Tony Hill u Carol Jordan 08 - Cross and Burn

cautiously. A door on the right opened on to a living room that looked as if it had been styled for a magazine feature. Some might say uncluttered; Paula thought sterile. On the face of it, nothing to interest them. But they would come back to it. No stone unturned. Just that some stones were definitely more promising than others.
    Next off the hall, a dining room. Again, not much in the way of homely touches. The only personal item in the room was a large studio portrait of Taylor and two children hanging opposite the door. Neither child looked particularly happy to have Daddy’s hands heavy on their shoulders. Paula told herself off for projecting. Really, there wasn’t much you could tell from a photo.
    At the end of the hallway an archway led into the kitchen. Paula caught her breath. At her shoulder, the lead CSI swore softly. ‘Arrogant twat clearly never expected to get nabbed,’ he said. ‘Look at this. There’s forensic traces bloody everywhere. Blood, fingerprints… There’s a clump of hair on the floor over there by the bin. And look at those metal eyes screwed into the door frame and the wall. First time I’ve ever seen a kitchen that looked more like a dungeon.’
    Paula hung back while the CSIs placed metal trays across the floor to create a walkway that would preserve any evidence. This was the kind of result that was like a double-edged sword. As an investigator, it hit the jackpot. As a human being, it made her heart heavy. Now she could imagine what her friend had endured and it was a horrible thought. While she waited, she directed the other CID officers upstairs. ‘Take a quick look around,’ she said. ‘Just an Open Door search to make sure Marie Mather isn’t on the premises.
    ‘Does that door lead to the garage?’ she asked, pointing to the frame where the metal eye was fastened.
    The CSI glanced out of the window, orientating himself. ‘Looks like it. You want to take a look?’
    ‘We’ve still got a missing woman, so yes. Soon as you like.’
    The final chequered plates were laid down, providing a route to the door. The lead CSI opened it with a flourish and Paula crossed the threshold. At first glance, it was a regular suburban garage. Tools and garden equipment, all hung up neatly in their allotted spaces. A workbench and a stack of folding garden chairs. A chest freezer.
    And then you looked more closely and saw the pre-torn strips of duct tape hanging from a shelf. And the trails of blood and what looked like skin snagged on the rough concrete floor. And the metal eyes screwed in strategically in three places. ‘Oh, fuck, the freezer,’ Paula said softly and started across the garage.
    ‘Wait,’ the CSI shouted. ‘You’re fucking up the evidence.’
    ‘There’s a woman in that freezer!’ Paula shouted over her shoulder, breaking into a run, blood and adrenalin pounding in her head. She pulled the lid up. The rubber seal released loud as thunder in her ears. And there was Marie, curled in the foetal position, in a pool of blood and piss. Blonde and bruised and battered. Still as death. Paula reached in and felt warm flesh, the flutter of a pulse under her jaw. ‘Get her the fuck out of there, she’s still alive.’
    ‘We need photos,’ the CSI shouted at her.
    ‘I’m right here,’ the videographer said. ‘Step away a second, Paula.’
    All her instincts screaming against it, Paula did as she was asked. But only for as long as it took her to count to five. Then she was yelling at them all to help her, to call an ambulance, to get Marie Mather out of what was intended to be her coffin and back into life.

    Back at Skenfrith Street, Fielding was steadfastly ignoring the fact that she still had Tony Hill in custody even though the compass needle was swinging round to point unwaveringly elsewhere. This was supposed to be her big day, the press conference where she got to announce the arrest of a high-profile double murderer. In her head, it was the point where she put down a marker that she was destined for the top.
    Instead, she’d had to listen to Bronwen Scott’s pitiful attempt to explain away the evidence against Tony Hill with an improbable story of nosebleeds and a collision in a corridor. It was obviously a fabrication that would fall to pieces under scrutiny, but checking it out would waste time while the clock was ticking. It was clearly a ruse to postpone charging him, so she’d have to let him go on police bail. And that would give that bitch