Outside Looking In: A darkly compelling crime novel with a shocking twist

SEVEN

Matilda entered the pathology suite and was met immediately by a team of police officers milling around. It was imperative the body of Kevin Hardaker was not left alone at any time for fear of evidence tampering.

‘Morning Adele,’ Matilda said. ‘I see you’ve got a full house.’

‘We certainly have. The coroner has given the go-ahead for the Digital Autopsy.’

‘I’ve never seen one before. What are they like?’

‘It’s just looking at scans on a computer screen,’ she said, folding her arms.

‘You don’t seem impressed. Worried it might make you redundant?’

Three years before, Sheffield had become the first city in the country to open a state-of-the-art, non-invasive Digital Autopsy Facility. Its aim was to establish the cause of an unnatural death using sophisticated visualization software and a scanner rather than a scalpel. With the results available almost immediately, it was a huge step forward for the Sheffield police force, but Matilda could see why Adele might be concerned.

‘No, of course not. It actually makes my job a whole lot easier. You can rotate a body 360º without getting your hands dirty. I’m all for that.’

The doors opened and the radiologist, Claire Alexander, stepped out. She was a small woman in her mid-thirties, with long brown hair, tied back in a severe ponytail. She was wearing hospital scrubs that were a size too big for her.

‘Morning Claire, happy birthday,’ Adele said.

‘Thank you. I see you’ve got me a present.’ She nodded towards the black body bag containing Kevin Hardaker.

‘I certainly have. No peeking.’

‘We’re all set next door if you are.’

Victoria Pinder, Adele’s Assistant Technical Officer, led the way with the trolley. It was a short narrow corridor leading into the Digital Autopsy suite and the trolley banged loudly against the walls and door.

‘Mind my paintwork. It’s just been redone,’ Claire said.

The mood as everyone entered the suite quickly changed from one of levity to sombre professionalism. They were all here because of a dead man: a person whose life had been brutally cut short. He deserved respect and dignity.

The machine was simple in design. It reminded Matilda of the many times she accompanied her husband to the hospital in the early days of his diagnosis and the many scans he had to endure. This scanner didn’t seem as bulky as the one at the Northern General; it was obviously a newer model. It looked less daunting and not as claustrophobic.

Victoria and Claire lifted Kevin, still in the bag, onto the scanner and secured him in place using Velcro straps. Everyone then made their way into the control room.

The small room, with a bank of five large computer screens, was packed with police officers and technical staff. Claire squeezed her way through and seated herself behind a computer in front of the window looking out into the main room. She clicked a few buttons and the scan began.

‘What’s happening now?’ Matilda whispered to Adele.

‘You know those annoying Slinky things that go down stairs on their own?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, imagine you’re standing in the middle of a large Slinky. The scan circles around the body from top to toe. Claire can adjust the thickness of the spirals to get a more detailed view of the body. The smaller the gap, the more detail we can pick up.’

‘So why is Claire doing this and not you, if you’re a pathologist?’

‘The scan works like an X-ray and you have radiographers for that. That’s what Claire is. All I do is interpret the results.’

‘It’s not noisy is it?’ Matilda whispered. ‘I remember going to an MRI with James and I could have done with earplugs.’

‘Everything is less noisy these days; with the exception of a Dyson vacuum cleaner.’

A ghost image of Kevin’s body appeared on the screen and looked like an X-ray. Leaning forward, Matilda frowned at the bright white objects on the body, but didn’t ask any questions. She’d save that for later.

Claire singled out the head and rescanned to get a better image. A full 3D picture of Kevin’s head filled the screen. She rotated it several times to get a good look at it from all angles; something that wouldn’t be possible in a traditional post-mortem without physically turning the body over.

‘The entry wound of the bullet was just below the left eye. You can see the bevelling of the bone as it enters. The exit wound,’ Claire said as she tilted the 3D image to view the back of the head, ‘is here. Just above the base of the skull. Those white specks are metal fragments from the bullet.’

Matilda’s question was answered.

‘What about the second bullet?’

Going back to the full body scan, Claire selected a second region of interest, the chest, and looked closer. The impact the bullet had on the body was shocking to see in glorious technicolour. The ribs and organs were easily identifiable but were in a condition Matilda had never seen before.

‘The bullet entered the chest just below the heart.’ Claire pointed to a bright white object the exact shape of a bullet, which was firmly lodged in Kevin Hardaker’s body. ‘It shattered the ribs, as you can see. The rib fragment has punctured his left lung, which is why it’s deflated. He suffered a pneumothorax.’

‘Is that what killed him?’

‘It depends which bullet came first. Either one was enough to kill him.’

‘What about the beating he received? Would that have led to his death?’

‘It’s not easy to pick up bruising on these scans but we can see where blood has settled. Look here,’ she said, pointing to the screen, ‘on the right side of his ribcage there are several fractures in the ribs. This doesn’t follow the trajectory of the bullet in his chest, so must have come from where he was kicked or beaten with something.’

‘So the killer was standing over Kevin while he was on the ground, and shot him?’

‘It wasn’t at point-blank range,’ Adele said. ‘There were no burns on the skin.’

‘My point is the beating came first. He’s given a kicking, fractured ribs, bruising, the works. Then, when he’s down, the killer fires into his chest and face, finishing him off.’

‘That’s about the shape and size of it, yes,’ Claire said.

Matilda gave the nod to Adele and they left the room. The scanner room was hot and Matilda had a sheen of sweat on her face. Neither of them said a word until they were in Adele’s office.

‘Bloody hell, how do you stand it in there?’ She picked up some tissues from Adele’s desk and wiped her face.

‘It does get a tad warm. Are you OK? You look flushed.’

‘I’m fine. Poor bloke. He wasn’t shown an ounce of mercy was he?’

‘Not in the slightest. I don’t envy your job at all. Whoever did it sounds like a nasty piece of work. What do you think of our new equipment?’

‘It’s very impressive. It’s a bit ghoulish watching a floating head rotate a full three-sixty but I can’t believe how clear everything is. You can actually see the path the bullet takes in the body. Frightening, but fascinating.’

‘I’m pleased you think so.’

‘So you won’t have to cut him open now?’

‘No. Well, not for a post-mortem. We’ll need to get the bullet out of him, obviously, so your forensic people can find out what kind of gun was used. We’ll get a report and I’ll read it and the coroner will read it but I think it’s pretty self-explanatory how he died. There should be no need to go in with a scalpel.’

‘It’s a bit more dignified isn’t it?’

‘Absolutely. It’s not nice for the family knowing their loved ones are naked on a slab having their insides removed.’

‘It depends if you like them or not,’ Matilda laughed. ‘Is anyone working on developing a scan that will reveal the name of the killer?’

‘I think for that you’ll need a doctor more qualified than I am. Preferably one with a sonic screwdriver.’

EIGHT

Martin Craven approached the front desk of the police station like a member of the walking dead. His eyes were circled red and bloodshot, his hair a tangled mess, and his face was grey and sallow. His suit, one he had worn for work the previous day, was creased and stained.

‘I want to report my wife missing,’ he said in a voice affected by lack of sleep and too much caffeine.

The uniformed sergeant behind the desk didn’t even blink. He had seen it all over the years; people came to the counter with all kinds of stories ranging from the bland to the bizarre. A missing person was banal in comparison.

‘When did you last see your wife, sir?’

He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. Holding on to the counter for balance he spoke slowly with determination. ‘She left for work yesterday morning. She was due home about eight o’clock last night, but never arrived. Her mobile was going straight to voicemail. By ten o’clock I started phoning around her friends but they hadn’t heard from her. This morning I called her work but she hasn’t turned up. They said she was there until five o’clock yesterday and left as normal. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened at work either. She’s disappeared. I need you to find her.’

DC Joseph Glass hoped training as a Family Liaison Officer would impress the bosses when it came to promotion time. He had been on several health and safety and first aid courses and was even a fire officer at South Yorkshire HQ. What he hadn’t expected was how unbelievably boring being an FLO was.

He had spent most of the night wondering what to say to a tearful and desperate Alice Hardaker.

‘Should I wake the kids and tell them or wait until morning?’

‘Only you can answer that, Alice. I’ll provide you with whatever support I can though.’

‘How sure are you that it’s really Kevin?’

‘As sure as we can be at the moment.’

‘Do you think he suffered?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Alice.’

This went on until the small hours of the morning until, physically and mentally drained, she had fallen asleep sitting up on the sofa. He had taken the eighth undrunk cup of tea from her hands and placed a throw over her to keep her warm. He returned to the armchair and waited. He managed an hour’s sleep at about three o’clock but woke with a start; his subconscious telling him he was in unfamiliar surroundings. He made another cup of tea, something he was becoming an expert in, and waited for Alice to wake up.

At four o’clock, knowing his sister would have come off the late shift at the Children’s Hospital, he gave her a call.’

‘Morning, you’ll never guess what’s happened,’ he spoke quietly into his phone from the kitchen so as not to wake the snoring Alice. ‘There’s been a shooting on Quiet Lane.’

‘I know. We’ve heard. Tom’s girlfriend works at the Northern. She phoned earlier.’

Feeling downhearted at not getting in first with the gossip, Joseph added, ‘Yes, well, guess who’s FLO for one of the victim’s family?’

‘You’re not!’

‘I bloody am.’

‘Good for you. How is it?’

‘Boring. I’ve lost count of the amount of cups of tea I’ve had and they’ve only got plain biscuits. Two kids and not a single bit of chocolate in the house.’

‘Sod the biscuits, Joe. Let’s have some juicy details.’

‘I haven’t got any. Like I said, it’s boring. Hang on, I think I can hear movement upstairs. I’ll call you later.’

He hung up without saying goodbye and listened intently to the noise from upstairs. He heard the sound of feet padding lightly along the hallway, a toilet flushed and then more footsteps. One of the children going to the toilet. He sighed and returned to the living room.

When the children, Warren aged ten and Milly aged seven, came down for breakfast, they looked with heavy frowns at the gangly detective. Who was this man and why had he spent the night on their recliner?

Alice had no idea what to say to them and stumbled her way through a statement of silences, um’s and ah’s. In the end, Joseph stepped forward and took over. Surprisingly, Alice allowed it.

Joseph bent down in front of the two frightened children who looked vulnerable and innocent in their pyjamas and dressing gowns. He lowered his voice and tried to sound soothing and calm. ‘At the moment, we don’t know what’s happening but we think your dad has been involved in some kind of accident. The reason why I’m here is to look after you all while the main police officers find out what’s going on. If there’s anything you need or anything you want to know, come and ask me and I’ll do what I can to help. Is that OK?’

The children nodded in unison. They looked to their mother who nodded and gave a painful smile, doing all she could to stop the tears from falling.

‘Right then Warren, your mum tells me you’re a very good boy and always help at mealtimes. I bet you know where all the breakfast things are don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he nodded.

‘OK. Now, you look like a Coco Pops man to me. Am I right?’ He knew one of them would like Coco Pops having seen two boxes of them in the cupboard while looking around during the hours of darkness.

‘Milly likes Coco Pops. I prefer Frosties.’

‘Cool. I like those too. Have you ever mixed them together?’

He ushered the kids into the kitchen and Alice mouthed her thanks as her emotions took over. She turned her back so nobody would see her cry.

As Alice made her way towards the hallway the front doorbell rang. She quickly wiped her eyes and turned round to look at Joseph in the doorway to the kitchen.

‘Would you like me to answer it?’

‘No, it’s OK,’ she sniffled. She looked through the spyhole. ‘It’s my sister.’ She had barely opened the solid front door before her younger sister burst into the house and grabbed Alice in a bear hug.

‘Oh my God, Alice,’ Jenny was younger, shorter, fatter, and plainer than her sister.

Alice had called Jenny last night, before she had fallen asleep, and told her the tragic news. Jenny, who was away at a wedding in Skegness, had come straight back to Sheffield.

‘I didn’t think you were coming straight back,’ said Alice. ‘What about Geraldine’s wedding?’

‘She’s got another three bridesmaids; I won’t be missed. Alice, what happened?’

Alice put her arm around her sister and led her into the living room where they could talk in private.

Joseph was torn. He wanted to listen in on the conversation. Would Alice say something to her sister she wouldn’t say to him? However, there were two children in the room behind him and it sounded like they were making a mess.

As Alice closed the door to the living room, Joseph heard her say ‘you’ll never believe what’s happened’. Joseph had started the conversation with his sister the same way a few hours earlier. But he’d just been gossiping then. He never would have said that had he been talking about the brutal murder of a close relative.

NINE

Matilda’s office was a small cubicle in the corner of the Murder Room. She liked to keep her door open so her team knew they could step in at any time to talk to her, and also so she could keep an eye on them. Usually at the start of a major investigation the Murder Room would be a hive of activity – unfortunately, being able to hear the clock ticking was not a good sign.

Through the open doorway, Matilda looked out at her team. Aaron looked strained and brooding like he had the entire world’s worries on his shoulders. She had heard Sian refer to him as John Luther but without the cool coat. This was an accurate description of Aaron Connolly. If he won the lottery he’d still have the dour face of a basset hound. Scott was on the phone, held in the crook of his shoulder while tapping away at the computer. He was a quiet man, almost monosyllabic. She wondered what it would take to bring him out of his shell. Despite him being an excellent DC he was the hardest of the team to try and get to know. Rory Fleming was his polar opposite; confident, brash, smiling, bounding around like a puppy. Matilda was surprised that Rory and Scott liked each other, yet they often went to the gym together after work. She wondered what they found to talk about, if anything.

Sian popped her head around the door. ‘Have you got a few minutes?’

‘Sure. Come on in.’

‘You looked lost for a moment there.’

‘Just thinking. What can I do for you?’

‘I’ve had forensics on the phone. They’ve not been able to get anything from the partial footprint on Kevin Hardaker’s chest.’

‘Adele said as much last night.’

‘The bullet from his chest is from a semi-automatic handgun, similar to the kind our armed officers use.’

‘A Heckler & Koch?’ Sian nodded. ‘Do we have any reports of guns being stolen or missing?’

‘None at all. I’ve run through the list of local gun owners and we’ve contacted the majority of them. They all know where their guns are.’