No Smoke Without Fire. Paul Gitsham

At least he wouldn’t have to clean his boots before his next shift.

      The couples were also wearing the white booties, but this time to stop them losing any trace evidence that they might have picked up as the first on scene. It was an elegant solution, Warren decided, given that it was impractical to have them walk all the way back to the front gate in their socks. He wondered if anybody had told them that their walking boots would be spending at least a couple of days at Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire’s Forensic Science Unit at Welwyn Garden City.

      He glanced at the two dogs and couldn’t help a smile as he realised that in a perfect world they would also be wearing plastic booties. Depending on what the Crime Scene Manager decided was necessary, both of those dogs might just find themselves undergoing a very thorough grooming in Welwyn.

      After introducing himself to the shivering PC, Warren was told that Tony Sutton was with the CSM, Andy Harrison, examining the body. Two other Scenes of Crime officers were with him, starting a preliminary search and setting up a tent to protect the body from further degradation from the elements. The paramedics had been told to stand down as the body would be left in situ overnight. They looked relieved to be going, but agreed to wait to escort the couples back to the waiting SOC van after Warren heard their story.

      Finally, Warren met the walkers. Thanking them for their patience and apologising for the wait, he soon ascertained that they were two recently retired couples out on a regular walk. Apparently, they got together about three times a week and went for a three or four mile ramble with their dogs, before retiring to their local pub. They had a number of favoured routes, with this one being preferred on colder evenings, since the trees sheltered them from the wind somewhat. Their last walk through these woods had been four nights previously. That might or might not give a time frame on the dumping of the body, Warren decided, since a very fresh corpse might not have attracted the attention of the dogs.

      As Warren had guessed, it was Peanut, the chocolate-brown Labrador, who had found the body. As was their custom, both dogs were off their leads with Peanut romping through the trees on the edge of the pathway. Susie, the golden lump, was getting on a bit now and preferred to trot alongside her owners. At the mention of her name, one of Susie’s ears pricked up, before flopping down again. The poor thing looked knackered, thought Warren.

      The walkers had been alerted by a sudden urgent barking from Peanut.

      “He’s a sensible one, is Peanut. He’s not given to silliness, so I thought I best go and see what got him all excited.” The oldest of the four retirees was a short man, with a trim grey beard and gentle accent that might once upon a time have been West Country.

      Leaving his wife with the other couple, he’d entered the trees to find Peanut sitting on his haunches barking and whining, clearly distressed.

      “It was the smell that gave it away, see. I knew that there was something dead in there as soon as I got near. And I figured that if it had been a deer or something else, Peanut wouldn’t have been acting up like he did, he’d have been straight in there sniffing around. Far as I can tell, he never went within ten feet of the body.

      “Anyway, it was pretty dark in there, but I’ve got one of those little wind-up torches on my key ring and as soon as I shone it on the body I could see she was dead.” The man’s voice cracked slightly. “Poor thing. I took a couple of paces closer, figuring I should at least take her pulse, but I didn’t. You don’t smell like that if you’re still alive. Then I remembered all of those crime dramas that Marie watches and I figured I best leave well alone.”

      At the mention of her name, his wife slipped a comforting arm around his waist.

      “Ben here has a mobile phone and so I got him to phone 999 and then we waited for you lot to arrive.” The other man, taller and still sporting a full head of dark hair, waved an old, brick-like phone in the air as if to prove his friend’s point.

      After asking them a few more questions and making sure that the CSM had taken everything he needed, Warren thanked them again and sent them back down the path with the paramedics.

      Now it was just him and the police constable. If anything, the bright lights made the woods seem more oppressive, blotting out what little natural moonlight could make it through the clouds, enveloping the two men in a white bubble, surrounded by inky blackness. There could be absolutely anyone or anything standing outside that little cocoon and neither man would know…

      Jesus, Warren, get a grip. You’re in bloody Hertfordshire, five miles from Middlesbury, not two hundred miles up the Amazon River. There aren’t jaguars waiting in the trees or crocodiles lurking under the river; we’ve probably scared off every rabbit or fox for miles around.

      Nevertheless, he was relieved when he saw the flash of white light coming from the woods and, a few seconds later, the slightly comical shape of Tony Sutton waddling towards him.

      “Stop smirking, guv, you look just as bloody silly.”

      Warren, glad that his smile of relief had been mistaken for mirth, responded in kind. “What have we got, Detective Inspector Tinky Winky?”

      A snort of laughter was quickly suppressed by the presence of the uniformed constable, then the brief moment of levity was gone, neither man feeling it appropriate now. Sutton’s face turned sombre.

      “I think you’d better come and see for yourself, Chief. It’s not a nice one.”

Chapter 3

      Sutton led Jones deeper into the woods, between two strands of police marker tape. About thirty metres in, a large white crime scene tent loomed into view. Another bank of lights illuminated the scene. Opening the flap on the tent, Warren recognised the shape of Crime Scene Manager, Andy Harrison, bent over.

      “That you, DCI Jones?” he asked, without turning around.

      “Yes, it’s me, Andy. Good to see you again.”

      Warren had worked with Harrison at a couple of scenes since joining Middlesbury CID in the summer. The short, portly man was located at the Serious Crime headquarters in Welwyn Garden City, but lived in Middlesbury. For that reason, he usually managed to get himself assigned to any major crimes in the Middlesbury area. Warren was pleased to see him; the man was a safe, competent pair of hands.

      Looking over the man’s shoulder, Warren felt a wave of sadness. As Tony had told him over the phone on the way in, the body belonged to a young woman. It was important not to draw too many conclusions at such an early stage — as his former mentor in the West Midlands Police had been so fond of saying, ‘When you Assume, it makes an Ass out of U and Me’. Nevertheless a few things were immediately apparent.

      First, the body had almost certainly been there more than twenty-four hours. Even at this time of the year, a body started to decay rapidly when left to the mercy of the elements. The smell in the small tent was pretty rancid — thank goodness it wasn’t summer, Warren thought. No wonder Peanut had homed in on her so quickly.

      The young woman was dressed in a smart black knee-length skirt that had been raised up above her waist. A pair of white panties were pulled down to just above her knees along with her thick black stockings, exposing her pubic region. First order of the day when she was finally moved to the pathologist’s lab would be a full rape kit. Hopefully, whoever had done this to her had left traces of his semen or other DNA sources behind.

      The victim had been wearing a red woollen coat, now open to expose a smart white blouse. The blouse had been partially unbuttoned, showing a sensible bra, pulled to one side, exposing her left breast. Wrapped tightly around her neck was a charcoal knitted scarf.

      Without wanting to prejudice any future conclusions too much, Warren was already thinking: work clothes, possibly an office worker or similar. He noted her shoes, shiny black with substantial heels, and decided that she probably had a fairly sedentary job. He knew that his wife, Susan, a science teacher who spent most of her day on her feet, always wore flats or modest heels.

      “My preliminary