‘It’s not good enough, Nigel,’ Savage said, trying to contain her anger as she walked up to Frey in the near blackness beneath the canopy of trees. ‘The girl should have been found at the first attempt. Your search pattern was mucked up or somebody boobed.’
‘No,’ Frey said. ‘I won’t have that. You can see the paperwork if you like. The quadrants the PolSA laid out were dealt with methodically. I’ll stake my job on it.’
‘Well, you may have to.’
John Layton had insisted on a fifty-metre perimeter around the scene, and from where she stood Savage could see a patch of bright light in which several suited figures worked. The CSIs were moving away from the body, trying to establish a safe route back and forth. It was another thirty minutes before Layton came across to Savage and Frey. The senior CSI had abandoned the Tilley hat he was usually seen in because it wouldn’t fit beneath the hood of his white suit. As he approached, he pulled the hood down. Layton was mid-thirties, maybe a little older. He had dark hair and a slim face, beady eyes that missed nothing. The eyes flicked back and forth between Savage and Frey. Then he scratched his pointed nose and nodded at Frey.
‘You’re off the hook,’ he said. ‘She’s not been there long. An hour or two at the most. She’s lying on several fronds of bracken that have only been crushed recently. There’s no way she was here this morning.’
‘That doesn’t make sense,’ Savage said. ‘Are you saying she was dumped after the initial search?’
‘Yes. Right under our noses. Sense and science can sometimes contradict each other, however difficult that makes things for us.’
‘Nigel,’ Savage said, turning to Frey. ‘I guess I owe you an apology.’
‘Accepted, Charlotte,’ Frey said.
‘How long has she been dead?’ Savage turned back to Layton.
‘You’ll have to wait for Nesbit for an estimate, but nothing like a week for sure. The body’s in a bit of a state though. Little cuts and scratches all over her. Something like she was running through the woods naked and the branches and brambles scoured her skin.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Haven’t got a whiskers. There don’t seem to be any major external injuries. I guess she could have been strangled. Do you want to take a look?’
Savage nodded and went to find a suit and all the other paraphernalia. Suitably attired, she followed Layton down the little trail he had prepared. Festoon lights had been hung between the trees, creating a corridor of luminance which wound through the woodland, almost as if the path was leading to a fairy grotto. At the end of the path the burning glare of several halogen bulbs turned night into day. Beyond the circle of light the surrounding forest disappeared into utter blackness. As they approached the CSIs, Layton put out a hand.
‘Close enough, Charlotte,’ Layton said. ‘We haven’t completed our detailed search of the immediate area yet.’
Savage nodded and stared through the undergrowth to where white skin contrasted with black peat. The body lay half in a drainage ditch, the face partially submerged in the dirty water. The right eye was open and gazed out across a film of scum and forest detritus, while the left was below the surface. The girl’s peroxide-blonde hair floated in a fan-like pattern, individual strands moving as a slight current washed past. A blob of dark mud had splattered one cheek and several pine needles had drifted into a nostril. Savage looked closer. The girl’s body was tumbled in an odd way. The right leg came out at a weird angle to the body while the right arm was twisted underneath her head. A contortionist would have struggled to adopt such a pose.
‘It’s a strange position,’ Savage said. ‘Whatever the killer meant by posing her like that is beyond me. If she was posed.’
‘I can’t see how she fell with the arm behind her head,’ Layton said. He gestured at the trees and the undergrowth. ‘It would take some effort to force it into that position. I don’t think it could have happened by accident.’
Savage noticed the scratches Layton had mentioned. They were shallow enough to have been caused by brambles or cat’s claws or fingernails. They certainly weren’t terminal. Her eyes followed the outstretched leg from the toe up to the thigh to the dark triangle of pubic hair.
‘Any sign of sexual assault?’
‘No.’ Layton shook his head. ‘Nothing I can see from an external examination. Small blessing that it is.’
Savage moved her attention to where the woodland encroached on the circle of light. There were no paths and the scrub was dense. Layton was right, Ana couldn’t have run fast enough to cause her limbs to twist round in the way they lay. Yet the scratches suggested she had been running. Savage tried to imagine her last moments. How long had Ana been stumbling around the woodland naked? Had she managed to avoid the killer for hours and then somehow come across him again? She’d fallen and the killer had pounced on her. As his hands had closed around her delicate neck she’d screamed and thrashed. The killer had hit her and then pinned her leg with his body. In the struggle her arm had been twisted behind her neck. Maybe the killer had used his forearm to crush the girl’s windpipe while the other hand held her arm. And yet, Savage reminded herself, none of that had happened here. If Layton was correct the body had been dumped recently. It was even possible Ana had been alive as the teams had searched for her that very morning.
‘Any sign of which way the killer came?’
‘No,’ Layton said. The CSI sighed. ‘In fact I can’t find any meaningful footprints. That could be because he – or she – came up the drainage ditch. I’m thinking of damming the ditch and draining the water to see if I can find any footprints. The only other conclusion would be that she’d flown here by magic, right?’
Savage nodded. ‘Where’s Nesbit got to? The sooner we can get the time of death the better.’
‘On his way,’ Layton said. He turned and padded back towards the body to join the other CSIs. Savage stood for a moment and then made her way down the avenue of lights back to the perimeter and from there to the car park. She stood next to her car and gazed across the ink-black water, where pinpricks of starlight speckled the surface. After dark, there was no reason for anybody to come here, but in the day Fernworthy Reservoir was a popular place. There would be families picnicking, fishermen fishing, walkers and mountain bikers exploring the woodland. It was inconceivable Ana had been attacked anywhere near here in the daytime – or even been moved here – without somebody noticing. Unless, as Layton had suggested, magic was involved.
Savage stood next to the mobile incident room van and watched Dr Andrew Nesbit, the pathologist, climb out of his car in the gloom. He put his black bag on top of the car and began to put on a protective suit, pulling the outfit up over a tweed jacket and tie. She guessed he’d be unimpressed with John Layton’s hypothesis concerning magic. The methodical way he put on the suit, gloves, hat and mask said it all. When it came to performing his job, scientific method was everything. There was no room for spirituality. His gangly form had been compared by many to a spider, but Savage wondered if a robot might be a more apposite choice. His matchstick-like limbs moved efficiently to ensure the gear went on with the minimum of fuss, although Savage was surprised when he performed a small flourish as he snapped the latex gloves in place. Perhaps the pathologist didn’t realise anybody was watching.
‘Charlotte,’ Nesbit said, as he walked over to the van. He looked up at the clear sky above, and as he did so, starlight glinted on his half-moon glasses. ‘Beautiful evening. I must admit I don’t get up on the moor as much as I’d like. Then again, I don’t get anywhere as much as I’d like these days. And to be honest, you guys don’t help. Catching them, Charlotte, that’s the thing, hey?’
‘We do try, you know?’ Savage