Tick Tock. Mel Sherratt

knowing what she was about to look at, Grace couldn’t help feeling claustrophobic. It was eerily quiet too, once they’d left behind the noise of the school. Grace shivered, even though the April day was mild.

      After a steep incline, the entrance to the field loomed at them. There was another police car parked, its tailgate open. Inside were the items they were required to put on before going to the crime scene, to avoid contamination and help them catch only their killer’s DNA and vital evidence – forensic white suits and shoe covers, latex gloves and masks to cover their mouths.

      They each dressed in the appropriate gear and turned off the lane, through a gap in the hedge. Grace looked in front of her; there were a few bushes scattered across the grassy landscape and a large hedge around the perimeter. To her left, she had a clear view across some of the city, seeing rows of houses and gardens, and a large football playing field with a changing hut.

      If this death was suspicious, Grace mused, it would be the second murder investigation in Stoke-on-Trent since she’d arrived. Back in September, she had helped to catch a serial killer. The timing couldn’t have been more poignant, but then again, the killer was someone she had known, so it was no coincidence that their rampage coincided with her return to her birth town.

      Since then, the city had been fairly quiet. There had been the usual assaults, domestics and some low-level crime, but nothing as big as her first case with her team.

      They reached the tent. In the far distance, Grace could see a row of gardens from properties that backed onto the field. She doubted any surveillance would scope this far, but made a mental note to send someone to contact their owners anyway. Then she took a deep breath before following Nick.

      It was unprofessional, she knew, but she couldn’t stop the tears welling in her eyes as she took in the young girl at her feet. She had long blonde hair and a heavy fringe. Her head was partly facing away from them, her eyes open and thankfully looking in the opposite direction.

      The bruising around her neck was prominent now, popping up from above the collar of her sweatshirt. The uniform of leggings and long sleeves was different from the one Grace remembered from her school days: T-shirts and short skirts, and the mottled legs that weren’t a nice look when it was cold.

      She seemed a pretty girl. Grace wondered if she had been popular at school.

      ‘She would have been so full of life until this morning.’ Her voice was low. ‘Why would anyone take that away from her?’

      ‘Are you okay?’ Nick asked.

      ‘Something in my eye.’ Grace blinked profusely, not caring who saw her in distress. ‘Although if I didn’t have any emotion, I couldn’t do this job.’

      ‘Whereas I have to switch mine off to do it,’ Dave Barnett, the senior crime scene investigating officer said, acknowledging them at the same time. ‘I wouldn’t survive a week if I didn’t.’

      ‘I think it’s good to have feelings,’ Grace said. ‘What happened to her, Dave?’

      ‘On first thoughts, she’s been asphyxiated.’ Dave pointed to the bruising on the victim’s neck. ‘But it could be a case of a murder not quite there. Either someone cocked up and didn’t finish the job, or they knew what they were looking for and left her to die.’

      ‘I don’t follow,’ Grace said.

      ‘You can strangle someone until they stop breathing altogether, or if you press on the carotid artery in the right place, the heart will slow down and a victim will lose consciousness quite quickly, usually in seconds. If left that way without being revived, it takes no more than five minutes to die, depending on the age and health of the victim.’

      ‘So you suspect she was still alive when the girls ran for help?’ Grace swallowed.

      ‘I think our killer either panicked or ran out of time.’ Dave nodded.

      ‘Based on several statements, it would seem it was a time issue. And everyone thought she’d had a seizure at first, until the bruises started to appear,’ Nick explained.

      ‘How did she get singled out?’ Perry questioned. ‘She would have been in a class of, what, thirty?’

      ‘It could be someone who is close to our victim, who knows her routine,’ Grace suggested.

      ‘Any sexual assault?’ Nick asked Dave.

      Grace found herself holding her breath as she waited for an answer.

      ‘It’s not looking likely,’ Dave said. ‘Maybe your killer was disturbed when the other girls came back to look for her. Poor kids will be traumatised, no doubt.’

      ‘If they had nothing to do with it.’ Grace nodded, knowing they’d be talking to their witnesses very soon.

      ‘We need to check out any known offenders in the area, regardless,’ Nick continued.

      Grace moved closer to the victim. ‘Are we looking at an opportunist?’ she asked. ‘We’re in the middle of a field. Our killer might have seen the pupils out on a run, else how would someone have known she’d fall behind? And there would only have been a matter of minutes to pounce.’

      ‘It’s a tricky one.’ Nick paused. ‘We’ll inform the parents after talking to the headmaster. And we’ll have to be quick as I bet it’s already broken out on social media.’

      ‘But she was ID’d by her teacher,’ Perry said, ‘as well as the girls who found her.’

      Grace finally stepped out of the tent and breathed in heavily. It always got to her when she first saw a victim’s body – the heaviness, the sadness, the sheer callousness of these acts. She wondered how Dave coped with it all the time.

      Alongside Nick and Perry, she removed her forensic clothing and placed everything carefully into evidence bags. Then they began the walk back to the school. All around her was that feeling of bleakness, a sense of desolation. Glancing back, she reflected again on the pointless loss of life.

      Once on the lane, she took out her phone. She wanted to see who was saying what about their dead girl. Like most cops, Grace had a love-hate relationship with social media. Sometimes it was great for their intelligence, getting to the root of things, because some people are more likely to be honest online than to the police. Other times, it was macabre, reporting on real-time crimes before victims’ families had been notified.

      She clicked onto Twitter and typed in the girl’s name. Nothing there yet, thankfully, but she saw the hashtag #deadgirlatDunwood was trending in the local area. Next, she tracked down Lauren Ansell on Facebook, the image of the girl startling her as she popped up so full of life on her page. Despite her age, Lauren didn’t have a closed profile, so it was all over that feed.

      Posts were coming through, even though her status hadn’t been updated since nine thirty the night before, which could mean that some of the pupils’ parents would know by now as the rumour mill exploded.

       Are you okay?

       I’ve heard something’s happened at your school. Message me!

       This can’t be true. Not Lauren. This is a wind-up!

      ‘It’s all over Twitter and Facebook that something’s going on at the school.’ Grace showed Nick the screen. ‘Some are already sensationalising it. I do hope we can get to her next of kin in time.’

      ‘I just pray she isn’t friends with her own parents,’ Nick added. ‘We’d better get over there as soon as we can.’

       FOUR

      Dunwood Academy was an L-shaped two-storey building. It had been rebuilt on the grounds of a previous high school and then given a different name as well as a complete makeover. Everything about it was modern and new, markings still