Free Dead Wrong by Helen H. Durrant

took the proffered paper forensic suit and climbed into it. She pulled on the over-socks and snapped on a pair of latex gloves. Once ready, she pulled back the door flap of the nearest tent. DI Calladine would be here shortly. In the meantime, it was her call. She was flattered that he trusted her to be thorough. It had taken her long enough to earn that trust.
    Ruth Bayliss entered the tent totally unprepared for the sight that confronted her. The remains of what she was later to learn were two dismembered bodies lay scattered over the wet ground.
    She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle a scream. Unprofessional, but she couldn’t help herself. Gavin Hurst’s head was lying like a football at her feet. One of his eyes was gone, and most of his teeth. He’d obviously been severely battered about the face.
    It was a scene from a bad horror film. There was just so much blood, too many entrails, so much muddy, red pulp everywhere. In that moment, Ruth knew that Calladine’s instincts had been correct. This wasn’t the work of Fallon or a rival gang. This was something else entirely. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself, and understood exactly what the inspector had feared. This was the work of a maniac.
    Ruth had seen many horrific crimes, but nothing matched this. She inched forward carefully; what looked like guts were spread over the ground in front of her.
    “Nasty, isn’t it?” Doc Hoyle understated. “We’ve erected four tents and there are body parts in each. Spread over quite an area too. It looks like someone has come along with plastic bags full of bloody waste, and strewn it all over the common.”
    Ruth swallowed hard. She couldn’t tell how Rocco was doing, but she’d seen enough to make her feel faint. She stepped forward, tentatively, trying to avoid both the empty bags and the blood, until she felt the ground squish and give under her foot. She looked at Rocco. His eyes held hers for a moment. After a breath or two she steeled herself to glance down, and was horrified to find she’d just stood on a human kidney.
    * * *
    Calladine slammed the car door shut and plunged his hands deep into his raincoat pockets, hiding his fists. His face was drawn, hard-looking and expressionless as he walked towards one of the tents. Ruth was coming out in a hurry.
    By the time he got to her she was behind the tent, almost bent double.
    “First time since I was a rookie,” she apologised. “Couldn’t help it. It’s dreadful in there . . .” She nodded towards the tent. “And there’s more — entrails in that one and severed limbs over there.”
    “No half measures then.”
    Calladine lifted the tent flap and looked inside. Doctor Hoyle was bent over a torso. He looked up.
    “I’ll get them back to the mortuary, Tom. While they’re out here I can’t even tell which part belongs to which body. Although I take it the hand over there with all the fingers missing belongs to your Mr Edwards.”
    “Why here?” Calladine closed his eyes against the sight. “No attempt’s been made to hide anything.”
    “That’s about the size of it. Dumped here — left in all their gory glory for some poor unsuspecting bastard to find. The body parts were brought here in carrier bags and emptied out all over the place. God knows what it’s all about. I don’t envy you your job, Tom . . . Oh, and you should know. That bloodied hand mark was stamped on some of the bags and body parts.”
    Calladine wasn’t surprised at Ruth’s reaction. He was perilously close to throwing up himself. He finished his round of the tents and stood in the damp morning air, inhaling deeply. This was as bad as it got. But what had he got? Two mutilated, murdered bodies and a mark. Was it a gang tag? No it wasn’t — it definitely wasn’t that. But the bastard doing this wanted him to think it was. He wanted them all to be chasing shadows.
    “Detective Inspector?” The voice interrupting his thoughts was