Catch as Catch Can (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 1), Malcolm Hollingdrake [best large ereader .TXT] 📗

the corpse were disturbing and reminded her of victims, the white contorted figures she had seen at the museum in Pompeii, only Malik’s was as black as coal. No matter how long you had been involved in this criminal world you never seemed to be able to respond without some emotional involvement. The skull, looking as if it had been in the ground for years, stared to the side. The remnants of what might be facial skin and muscle had been drawn back forcing a terrifying rictus and exposing what remained of the gold teeth. She wondered why they had not melted. Annoyingly, he still seemed to be smirking at her in death.

The torso looked as though he was curled, his arms tucked towards his chest and his legs bent at different angles as if he were about to run. It echoed a boxer’s stance, but this was a horizontal pose not vertical. Previous experience had taught her that this was termed the pugilistic attitude and was often seen in severe burn victims as the body tightens and draws in. It was surprising from the report that perimortem injuries could not be effectively aged. Lung samples clearly showed that smoke asphyxiation was the cause of death, but it was classed as laryngospasm, a symptom which would lead to heart failure.

Skeeter referred to the detailed plan made of the building’s lower floor, showing where the fire was believed to have started, the position of the rooms and crucially, the corpse. Why he was positioned where he was might never be known. Focusing on the close-up images of the arms and legs she could also detect what looked like marks around each wrist. Referring to the report there was no mention of any ligatures. She reached for the phone.

‘DC Skeeter Warlock.’ She began with the usual pleasantries. ‘I’m just going through the Pathology Report on Malik Buruk.’ She read the reference number. ‘Can you just confirm that the indentations I see on either wrist are not from ligatures?’

The answer was clear and precise. Apparently, the markings she had detected were common in such cases. The pseudo ligature marks were due to the victim wearing tight sleeves or to an item of clothing that has been incinerated and contracted around the cuff area. She felt a little foolish for asking as if she were grasping at straws.

However, what did attract Skeeter’s keen eye were remnants of Malik’s personal items found in the vicinity of his right trouser pocket. They were clearly labelled as ‘coins’ and ‘keys’. These objects had been trapped at the site of the body between the concrete floor and his thigh. There was also evidence of some form of plastic that had melted and adhered to the femur. Further Forensic tests would be needed to confirm but it was believed to be part of a keyring. A belt buckle was also found along with a knife and a number of small, metal containers. It was thought that these were probably stored beneath the stairs and the collapse had brought the burning timber and Malik’s body into close contact.

The second part of the report had been submitted by Fire Service Forensic experts. It seemed clear where the fire had started and that an accelerant had been used. It also indicated that the same substance had been applied to the stairs and possibly linked to the initial origin. These areas were marked in red on the plan. ‘Arson,’ she said out loud. ‘Plain and simple, but was it murder or was his death a case of being bloody careless, an accident? In either case, where was Flamur when all of this was going on? More importantly, where is he now?’ She tapped the pencil against her lips, feeling as though she were no further on. Tony coming in was a light relief and his news was just the fillip she needed.

Bob Lawn sat alone on the bench on the edge of Chavasse Park, a man-made, trench-like piece of open space set within the modern development. A disposable cup of coffee rested next to him. He had come there not only to reflect on the case in hand but to pay homage to one of his heroes: Noel Godfrey Chavasse VC and Bar, MC. The very man was celebrated here and for good reason – bravery above and beyond the call of duty.

Chavasse was born in Oxford but moved to Liverpool when his father was made Bishop of the city in 1900. He was a medical doctor, an Olympic athlete and an army officer, the only man to be awarded two Victoria Crosses during the First World War. Sadly, Noel Chavasse died of wounds and was buried in Brandhoek. Although this memorial was dedicated to the family, it was Noel on whom Bob allowed his thoughts to dwell. He reread the history on his phone whilst occasionally taking a sip of coffee. Sitting back, he thought of the previous day’s action that had taken place just in front of his present perch. It had been the talk of the station. It had even been captured on the cameras that were a key feature on all external walls of the police building. The action was brave, the officer stopping the speeding moped. His quick thinking and courageous action not only brought two criminals to justice but also prevented further crimes and public injury. Bravery is still here, he thought. It’s in us all and comes to the surface when the time is right. He deserves a Queen’s Medal. Bob doubted it would be forthcoming.

A gull screamed as it approached only metres from his head. It was refreshing to be out of the office, even for the twenty minutes it took to drink his coffee. DCI Lawn’s team of three had covered twenty-five percent of the passengers from The Dawn Lady thought to be possibilities. The criteria for this type of investigation were pre-set and in the past had proved to be successful.