When You're Sleeping, page 5
Ulman pointed to one of the bodies, a young woman lying motionless on the grassy bank. "We've already identified her. Her name is Dolores Mayfield."
Amelia leaned towards Finn, her voice a hushed whisper. "Mayfield... same as the Prime Minister."
Finn's nodded. Political implications could turn an already difficult investigation into a quagmire of red tape and heightened scrutiny. They would have to tread carefully in more ways than one.
Finn stepped closer on the bank, allowing them a clearer view of the scene. Dolores Mayfield's body lay in a peaceful repose, belying the violence that must have befallen her. Her pale skin contrasted sharply with the dark, wet ground, a silent testimony to the tragedy that had occurred.
"Any footprints?" Finn asked one of the forensics team.
"No," one of them replied. "The officers on the scene originally thought they had been placed here because of a trail leading from the bodies. But we've ascertained the marks were made by debris that washed up and then back into the river."
"Oh, sorry," Mulberry said. "I didn't mean to mislead you."
"Don't worry, Mulberry," Finn said. "It's an active case, these things happen all of the time."
Mulberry nodded and blushed slightly.
Finn observed the meticulous work of the forensics team, each member absorbed in their task, collecting evidence that might shed light on the events that led to this young woman's demise. He could see the tell-tale markers of a thorough investigation—flagged items, carefully positioned cameras, and officers in discussion.
Amelia's gaze was fixed on the body of Dolores Mayfield, her face etched with a mix of professional focus and a touch of sadness. Finn knew that look well, Amelia always connected with the victims. She hadn't been jaded so much as to ignore their humanity. Sometimes, he wanted to put his arm around her and tell her everything would be okay, but he knew she didn't need it. In some ways, she was stronger than he was, especially considering how much tragedy she had seen with the death of her fiance a year or two before.
Finn continued to observe the scene, looking for anything that stood out.
"Winters," he said. "Look at these puncture wounds on the side of each body."
Amelia crouched beside the body of Dolores Mayfield, her keen eyes tracing the details that others might overlook. To Finn, the puncture wounds on the victim's side were too precise, too deliberate to be dismissed as accidental.
“These puncture marks,” Amelia said, pointing them out, “they're right where the liver is. For both victims to have that, it's too much of a coincidence. I'd say it's murder.”
Ulman, standing nearby with his arms crossed, looked skeptical. “It could just be a tragic accident. They might have been impaled on debris during the flood. Trees, rocks, anything could cause such wounds in these conditions. We won't know for sure until there's been an autopsy.”
Finn joined Amelia, examining the wound with a critical eye. “I have to disagree, Inspector,” he said thoughtfully. “These strikes, they're too clean, too targeted. If someone were impaled on debris, the wounds would be more ragged, less precise. A cut like this, directly to the liver, would induce shock almost immediately, followed by rapid blood loss and death.”
Ulman let out a grumble, clearly displeased with this line of reasoning. “That's a very specific conclusion based on just a cursory look,” he muttered.
“Maybe, but it's consistent with what we see here,” Finn replied. He gestured towards the body. “Look at the angle, the depth. It suggests a certain level of knowledge about human anatomy. And the lack of other injuries or signs of struggle... It feels more like a controlled, deliberate act than a random accident. Then, the bodies have more than likely been dumped somewhere and the floods carried them here.”
Amelia stood up, brushing off her hands. “Besides, if this were just an accident, why would two people have such similar wounds? The odds of that are staggering.”
Ulman's expression grew tighter, the lines of his face hardening. “Well, I suppose that's what you're here to find out, isn't it?” he said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice.
Finn nodded, unfazed by Ulman's tone. “Exactly. And that's what we intend to do. We need to treat this as a potential homicide until we have evidence to prove otherwise. The killer could still be in the vicinity.”
Ulman sighed, resigned. “Very well. Do what you must. But remember, this case is already high-profile due to the victim's connections. We need to tread carefully with our assumptions.”
"Do you want to take that chance and not secure the area?" Finn said.
As Ulman walked away to confer with his team, Finn and Amelia exchanged a look.
"He might be a problem," Finn said quietly.
"He's just marking his territory," Winters whispered.
"That's disgusting," Finn joked. "A grown man, as well."
But the joke dissipated as quickly as it had been born. The weight of death was in the air.
The body of Dolores Mayfield and the unidentified victim, lying silently on the embankment, was now at the center of an investigation that promised to delve deep into the shadows of human motive and malice. And as Finn and Amelia began their work, the serene setting of St Martin Castle belied the dark secrets it was about to reveal.
As Finn and Amelia made their way along the bank, they approached a forensic worker meticulously documenting and bagging a torn piece of clothing. The purple sweater, tattered and muddy, lay in stark contrast to the green of the grass and the gray of the river water.
Finn turned to Ulman, who had quickly followed them. "Do you know anything about this?" he asked, nodding toward the sweater.
Ulman shrugged. "Not really. It could belong to one of the victims, I suppose."
Amelia crouched down for a closer look, her keen detective's eye assessing the garment. "I don't think so," she said thoughtfully. "One victim was wearing a cardigan, and the other, the one we just saw, was dressed in a bright red skirt. This sweater... it wouldn't match the style or the color scheme of the skirt. It's unlikely it belonged to either of them."
Ulman glanced at the sweater with a furrowed brow. "Well, it could just be a random piece of debris then. The floodwaters dragged in all sorts of things."
Finn, however, wasn't convinced. His gaze wandered further down the river to where a mass of broken trees and debris formed a natural dam. "I think we should check further downriver," he said decisively. "If this sweater isn't connected to the victims, it might be linked to someone else. Someone who might've been in the floodwater's way."
Ulman looked skeptical but nodded. "Alright, let's have a look then."
The trio made their way cautiously along the riverbank, navigating the slippery mud and waterlogged grass towards the boat. As they approached the boat and climbed in, Finn's sense of unease grew. The chaotic jumble of wood and debris downstream seemed almost like a barrier, hiding something beyond their immediate sight.
CHAPTER FIVE
As their boat sliced through the murky waters of the swollen river, Finn gazed at the landscape unfolding around them. The flood's aftermath was a picture of desolation, with uprooted trees and debris scattered along the riverbanks. The stark reality of nature's unforgiving power weighed heavily on his mind. They would have to contend with that while looking for clues.
"How many people do you think could have been swept away in a flood like this, never to be found?" Finn mused aloud, his voice tinged with a grim curiosity.
Ulman, steering the boat with a practiced hand, glanced back over his shoulder. "If they're taken out to sea, it complicates things significantly. Currents can carry bodies far from where they originally went missing."
Mulberry, seated beside Amelia, chimed in with a reflective tone. "I remember someone from my school who got swept away in a storm. They found him months later, underground in one of the caves along the coast."
Finn's interest piqued at the mention of caves. "Caves? Are there many around here?"
Amelia nodded, her eyes scanning the river's edge. "Cornwall is famous for its caves. In fact, they were often used by smugglers in the past, a perfect hideout for stashing their loot."
"That's right," Ulman said, sounding surprised.
Finn leaned forward, his detective's intuition sensing an avenue worth exploring. "Smugglers' caves, huh? I used to dream of adventures like that when I was a kid. Pirates, sword fighting, and cursed gold."
Ulman interjected, "It's true. The coastline is riddled with caves, and smugglers did use them back in the day. But most are inaccessible or dangerous to explore, especially after a storm like this. Most of them are flooded or collapsed. People like to romanticize about such things, but a lot of those people smuggling in the 1800s were cold-blooded killers."
"I used to want to be a pirate when I was a kid," Finn replied thoughtfully. "In fact, I think my ten year old self would have been disappointed that never panned out."
"Oh, I don't know," Amelia said. "You grow a beard and get a parrot, you're half way there."
"Don't tempt me," Finn said. "I might make you walk the plank."
Mulberry laughed. "Are you both always like this?"
"She is," Finn said. "I'm the model of professionalism."
As they continued their journey down the river, the boat passed more signs of the flood's destructive path. Houses stood damaged and abandoned, their inhabitants likely evacuated or worse. The somber scenery served as a stark reminder of the urgency of their investigation.
Mulberry pointed to a particularly devastated area. "The flood hit here hardest. The river just... took everything in its path."
Finn's gaze lingered on the ruins, his mind becoming melancholy.
"That's a damn shame, losing your home like that," Finn said.
As the boat continued its journey, Mulberry's complexion grew increasingly pale, in opposition to the stoic expressions of Finn and Amelia. His discomfort was palpable, and Finn, noticing his unease, asked, "You okay there, Mulberry?"
Mulberry swallowed hard, gripping the side of the boat. "I'm not the best on water," he confessed, attempting a weak smile. "You ever get seasick, Finn?"
Amelia jumped in before Finn could respond. "Finn's a son of Florida. Grew up with the swamps as his backyard. I doubt seasickness is in his vocabulary. "
Finn smirked, shaking his head. "Well, I didn't spend all of my time in the swamps, but yeah, I'm pretty comfortable on the water."
Amelia's eyes sparkled with mirth. "I always imagined you out there among the gators, playing a banjo."
"And I always thought all English people walked around in bowler hats, discussing the Empire," Finn retorted, an amused grin on his face.
Their banter was interrupted as Finn's gaze drifted downriver, landing on a significant obstruction. A mass of broken trees and debris had formed a natural dam, blocking the river's flow and creating a chaotic tangle of branches and leaves. It was what he had seen from upriver. He could feel it in in his bones that something would have washed up down there.
"There it is," Finn murmured, pointing out the blockage to the others. "Looks like the flood's aftermath has created quite a barrier."
Ulman, following Finn's gaze, nodded solemnly. "The water's receding now, but it's left quite a mess. We'll have to be careful navigating around that."
As they approached the blockage, the boat's engine hummed lower, and Ulman expertly maneuvered the vessel through the maze of floating debris. The proximity to the obstruction allowed them to take in the full extent of the flood's fury. Limbs of trees jutted out like the arms of drowning giants, and the air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and rotting vegetation.
Amelia leaned forward, her detective's instincts on high alert. "I hope no one got caught up in that," she said, her voice tinged with a mixture of professional curiosity and underlying sorrow.
Mulberry, now slightly green, clutched his stomach but remained focused on the task at hand. "God, I hope not," he said, his voice a bit strained. "It's just branches and broken debris, isn't it?"
The boat slowed to a crawl as they neared the bank, the engine's purr barely audible over the sound of the water lapping against the hull. As the boat stopped, Finn, Amelia, and Mulberry stepped onto the bank, each lost in their thoughts about the grim task ahead. Ulman soon followed.
Finn's keen eyes caught a glimmer amid the tangled mass of trees and debris. It was subtle, almost hidden, but unmistakably there. "Hold on, there's something there," he called out, pointing towards the jumble of broken branches.
The group cautiously moved closer to the obstruction, their steps deliberate and measured. The sound of the river, now subdued, provided a grim backdrop to their exploration.
Climbing onto the pile, Finn balanced himself precariously among the twisted limbs and sodden leaves.
"Careful, Finn," Amelia said.
As Finn delved deeper into the mass, a heart-wrenching sight unfolded before him—a woman's body entwined within the debris. Her arm was extended upward, her hand frozen in a desperate reach towards the sky. Finn's heart sank at the sight, the tragedy of her final moments etched into her lifeless pose.
"There's a body," Finn said, mournfully. "Another woman, in her thirties. I'd say. She isn't wearing a top, so I think that sweater forensics found upriver is probably hers."
Mulberry looked down at the ground as though overwhelmed. Finn could see that he wasn't experienced with this much death. Unfortunately, Finn and Amelia were.
"I'll call forensics," Ulman said. "We'll get another team down here. Don't touch anything!"
Finn nodded, though disliked his tone. Then, something glinted under the gray sun.
Nearby, it caught the light—a locket, its chain entangled around a branch. Finn slipped on a pair of forensic gloves that he always carried in his inside pocket and carefully disentangled the piece of jewelry.
"I said don't touch anything!" Ulman said.
"Keep your shorts on," Finn said. "It's in danger of falling into the water, and besides, it's not on the body."
Finn examined it in his hand. The locket was covered in silt from the river, but it still held a certain luster.
Opening it cautiously, Finn found an inscription inside. Amelia's voice echoed from below, tinged with curiosity and concern. "What is it, Finn?"
He called down, "It's a locket. There's a date and initials inside." He squinted to read the finely engraved script. The date was old, several decades past, and the initials, though faded, were still legible. The locket held a mystery, a tangible link to the past, and perhaps a clue to the identity of the unfortunate woman before him.
Finn's gaze shifted back to the woman's body, a sense of solemnity washing over him. Here, among the chaos wrought by nature, lay a life cut short, her story entangled in the branches beneath him. He wondered who had given her the locket. Was it a lover? A parent? A friend? Whoever had loved her was about to receive the call no one ever wanted.
Finn pulled out a small evidence bag and placed the locket inside of it. As he climbed down from the debris, Finn was already keen on getting to work on the locket and trying to identify the victim. He carefully made it down from the tangle of branches and trees, his mind heavy with the grim discovery.
As he re-joined the group, Inspector Ulman's voice cut through the air, tinged with irritation. "Don't touch anything else, please. This is a job for forensics."
Finn nodded in understanding, as another team appeared on the riverbank. He stepped back to give the other professionals space to work. Beside him, Amelia's expression was thoughtful, her mind clearly piecing together the fragments of the case.
"I'd like to review everything we have so far," she said, turning to Finn. "We need IDs on the new victim and the unnamed woman back up the riverbank. Then, we need to interview anyone connected to all three victims."
Ulman, still seeming displeased with their presence, directed Constable Mulberry to assist them. "Take Miss Winters and Mr Wright to Helford Station. They can use it as their headquarters."
“Inspector Ulman,” Amelia added. “We can't be sure that there aren't any more bodies. Can you assign two teams, one to head up river, the other down river? Just to be sure.”
Ulman nodded. “We are thorough, Inspector Winters.”
“I believe you,” Amelia said. “But I'd hate to think of some poor soul lost out without their remains being returned to their families.”
“As you wish.”
"Thank you, Inspector," Finn said, though Ulman's response was a curt nod, his demeanor unyielding.
With a quiet word of thanks to the forensics team, the trio made their way back to the police boat, Ulman staying with the other officers. Mulberry, still a little pale from the earlier journey, managed a weak smile as he started the engine.
"I've... I've never attended a murder before," he said, driving the boat up river.
Finn looked at Amelia and shook his head. This was no case to cut your teeth on, but Mulberry had clearly been thrown into the deep end.
"Mulberry," Finn offered. "Winters and I can take care of everything if you need to sit this one out."
"No... No, I'll be fine."
Amelia patted him on the back. "If it gets too much, just let us know."
"It's okay, you can count on me," Mulberry said.
"Ulman seems a difficult one," Finn then said, looking at the castle in the distance getting closer.
"He's not all bad," Mulberry explained. "He doesn't like people being brought in over his head."
As the boat glided away from the scene, Finn found himself glancing back at the riverbank, his eyes fixed on the spot where the body had been discovered. The image of the woman's outstretched hand and the locket with its mysterious inscription lingered in his mind. Who was she? Could the locket hold the key to identifying her?
There was only one way to find out.
CHAPTER SIX
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