The road was lined with well-established trees that shielded some large detached properties from view on the right-hand side. On the left, a dense area of woodland was separated from the pavement by a solid wall. About fifty metres ahead, a uniformed officer was standing guard at an old-fashioned kissing gate that opened onto a narrow dirt path leading into the wood. A thin strip of crime scene tape was already in place.
Without a word, they pulled on their protective clothing and then made their way towards the path.
After a brief word with the policeman to establish their identities, Tom and Becky walked in single file along the muddy path, overgrown brambles catching at the legs of their suits, until they reached an arched tunnel. Tom assumed that an old, disused railway line ran above, and he saw Becky wrinkle her nose as they entered the dark and gloomy space. Based on the smell and the rubbish lying on the ground, it would seem the tunnel was regularly used for less than salubrious activities, and as they picked their way over broken bottles and beer cans, keeping to the centre of the path to avoid some of the unpleasant detritus littering the area further out towards the walls, Tom looked around. If the girl had been murdered, why kill her out in the open and not in here, where there was less chance of being seen? The place had crime scene written all over it – and if not this crime, he was sure the tunnel had witnessed its fair share of depravity.
Beyond the tunnel, another officer was waiting to point them in the right direction, and ahead they could see two white tents, erected either side of an oak tree and taped together to enclose its thick trunk. Standing just outside the scene perimeter tape, Tom spotted the oversized figure of Jumoke Osoba, better known to Tom as Jumbo. He was glad to see that – for whatever reason – this girl had been allocated the best crime scene manager that Tom had ever met. For once, Jumbo’s huge, infectious grin was missing. Tom nodded his head in acknowledgement.
‘What do we know, Jumbo?’
‘Young girl – at a guess I’d say she’s about twelve, but could be a bit older. Luckily for us, a Home Office pathologist was already in the area, so we haven’t had to wait. He’s with her now, and he’ll be able to tell you more. It’s James Adams, by the way, and he knows what he’s about, thank God. Before we got the tents up I could see the girl had been there a few days at least – so it’s not a pretty sight.’ He looked at Tom with understanding. ‘You going in?’
Tom nodded, and as he lifted the perimeter tape to stoop under it, he turned to Becky.
‘I don’t think this needs both of us, Becky. You talk to Jumbo. He can fill you in on anything we’ve learned up to now.’ There was no disguising the look of relief on Becky’s face. She had seen her share of bodies, but kids were always different – especially ones who had been dead a while.
As Tom entered the tent, his eyes were dragged to the body in front of him. From where he was standing, he could see that putrefaction was advanced. Given that it was early March and cold for the time of year, that meant the girl had been here for a while, slumped against the oak tree, partially buried in rotting leaf litter, wearing nothing more than a thin white nightie. On her feet were a pair of trainers, grey with age and splitting around the sole. What looked like a blue anorak was bunched up a few feet from the body, and the neck of the nightdress was ripped.
Tom looked around, but there was nothing more that he could see. It would be down to Jumbo’s team and James Adams to collect the evidence, and Tom’s job to work out what had happened to her. He spoke briefly to the pathologist and left him to his work.
Stepping back outside the tent, Tom took a deep breath of cold, clean air, closing his eyes for a second as he thought about the girl’s family. If she had been reported missing they would identify her soon enough.
He made his way back along the approach path, careful as always not to deviate from the stepping plates and contaminate the scene. He could tell from Becky’s body language that she was eager to speak to him. Hopefully, the team back at base had been doing their work and had a name for this kid.
‘What have you found, Becky?’ he asked.
‘Nothing. Absolutely big fat zero. I’ve just had a call to say that no girl in the age range ten to fourteen has been reported missing in the last two weeks. We’ve drawn a blank so far. We’re going to have to go back through kids that have been missing for longer that fit the profile and extend the search to neighbouring forces.’
‘She can’t have been missing for long, because I don’t think she’s been living rough,’ Tom said, shaking his head. ‘She’s wearing a white nightie, for God’s sake. How many street kids put on a nightie to go to bed? What do you think, Jumbo?’