is being treated as suspicious. Sally Grimes became a fully qualified Home Office pathologist just a few weeks ago.’ Jessie watched the reporter’s face go taut with concentration as she listened to the next question from the studio. Amanda nodded. ‘That’s right, it means that Ms Grimes’ evidence can be used by prosecutors, in this case the Crown Prosecution Service, in a court of law. However, the police are refusing to confirm that Anna Maria Klein’s body has been found, so for the moment –’ she glanced briefly at Jessie – ‘nothing is fact.’
Jessie fell in behind Burrows, and they made their way slowly to the front where Jessie showed her badge once more. Waiting at the door was Sally Grimes. Burrows raised the crime-scene tape for Jessie to duck under and she went to join Sally.
‘What are you doing here?’ Jessie whispered.
‘Carolyn Moore paged me.’
‘You know her?’
Sally nodded. ‘In a manner of speaking.’
‘What did she want?’
‘They’ve found something they’ve never seen before. They want me to have a look at it.’
“‘It”?’
‘That’s what the message said.’
‘How well do you know her?’
‘She’s a ball breaker.’
‘Any advice?’
‘Give her a wide berth,’ said the redheaded pathologist. ‘She wasn’t always like that.’
The officers who had performed the search that morning milled around the foyer in silence. Somewhere a radio was on.
‘… Clinical psychologist Dr Martin Rommelt is here in the studio discussing the disappearance of Anna Maria Klein. Dr Rommelt, what effect do you think being rejected from Celebrity Big Brother, Jnr would have had on Anna Maria?’
Jessie looked at Sally for explanation.
‘I heard this on the radio coming down here. Some journo found out that she’d put her name up for the Big Brother house, but was turned down because she wasn’t famous enough.’
‘And they think what exactly?’
‘They don’t think anything. All they can do is speculate until you lot make an announcement. Before the Big Brother story broke they were discussing what effect having an absent father and famous mother would have on a teenager.’
Sally and Jessie walked back through the increasingly familiar network of subterranean passageways and doors. Outside the new boiler room another group of people stood listening to another radio.
‘… Friends are saying that Anna Maria was depressed recently. Normally a gregarious girl, she had become a little withdrawn, secretive. One schoolfriend who wishes to remain anonymous said that Anna Maria had been fighting with her mother more than usual. When asked what was usual, the friend replied, “Most days there was something …”’
‘I hope the poor woman isn’t listening to any of this,’ said Sally.
Jessie experienced the same feeling of apprehension as they left the bright light of the boiler room behind them and approached the final set of doors. Sally pushed them open and they both felt a rush of cold air. It was Sally’s turn to shudder. The long narrow walkway came to an abrupt end where it fell away to darkness. Jessie could hear someone crying. A woman. They walked towards the sound. Sarah Klein was sitting at the bottom of the stone steps, her head in her hands. Jessie immediately changed her mind about the actress. She’d heard too many women cry not to know the difference between crocodile tears and the real thing. When she heard them approach, Sarah Klein looked up, startled.
‘Sorry,’ said Jessie. ‘We didn’t mean to frighten you.’
The woman started sobbing again. Sally carried on without stopping, but Jessie held back. Sarah Klein shouldn’t be on her own. There should have been a family liaison officer with her. Where was the tea, the hanky, the gentle arm on the shoulder, the offer to call someone, drive her somewhere? Why wasn’t she being looked after? Sally called her from inside the ancient boiler room. Jessie didn’t respond.
‘Jessie –’ it was Sally again, this time more insistent – ‘I think you’d better come in here.’
Reluctantly, Jessie left the sobbing woman and walked into the dank and dimly lit room. Curled up on a piece of tarpaulin, on the dry earth between the tanks and the coal stores, was the body of a perfectly preserved middle-aged man.
His skin was yellow and pulled taut over the bones. His eyelids sunk over the empty sockets. His lips were stretched back over his blackened teeth. His dark hair was slicked back and held in a ponytail. It was a terrifying death mask. His clothes had stiffened as hard as armour; each crease in the jacket, each fold in the shirt as unyielding as bronze. He was not a man any more, he was a mummy. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled up to the elbow, revealing more yellowing flesh that bore the signs of a vicious attack. Worse still, the tip of each preserved finger was missing. His thumbs were nothing but stumps.
‘What is it?’ asked DCI Moore. ‘And how the hell did it get here?’
‘It’s the corpse of a Caucasian male, approximately forty years of age.’
‘Is it real?’
‘Yes.’ Sally pulled on a pair of synthetic gloves and began to feel around the body.
‘Are you sure? It looks plastic.’
‘The corpse is showing visible signs of preservation. The body has been drying out, not decomposing. The skin takes on a leathery consistency, like biltong.’
‘How long has it been here?’ asked DCI Moore.
‘Check the date,’ interrupted Jessie, peering over Sally Grimes’ shoulder. ‘On the watch.’
Sally leant over so that she could get a better look. ‘That’s strange.’
‘What is?’ asked DCI Moore.
‘It’s today’s date.’ Sally put her ear to the timepiece. ‘It’s stopped.’
Mark Ward was pacing the perimeter of the room like a caged beast. One of the lights flickered on and off, making his actions look jerky and disconnected. He stopped and barked at Sally: ‘What does that mean, if he didn’t die today?’
‘I don’t know, but he definitely didn’t die today.’
‘What the hell can you tell me?’ DCI Moore’s red lips were outlined by a faint trace of blue. She’d been standing in the cold room for some time.
‘I’d say he’s been here since the eighties,’ said Jessie, jumping to Sally’s rescue.
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ said Mark. ‘A
