Dawson frowned and shook his head. ‘No, that’s not the…’
‘You’ll be thinking of the original body farm in Knoxville, Tennessee, founded by Doctor William Bass in eighty-one and made famous by the author Patricia Cornwell. Westerley is much smaller than the two and a half acres of the Texas facility but is used in the training of law enforcement in scene-of-crime skills and techniques. I visited the place some years ago and modelled Westerley on many of their ideas and theories.’
‘So how much land do you have?’ Dawson asked.
Professor Wright nodded forwards. ‘As far as the eye can see and a little bit beyond the south border.’
Kim followed his gaze. The area he’d indicated totalled seven or eight football pitches and although the ground undulated in places it was a downhill slope from the Portakabin.
He pointed to the west. ‘Those trees mark the barrier to Staffordshire. The entire south is blocked by hedgerow beyond the oak trees and to the east is a brook that separates us from our closest neighbours.’
‘And how do they feel?’ Dawson asked.
He smiled. ‘We don’t place a weekly advertisement but our closest neighbour is a food-packaging factory. It’s a half mile in any direction to the nearest resident.’
Dawson seemed satisfied.
‘How many bodies do you have?’ Bryant asked.
‘Currently seven.’
‘Where do you get ’em from?’ Stacey asked.
‘Donations from family members, a person’s own wishes as stated in a will—’
‘Hang on, Professor,’ Bryant interrupted. ‘You’re telling me that family members actually donate their loved ones to this research?’
Professor Wright hesitated. ‘Donations to medical research rarely state the nature of the research. Few family members would wish to know the details, but they are content to know that the death of a loved one may be of scientific benefit, and of course it is.’
Kim stepped in. ‘And some people will themselves here?’
‘Not necessarily to this exact location but to the benefit of research. Texas State has some one hundred bodies donated each year and over 1300 people have registered to be donated there specifically upon their demise.’
‘It has a waiting list?’ Kim asked incredulously.
Professor Wright smiled and nodded.
‘Are the bodies in varying states of decay?’ Stacey asked.
‘Yes, my dear, I think you’ll get a good idea of what we do from the two residents I’m heading towards.’
Kim caught Stacey’s slight stiffening at the endearment, but she smiled through her irritation.
They all followed as the morning sun finally broke through the white cloud and changed the face of the day completely.
Kim matched the professor’s stride. ‘It must be quite a unique funding system you have here?’
He nodded. ‘We are fortunate indeed that the majority of institutions we approached had an interest in our research and yet no one wants it on their doorstep. So we share our findings with all parties and offer assistance where we can.’
‘To current investigations?’
He nodded as he walked. ‘Of course. We intend to replicate as many scenarios as we can that will not only aid our research aims but assist the police with both current and historic investigations.’
And had already helped West Mercia solve two cold cases. Damn, Woody. Now she was bloody interested. Kim would not scoff at any additional police resource. Cold cases were frustrating to any officer on the force. They stayed in the back of your mind like a conversation that had ended before you’d had your say. They embedded themselves into your subconscious until you could put it to bed. And that was if you were lucky.
Sometimes they didn’t even make it to the back of your mind to be machinated over while you continued with the current workload. Now and again they remained at the forefront of your thoughts, doubts constantly gnawing and shredding your brain. Did I interview the correct witnesses? Did I miss a vital clue? Could I have done more? It was Kim’s opinion that it was cold cases that were responsible for much of the alcohol abuse within the police force.
‘So here we are,’ Professor Wright said, regaining her attention.
Kim noted two perfectly cut rectangles in the grass. As she got closer, she saw that they were makeshift graves.
‘Please meet Jack and Vera,’ Professor Wright said, pointing like a proud father.
‘Their real names?’ Stacey asked while Dawson rolled his eyes.
The professor shook his head. ‘No, they come to us with unique reference numbers, which remain their official identification, but we prefer a more personal approach out here in the field.’
Kim glanced to the foot of a nearby tree. Two bouquets were in their last throes of life. Roses and lilies.
‘Flowers?’ she asked.
His eyes followed her gaze. ‘Yes, just a mark of respect from us.’
Kim liked the small touch.
He stood at the head of the graves and peered down. They all followed suit.
The grave to the right held Vera, whose body displayed the incision of a post-mortem. The flesh was immersed in water and Kim noticed the grave was angled towards them.
She looked towards Jack who was also immersed in water but there was no post-mortem incision and no angle to the grave.
‘We have much to learn about insect activity in the water,’ Professor Wright explained. ‘Vera is immersed in water being fed from the brook. We’ve cut a channel and angled her grave away from the stream.’
Kim swatted a fly away from her ear and looked to the small slip of moving water five feet away from the tip of the graves. Now she understood the angle. It was so the stream water would drain away from the water source, ensuring that no contaminants from the body re-entered the slow-moving brook.
‘We take any opportunity to use the elements around us,’ he stated and then raised an eyebrow. ‘The decision to site the Texas facility at Freeman Ranch was questioned due to the presence of vultures but this now provides a new area of study focussing on the effect of scavenging on human decomposition.’
Kim nodded her understanding. She was all for using the resources available but vultures?
‘Jack is immersed in rainwater so his liquid contains no insects, unlike the water in with Vera.’
‘Bugger off,’ Dawson said, swatting the air around his head.
Professor Wright smiled at Kim’s colleague. ‘Never complain at seeing a blowfly, young man. They don’t fly below fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit so it’s a good indication the weather is warming up.’
‘Well, this one’s a bit keen,’ Dawson moaned.
It wasn’t the only one Kim realised as another one tried to land on Bryant’s shoulder.
She looked down at the bodies in the water. The flies were paying no attention to them.
‘Occupational hazard of what we do, I’m afraid,’ the professor said. ‘Okay, on to the next.’
They stepped away from Jack and Vera and began heading across the site to the western edge of the property. Kim looked back to see if the flies were following. They were not. They had retreated to an area just beyond the brook. Kim could see they were not alone. Multiple flies hovered and then dived with the excitement of a new discovery.
Kim saw the professor was guiding them towards two males in the distance surveying a lifeless form positioned above ground encased by a chicken-wire guard.
She hesitated. ‘Professor, could we just go back…’
‘Aww… guv, let’s just keep going towards those two guys over there,’ Bryant said, with a glint of amusement in his eyes.
She had no idea what the source of his amusement was, and she didn’t much care. If there was a fresher body for her team to view, where they could observe the beginning of insect activity, then she was ready to hop off the official tour and learn something useful.
She turned and started walking back towards Jack and Vera.
‘Inspector, there’s nothing else over there,’ Professor Wright called.
She covered the ground quickly and was back at the two graves by the time he caught up with her.