Nine Lives Anita Waller (motivational novels for students txt) 📖

was Scottish. It was a major part of her vocabulary. Come on, let’s go see if Ivor has anything to tell us.’

The text from Frannie asking if she was okay lifted Erica’s spirits. She said she was and that she would ring later, then took a deep breath before entering the autopsy suite. Ivor had promised a speedy one as they needed to identify the woman as soon as possible.

Ivor gave a small wave of his hand as Erica took her position on the viewing platform. She was alone. Flick had gone to write the report of their morning’s activities and it briefly crossed Erica’s mind that she had been pretty quick to volunteer for that task. Although, when the alternative was an autopsy…

She listened as Ivor began his preliminary findings, and he started with the right hand, confirming it was IX on the palm, and the tip of the right little finger had been removed post mortem. He gave an approximate time of death as between eight and ten the previous night, she was between twenty and twenty-five years of age, and there had been no sexual activity although she had recently given birth.

Erica felt a shiver run through her and she leaned forwards to speak into the microphone. ‘How recently, Ivor?’

He looked up. ‘Three, maybe four weeks.’

‘Ivor, see that I get the full report, will you? I need to start the search on this one right now.’

He held up a thumb in acknowledgement, and she slipped quietly out of the viewing area.

There were six people in the briefing room and she gathered them in front of the whiteboard.

‘We have a potential major problem with this one.’ She tapped the question mark on the board that would eventually be removed and replaced with a victim photograph. ‘We don’t know who she is, her fingerprints aren’t on our database for anything, but we do know she gave birth three or four weeks ago. We need to know where this baby is, who has him or her, but most of all we need to know the baby is safe and well. Thoughts?’

‘Hospitals,’ Flick said. ‘First port of call, I reckon. We know she’s white so we can rule out any other races. Let’s start with Jessops, that’s the main maternity one. We’ll move on to the Northern General if we have no luck there. Let’s hope to God she’s a Sheffielder, and not from out of town.’

‘Okay, immediate start on this one, Flick. I feel sick at the thought that this poor little one is on its own. Let’s hope it’s with grandparents or a partner, but if it is they may not realise our victim is missing.’

In the end baby Noah Urland came to them, tucked warmly into a smart navy-blue pushchair, without a care in the world.

His grandparents, Victor and Pamela Urland, were out of their minds with worry. They had looked after their four-week-old grandson to give their daughter a break, but they had been unable to contact her all day. Victoria had promised to collect Noah by eleven, and simply hadn’t appeared. She hadn’t rung, and they had repeatedly rung her mobile, to no avail. They had given in at midday and driven to the police station, as scared as they had ever felt in their lives.

The quivery, scared voice of Pam Urland explained Victoria had been going to meet friends at one of the council bonfires the previous night, but had texted at seven to say change of plan, going to a local one. She had asked if Noah had settled, and when they reassured her he had, that was the last they had heard from her.

Erica, newly arrived back from watching CCTV of the crime scene, took them into the room reserved for when they needed quiet, and broke the news to them that a body had been found. Pamela produced a photograph, and as soon as she saw Erica’s face she knew. Her husband took her in his arms and simply held her. He clearly didn’t know what else to do.

The baby slept on, unaware that his life had changed for ever.

26

The turbulent tumbling waters of the Porter had calmed; they were a million miles away from being at summertime flow, but the officers seeking clues on its banks were all aware it was less frightening, less worrying.

Ian had been left in charge, a role he stepped into without giving it any thought, and he split up the team, sending couples into different areas. He left them to it while he went across to talk to the newsagent owner, to get his morning actions down on paper.

The shop was empty, and Winston Leonards was sitting on a stool behind his counter, reading a paper and eating a sandwich. Max was on his dog bed, chewing happily on something that resembled an elephant tusk, but proved to be a reindeer antler.

‘Mr Leonards? DC Ian Thomas.’ He showed his warrant card, then took out his notebook. ‘I have a few questions, then I’ll leave you to the rest of your day. We will need you to come in and give a statement at some point though.’

Winston nodded. ‘No problem. Tomorrow’s my day off, I can do it then.’

‘What time did you leave the shop?’

‘Around half past five, give or take a couple of minutes. I open up at six – obviously I was a bit late this morning.’

‘And neither you nor your dog went near the body?’

‘Not at all. It was obvious she was dead. Max was about a metre away from her, barking at her so I put him on his lead first, then rang it in. Max barked, quite a lot, but I think it was fear. I’m pretty sure he didn’t go anywhere near her, he was too scared.’

‘You didn’t know her?’

‘Not at all, and obviously I know lots of people around here, it’s the nature of my business. Is it the same sort of death as the others?’

Ian paused for a