It was amazing how much the woman’s appearance had improved since she had come in just a few days ago. She wouldn’t be winning any beauty competitions just yet, but the swelling on her face was almost gone, and she was sitting upright in the bed when Adrian and Imogen arrived at the hospital. But her face was still a patchwork of pinks and purples.
Imogen noticed the way the woman smiled at Adrian. She wasn’t threatened by every female who spoke to Adrian, but she had come to realise he was more naive than she had first thought. He didn’t seem to notice when he was being manipulated by a woman, or even flirted with, which was refreshing. Probably because he didn’t have a manipulative bone in his body.
Maybe he deserved more credit than she was giving him, but she was concerned that someone might take advantage of his good nature. This woman was obviously just expressing her gratitude again and yet there was still something about her that Imogen had a problem with. She was off in some way.
They had to tell her about the body of the man, they had to ask her who he was, and Imogen had a feeling they weren’t going to get the truth. But they at least had to try.
‘Hello. I am DS Imogen Grey. I need to talk to you about something.’
‘OK,’ the woman said, sucking in a breath, bracing herself for the conversation.
‘There’s no easy way to say this. We found the body of a young man near where DS Miles found you. We are in the process of identifying him. Do you know who he was?’
‘I’m sorry, I don’t,’ she said too quickly, reaching for her glass of water.
She gulped it down. She was clearly trying to obscure her face for a moment, just enough to compose herself. It was obvious the question wasn’t a complete surprise to her.
What had happened to her? Why wouldn’t she tell them? Imogen didn’t have a medical degree, or in fact any degree at all, but she felt sure this woman was lying about not remembering. Why wouldn’t she want them to know who she was? Or who the man she was with was? Could Adrian see past what was happening to her? Could he see she was lying to them? Imogen wasn’t sure.
‘So, you have no recollection of him? Of what happened?’ Imogen said.
‘I’m sorry, I wish I did,’ she said. ‘Was it quick? When he died, was it quick?’
‘We don’t know yet. He sustained some very serious injuries,’ Adrian said.
‘I’m really tired. I would like to be alone, if it’s all the same to you. I really can’t tell you anything useful.’
Can’t? Or won’t? Imogen thought.
‘We’ll be back again if we learn anything about your situation. Do you have any idea as to why no one would have reported you missing?’ Imogen asked.
‘None, I’m sorry.’ Their Jane Doe lay back and folded her arms, closing her eyes.
‘It’s highly unusual,’ Imogen said, hoping to catch the woman’s eye. She wanted her to know she was on to her, in case there was anything to be on to.
But Jane Doe wasn’t going to say anything that might give an indication as to who she was, that much was clear. They were wasting their time talking to her. They could come back when they had more information on the body – maybe then they would find something they could press her with. They could run a DNA sample on the dead body, something they couldn’t do to Jane Doe without her permission, which she hadn’t granted. At this time, she was an obstruction to finding the truth and they had to treat her as such. After the forensic anthropologist had reconstructed the man’s face, they would come back and question her further.
‘If you need anything, get the nurse to call me,’ Adrian said.
‘Thank you, Adrian. I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me,’ the woman said, reaching over and taking Adrian by the hand.
Imogen had to walk away; she didn’t like thinking the things she was thinking. This woman was vulnerable and needed both their protection and their help. So why did Imogen feel like they were being sucked into some big black hole of a mess? She wouldn’t ignore her instincts. Every time she had in the past, she had kicked herself for not listening to that little voice inside her head that told her something was wrong. Right now, that little voice was screaming.
They asked me who he was. I couldn’t tell them; they can’t find out who I am. If they do, then he will find out I am here.
I heard the nurse talking about how there is a video online of the detective pulling me out of the water. I can no longer disappear. Maybe he didn’t mean it when he said he was done with me and wanted me dead.
Who am I kidding?
Dr Forrester was placing an eyeball in the socket of a plaster mould of a skull when Adrian and Imogen entered his office on the Streatham Campus of Exeter University. The office was a cornucopia of dusty old books and curios, the way you imagine a professor’s office to look. There were several clay skulls at various stages of development around the room. Adrian had seen plenty of dramatisations of this kind of thing on the TV, but it was fascinating to see in person.
Gary stood up excitedly as they approached. ‘Imogen, Adrian, this is Dr Carl Forrester.’
Dr Forrester nodded hello to them. ‘I would shake your hands, but I’m a bit mucky at present.’
‘The doctor is reconstructing our John Doe’s face,’ Gary said.
‘Already?’ Imogen asked.
‘What is it you’re doing? How do you do that? How do you know what his eyes were like?’
Adrian fired a series of questions at the professor. This kind of thing seemed like magic to Adrian and yet he had seen the results with his own eyes before. It worked. What was it they said? Magic was just science we don’t understand yet, which, in Adrian’s case, was almost all science.
‘I spoke to your pathologist last night and she sent me photos and measurements. From the body, I would say that we are looking at a Caucasian male in his late twenties. He has brown hair and brown eyes, and would have stood around five foot eleven, which we know because the pathologist told us; that’s not information we normally have when reconstructing.’
‘How did you get the skull so quickly? Is pathology done with it?’ Adrian asked.
‘We did an MRI of the head and then used a program to create a 3D image of the skull from the source material. We were then able to print a 3D replica of it, so we didn’t need the actual skull,’ Gary said excitedly.
‘When that was ready, I began to attach the markers and the eyeballs. Next, I will start to build muscle up to the marker lines,’ Dr Forrester said.
‘How do you know where the marker lines are?’ Adrian said.
‘There’s a lot of measuring and maths involved, plus decades of research and other people’s work to pull from. We measure the skull and construct markers of varying depths, which we place in specific points on the skull that will in turn guide us when creating the flesh and muscles out of clay.
‘We