‘And nobody thought to search the woodland just to make sure?’
Savage sighed. ‘Moot point. The entire area was searched but somehow they either missed the body or it wasn’t there.’
‘So the clothes were dumped first and then the killer returned with the body?’
‘I’m hoping you might be able to explain that.’ Savage pointed at the wood once more. ‘Shall we?’
As they reached the scene, Savage paused, and let Nesbit continue on his own to where Layton was bent over a nearby bush, torch in hand.
‘Finger tipped ten metres all around and found nothing,’ the CSI said, straightening. ‘Not even a footprint. Got a pump coming to drain the ditch.’
Nesbit nodded and peered at the corpse of Anasztáz Róka, the girl’s flesh white as porcelain in the light from the floods. ‘I can see why you wanted me out here. She’s in a strange position, isn’t she? Let’s see …’
Nesbit dropped his bag down onto a nearby tree stump and then stepped over to the body. He moved his head in small movements, taking in every aspect. Then he reached down and took the girl’s lower leg in both hands. He flexed the leg back and forth and then mumbled to himself. Next, he reached for the arm and did the same.
‘Andrew?’ Savage said. ‘Anything interesting?’
‘Dislocated.’ Nesbit looked over at Savage and then at the ground surrounding the body. ‘The knee and the shoulder. Difficult to see how this happened here. A considerable amount of force must have been used and there’s no sign of a struggle. Am I right, John?’
‘Yes. As I said there’s nothing on the ground. No indentations, no scuffing, no footprints. There are some small marks to one side of the body, possibly made when she fell or was placed.’
‘There’s some bruising on the arms and legs and also the torso.’ Nesbit bent and examined the legs again. ‘Some marks on her ankles too. Indentations, as if something has been wrapped around them. Rope or chain maybe. The dislocations happened while she was alive. Painful as they would have been, they aren’t what killed her.’
‘Any idea what did?’ Savage said. ‘Strangulation, possibly?’
Nesbit bent to the body again. His fingers moved to the girl’s forehead and he lifted each eyelid in turn. Then he examined the neck, spidery fingers creeping across the pale skin.
‘No signs of petechiae in the eyes, no marks on the neck, no sign a ligature was used.’ Nesbit looked across at Savage and shook his head. ‘I’ll know more when I get her on the table back home.’
Savage forced herself to suppress a smile. She assumed Nesbit was talking about the mortuary rather than where he lived.
‘What about the time of death, anything you can tell me?’
‘If you give me a moment I’ll take a temperature reading, but the rigor stage has passed. Looking at the appearance of the body I would think something between twenty-four and forty-eight hours, no longer.’
‘The bag containing Ana’s clothing was found this morning. The fisherman who found the bag had been in the same spot two days before and swore it wasn’t there then. So we’re looking at some time in the night before last.’
‘That would work, yes. But there’s still some explaining to do about the body. How it got here and why it was moved.’
Savage said nothing as Nesbit continued to work on the corpse. He removed a thermometer from his bag and inserted its remote probe into the girl’s rectum. He spoke into a small dictation device as he went over the body again, concentrating on the process of pulling apart the evidence, everyone else all but forgotten.
She left him to his work and headed back to the incident room vehicle in search of Inspector Frey. She found him inside the van, staring at a laptop screen.
‘Can’t fathom it, Charlotte.’ Frey’s finger hovered over a map of the reservoir and surrounding woodland. ‘The area where the body was found was searched not once, but twice. She definitely wasn’t there. But how did the bugger manage to enter the area with the body when the place was swarming with us lot?’
‘Maybe he didn’t arrive with the body.’ Savage pointed at the screen. ‘The boundary to your search grid is only a hundred metres from the dump site. My hunch is the body was somewhere beyond the boundary. The killer returned sans body, picked up the corpse from the initial hiding place, and carried the body back to where we found it.’
‘To what purpose?’
‘To prevent the body being found.’
‘Because we’d already searched the area.’ Frey nodded as if in agreement, but then shook his head. ‘But who would be stupid enough or bold enough to do that?’
‘Kinver?’
‘The fisherman?’
‘Yes. Seems a bit too much of a coincidence that he found the clothes and the body, don’t you think?’
‘He said he was walking back from his fishing position along a woodland path. He claims he heard something, went to investigate, and found the body.’ Frey smiled and then jabbed a finger at Savage. ‘He’s seen too many detective shows on TV too. Knew he shouldn’t approach the body, so he never went within ten metres. Layton pointed out the man’s footprints to me. There’s a distinct trail coming and going.’
‘Could he have thrown the girl that distance?’
‘Be sensible, Charlotte. Kinver’s telling the truth.’
‘You believed him?’ Savage wondered what Frey was on. Kinver, in her book, should at least have been arrested and brought in for questioning. ‘Nigel, I don’t want to—’
‘No, of course not. But I believed his wife. She and a friend were with him. Unless they’re in it together, Kinver’s in the clear.’
‘Shit.’
‘Yeah. We’re back to Layton’s version. Hocus pocus and witchcraft.’
Monday 25th August
Some time later Fox heard the tap, tap, tapping of the pipe on the tobacco tin. Then a faint acrid aroma caressed his nostrils. His grandfather. Fox kept his eyes closed, not wanting to believe. He waited for the old man to say something.
Again: tap, tap, tap.
‘Simon?’ His grandfather’s voice sounded muffled, as if the sound was coming from far off in the distance. ‘Simon, wake up.’
He’d been dozing, the warmth of the sun soporific, the slowness of the game of cricket lulling him to sleep. He’d open his eyes now and his grandfather would suggest they drove off to a pub where the old man would buy a pint of Guinness for himself and water with a splash of lime for Fox. Maybe, if he was lucky, a lemonade. Now he did believe. This wasn’t the ending, it was the beginning. Whatever had gone before was done. He could start all over again, full circle.
Tap, tap, tap.
Fox opened his eyes. He was still sitting in his car, the tools still gleaming on the rack in front of him. His eyes flashed to the rear-view mirror. The garage door stood open now and the early morning light streamed in, pale, cold and unwelcome.
Tap, tap, tap.
‘Simon, what on earth are you doing? I woke up and didn’t know where you’d gone. Thought you’d been called out.’
Fox turned his head to see Jennifer, his wife, bent to the window. She clicked