Page 3 of The Unforgiven

I was glad that my rank meant I wouldn’t be the one out here overnight, guarding the perimeter, looking to see if our murderer returned to check his handiwork and making sure the media didn’t intrude.

Wrigley came over, the last ten minutes spent on his phone to his boss. His look of annoyance at having his evening disturbed had been replaced with disgruntled acceptance.

“DS McAllister, come and have a look at the body before Dr Miz has it moved.” He pointed over at the tent. “And at least it’s dry in there.”

I heard Vinny trying not to laugh. He’d been with me the day I’d witnessed my first post-mortem and he liked to bring it up.

Dead bodies were not my favourite. I much preferred the living.

“Bollocks.” I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets again, glad I’d grown up by the sea and knew what a real waterproof was. I followed Wrigley. Dr Miz was under the canvas, taking photographs and making voice notes, her assistant altering the lightning.

The body lay there on a tarp, her skin waxy and pale, early signs of maceration. She was naked, adorned with strands of aquatic plants and squalls of debris from the canal. She was thin, too thin really, her dark hair saturated and filthy. Was she the sort of woman who would’ve cared about how she looked? Would she have hated the thought of someone seeing her as she was now?

A thousand questions washed through my brain, wondering about her life, her death, who she’d been and who she’d loved. Were there people there who were missing her? Was someone sat up waiting for her return? It would be helpful if there was. She looked still, almost neutral, as if her ending had given her peace, although I knew that was unlikely. Murders are rarelywelcomed events, even by those who make their living from them.

“We’re ready to take her to the morgue when you give us the go ahead, Malcolm,” Dr Miz said, stooping down under the tent. “I’ll get started tomorrow at eight. There’s nothing to be gained by doing it now.”

“Fine.” Wrigley was watching me rather than studying the body. “We’re not getting a golden hour on this one.” He referred to the slot of time when a body was first discovered, the most useful period to grasp any immediate leads. “How long do you think she was in the water for?”

“Twenty-four hours, but that’s a guess. This rain’s been going at it for two days which is going to make it harder to pinpoint a specific time of death, so don’t bother asking for it. When I get the stomach contents, I might be able to give you a bit more certainty, but don’t be too hopeful. Judging by the state of her, I’d guess she didn’t eat regularly.” Dr Miz pulled down her mask, unmuffling her words. “There aren’t any clear defensive injuries on her hands. That’s something else I can give you.”

“Someone lost their temper with her.” Wrigley’s attention was back on the body. “Multiple stab wounds.”

“Thank you for your observation, Malcolm. Who’re you sending to the PM?” She started to zip up the tarpaulin, a body bag for the now most important person in my life.

“Not Vinny. Don’t worry.” He kept his eyes on Dr Miz and her assistant as they stored away the corpse. “I know he’s not your favourite right now.”

“He never was, to be honest. Decent shag though.” Dr Miz gifted a nightmarish smile.

I looked up and frowned. “Really?”

Wrigley shook his head. “Better you don’t know about it, Mac.”

I was always Mac when there was someone there to hear it, and Mia when I was on my own. I liked Malcolm Wrigley; he was a good boss, a sharp detective who got results. A career cop, he was dreaming of retirement and time spent watching cricket on a long summer day, a dream that he’d put on hold twelve months ago when he should’ve cashed in his pension and handed the reins over to some new king.

For whatever reason, he was still here. All I knew was that he’d been asked to hang on a little longer, until his replacement could start.

Vinny was still hoping he’d be the replacement. From the look on Dr Miz’s face, he’d be more likely to get a position on her mortuary slab.

“I’ll send Mac and Nick.” He shook his head. “What a waste of life. Why do we do this to each other?” He shrugged, not expecting any answer to his question, and left the tent.

I heard him calling Jenna Osei, her name just about audible over the rain that had just upped its volume to waterfall level.

“Eight sharp, Mia,” Dr Miz said. “Don’t be late. And bring coffee.”

I nodded and exited, the pitch black of the night wrapping round me, a shroud for the living.

Chapter Two

My flatmate appeared in our kitchen when I was rinsing out the shaker from my liquid breakfast. I’d learned a while ago that eating solid food before a post-mortem was a sure way for me to re-evaluate my nutritional choices. Time hadn’t improved matters, contrary to what I’d been promised, so I’d become wiser at what I ingested beforehand.

“You were in late.”

Lucy pressed a series of buttons on the coffee machine she’d spent almost one month’s salary on, the whirr of the grinder serving as a second alarm.

“Got a call out.” I put the shaker on the side to drain. “I might not be around much.” I’d been flatmates with Lucy for about eighteen months. She’d had a room she was letting out at her apartment in Didsbury, which I’d found out about from a mutual acquaintance. The house I’d been renting was being sold and I had a short timeframe to find somewhere else. Ideally, I’d wanted to buy somewhere permanent, but my landlord’s news had landed at the same time as I’d gotten involved in a new murder enquiry, so I knew it wasn’t going to work out as planned.

“Remember we’re having that party a week on Friday. I can cancel it if you want though.” She heated the milk for her coffee in a pretty jug with some implement from the machine.