“A baseball bat,” Merrick suggested.
“That would do it, that or something similar, and wielded by someone strong because it had force behind it. Her skull was shattered so badly that a sliver of bone entered the Medulla Oblongata. Death would have been instant. But not content with that, your killer then stamped on her head leaving the boot imprint we saw this morning.”
“Was she pregnant?” Greco asked.
“Yes, I was just coming to that, about three months. I’ll print the report out for you,” she said.
“Was there any evidence of sexual assault prior to her death?”
“No, I found nothing untoward.”
“Would you arrange for the DNA of the foetus to be matched against this?” He handed her the saliva sample taken from Reader.
“Professor Batho will do that for you. I believe he has one or two other things he’d like to discuss.”
“Is he still here?”
Natasha Barrington rolled her eyes and grinned. “Unlike me he practically lives here. This job is obviously what the man was waiting for.” She picked up the phone and tapped in an extension number. “But not tonight, it seems. I’m afraid he must have gone.”
“I’ll ring him tomorrow.”
“You’re not from this area, are you?” She smiled, handing him the printed Brenda Hirst file. “It’s the accent.”
“I transferred from East Anglia — a personal matter.” He didn’t want to elaborate. It was his private life and that wasn’t for discussing with strangers, no matter how attractive. Apart from which, Merrick had large ears and would no doubt relate anything he said back to the team.
“Must be very different from what you were used to. Life’s harder up here, well, it is in Oldston. Substance abuse is a major killer. You’d be surprised how much death we see due to drugs and drink.”
“I think not, we had that in Norfolk too,” he said. “We also have a large number of homeless people. The seaside towns are the worst.”
“Life can be tragic sometimes, Inspector. I never fail to be touched by the waste. Take your woman today, for example. She was still young, in her forties, and had everything to live for. And she was pregnant, how sad is that?”
“We do what we can. If people stay within the boundaries, it helps.”
“But they don’t, and who can blame them? There are no jobs unless you want to stack shelves for minimum wage or work your socks off in some back-street café. People live hand to mouth and do what they can. Unfortunately that often means crime. I’m afraid the lifestyle lived by many around here has consequences.”
Most pathologists he’d met maintained an aloof detachment from their work. Like him, they’d cultivated it. They had to; it was a job that could easily get you down.
“Perhaps I should show you around the place. Take you down the odd backstreet after dark; let you experience Oldston at its worst. Show you what we’re all up against.”
Greco couldn’t tell if the woman was serious or not. Did she mean it exactly as she’d said or was it a lead up to asking him out for a drink? He was confused. He couldn’t read women. It was a problem he’d had with Suzy. Merrick smirking away beside him didn’t help.
“I think I’ve seen that already, this morning,” he reminded her.
“Okay, in that case I could show you the prettier spots. A walk in the hills perhaps?”
She wasn’t giving up. “When things aren’t so busy,” he agreed politely.
“You should take me up on the offer. We could round the evening off with a drink. It’d do you good,” she added as she made for her car. “Do feel free to ask about anything you find puzzling.”
So it was a chat up line — of sorts.
“I think she likes you, sir.” Merrick was still smirking.
“Just being polite, Constable, that was all,” he told him firmly.
* * *
“You take these two bags, one each. They’re both locked and you don’t interfere with them in any way, got it?”
Grady Gibbs had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth and he smelled of booze. Daz nodded. The man was a dangerous moron. He wouldn’t have gone anywhere near him if he hadn’t needed the money. He sniffed; the place smelled foul. Gibbs lived in a flat on Link Road, on the estate, and he was no housekeeper. Dirty pots were piled high in the kitchen sink and the furniture was covered in dog hairs from the vicious-looking mutt that lived with him. The only item that looked new and cared for was the expensive looking laptop he had on a desk in the centre of the room.
“When do we get the rest of the cash?”
“Come round Thursday night when you’re done, I’ll pay you then.”
“Who’s that?” Daz asked, looking at a man’s face that suddenly appeared on the laptop screen. Daz didn’t know the man, but he’d seen him somewhere before. He was young, with fair hair and odd-looking eyes. Daz bent forward and looked a little closer. His eyes were different colours: one blue, one brown.
“Friend of mine, and I wouldn’t look too closely if I was you. If he thought you could recognise him again, then he’d kill you.” Geegee grinned.
Geegee turned, keyed in a few letters and then the screen went blank.
“Skype your mates, do you?”
“He’s not a mate and that’s not Skype.”
“Yep, it is. I’ve used it myself.”
Geegee laughed and shook his head. “We don’t use the same stuff as you, shit brain. We work exclusively on the dark net — best way with contacts like mine.”
Dark net — what in hell’s name was that? And what did he mean by we?
“If you want stuff, special stuff that you don’t want anybody to trace, then it’s the only way,” he explained.
Daz shrugged. He’d no idea what he was on about. “You talking about dope?”
“No, I’m talking about guns — something clean. And not a word,” he said, grabbing Daz by the throat. “Tell tales out of school and I’ll cut your tongue out and make you eat it.”
Daz was shaking. Geegee would too — that sounded exactly like something he would do.
“All the instructions are on the ticket in the envelope I gave you. Take those bags and these car keys. It’s an old Ford parked on the south car park. The registration is on the key fob. Here are your disguises,” he said, passing him a holdall. “Don’t be late, and for fuck’s sake don’t miss the coach. You leave at the first motorway services. You whip on the disguises and you scarper. That’s all you have to do. Simple isn’t it?”
Daz nodded but his eyes were constantly being drawn back to the laptop. It had sprung to life again and that same man seemed to be watching them. Who was he and what the hell was Geegee up to?
“Get out and don’t let me down,” the thug warned, holding the front door open for him.
* * *
It had gone nine when Quickenden got to the Spinners. He’d left the nick and gone home, falling asleep on his sofa. A quick shower and a change of clothes and he was ready to go again.
“Thought I’d never get away,” Craig Merrick said, coming up behind him with a pint in his hand. “Had to go to the bloody morgue with Greco, gave me the creeps, but she’s nice, that pathologist they’ve got. I don’t understand how it works but she seems to like the boss,” Merrick said, with a laugh.
“You lads in?” A gruff voice interrupted.
It was Geegee. He was seated at a window table with three others and all of them were chain smoking.
“How does he get away with doing that in here?”
“Because no one would dare tackle him about it, that’s why,” Quickenden replied. “And don’t you say anything either. When we’re with this lot, we’re not cops, we’re one of the boys, got it?”
Jed Quickenden knew that Merrick looked up to him. Daft bugger — he should have chosen someone with more respect for the job. “I took Geegee for a ton last night — he’s losing his touch. But take it easy, don’t bet more that you can afford and don’t get dragged
into anything heavy.”
Merrick nodded.
“Nice to meet you again.” Geegee grinned at Merrick. “You’re that naughty boy who took Don’s cash in return for keeping his gob shut.” He laughed when he saw Merrick’s face fall. “Like your style, lad. Just a shame you got busted.” Now they all laughed. “But it won’t stop us taking all that hard-earned cash off you,” he sniggered to his cronies. “Take a pew, get comfy, it’s going to be a long night.”
Quickenden went to the bar to get some drinks and beckoned Merrick to follow. “Give us a hand,” he told him. “Don’t take any notice. Let Geegee think what he likes, it makes you acceptable in his eyes,” he reassured him. “Watch a couple of hands, then get in there. This lot are not as good as they think they are. There’s money to be made, believe me.”
They carried the drinks back to the table and sat down. Both men watched closely as Geegee shuffled the cards and dealt.
“You in, lad?” he asked Merrick.
Quickenden nudged his knee under the table and Merrick shook his head.
The table fell silent as each of the players studied their hand.
“I’m out.” Geegee tossed his cards onto the table and took a swig of his beer.
Quickenden studied his hand carefully. Two of the others had followed Geegee, so it was just him and a scruffy bugger called Pete. “Raise you twenty,” Quickenden said, as straight-faced as he could manage.
“Raise you right back, copper,” Pete said, defiantly slapping a twenty, followed by a tenner onto the table.
“Last of the big hitters, our Pete,” Geegee said, clapping him on the back.
“Room for one more?” A woman approached the table and wriggled in beside Geegee. “You said you’d come round. I waited for you,” she pouted petulantly at him. “See I’m wearing it, fits nice.” She showed off a gold wristwatch to the card players. “You lot think he’s nothing but a rough bastard but he can show a lady a good time when he’s in the mood.” She grinned.
Quickenden checked out the watch and smiled. Lady. She was nothing but a good lay.
“Go amuse yourself, Lily,” said Geegee.
Quickenden watched Geegee frown. Was it the interruption or the fact she’d flashed the watch? He wondered if it was stolen.
“Back to the game, lads. The silly bitch can amuse herself for a bit,” he said, handing her a tenner.
“Raise you fifty.” Underneath his cool exterior Quickenden was a bag of nerves. There was quite an amount on the table now and he intended it should end up in his pocket, but he had to stay focused.
“Cover that and raise you ten more.”
Quickenden licked his lips, his eyes flicking back to the cards in his hand.
“Raise you—”
“Okay, I’m done, I’m folding,” Pete said, suddenly throwing his cards onto the pile on the table.
Quickenden smirked and gathered up the cash. Like sweets from a baby. He was loving this.
The lads cheered and one of them got up to get more beer.
“We could make this more interesting,” Geegee suggested, with a smile that showed off his gappy teeth.
Merrick felt his stomach flip. He didn’t feel at all comfortable with this crew.
“A ton minimum,” he said. “In or out, make your minds up, then let’s see the colour of your money. What’s it to be, copper?”
Quickenden watched Merrick shake his head.
“What the hell’s he come for if not to play?” Geegee complained.
“Never mind him. I’m in,” the sergeant said, counting his notes.
“Lads?”
Three of them nodded but Pete cried off, going to the bar and sliding up next to Lily instead.
And so it began. Fifteen minutes later Quickenden was still about even. He’d lost a couple of games and won one. But the others were getting bored. If Geegee didn’t win, then the sergeant did and that wasn’t what they’d come for.
“Just you and me, then.” Geegee grinned again. “How about one last game — winner takes all. We’ll up the stakes and have some fun.
Quickenden was high on drink and the buzz of gambling. He nodded. He felt Merrick knock his arm, but he didn’t even look round.
Geegee took a deck of fresh cards and handed them to Merrick to shuffle. “Make it fair.” He pulled on his cigarette and coughed. “You deal,” he said to Quickenden.
He felt Merrick nudge him again — what was his problem? At this rate he’d lose his concentration, no good with so much money at stake.
“A ton.” Geegee fanned out the notes, wafted them in Quickenden’s face and stuck them on the table.
“See you and raise another ton.”
You could cut the atmosphere in the Spinners with a knife. Everyone had fallen silent as they watched this little drama play out.
There was five hundred in the pot, but still Geegee wouldn’t give up. No one breathed as his opponent examined his cards. “Five ton more.” He grinned. “Match it or fold.”
“I’ll match that and raise you a grand.” The words were out before Quickenden could stop them.
There were gasps.
Quickenden studied his hand. He had two pairs. Was it enough? “Let’s see you, brave boy,” he taunted.
“Not just yet.” Geegee took a swig of beer and dug in his pocket, taking out another wad of notes. “Let’s see what you’re really made of, copper.”
The first flutter of nerves hit the sergeant’s stomach. The bastard couldn’t have a better hand than him — could he? He had to be bluffing.
“I’ll put in another two grand. Match it or fold.”
“Okay, you’re on.” It was sheer bravado. There was no way he could afford this. “But I don’t carry that much cash on me. I’ll have to do an IOU.”
More silence, as the pub waited for Geegee’s reaction. He didn’t normally give credit and he didn’t like folk trying it on.
But this time it would be different.
“Okay, copper — write your little IOU. It’ll do for me.”
Quickenden could barely write he was so nervous. He scribbled on a page from his notebook, ripped it out and put it in the pot. “It’s for three grand, so I’ll see you.”
“Indulge me.” Geegee grinned. “You go first.”
Why not? Quickenden was convinced he had the better hand. “A pair of twos,” he said cockily, spreading the cards on the table. He watched Geegee’s face fall. Relief; it was going to be okay — he had him.
“Pity.” Geegee sniffed. “Clever bugger.” He tilted his head. “Thought you had me screwed,” he said at last. Then he smiled and spread his hand out on the table for all to see. “Only kidding,” he grinned, “a full house!” He bowed and the pub cheered. “My pot, I believe.”
Quickenden wanted to throw up. He couldn’t believe what he’d just done. The stupidity of his actions hit him like a thunderbolt. What had possessed him? Greed, that’s what, pure greed.
“You’ll honour the IOU tomorrow.” Geegee pointed a finger at the sergeant, “because if you don’t, I’ll get angry, and we don’t want that, do we?”
God, he was in trouble now. Quickenden looked around for Merrick. Why hadn’t the fool stopped him?
Chapter 8
“I know fear, Rose,” he said to the woman. “In fact I’m something of an expert. I can sense it, see it even. It’s in the sweat, it’s on the face and it’s in the eyes. It’s always in the eyes,” he told her. “That’s why I like them so much. They remind me of the kill.”
He was humming. A tuneless monotone filled the air as he arranged and rearranged the surgical instruments on the trolley by the sofa she lay on. He needed to get it right. He wanted everything perfect.
The one he’d done before had been satisfying, up to a point, but Rose would be the best. And because she was so special he’d gone to extra trouble, spent money on new instruments and chosen them carefully. He wanted to do particular things, examine parts of her anatomy he hadn’t been able to wit
h the other one.
Rose would wake up soon. He’d drugged her but the effect wouldn’t last for long. It would be better once she became conscious and aware of her fate. She’d been on his list for long enough and he’d been patient. He’d hoped she’d get it; see the wrong she’d done — but that was unlikely. She had no conscience. So he was doing the world a favour. Rose was not a nice woman. She deserved everything that was coming to her.
Ironically, she trusted him and that made it easy. But he shouldn’t be complacent. Murder wasn’t easy, not if it was done properly. There was all the planning, the waiting and watching, and finally — the best bit — the taking. One slip and it could all go horribly wrong. But it hadn’t; it had gone like clockwork and now he had her. He was excited, this one was so special. This time he was going to relax and have a little fun.
“There’s fear in your eyes, Rose.” He patted her arm reassuringly, as she slowly became conscious again. “But you shouldn’t worry, you won’t feel a thing, see.” He dragged the tip of a knife blade across her belly. He was right: she didn’t even flinch, she felt nothing. “A few more minutes and the first bit will be over. Good, eh, Rose?”
The humming had stopped. The only sound now was the ominous clatter of stainless steel on metal as he moved the instruments around. There was a degree of irritation in those movements, his confidence was ebbing away. Why couldn’t he get it right? He wanted them laid out in order, but he was confused; did he have everything? He had two scalpels, a retractor, and a costotome, which was a specialised rib cutter. But if he went after her bowel, then he wouldn’t need that.
He picked up the instrument, turning it around in his hands, testing it. It had two levers, the first one, he decided, must be for grasping the rib and the second one for cutting. What fascinating stuff doctors got to use. What fun they must have applying all that learning to the practical side of surgery. He put it on the shelf underneath, out of the way. He’d use that another time.
Complete Detective Stephen Greco Box Set Page 7
