Page 11

Chapter 10

Post-mortems are never easy, but this one is the worst. She’s been here for the whole thing, but still Jennie can hardly bear to look at Hannah’s remains lying on the steel mortuary table. She’s tried to keep her feelings hidden but she’s not sure she’s doing a good job of it. Hassan Ayad, the forensic pathologist, hasn’t seemed to notice; his focus is on examining the remains, dictating his notes into the old-fashioned dictaphone he always uses. But Zuri keeps glancing over with a concerned expression on her face.

Jennie looks away, avoiding Zuri’s gaze. Instead of watching Hassan as he completes the last of the examination, she stares at the stainless-steel cabinets behind him and the white tiled wall beyond. Hannah was always so vivid and full of life, her being here seems so wrong; the only thing this clinical, impersonal place is full of is death.

The memory of the last photoshoot she did with Hannah fills Jennie’s mind. It was early June and they’d gone back to their favourite spot in the woods by the white chalk cross. The weather was hotter than usual for the time of year and Hannah was channelling festival chic in a white bikini, undone cotton shirt, straw cowboy hat and calf-length Doc Marten boots. She’d never looked more beautiful. Jennie kept shooting film as Hannah twirled in the small wooded clearing. She blushed as Hannah removed her bikini and posed topless against a tree, mimicking Kate Moss in her iconic Calvin Klein campaign. Then felt fear as Hannah climbed high into one of the oaks, walking along one of the branches and throwing back her head, laughing at Jennie’s protests that she might fall.

The sound of Hassan loudly clearing his throat pulls Jennie back into the present. Both Hassan and Zuri are staring at her.

‘You okay?’ asks Zuri. ‘Do you need some air? You look a bit out of sorts.’

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ says Jennie, waving away her DS’s concern. She looks at Hassan. ‘So what are you thinking?’

‘As I was saying,’ continues Hassan. ‘While we don’t have the usual material to work with here, her skeleton can tell us a lot. There are a number of signs of trauma here, inflicted both ante-mortem and peri-mortem.’

‘What trauma did she experience when she was alive?’ asks Jennie, her tone sharper than intended.

‘Join me and I’ll show you,’ says Hassan, gesturing for Jennie and Zuri to come closer. He points a gloved finger towards a hairline fissure on Hannah’s left wrist. ‘Now, if you look here, you’ll see a fracture callus that took place ante-mortem. You’ll see the signs of healing, but the callus has not entirely remodelled.’

‘Does that suggest the injury happened not long before she died?’ asks Zuri, making a note on her scratchpad.

‘It’s hard to give an exact timeline, but I’d say within the last year of her life.’

Jennie nods. Hannah broke her wrist during the winter of 1993; she’d slipped over on the ice outside her house and ended up with a plaster cast for weeks. Jennie can’t tell Hassan and Zuri, though.

‘The potentially more interesting trauma is here.’ Hassan points to three of Hannah’s ribs. ‘You can clearly see the line of the fractures, but the more distinct characteristic is how they’ve healed in a slightly angulated manner, with the lowest rib being misaligned.’

‘What does that mean?’ asks Zuri, leaning over the table to study the ribs more closely.

‘Well, it occurs naturally during the healing process, but in this day and age it’s more often than not a by-product of when medical attention isn’t sought, or indeed followed, after an injury is incurred: the bones being allowed to heal without the correct alignment or support.’

Jennie frowns. ‘But doctors don’t do anything if you break your ribs anyway, do they?’

‘True, the practice now is often to leave ribs to heal unaided.’ Hassan indicates the lower of the three ribs. ‘But this case is rather more complex. You’ll see here that there’s a fine web-like pattern of multiple fractures in this bone. This, combined with the concern that lower rib fractures can cause damage to the liver and spleen if not managed correctly, makes me think that if a medical practitioner had reviewed this on an X-ray, they would have made a surgical intervention.’

‘Any idea on the timeline?’ asks Zuri.

Hassan looks thoughtful. ‘They’re more recent than the wrist trauma, so I’d say within the last six months of her life.’

Jennie frowns again. Hannah had never mentioned anything about hurting her ribs. Why would she hide that? And why didn’t she get medical treatment? The answer explodes in her mind like a grenade.

She didn’t question her friend’s wrist injury at the time, but looking back at it now, with this other information about the cracked ribs that Hannah hadn’t told any of them about, Jennie is seeing it in a different light. She’s not a naive child any more, she’s an experienced copper, and all her instincts tell her these injuries were inflicted on Hannah. She did tell Jennie that her dad was losing his temper more; it was one of the reasons she wanted them to leave for London before rather than after their exams. Back then Hannah told her he would often hurl things – a plate of spaghetti, a mug, Hannah’s CD player. Had he started chucking them at Hannah? Or maybe it was punches he’d thrown at her?

Jennie shudders. She feels tears prick at her eyes and blinks rapidly.

I mustn’t break down here. I can’t.

‘Do you have a theory?’ asks Zuri, glancing at Jennie.

Trying to keep a poker face, Jennie shakes her head. ‘No, I was just thinking we need to check with the local A a fracture can be fatal due to both the initial trauma and further complications from secondary issues such as upper airway oedema and the risk of infection.’

‘So a break like this is survivable?’ asks Zuri, looking across at Hassan. ‘But you’re sure it happened peri-mortem?’

‘As you can see, there’s no sign of healing,’ says Hassan. ‘That suggests the trauma occurred peri-mortem. Although it is possible to survive this kind of fracture, the way in which it occurs usually means that the person doesn’t survive. As I said yesterday, it’s incredibly difficult for a person to inflict this injury on themselves, unless they hang themselves. The more usual explanation is strangulation. And given our victim was also found buried under a concrete floor, something she would not have been able to do herself, I would suggest someone did this to her intentionally.’

Jennie trudges back to the car in silence. No matter what she does, she can’t push from her mind the image of rough hands around Hannah’s neck, choking the life out of her.

Grief and anger rise within her. She tries to breathe through it.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

‘It’s so rough, isn’t it?’ says Zuri, walking in step beside her. ‘It never gets easier, seeing a young life reduced to bones.’

Jennie nods. She doesn’t speak. Can’t trust her voice not to crack.

‘I know Loretta is only eleven, but every time I see a young girl hurt or worse it makes me so fearful.’ Zuri slowly shakes her head. ‘The thought of something like this happening to her makes me feel sick to my stomach.’

‘No life should ever be cut so short,’ says Jennie, clenching her fists. ‘But you and Miles are brilliant parents. You’re doing everything you can.’

‘Sometimes the world just feels so hostile.’ Zuri exhales hard.

It’s not like Zuri to sound so defeated. Jennie reaches out and gives her arm a squeeze. ‘I know. But we’ll catch whoever did this. And Loretta is the happiest, most loved kid I know. I don’t think the same could be said for Hannah Jennings.’

‘Thanks. You’re right. We’ll find them,’ replies Zuri, with quiet determination. She unlocks the car and opens the driver’s door. ‘I’ll get onto the medical records request as soon as we’re back.’

‘Thanks,’ says Jennie, climbing into the passenger seat.

As Zuri drives back to the station, Jennie takes out her phone and switches it back on. Alerts ping onto the screen, notifying her of two missed calls and a text from Lottie Varney. She reads the text message.

I’m still in shock about Hannah. It’s just so awful. Are you leading the investigation into what happened to her? I hope so. I trust you’ll do everything you can to get justice for my very best friend. If there’s anything I can do, please tell me. I so want to help. Lx

Lottie’s getting far too full on for her liking. Jennie realises that she wants to help, but Jennie needs to keep her at arm’s length if she’s to have any hope of keeping her own friendship with Hannah under the radar. Lottie never was any good at keeping secrets.

Jennie deletes the message without replying, instead messaging DS Martin Wright:

How are you getting on tracking down Paul Jennings’ old neighbours?

Martin replies a few seconds later.

Closest neighbours moved away, but found a new address for one of them.

Jennie taps out another question.

Next steps?

The reply from Martin comes almost immediately.

Just arrived at the address. Heading in to see them now.

Good , thinks Jennie. They need the neighbour’s input. Paul Jennings might have put on a convincing performance as the grieving father last night, but as far as she’s concerned, the jury is still out on him.

She shudders, remembering Hassan’s words about Hannah’s misaligned ribs being a result of an untreated break. Did Paul Jennings force her to hide the wrist and rib injuries? Could he have inflicted them?

Jennie blinks, trying to push away an image appearing in her mind. She clenches her fists as in her mind’s eye she watches Jennings clamp his rough hands around Hannah’s neck. Nausea rises inside her. Did Paul Jennings strangle his own daughter?

If he did, I’ll make him pay.