The Murder Wall (45 page)
But most of all to my partner, Mo, for sticking with me on this journey; for her insights, love, patience and help; for believing at times when I did not – I couldn’t have done it
without you.
If you enjoyed The Murder Wall,
then take a sneak peek at
Settled Blood
,
another exhilarating thrill ride from Mari Hannah
Available December 2013 from Witness Impulse
A
slight vibration passed through her body. It took a moment to register that she was no longer on her feet, no longer waiting for her instructor to show. It was dark now. And
then she remembered . . . one minute she had been tweeting about her day, the next she was hitting the deck. He hadn’t made a sound as he approached. A sharp pain in her shoulder and he was
helping her gently to the ground, acting the hero.
What was it he said as she lost control?
‘You’ll be OK, relax.’
How long ago
was
that?
He was close: she could smell aftershave.
Her eyes searched the darkness but her sight was blurred, extending a few metres in front of her but not to the sides. It was like looking down a tunnel through greasy binoculars. She could just
make out a figure, a growth of hair sprouting over the collar of a combat jacket. She tried calling out to him, panic setting in when no words left her mouth.
Her mind was willing but she was otherwise impotent.
Was she having a stroke?
Again she tried speech. But her tongue refused to move, let alone accept instructions or formulate words. With enormous effort she banged one foot on the floor, trying to attract his
attention.
He didn’t turn round.
Did he even exist?
It took all her strength to lift her leg a second time and bring it crashing to the floor.
Metal?
It sounded like a drum . . .
And it was in transit . . .
A lift?
A shipping container?
Christ! Where am I?
A numb sensation began in her chest and crept outward over every part of her. She was neither hot nor cold and her body was shutting down: arms next to go, legs soon after. Her eyelids
fluttered, heavy as lead. Then everything went black.
S
he was totally paralysed when she opened her eyes, terror ripping through her as she noticed the straps hanging from the ceiling directly above her head. Were they there
before? She must have lost consciousness, but for how long?
A split second?
A minute?
An hour?
A day?
She would have sobbed had she been able.
It was impossible to see if her clothes were intact. And she couldn’t decide if she was tied down or just pinned to the floor by her own dead weight. She couldn’t feel a draught on
her skin but she could see its effect as her blonde hair whipped round her face. And still she couldn’t move . . . Except she
was
moving. Her world tilted, ever so slightly at first,
then more acutely, tipping her body to the right. And now she was sliding sideways, like a side of beef being dragged across the ground in an abattoir, staring at her fate: a bloody black hole.
Oh God! NO!
T
he Senior Investigating Officer failed to notice the sun as it crept over Sewingshields Crags, or the stunning aerial view as the police helicopter descended on Housesteads
Roman Fort. Her attention was firmly focused on a handful of hikers crossing Hadrian’s Wall in both directions, each one a potential witness or suspect to a serious crime.
A little to the west, a police constable in a yellow fluorescent jacket stood guard outside a crime-scene tent. He held on to his hat as the chopper made its descent, its rotor blades whipping
assorted debris high into the air. Jumping out, Daniels felt a stab of pain in her right shoulder as she hit the ground and ran clear. The pilot returned her thumbs-up gesture and lifted off again,
banking steeply before turning back towards Northumbria Police HQ.
As curious hikers began heading her way, Daniels turned to the waiting officer. ‘I’m DCI Kate Daniels, murder investigation team. Where the hell are the lads from Area
Command?’
The PC shrugged. ‘I was just told to wait here.’
He was tall, fresh-faced and built like a tank, someone she’d want on her side in a sticky situation. But he was no more than a kid. He looked really uncertain – really spooked.
‘This your first one?’
He nodded his reply.
‘Then do exactly as I say and you’ll be fine. CSI are on their way. Until then, it’s just you and me . . .’ Daniels gave a reassuring smile. They were two strangers,
miles from anywhere. In remote areas, it had always been necessary for police officers to carry equipment their urban counterparts wouldn’t know what to do with. The young PC had done well.
She pointed at the tent. ‘You erect this all by yourself?’
‘Me and my shift sergeant, ma’am.’
‘Good job.’ She nodded at the advancing crowd. ‘Now get on the radio. I want these people shifted.’ She waited for him to move. ‘Er, today would be good.’
‘Can we do that, ma’am? I mean, the fort
is
a world heritage site.’
‘I couldn’t care less if it was the birthplace of Julius Caesar!’ She glared at him. ‘I want them out of here. Now move it!’
Lifting the flap of the tent, she went inside. A young woman lay face up on the ground, her body splayed out awkwardly like a discarded rag doll. She had long blonde hair and perfect skin. A
green scarf round her neck matched the colour of her eyes exactly. There were signs of blood loss from her left ear, a pool of which had dripped down and settled on the grass directly beneath her.
One shoe was missing but she was otherwise fully clothed.
Daniels could hear the PC on his radio urging the control room to hurry things along. As she crouched down beside the body he arrived at her side, being careful to use the tread plates so as to
preserve forensic evidence.
‘Anything strike you as odd?’ she asked.
‘Ma’am?’
‘She looks more quayside than hillside, don’t you think?’
The PC stifled a grin. Newcastle Quayside was the pulse of a party city some thirty miles away. He watched the DCI take a pen from her pocket. Carefully, she hooked one end under the ankle strap
of a high-heeled patent leather shoe which was lying on the grass a few feet from the body.
‘With these on, I doubt she walked very far . . .’ Daniels studied the five-inch stiletto, holding it up in front of her face, swivelling it round so she could examine the state of
the heel. ‘In fact, it’s a wonder she could walk at all!’
‘If you don’t mind me asking, what are you looking for?’
‘Any damage that might tell us whether it was ripped off or fell off.’
‘And which is it?’ he queried.
‘My guess would be the latter, but don’t quote me on that.’ Daniels tried to figure out how the girl had got there. They were a fair way from a main road. It had rained the
night before and there was no mud on the high heel. Curiously, there were no drag marks on the ground surface either and no tyre tracks outside. The crime scene wasn’t telling her anything
and that unsettled her. ‘Get me a pool car, would you? And while you’re at it, have someone check Housesteads car park for any abandoned vehicles. I can’t
imagine—’
But the young constable had already left to carry out her instructions. Daniels smiled. The lad was keen, might even make a detective one day. Checking her watch, she stood up, hoping the
pathologist wouldn’t be long. She followed the PC outside, lifting her hand to the glare of early morning sun. There was activity on the horizon. A bunch of uniforms were up at the fort
rounding up her growing audience, their deadpan faces turned in her direction, all desperate to know what was going on. Figures wearing white hooded overalls were leaving the car park. Behind them,
right on cue, a familiar Range Rover appeared. Tim Stanton, Home Office pathologist, got out carrying a black forensic evidence case and trundled across rough ground heading straight for her.
Daniels looked sideways as the PC spoke.
‘I noticed boot prints over there, ma’am.’ He pointed to a thin mound of grass a few metres away. ‘They’re definitely not mine, but they could belong to the guy who
found her. He’s in the gift shop café waiting to talk to you.’
Stanton had reached them. He was already suited in white forensic clothing, his trousers tucked into a sturdy pair of green wellington boots. He acknowledged them both with a cheerful good
morning then turned his attention to the SIO.
‘When was she found?’
‘An hour ago . . .’ Daniels pointed towards his car. ‘Spotted from the ridge by a guy out walking the Wall—’
‘Did he touch the body at all?’
‘No, we got lucky. He’s ex-job and had the good sense not to. He’s my next port of call.’
Stanton looked tired this morning and Daniels knew why. This was his third call-out in as many hours, according to Pete Brooks in the control room. She stood aside, allowing him to enter the
tent alone, comforted in the knowledge that he’d take as much care with his subject as any regular doctor would had the girl still been alive. She’d known him for several years and they
had worked together often. His scientific background complemented her intuitive approach perfectly. She never got in his way – or he hers.
The breeze was picking up. Sweeping hair away from her face, Daniels lifted binoculars to her eyes, panning around three hundred and sixty degrees. Other than the tent and hilltop fort, as far
as the eye could see there was only the most spectacular countryside, dotted here and there with tiny slate-grey cottages. She wasn’t a religious woman – not any more – but the
sight was almost spiritual, as if a higher authority had been at work. It wasn’t hard to imagine what life was like here when legions of soldiers toiled in all weathers to build the Roman
Empire’s most northerly defences and a garrison to house eight hundred of their number just metres from where she was standing.
She sighed, taken in by a dramatic wilderness she’d seen many times before.
‘Unreal,’ she said.
The PC looked at her. ‘Ma’am?’
Daniels nodded towards the tent. ‘Such an ugly scene in such a stunning location.’
‘S’pose. I’m from round here . . .’ He pointed off into the distance. ‘Just over that ridge, to be precise. Guess you never see what’s been on your doorstep
your whole life.’
Daniels looked around her. She couldn’t imagine taking this place for granted. Moving away from him, she made a call. Newcastle city centre was too far from the crime scene to run a murder
enquiry, at least for the critical first few days. Her second in command, Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley, was out searching for a suitable place for a temporary incident room and she was relieved
to hear he’d found one.
She wrote down a place name – High Shaw – then hung up.
Stanton emerged from the tent, bagging his latex gloves, nodding to the binoculars hanging round her neck. ‘You can put those away, Kate. If I’m right, you’re going to need
some divine inspiration to solve this one.’
Daniels eyed him warily. He was not a man given to riddles.
‘Meaning?’ she asked.
‘That young woman in there was dropped from a great height.’
She looked up at a cloudless sky . . .
MARI HANNAH
was born in London and moved north as a child. Her career as a probation officer was cut short when she was injured while on duty, and thereafter she spent several years as a film/television screenwriter. She now lives in Northumberland with her partner, an ex-murder detective. In 2010, she was the winner of the Northern Writers’ Award.
www.marihannah.com
@mariwriter
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This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book was originally published in 2012 in the UK by Pan Books, an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited.
Excerpt from
Settled Blood
copyright © 2012 by Mari Hannah.
THE MURDER WALL
. Copyright © 2012 by Mari Hannah. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition OCTOBER 2013 ISBN: 9780062323507
Version 02282014
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