Hanging Hill - Mo Hayder [5]
The CSM was right: a piece of duct tape had been placed across Lorne’s mouth. It was holding in place a spherical object that had been jammed inside as far as it would go, luminous green tufts visible at the top and bottom. It had forced her jaw open so wide she seemed to be snarling or screaming. Her nose was squashed into a bloodied clot, her eyes were screwed up tight. There was more blood in her hair. Two distinct lines of it ran from under the duct tape down to her jaw – almost in the places the jaw of a ventriloquist’s dummy would be hinged, except that they met her jaw almost under her ears. She must have been lying on her back when the bleeding had happened.
‘Where’s it coming from?’
‘Her mouth.’
‘She’s bitten her tongue?’
The CSM shrugged. ‘Or maybe the skin’s split.’
‘Split?’
He touched the corners of his mouth. ‘A tennis ball forced into her mouth? It would put strain on the skin here.’
‘Skin can’t spl—’ she began, but then she remembered that skin could split. She’d seen it on the backs and faces of suicide victims who’d jumped from high buildings. The impact often split their skin. The thought put a cold weight in her stomach.
‘Have you pulled back the tarp?’ Ben was leaning over, trying to peer under the tarpaulin. ‘Can we see?’
‘The pathologist’s asked no one else to touch it – asked that you come to the PM. He – I— Both of us want her down to the mortuary just as she is. Tarp and all.’
‘So, I’m guessing there’s a sexual element?’
The CSM sniffed. ‘Yes. You can definitely say there is. A strong sexual element.’
‘Well?’ Ben checked his watch and turned to Zoë. ‘What do you want to do?’
She dragged her eyes away from Lorne’s face and watched the officer on the other side of the tent label the bag with the shoes in it. ‘I think …’ she murmured ‘… I think I want to take a walk.’
3
For a while Lorne Wood had been part of Millie and Sophie’s little group – but then, about a year ago, she had seemed to grow apart from the other girls. Maybe they hadn’t had that much in common to begin with – she had been at a different school, was a year older and always struck Sally as more sophisticated. She was the prettiest of them all and she seemed to know it. A blonde with milky skin and classic blue eyes. A true beauty.
That lunchtime the teenagers gathered around the computer in Isabelle’s study, trying to get all the gossip they could, trying to piece together what had happened from Facebook and Twitter. There wasn’t much news – the police hadn’t made any public statements since the one they’d issued this morning, confirming she was missing. It seemed Lorne had last been seen by her mother yesterday afternoon when she’d headed into town, on foot, for a shopping expedition. Her Facebook page hadn’t been updated in that time and no calls had been made on her mobile: apparently, when her parents had rung, the phone was switched off.
‘It could just be a tiff,’ Isabelle said, when the kids had gone back outside. ‘Fed up with her parents, run off with a boyfriend. I did it when I was that age – teach your parents a lesson, that sort of thing.’
‘Probably,’ agreed Sally. ‘Maybe.’
It was nearly one thirty. Time to get going. She began to pack up her things, thinking about Lorne. She’d met her only a handful of times, but she recalled her as a determined girl, with a slightly sad air. She remembered sitting in the garden with her one day, when she and Millie were still living with Julian in Sion Road, and Lorne saying, quite out of the blue, ‘Millie’s so lucky. You know – for it to be just her.’
‘Just her?’
‘No brothers or sisters.’
That had come as a surprise to Sally. ‘I thought you got on with your brother.’
‘Not really.’
‘Isn’t he kind to you?’
‘Oh, yes, he’s very kind. He’s kind. And he’s nice. And he’s clever.’ She pushed her hair away from her pretty face. ‘He’s perfect. Does everything Mum and Dad want. That’s what I mean. Millie’s lucky.’
It had stuck in Sally’s mind, that exchange, and it came back to her now as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. She’d never heard anyone