights would be covered in mud and bits of twig and grass. You’re right, Grace. This does not feel right. I think she must have been carried here. She did not top herself. This is murder.’

murder‘Tell you something else, Terry. I think she’s a he. I think it’s a man in drag,’ Grace said, finally figuring out what it was that had puzzled her about the body.

‘s**t. I think you’re right. Look at the size of those feet. Definitely male.’ Terry thought for a moment. ‘Death of a drag queen, eh? That’d make a great title for a book or film, don’t you think? I like that. Death of a Drag Queen,’ Terry repeated, pleased with himself. Although they were deadly serious about their work, all police officers investigating murders and untimely deaths needed moments of humour to relieve the stress.

Death of a Drag QueenDr Phil Bagster, the Police Surgeon, arrived and after courtesies and handshakes all round, determined that—in his opinion—the victim appeared to be male, and that in all probability was deceased. That was the extent of his duties.

‘Thanks, Doc. Would never have guessed,’ Grace said sardonically.

‘Think nothing of it, Grace. Only stating the bleeding obvious, and now I’m back to the warmth of my house,’ he said with a mischievous grin, knowing that it would be many hours before Grace, as SIO, could leave the scene.

Terry gave him the finger as he left, getting a cheery wave in response.

Terry then left to talk to Carol Tombohm and Valerie Overton, the first response team, after which he would return to CID in Concordia Court to set up a Major Incident Room—MIR—and arrange with the Office Manager for the officers that Grace requested. As part of her team, they would have to be brought into the picture and ready for the first briefing the following morning.

Grace made a call to the Coroner, who confirmed that Erika Berger, a Home-Office approved pathologist, would be appointed to carry out the post-mortem, which would be carried out in the Medico-Legal facility in Sheffield, one of the most advanced pathology units in the country.

When the team arrived from CSI, Grace was pleased to see that the Area Forensic Manager was Roger Jardine and that the CSM, Crime Scene Manager, was Rachel Compton, both of whom she had worked with on the Mannikin Killer case.

As Grace filled Jardine in on what little they knew, Rachel Compton studied the scene from a distance and then laid stepping plates, tracing out a path to the underside of the tree and the swaying body. The stepping plates were to be used for access to the scene to protect the site and avoid compromising evidence. She then began photographing the scene from every angle, making sure she trod only on the plates. The photographs would show exactly where pieces of evidence removed from the site for forensic analysis had been found. She then made a sketch of the scene, adding notes of her observations.

Next, she set up a rotating camera on a tripod; it took a series of photographs which would be digitally stitched together to provide a full 360º panoramic image of the scene. It was as close as a jury could get to a murder scene without visiting in person.

Only then could Jardine set the forensic investigation operation into full swing—with every piece of potential evidence to be collected, listed, collated, bagged, and sent for examination.

Some two dozen uniformed officers were methodically searching through the surrounding woodlands, raking through shrubs and clumps of grass; in the immediate surrounds of the hanging body, forensically-clad CSI officers, on hands and knees, made a more comprehensive fingertip search. All suspicious deaths were treated as murders until proven otherwise, not that Grace had any doubt that the death was murder.

As soon as Erika Berger, the HO Pathologist arrived, Grace donned fresh forensic clothing and accompanied Erika to the body.

‘Nothing much I can do here,’ Erika stated after her initial examination of the scene. She made a call to the Coroner to obtain permission to remove the body.

The rope was cut and the body lowered into a body bag, the noose about the victim’s neck still attached. The body was carried on a stretcher to a waiting ambulance and transported to the Medico-Legal Centre.

Although reluctant to disfigure a beautiful tree, Grace ordered that the branch be cut down from which the body had hung, again with the rope and knot intact. The knot could be forensically examined by an expert on knots from the Metropolitan Police in London. Even the details as to how a knot was tied could be valuable evidence. It might be possible to determine if the killer were left- or right-handed. Or the knot might prove an unusual one, tied by a sailor, for instance.

‘The Devil is in the details,’ Grace was fond of saying. ‘Details are everything; a case lives or dies on details, and every detail counts.’

everyAt last satisfied that she had done all that she could on site, Grace bade farewell to Roger and Rachel, and wearily made her way to her office in Concordia Court.

The CID room was almost deserted. The only detective working was DS Barry Landymore, who had recently transferred from Sheffield. He was investigating a series of five robberies targeted at the elderly. The crooks worked as a pair. A man and woman would knock on the door of a vulnerable widow, display phony IDs and gain entrance, after which the woman threatened and held the victim, always female, down in a chair whilst the male ransacked the property, looking for money or valuables. Disturbingly, the cases showed an increasing level of violence towards the frail, vulnerable victims. During the last incident, 86-year-old Marjorie Frankland had suffered severe bruising to her face and her stick-like lower legs had been kicked so many times, they were almost entirely covered in bruises.

She had still not fully recovered, and started at shadows and strange noises. Too afraid to return to her house, she had gone into a nursing home.

It was a despicable crime, one that Grace wanted to work on but she had been on medical sick leave when Landymore joined West Garside CID and had been assigned to the case. Grace could hardly take the case away from him when she returned to duty but made sure she was kept up-to-date with progress reports.

Despite a considerable amount of CCTV coverage of the robbery sites, progress had been minimal, but Grace could not fault the effort that Landymore was putting into the case. She could tell that he was as angry as she about the targeting of the vulnerable elderly, and his dedication to finding and arresting the criminals was admirable.

‘How’s it going, Barry?’ she asked before heading to her office.

‘It’s frustrating, Ma’am, to be honest,’ he replied, bringing Grace up to date with his investigation. ‘We’ve got several sightings of the scum, but no identification and no fingerprints, as they always wear gloves, and their DNA trace evidence left at every site is not on file. I suspect but can’t prove that they come from the traveller site on Blackmires Road. I can’t prove it just yet. But I will, Ma’am, I will’

Grace normally asked that her officers to address her as Grace rather than the more formal ‘Ma’am’ but there was something about Landymore that held her back from inviting him to do so. It was not sly insolence or covert misogynism, but she could not fully define it, even to herself. She thought he possibly resented having a woman as the senior officer over him, even though it was now common enough within the force; in fact, several forces had a female Chief Constable.

She wondered if he might be racist. She found his insistence that the robbers came from the traveller community—without solid evidence—disturbing but whatever it was, she could not take to him and could not invite him to call her by her name.

She thanked him for his efforts, grabbed a cup of coffee from the machine on the landing, and gratefully sat down at the desk in her office. Briefly, she held her head in her hands … before realising that Landymore was staring at her through the office window. Quickly, he turned away,

As she drank her welcome cup of coffee, she made notes that she would later incorporate into the Policy File, the critical file in which every detail of the investigation and actions taken would be recorded, forming the evidential basis for any subsequent prosecution. She recorded every detail so far of the investigation: the site, timing, those present, and so forth. She would enter all this information, plus any fresh evidence discussed at the morning briefing in more detail the following day, when she had more time and was less tired.