Peony
Magistrate
Chapter One
Guv, you need to get down to Darley Woods straight away. It’s… They’ve found a…
A body. OK. Thanks Sarge. Right, you two, with me, pronto.
Darley Woods is on the eastern edge of town, where the council estates run into scrub and run-down allotments. Gravel lanes lead past graffiti-covered lock-up garages and tangled wire fences. Then you’re there. Paths run alongside little brooks and into the darkness of the woods. Birch, Beech and Oak. Small clearings, thickets of thorn bushes. The sort of place people go to take their dog for a walk. Or to hide a corpse.
They’re there in twenty minutes. The car park is closed off with ‘do not cross’ police tape, blue lights reflect in the puddles. It’s overcast, on the edge of raining.
Sir. Over here Sir. It’s..
I know. It’s a body. Right, let’s take a look. Come on. Gloves on. You’ve seen one before.
Sir… it’s… well, it’s pretty awful Sir. Just…
Ok, ok. Lead on then. Let’s get it done.
They walk into the woods, about three hundred metres, then down a faint side-path, pushing through brambles, into a small clearing where a tent has already been erected. The pathologist is there, waiting for them, with a small gathering of uniforms.
Hi John, long time no see. I wish. So, what’ve we got then?
The pathologist takes his glasses from his eyes, wiping drizzle from them.
A woman, young. Mid-twenties I’d guess. Will know more when…
Yep, when you open her up eh?
Well, I think you’ll find someone’s beaten me to that. I’ve never seen one like it. It’s… well, a bit of a mess I think I’d say. She’s a bit of a mess.
Who found her?
A young PC steps forward.
It was a couple Sir, teenagers. In the woods for a bit of…
Yep, I know.
Well, it pretty much spooked them. They phoned straight away. They’re in the car back with the WPC. They’re shaken up Sir.
OK. Well, we’ll speak to them later. Now, let’s take a look.
The DCI pulls back the flap of the tent and walks in. There’s a tree. And what’s left of the young woman.
Fucking hell…Fucking hell. OK you lot, not a word gets out. We’re dealing with some sort of mad man here.
Or men, Sir?
Or women, Sir?
OK, or men or women. Fucking mad anyway. Fucking hell.
The three detectives are staring at the body of the girl. What there is. Her head, her torso. Tied to the tree with a rope under her… where her arms should have been. There’s a rope around her neck, a noose, but it’s been cut and loosened. Her eyes are open. She’s pretty. Startlingly pretty. Blue eyes, chestnut hair. Wavy hair falling over her shoulders, framing her face. Her lips are parted, as if she’s taking a breath.
And then. Blood. Her breasts have been removed. Her abdomen has been slit open. Her bowels removed. Her arms and legs cut off, by the looks of it each with a single axe blow, maybe two. And below the torso, on the ground, neatly laid out, are her arms, her legs, her breasts, her guts.
Fuck me. Sarge, photos. Fuck me.
Guv, you need to get down to Darley Woods straight away. It’s… They’ve found a…
A body. OK. Thanks Sarge. Right, you two, with me, pronto.
Darley Woods is on the eastern edge of town, where the council estates run into scrub and run-down allotments. Gravel lanes lead past graffiti-covered lock-up garages and tangled wire fences. Then you’re there. Paths run alongside little brooks and into the darkness of the woods. Birch, Beech and Oak. Small clearings, thickets of thorn bushes. The sort of place people go to take their dog for a walk. Or to hide a corpse.
They’re there in twenty minutes. The car park is closed off with ‘do not cross’ police tape, blue lights reflect in the puddles. It’s overcast, on the edge of raining.
Sir. Over here Sir. It’s..
I know. It’s a body. Right, let’s take a look. Come on. Gloves on. You’ve seen one before.
Sir… it’s… well, it’s pretty awful Sir. Just…
Ok, ok. Lead on then. Let’s get it done.
They walk into the woods, about three hundred metres, then down a faint side-path, pushing through brambles, into a small clearing where a tent has already been erected. The pathologist is there, waiting for them, with a small gathering of uniforms.
Hi John, long time no see. I wish. So, what’ve we got then?
The pathologist takes his glasses from his eyes, wiping drizzle from them.
A woman, young. Mid-twenties I’d guess. Will know more when…
Yep, when you open her up eh?
Well, I think you’ll find someone’s beaten me to that. I’ve never seen one like it. It’s… well, a bit of a mess I think I’d say. She’s a bit of a mess.
Who found her?
A young PC steps forward.
It was a couple Sir, teenagers. In the woods for a bit of…
Yep, I know.
Well, it pretty much spooked them. They phoned straight away. They’re in the car back with the WPC. They’re shaken up Sir.
OK. Well, we’ll speak to them later. Now, let’s take a look.
The DCI pulls back the flap of the tent and walks in. There’s a tree. And what’s left of the young woman.
Fucking hell…Fucking hell. OK you lot, not a word gets out. We’re dealing with some sort of mad man here.
Or men, Sir?
Or women, Sir?
OK, or men or women. Fucking mad anyway. Fucking hell.
The three detectives are staring at the body of the girl. What there is. Her head, her torso. Tied to the tree with a rope under her… where her arms should have been. There’s a rope around her neck, a noose, but it’s been cut and loosened. Her eyes are open. She’s pretty. Startlingly pretty. Blue eyes, chestnut hair. Wavy hair falling over her shoulders, framing her face. Her lips are parted, as if she’s taking a breath.
And then. Blood. Her breasts have been removed. Her abdomen has been slit open. Her bowels removed. Her arms and legs cut off, by the looks of it each with a single axe blow, maybe two. And below the torso, on the ground, neatly laid out, are her arms, her legs, her breasts, her guts.
Fuck me. Sarge, photos. Fuck me.