Twisted Thread

CHAPTER 1

GIRL ON A BENCH

It was New Year’s Day January 1994 – a day of new beginnings, resolutions and new promises, hopefulness filled the air. The previous year had been left behind, the inevitable repentance and apologies for the past year’s misdemeanours now forgotten. The sky was a soft, pale blue with a crisp, bright nip in the breeze. The ground was covered with white, sparkling, icy gems glistening in the sunlight. The leaves lay, apologetic for not resisting the frost which had enveloped the frozen branches. Cars, park railings, lamp posts and trees stood clothed in the previous night’s dusting of snow.

It all looked so perfect, so beautiful. But it wasn’t… A publican walked his two Jack Russells through the streets and on into the park in the early morning. He was thinking about the work he needed to do back at the pub, clearing up after last night’s party; more New Year well-wishers would be coming in later. He had a lot to do. But all of that disappeared from his mind when his dogs barked at the body lying frozen on the park bench.

He dialled 999, his hands shaking. “Emergency. Which service do you require?” “Police.”

He wondered whether he should have said ambulance, but she looked dead, so there wasn’t much point, and he wasn’t about to touch her to find out.

“Police. What’s your emergency?” “There’s a body in the park. A woman.” “Is she breathing?”

“No mate, I don’t think so. She’s covered in snow.

Must have been here all night.”

“Are there any signs of foul play?”

He looked at her, even though he didn’t want to. “Dunno. She’s got a big coat on. Mind you, she

hasn’t got any shoes on. That’s a bit weird, ain’t it?” “Okay. Stand by, please. I’m sending a car. Can you

confirm the address of the park, please?”

He told the operator the location and stood waiting in the cold, trying to keep his dogs under control. They wanted to carry on with their walk, but he didn’t feel right, leaving the poor woman there on her own.

What he hadn’t said on the phone was that he recognised her. She’d been in his pub last night. But should he tell the police or not?

The stillness of the early morning air was broken by the screaming of a siren. Moments later, two plain-clothed police officers, a man and a woman, approached, and crouched down to examine the body.

She lay shrouded in a coarse duffel coat, curled in a foetal position on the park bench. Her bare feet blue with cold, poked out from the bottom of her coat. She appeared motionless, tangled hair covered her face; gloveless hands gripped the hood around her head to keep out the bitter chill. The publican stood by the bench with his two dogs who were barking at the newcomers.

The male officer gently rocked the body, noticing how cold and frozen the coat felt through his black leather gloves.

“Hello, can I help you?” he said. He looked up at his partner. “She’s really cold…”

He leant forwards and listened for breathing.

“I can hear breathing, it’s really shallow but she’s alive,” he smiled.

The police woman then approached the girl.

“Come on, sweetheart, you’ve gotta get up, you can’t stay here.” She gently stroked the girl’s face. She could smell alcohol on her breath. “Did you have one too many last night?” she asked jokingly. She surveyed the area. “Where’s your handbag and shoes?”

“She had them last night at the pub, I’m sure of it.” said the man with the dogs.

“Do you know her?”

“No. I just saw her in the pub last night.”

“Did you see her leave the pub?” the female officer asked.

“No, sorry love, it was so busy.” He rubbed his stubbly grey chin.

The male officer kept trying to gain a response from the girl.

“Can you open your eyes?” he asked her.

“I think she’s in a really bad way, Phil,” said his colleague. “We’d better call an ambulance. I’ll go back to the car and get a blanket.”

“Alright, good idea, be quick.”

The men stood watching as she spoke into her two-way radio, while walking briskly back to the police car.

“Control, this is DC Andrea Doyle, can we have an ambulance to Brockwell Park Gardens, Trinity Rise entrance, please?”

The radio crackled as the control room operator responded. “What’s the situation, Andrea?”

“We have a white female, approximately 30 years old, collapsed on a park bench. She’s unconscious, very shallow breathing, possibly suffering from hypothermia.”

She unlocked the car and grabbed a survival blanket from the boot.

“Does the casualty have any injuries?”

“Any injuries, Phil?” she called out, as she jogged back from the car with the blanket.

Phil took off his gloves and did a quick survey of the girl. He moved the hood of her coat aside and saw the congealed blood on the back of her head.

“Looks like a head injury,” he replied.

“Hello, operator, it looks like the casualty has a head injury, she’s in a pretty bad way.”

“Thank you. ETA of the ambulance is approximately 6 minutes.”

“They’re on their way, Phil,” she said as she reached them. “Should be six minutes.”

“Super; right, let’s get you wrapped up until the ambulance arrives,” he said to the unconscious girl. He wrapped the survival blanket around her.

The casualty was now incredibly pale and had started to shiver uncontrollably. Her breathing was still very slow and shallow. Phil checked her pulse.

“It’s barely there…She’s really bad. I hope they hurry up.”

Andrea looked at Phil, raising her eyebrows as if to tell him to shut up. He stood up, tucking the blanket around the girl more securely.

As he turned to address the witness who’d called in, he recognised him. “Trevor Arnold!” he exclaimed.

“Phil? Sorry, mate, I didn’t recognise you out of uniform.”

“I don’t suppose you would, Trev, but I’m a DS now.” Trevor, the publican, nodded approvingly, looking Phil up and down in his dark trench coat.

“Mr Arnold runs The Prince Regent, Andrea.” She nodded as she started to make notes. “So, what can you tell me, Trev?” asked Phil.

“Like I said, she came in last night, but I’d never seen her before then. I found her here on the bench when I brought the dogs out this morning. I thought she was dead. I’d have called an ambulance otherwise.”

“No, well thanks for calling it in. We’ll take it from here. I’ll be in touch about taking your statement, probably later today.”

“Right you are, Phil.” Trevor turned back up the path towards the direction of the pub. The two dogs pulled him into the park, but Trevor snatched at their leads forcing them to take another route. The dogs dropped their ears disappointed, muzzles down as they reluctantly returned to the pub.

By now, more people were in the park walking their dogs, all getting a load of what was going on. Judgemental looks were thrown in the direction of the prone woman, assuming that she was yet another drunk who’d gone out the night before and got wasted.

Andrea shook her head. “It’s incredible the human mind, isn’t it?” she muttered to Phil. “They’re all so high and mighty when everything’s going right in their lives. But they can’t possibly choose to walk in the shoes of someone else. It really riles me.” She felt incredibly protective towards the injured woman and tried to shield her from intrusive glances.

“There’s nothing to see here, ladies and gentlemen. Unless any of you know the casualty or are medically trained, please move on.”

This was why Andrea had become a police officer – to care for the most vulnerable in society.

Whilst the two officers cared for the girl awaiting the arrival of the ambulance, the world bustled by them. Men in heavy overcoats and thick woolly hats; their gloved hands holding onto their loved ones. Women walked by, chatting and laughing on their phones, sharing New Year’s greetings. Children rode by on their Christmas gifts, weaving in and out of pedestrians. Dads could be seen holding onto the backs of their seats, hesitant about whether to release the bike on its first unstabilised journey.

It all seemed so idyllic, but it really wasn’t as here lay a young woman, alone and completely broken. It was such a sad scene when the only two people in this whole world who cared about her were the two police officers attending to her. What had led her to this point?

CHAPTER 2

KINGS COLLEGE HOSPITAL

Detective Sergeant Phil Lewis and Detective Constable Andrea Doyle watched the paramedics as they loaded the girl into the back of the ambulance. The heavy doors slammed as they climbed into the awaiting

black BMW.

“Control, this is DS Lewis at Brockwell Gardens, Brixton, can you show that DS Lewis and DC Andrea Doyle are attending Kings College Hospital regarding the women who was found this morning. The woman has a head injury, we couldn’t find her shoes or handbag, so we suspect that it’s an assault.” The two way radio crackled, and a women operator’s voice replied.

“Do you require a scene of crime officer at the park DS Lewis?”

“There isn’t much point, as there doesn’t appear to have been a struggle. It’s been snowing overnight and lots of people have been in the park. I think there will

be too much disturbance and the whole area will be contaminated.”

“So, you are not requiring SOCO at the present, is that correct?”

“Yes, I can confirm that SOCO is not required. DC Doyle and myself are accompanying the ambulance to Kings.”

The ambulance arrived at Kings College Hospital accident and emergency department. The doors clattered open and the trolley holding the casualty was wheeled through the sliding entrance doors. The crew took her immediately to the resuscitation area, where a team had been awaiting her arrival.

The paramedic handed over her care to the A&E staff. “We have an unconscious female, approximately 30 years old, found in a park in Brixton by a local resident. She may have been there all night. She has a Glasgow coma scale of six. There’s an injury to the back of her head with a small laceration which we’ve cleaned and dressed. She is maintaining her own airway; pupils are equal and reactive. There’s no ID on her. The police are attending and will want to speak to you as soon

as possible.”

“Thank you. We’ll take it from here,” replied the small, balding doctor.

An oxygen saturation probe was placed on the patient’s finger, and the team began to record their observations.

“I think it’s quite possible she will be severely dehydrated. Let’s face it she has been outside all night. And had a skin full last night that wouldn’t have helped. I would suggest that we put in a drip of 1000mls saline and do some bloods to see what we’re up against? What are her obs like?”

“Definite Hypothermia, temp of thirty-four degrees,” replied the nurse. “Pulse, forty beats a minute and slow, shallow breathing.”

”Okay, let’s warm her up slowly and then get an X-ray of her skull and see what injuries she has sustained.” He squeezed her hand, tapping the veins.

One of the receptionists approached the cubicle where they were working. “The police are here; they want to know whether you think she’s been attacked”. “The police will have to wait,” the doctor snapped.

“Our priority is to get her stable.”

“Okay, I’ll let them know,” the receptionist replied. “I’ll speak to the police once she is stable,” he

called after her as he inserted the cannula into the back of the patient’s hand and took some samples of blood.

“Let’s get a drug and alcohol screen, full blood count, U and Es, etc, etc…” He handed the nurse the samples and connected up the drip.

“So, she has no ID. What else do we know that will help the police with who she is?”

“Well, she was found in a park by a local, she’s well-dressed in a warm coat, her fingernails are cut and recently polished, and she’s all dressed up for an evening out in her little black dress. Her stockings are snagged, make-up smudged. Her hair’s a bit matted from the trauma to her head but she obviously cares for herself. Definitely not a homeless person.” He checked over her body, looking up and down her arms.

“Shall, we get these wet clothes off her, as that won’t help the hypothermia.”

“Yes, okay…on your count. 1…2…3…”

The nurses rolled her onto her side and the doctor undid the long metallic zip that ran the length of her dress, making it flop forward.

“Oh!” The nurse gasped, as she saw the girl’s chest. “What?”

“Oh dear, look, there are some nasty marks on her chest.”

They rolled the patient onto her back. “Oh, they do look nasty!”

“What are they?”

The doctor looked closer, touching the marks with his gloved fingers. He looked at his colleagues, eyebrows furrowed.

“They’re bite marks. Look, they’re all over her collarbone. It appears someone has been abusing her.”

The nurse removed the dress sliding in over her slim hips to expose her laddered tights.

He then continued to examine her body for any other clues as to what had happened to the girl.

“There are no signs of intravenous drug use, no wedding ring, no shoes, no handbag. She has a head injury and she’s unconscious.”

He took a deep breath and looked at the nurse “Of course we need to examine her for evidence of rape.” They lowered her tights and removed them putting them into a bag, followed by her knickers. “Going by the bruising on the inside of her thighs, it looks as though her legs have been forced apart. It isn’t new, maybe a week old. I would like the crime scene photographer to come and take photographs and the police doctor to be informed. Can we get onto that?”

“Of course, straight away.”

“What else have we got to help us?” He scanned the woman.

The nurse looked at the clothes discarded on the dressing trolley and picked up the dark coat.

“Well, only her clothes, doctor, including this coat; which looks too big for her.”

“Is there anything in her coat pockets that could help us find out who she is?”

The nurse picked up the black duffel coat and rummaged through the pockets.

“There’s nothing in here, apart from this old receipt. It’s dated May. That’s…” she paused, counting up in her head “…eight months ago.”

“Where’s the receipt from?”

The nurse looked hard at the printed receipt” Hmm, it’s not clear, but it’s – oh, I’m not sure!” She took it over to a light to examine it more closely. “It looks like it’s in French. It’s quite faded”. She paused looking more closely. “Yes, I can make it out now; it’s from a boulangerie in Paris.”

“Right, so, do we think the girl is French, then?” “Well, maybe. Or she could have gone on holiday

to France?”

“But May would have been the wrong time of year to wear a thick coat in Paris,” he pointed out.

“You’re right, Dr Scott, you wouldn’t.” The nurse took the coat and looked at it “and come to think of it, it’s not really a ladies’ coat” she checked the label. “It’s a large, made by someone called APC, Paris”.

“I’ve never heard of them, but it certainly looks expensive. But it would be if it’s from Paris.” Dr Scott remarked.

“So, she’s wearing a man’s coat, not her husband’s, as she’s hasn’t got a ring – but maybe a boyfriend’s coat?” “Either that, or it’s from a charity shop,” he suggested. “You wouldn’t buy an oversize men’s coat from a charity shop. Perhaps it’s a French couple living here.”

“But where is he?”

“No idea!” She thought for a moment. “Perhaps the police could use the coat to find him.”

“And…?”

“We’d find out who she is.”

“You don’t truly think that the police will be able to find the boyfriend through a coat.”

“Why not? They’re pretty good at that sort of thing.” “Really?” He rolled his eyes. “Well, right now, Miss Marple, we need to get on with our jobs and leave the

police work for the police”.

“Well, I think we should give it to the police. I’m sure they could use it as evidence.”

The receptionist came back into the resuscitation room with a hospital porter.

“They’re ready for you in X-ray,” she said, “the porter is here to take her round.”

DS Phil Lewis and DC Andrea Doyle waited at the hospital to speak to Dr Scott. A few moments later the door opened and the nurse left with the porter who was wheeling the girl on the trolley, the doctor followed them out. “Thank you for waiting.” He guided them both back into the room and closed the door behind them. “I have sent her for a head X-ray to ascertain the extent of the injury. It appears there have been signs of abuse. I’d like you to contact your police doctor and crime scene photographer to establish whether she’s been raped.”

“We can certainly do that for you right away. DC Doyle, could you contact the station and ask for the duty police surgeon and photographer? They need to come as soon as possible as we need to collect evidence of an alleged assault.”

“Certainly Sarge, anything else?” DC Doyle looked from the doctor to DS Lewis.

“No that will be all for the moment.”

DC Doyle left the hospital and returned to the BMW sat in the forecourt of A&E. She pressed the button on the two-way radio. It crackled and hissed.

“Bloody thing,” she muttered hitting it hard. She turned the knob. Surely it wasn’t dead.? She sighed and rummaged around in the car trying to find the back up, but to no avail.

“Oh, sod it” she put her hand inside her jacket pocket and took out her Nokia mobile phone. She looked at the screen; at least it had a signal and a battery. She pressed in the number purposefully.

“01…71” she muttered, punching in the remaining numbers. “Hi, its Andrea here, is DI Jeffordson about?” “Hello Sir, I’m currently still at Kings College with DS Lewis, the doctor in A&E is requesting a police surgeon and a CSI photographer. This is for the girl who was found in the park. He suspects sexual assault.” DC Doyle paused, listening intently to her superior officer.

“Is the girl conscious yet?” “No sir,”

“Well, you won’t be able to take any samples without her consent. But you can bag all her clothes, and have the photographs taken. Contact me as soon as she wakes up and we can have a police surgeon straight out to you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’ll contact the duty desk and let them know that the police surgeon will be required at some point. In the meantime, CSI will be with you shortly. Anything else they can tell us?” DI Jeffordson queried.

“She’s just gone for a scan. That’s all I know.” “Well, I think the best thing you can do is to stay there

with her and wait for her to wake up. Understand.” “Yes Sir.”

DC Doyle returned to the department back through the glass doors, in time to see the girl returning through the corridor on the metal hospital trolley, clattering its way along the shiny tiled floor.

DS Lewis, was sitting in the waiting area, thumbing through a battered ‘Women’s Weekly.’

“Anything interesting?” DC Doyle nodded towards the magazine.

“Just the odd knitting pattern and a recipe for mushroom risotto.”

“Fancy! You didn’t strike me as a Women’s Weekly kind of guy, Serge.”

“I’m not.” He slung down the magazine, his cheeks flushing as he did. “So, what did Jeffordson say?”

“He’s sending the police surgeon when she wakes up, in the meantime CSI are heading over, I have to remain here until she wakes up.”

“Well, good luck with that then.” DS Lewis got up from his seat.

“You are not going, are you?” she grumbled.

“Yep” he chuckled, “I’m not sitting around here waiting for her to wake up. There are lots of other things I can be getting on with to push this investigation forward. Doyle, you are not a newly qualified green horn, you can handle this. Call me as soon as she wakes up?” He grabbed her shoulder and gave it a squeeze, “Okay?” DC Doyle felt that she had no choice. Yes, she was experienced, but there was always something unsettling about waiting for a patient to regain consciousness.

What would happen if she didn’t? DC Doyle took a deep gulp.

“Okay Sarge, but you’ll need to give me your radio, mine’s broken”. DS Lewis unclipped his radio and handed it over.

“Thanks, Sarge,”