Exactly as Dixon had done, Poland took hold of the roll neck collar of Deirdre’s sweater gently between thumb and index finger, and rolled it down. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘I see what you mean.’
Red marks on the sagging skin of her painfully thin neck.
‘They’re low down,’ said Poland. ‘Presumably to avoid fracturing the hyoid bone. I’m not surprised the doctor missed it. Crafty.’
‘The last person to see her alive was the hairdresser, just before lunch, and she says Deirdre was wearing a blouse and cardigan. So, my guess is someone’s killed her and then put the roll neck sweater on her in the hope of hiding any bruising. An elderly person in her own home; the coroner could be forgiven for not ordering a post mortem. The body gets cremated and . . .’ Dixon didn’t feel the need to finish his sentence.
‘A killer gets away scot-free.’ The Scientific Services officer finished it for him.
‘I won’t know for sure until I open her up, but that is what I would call a good spot.’ Poland seemed impressed.
‘I was looking out for it,’ replied Dixon. ‘There was an alert on the system: the elderly dying alone in their homes, otherwise unexplained. She was quite fit, apparently, and it certainly wasn’t expected.’
‘I’ll get her medical records and have a good look,’ said Poland. ‘Usual drill.’
‘Her glasses are broken and we need to find the missing arm. It might be down the side of the chair.’
‘We’ll have a rummage when we’ve moved the body,’ replied the Scientific Services officer.
‘Time of death?’ asked Dixon.
‘Four to six hours,’ replied Poland. ‘If that fire’s been on since then.’
‘It has.’
‘Between four and six o’clock, I’d say, in that case.’
‘That fits.’
‘What with?’
‘She was visited by someone dressed as an occupational therapist about an hour before she was found by her carer at six.’
Poland straightened up. ‘An OT killing old people in their own homes. What have you stumbled on?’
‘We’ve got some doorbell camera footage a few doors down, Sir,’ said Sarah, running along the pavement. ‘It might have picked up the car, but it’ll be sideways on, so we won’t get a number plate.’
Dixon was standing under the gazebo, trying to wriggle out of his hazmat suit.
‘It was dark by four-thirty,’ said Cole, arriving from the opposite direction. ‘So, most of them had their curtains closed and the telly on. Didn’t see or hear a thing. Apart from matey-boy over there’ – gesturing over his shoulder to Hardy’s house opposite.
‘We’ll need the footage from the nearest traffic cameras.’ Dixon had got his arms out of the suit and was rummaging in his inside jacket pocket for his phone. ‘That’s all I need.’ A deep breath. ‘Yes, Sir,’ he said, putting his phone to his ear.
‘Well done, Nick,’ said Assistant Chief Constable David Charlesworth.
It was not what Dixon had been expecting at all. ‘Thank you, Sir,’ he said. There was bound to be a catch, the ACC phoning him at this time of night.
‘Who spotted it?’
‘The Rural Crimes team, Sir. Nigel Cole and Sarah Loveday.’
‘Has Roger Poland confirmed it?’
‘He’s in there now, but yes, subject to a full post mortem.’
‘That’s the second then. The first was an elderly man in Sidmouth. The Devon and Cornwall lot didn’t spot it and strangulation was only picked up on routine post mortem a few days later. They’ve lost the crime scene as a result; the victim’s daughter went in cleaning everything, apparently.’
‘When was this, Sir?’ asked Dixon.
‘A couple of weeks ago. They’ve got a live investigation ongoing and a Superintendent Small will be coming up to Express Park tomorrow, to liaise.’
Stick his nose in, more like.
‘I’ve spoken to Deborah Potter,’ continued Charlesworth, ‘and there’ll need to be a major investigation team, of course, but we’ll talk further in the morning. Say, eight o’clock sharp?’
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘Good work. It’s nice to know we didn’t drop the ball, unlike Devon and Cornwall. The press are going to have a field day at their expense. Poor sods.’ Charlesworth rang off.
‘We’re going to move her to the mortuary in a minute,’ said Poland. ‘While everyone’s got their curtains shut.’ He was standing behind Dixon, under the gazebo, his case in one hand, car keys in the other. ‘Post mortem at ten suit?’
‘Yes, fine.’
‘Don’t forget your coat is on the back seat of my car.’
‘Did you find the arm of her glasses?’
