TITLE: Plain Hearts
AUTHOR: coolbyrne
RATING: PG, mature themes, an occasional curse
DISCLAIMER: Of course, I don't own any characters related to Wire in the Blood. No money is being made.
SUMMARY: Three victims, one killer? It never seems that simple for Tony Hill and Carol Jordan.
A/N: Not sure what I really had intended with this fic, as I started it several months ago! I know I meant it to be longer, but the muse left me, and when it finally returned, it wanted to get straight to the ending. I hope you enjoy it anyway.
---
"Valentine, Valentine, why have you forsaken me?"
She saw the card pinned to the bra strap and she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. "Well, this is a hell of a way to wake up at three in the morning." The words formed wisps of white as they left Carol Jordan's mouth and met the cool air of the night. She hugged herself and looked away from the pale body spread out on the damp ground before her. "Where the hell is Tony Hill?" she asked no one in particular.
As if summoned by her words, the black curtain of night opened and, like a spectre, Tony stepped forward.
"Jesus!" Carol exclaimed.
"The streets never seem to look the same in the dark," he said by way of explaining his tardiness.
"And here I was thinking it was because you were doing your hair."
"Hmm?" His gaze went up though he couldn't see the jut of hair Carol's eyes had spotted. He fruitlessly patted it down. "Better?"
"You'll win pageants. Now, what do you make of this?"
Her body turned to the one on the ground and Tony followed suit. Standing beside her, he tucked his cold hands into his pockets and wondered about the lifeless form resting among the short grass of the quiet park. The skin, no doubt once admired for its ivory beauty was now waxy in its complexion, and the cold gave the body such an odd blue-grey sheen that the white lacy bra and panties stood out in sharp relief. His eyes covered the body without emotion, his purpose only to catalogue it. Female, brunette, mid-to-late 30's. Ten stone. Height undetermined based on the current position. No obvious sign of trauma.
The pathologist read his mind. Turning the head of the corpse, he revealed a large gash at the base of the skull. "I would think this did the trick."
Carol shook her head. "Any idea what the weapon might be?"
"Nothing definite, but based on the depth, I'd say something heavy, or the person who committed this crime was quite strong. I'll know more once I open up the skull."
Grimacing, Carol asked, "Time of death?"
"Again, just speculation, but even with the surroundings, the body was quite warm when we found her," the older man answered. "Body temperature puts the death no later than six hours ago."
With a slight nod of her head, she stepped back and let the pathologist get back to work. She watched as the body was carefully placed in the sterile bag and raised onto the gurney, where a team of two pushed it towards the waiting vehicle. The doors closed, she turned to Tony, who was staring off into the distance.
"Earth to Tony?"
"Why take her clothes off?" he asked.
Having grown accustomed to his abrupt trains of thought, Carol easily fell into mental step. "We might find out when the rape kit comes back." She looked back down to where the body had been. "Funny, my first thought was what the hell did the card mean?"
Tony frowned. "It's late, isn't it?"
"You mean the holiday or right now?" Before he could answer, she went on, "Yes, to both. Valentine's Day was a month ago. And it's almost half three."
He nodded absently at the reply, then froze. "I did get you something, didn't I?"
"For Valentine's Day?"
"Yes."
"Yes. A lovely bouquet of violets."
"The flower shop was out of roses by the time I remembered," he admitted.
"Let me pretend it was a lovely non-traditional gesture on your part instead, yeah?"
He looked suitably embarrassed. "Yeah." Letting an appropriate amount of silence pass at his apology, he then asked, "What does the card mean?"
--
"Glad one of us was able to sleep," Carol remarked as Tony walked into the police room.
"I was in bed; didn't mean I slept," he replied as he patted down his traitorous hair. He looked at the photos stuck to the whiteboard where they would scrawl out evidence and theories, and ultimately –hopefully –the answer. "There've been two others?"
"Yep," Carol answered. "Though we're not even certain they're connected. All found in different areas, different ages, two brunettes and a blonde. And the card on the last victim is a new thing."
He indicated the photos. "It's the bra and underpants that makes you wonder." All these images, despite their difference in surroundings and victim characteristics, had one thing in common –each revealed a body laid out on her back, bereft of clothing down to her underwear.
"Why take the clothes off?" Carol asked, echoing Tony's own question from the crime scene.
"Perhaps they were worried they left evidence behind. Blood, hair. Maybe it was a trophy. Something the killer could keep to maintain their relationship with the victim. Tell me about these other two and I'll tell you more."
"Michelle Gallagher. Fifty-six, married. Victim of a hit-and-run six months ago."
"Well that explains the lack of clothing- removal of evidence."
"Victoria Morrison. Thirty-three, also married. Found four months ago in a car park near St. James Church. Cause of death was blunt force trauma to the back of the head. Last night, Pamela Moore, age 36, according to her driving permit. Kevin's tracking down the particulars and notifying next of kin if there is any."
"Did the pathologist say anything more about cause of death?"
"No," Carol replied, "it's too early to get anything out of him. He did send some preliminary photos over, no doubt to keep me from hounding him." She reached for a file on the nearby table, pulled out a small pile of 5x7s and, one by one, attached them to the board, underneath the photo of Pamela Moore.
Tony took some time looking at them before he spoke. He tapped the photo of the last two victims. "Marks on the heels."
"Indicating they were killed elsewhere and dragged to where they were found. Lack of blood at the scene supports that theory."
He nodded at her assessment. "Also indicates someone underestimated the weight of a dead body."
"Or someone small. A woman, perhaps?"
He pursed his lips. "Women serial killers are extremely rare, and in Britain, almost non-existent. When one does surface, they tend to be part of a male/female pairing. Myra Hindley or Rosemary West, for instance."
"So maybe she's working with someone, but part of that relationship requires her to do the disposing," Carol ventured. "A dominant/submissive relationship." When she saw his eyebrow lift, she smiled. "Give me some credit, yeah? I have been paying attention to you all these years."
Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he cocked his head to the side and asked, "The head wound was the only sign of trauma with the last two victims?"
"Looks like it, yeah," she agreed.
He leaned forward and re-examined the pictures belonging to Michelle Gallagher. "Was she facing the vehicle that hit her or did she have her back to it?"
Carol pulled the information from her memory. "Bruising and the break of the right tibia seemed to indicate she was hit from behind."
Pointing to the other victims, Tony said, "From behind." He let the information settle between them, then mused, "So what is it these women had in common in life that connects them in death?"
On cue, DI Kevin Geoffries entered the room, notebook held aloft. He greeted Tony with a nod of his head and spoke directly to his boss. Not much younger than Carol, he disguised his ambition with a natural laconic cynicism. "Might have the answer to that one for you, guv," he began, and took a black marker from the ledge of the board. Uncapping it with his teeth, he scribbled down three bits of information under each victim's photo. He snapped the cap back on and gave voice to his words. "Michelle Gallagher's husband is a solicitor, Victoria Morrison's is a cop, and Pamela Moore's is a social worker."
Carol nodded at the possibilities. "Do we have anything to connect the husbands?"
"Paula and I are going to go through the files today –try and cross-reference a name between them."
"Good work, Kevin. Let me know if you get anything."
Tony watched as the cop left, then sighed dramatically. "I guess you don't need me."
"No," Carol agreed and echoed his dramatic sigh. "I do however need a coffee. Care to join me?"
--
Her light heartedness evaporated at the sight of the scrawny blond at the foot of the steps outside the police station.
"Not a word," she warned Tony, who nodded his acquiescence despite his lack of understanding. "No comment," she said immediately as the young man approached them.
The two words said it all for Tony and he muttered, "Bloody hell. These people are like cockroaches."
"With ears like an elephant," the budding reporter smiled. "Dr. Hill. Carol. What can you tell me about this case?"
"It's DCI Jordan to you, Mr. Ackers," Carol corrected. "As for the rest, I've already told you –no comment." Her long strides away from him were determined punctuation marks.
"I'll just find out on my own then, shall I?" he called out to the backs of the departing duo.
--
The door of the car clicked shut behind her and, in the security of the small space, she explained, "Danny Ackers. Fresh out of uni and into the sticky arms of the Bradfield Journal. Little bastard's got an instinct for a story. He was there the day after the first murder. I'm sure he's thinking this is a quick ticket to something bigger than Bradfield."
"Why the card, I wonder."
She watched him as he stared intently out the window and she shook her head. "Can we wait until I've got a coffee in front of me?"
--
She savoured the hot beverage before speaking. "So. The card."
"Hmmm? Right, the card." He took a sip of his own drink then continued. "It's unusual to leave a calling card now. No pun intended, of course." She offered a small smile of forgiveness and he went on. "If these three murders are connected, why leave the card now? You're sure there was nothing with the other two bodies?"
"We're not even sure the murders are connected," she admitted. "But no, I'm fairly confident someone would have seen something that obvious."
Tony shrugged. "Perhaps it wasn't that obvious. Perhaps that's why this one was so easy to see –the killer could have left something with the other two that was overlooked. Something small or seemingly insignificant at the time."
"I'll go through the crime scene collection reports again." She lifted her cup. "What will you be doing today?"
He watched her close her eyes at the luxury of the coffee, and he took a moment to appreciate the luxury of looking at her. Just as she opened her eyes, he quickly answered, "Work. I've got patients backlogged to Liverpool, and a hundred and twenty six 10,000 word essays on the breakthroughs of Ivan Pavlov."
"The dogs?" Carol queried.
"The dogs."
She made a face and finished her coffee. "Sounds fascinating," she said, everything in her tone indicating she thought otherwise. She stood up and asked, "You need a lift back to the university?"
"No, I'm fine," he replied. "The walk will do me good."
"The walk will put you even further behind your schedule." At his shrug, she did the same. "Suit yourself. And thanks for the coffee."
"I see," he observed, "that's what you need me for."
Far from the curious eyes of the police station and hidden in the low-lit corner of the coffee shop, she leaned forward and lightly kissed him on the lips. "The company's not half bad, either."
--