DI Giles BoxSet

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  Though it was only mid-afternoon, the sky had darkened considerably. Before they reached the scene, the heavens opened. They had chosen to walk the half-mile to where the body was found. Yvonne did not have a hood on her summer mac, and within minutes her hair was soaked and clinging to her neck. Beads of water dripped from her fringe to her cheeks and nose.

  Dewi stepped forward, gallantly holding his jacket over her head.

  She smiled appreciatively, but waved it away. “Please put your coat on, Dewi. You’ll catch your death.”

  “I knew we should have taken the car.” He grinned.

  She nodded, though she could barely hear him. It had been her idea to walk. She had wanted the chance to visually scan the trees along the river path. Looking for numerals. She hadn’t seen any.

  The scene was hectic. SOCO, scurrying about trying to protect evidence; uniform busy interviewing those who had found the body and creating the cordon; the SAR team, here to recover the body; the photographer, trying to get meaningful shots; and her and Dewi, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t let you go any further.” A white-plastic, suited arm had shot out to hold her back.

  “We’re CID.” She looked the young SOCO in the eyes. He looked about eighteen.

  “I know, ma’am. This one is a suspicious death. I’m preserving evidence.” He smiled apologetically.

  “It’s okay.” She nodded towards where the SAR team were working, hauling the body up into the dinghy. “What was suspicious about it?” She wiped water off her forehead with a hanky from her pocket.

  “Apparently, there’s damage to the face and hands.”

  “What?” Her eyes narrowed. “How do we know that already?”

  The SOCO pointed over to where a couple were being interviewed beneath a large oak. “The guy who found the body waded out to it. He thought he was carrying out a rescue. Except, when he got there, the victim was clearly dead. He said the nose and mouth were injured.”

  “How do you know that?” Yvonne asked, genuinely surprised.

  The SOCO pulled a face. “Er, that’s what he told you guys when he phoned in. Didn’t he?”

  “Oh, right. I don’t know. I didn’t take the call.” She looked back towards the body. What had been a red jacket and blue pants moving intermittently in the water was now a lifeless body bag in a red SAR dinghy. “Was it a male or a female? I thought I saw long hair. I don’t suppose they described the injury?”

  “Sorry, I’ve got to get on.” He left them to get on with it.

  The ambulance was parked, waiting to take the body to the mortuary. Yvonne walked over to it, waiting for the body to be hauled out of the dinghy and over to them.

  Once more, she admired the respectful way the SAR team dealt with the victim. The good guys.

  As they slowly approached the ambulance, she stepped forward, holding up her badge. “May I see the victim’s face?”

  “Let her look.” She recognised Carwyn’s voice, before she spotted him at the rear.

  She nodded her thanks.

  They laid the body bag on the ground and the front team member slowly unzipped the top, just enough to get a view of the head.

  Yvonne drew in a sharp breath. “Kenny?” She put a hand to her forehead, her face screwed up in disbelief. “It looks like Kenny Walters, one of our local drug dealers. How on earth did he end up here?”

  She had recognised him from the scar on the side of his face, his long hair and heavy eyebrows. Most of his nose was gone, as his lips and several teeth. She had a feeling he’d been tortured.

  Dewi came up on her shoulder. “Oh.” He pursed his lips. “That’s Kenny Walters. Or, what’s left of him.”

  “We interviewed him only a few days ago, Dewi. Is this our killer making sure he doesn’t talk?”

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.” The silent approach of Roger Hanson made her jump. He pulled back the hood on his white, plastic suit so he could better talk to her.

  “But, it does look like foul-play, here. Looks like he was tortured.”

  “That’s what I mean.” Roger shook his head. “Looks can be deceiving. The body has bumped around the rapids. It’s been over a lot of rock. The river’s still high, and fast-moving. That kind of force over rock can damage facial features and be a bit misleading. I’m not ruling out foul-play, but it could just as easily be naturally-occurring damage.”

  “I see.” The DI pursed her lips. “Then, I guess I’d better wait until you’ve finished the autopsy.”

  “Would be the best idea.” Hanson smiled, his grey-curls becoming darker with the soaking from the rain. “I’ll let you know as soon as I possibly can.”

  27

  Kenny wasn’t drunk

  Yvonne was seated in the coffee area, a mug of hot chocolate clutched in her hands and a towel around her head. She let the heat soak through her hands and up her arms, pressing the mug to her chest, as though to warm her heart.

  Dewi brought his coffee over. “Penny for them?” He tilted his head, to get a look at the DI’s face, as she was bent over towards her drink.

  “I know we still haven’t had a verdict from the pathologist, but I can’t help thinking that Kenny may have been murdered to shut him up.” She sat up straight, looking her sergeant in the eye. “Someone didn’t want him talking to us. Someone made sure he wouldn’t.”

  Dewi nodded. “I’m inclined to agree.” He leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Kenny didn’t drink.”

  “What? Do you mean he didn’t drink alcohol?”

  “Not at all. I’ve always known him as being allergic to it. He wouldn’t touch it. Apparently, he was hospitalised when he was seventeen due to a bad reaction. So, whatever caused him to end up in the river, you can bet your bottom dollar it wasn’t alcohol.”

  In the end, they had to wait several days for Hanson’s full assessment. It had rested on the toxicology report.

  Yvonne’s hands shook, as she picked up her mobile, and saw the call was from him.

  “Hi, Roger. Do you have an answer for us?” she paced the floor.

  “I do.”

  “That’s great.” She exhaled a massive puff of air.

  “You may not like it-“

  “Try me.”

  “Death by drowning.”

  “Okay, but was foul-play involved?” She struggled to hide her exasperation.

  “I can’t be sure.”

  “What do you mean, you can’t be sure?”

  “We found a fairly large amount of GHB in his blood, meaning he took it shortly before his death. I found a high concentration of it in his thigh muscle, around a puncture wound made by a needle.”

  “Right, so someone injected him with it?”

  “Yes, himself.”

  “Kenny injected himself with GHB? Why would he have done that?” She frowned at the phone.

  “We found the used syringe in his jacket pocket. The thigh was on his right-hand-side and the jacket pocket also on his right-hand-side.”

  “Are you telling me you think he injected himself with GHB and then fell or jumped in the river?”

  “It seems that way, yes.”

  “What about the facial injuries?”

  “Well, they were pretty much congruent with having bumped along the river bed, as the water was fast-flowing. It’s very possible they sustained that damage on the rocks. Except-”

  “Except, what? Spit it out, for goodness’ sake.”

  “The nose damage had a straighter edge than I would have expected. There was some tearing, but it was minimal in comparison to the amount of damage.”

  “Could the nose have been cut off with a knife?”

  “If it was, it was a very blunt knife… or a blunt pair of scissors. Like I say, there was tear-damage. I can’t say, definitively, whether the damage was naturally-occurring or man-made. I mean, I can’t rule out a sharp bit of rock, like slate, causing the damage.”

  The DI sighed heavily,
her shoulders hunched, appeared as though she had aged a few years in just a few moments.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t give you more than that.” Hanson sighed and the DI relented.

  “I’m sorry, too. I expect an awful lot of you, I know. It’s just that I really suspected that Kenny was killed because we talked to him. I was convinced we had a killer running scared. That’s all.”

  “Well, you still may have. I just can’t confirm it one way or another.”

  “Alright. Well, thank you anyway, Roger. You are always a great help to us.”

  “Are you okay?” Dewi’s eyes were full of concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine, Dewi. I was just hoping for more. Hanson thinks Kenny probably injected himself with GHB.”

  “The DCI has asked to see the report.” Dewi scratched his head. “This isn’t going to help your case to get the extra resources you need.”

  “I’ll speak to the DCI. In the meantime, we need to take stock - look at everything we have and ask ourselves, honestly, what we think is going on. I’ll be the first to admit if I have been jumping off the deep end and looking for a serial killer where none exists. But, I do think we need to delve a little deeper into Kenny’s life. Find out who he really was and what he got up to. Ask Jones and Clayton to do some digging.”

  “Will do, ma’am.”

  28

  Budgets

  Come in.” DCI LLewellyn smiled warmly at her, as she entered his office. That gave her hope.

  “Thank you, sir. I came to ask you what you make of the pathologist’s report into Kenny Walter’s death.” She held her breath.

  “It’s hard to say, Yvonne. I think I know what you’re thinking, but this is looking like a suicide to me.”

  “Why would Kenny commit suicide? He didn’t come across as someone who cared that deeply about stuff going on in his life. We have nothing to suggest he was suicidal.”

  “You’ve talked to his family, then?”

  Yvonne looked down at her shoes. “Not yet. That is next on my to-do list. However, we did talk to him last week and he did not come across as suicidal or even mildly depressed.”

  “You thought he may have been the dealer who supplied the GHB that killed William Henkel, right?”

  “Well, yes. I thought, perhaps, he may have dealt it to William’s killer.”

  “What if he dealt it direct to William? William accidentally takes too much, gets lost and falls in the river. Kenny guilt trips over that and decides to top himself. It happens.”

  Yvonne grimaced and shook her head. “You don’t really think that, do you?”

  The DCI leaned back in his chair, placing both hands behind his head. “It’s an open verdict, Yvonne. That scenario would be as likely as anything else. But, since the pathologist thinks Kenny injected himself in the thigh, I’d say there’s more than a slight chance that he committed suicide. I mean, it’s possible that more of the recent river deaths have been the result of drugs dealt by Kenny. GHB leaves the body very quickly, as you know. Maybe the guilt became too much.”

  Yvonne’s enlarged pupils made her eyes look black. She placed her hands firmly on her hips. “You mean the budget’s tight and wrapping everything up in a neat little bow is going to save money and earn you a slap on the back from the commissioner.”

  “Yvonne. What the hell…?”

  “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I just… I just have a bad feeling about this and I don’t want more young men to die because we didn’t give this the time, attention and manpower it deserves. If we get this wrong…”

  “It’ll be on my head, not yours.”

  Yvonne swallowed hard, but the lump was still in her throat. She turned wistful eyes towards the window. “I’ll stand the team down for the river deaths.”

  The DCI’s face relaxed as he nodded. “Get your focus back on the hit-and-run.”

  “We are making headway with that-”

  “Good. I want an interim report on my desk by the end of the week.”

  And that was that. Yvonne bit her lip on the way out of his office. Self-doubt clouded her thoughts. Maybe the DCI was right and she had got this wrong from the beginning. When she analysed it, she had had little more than gut instinct and that was no kind of evidence. Perhaps, this was the fall-out from having dealt with so many serial killers. She was seeing them everywhere.

  She needed Tasha.

  29

  Life of a dealer

  Yvonne and Dewi parked their unmarked car in the street off a cul-de-sac in Trehafren. They were due to see Kenny Walters’ parents, Jim and Mary. They were here to give them some sort of closure. In reality, this could have been done by victim liaison, but the DCI had already given his permission, and Yvonne was secretly hoping that they would know something. Some small detail that would blow the case wide open.

  There were no flowers in the front garden and the grass was around two feet high. An old wheel, a bicycle frame and an upturned bird bath lay where they had fallen. Passers-by had used the Walters’ garden as a bin, depositing crisp packets, empty plastic bottles and sweet packets.

  Dewi rang the doorbell.

  The door was opened by Kenny’s mum. She wiped tears away from swollen eyes as she led them through the narrow hallway into the kitchen. She dragged two stools out for the officers to sit.

  Her greying hair was tied up in a simple ponytail, from which several tendrils had worked loose. She wore no make up and appeared as pale as the cream tiles above the kitchen counter.

  “I’ll go get Jim.” Mary left them alone.

  When she reappeared, Jim followed closely behind, relying heavily on a walking cane, his steps slow and painful.

  “Jim’s back is crumbling,” Mary said by way of explanation. “He needs help to do most things.” She aided her husband into a custom-made chair, in the front room, before showing the officers to a two-seater sofa near the door, overlooking the garden.

  Jim said nothing, but stared first at Yvonne, and then Dewi, waiting for either to talk.

  “Thank you for seeing us.” Yvonne kept her voice soft and low. “Firstly, I have to tell you how sorry I am for your loss.”

  Jim grunted. Mary glanced at him and then back to the detectives, and nodded.

  The DI continued. “Kenny was well-known about town and had a lot of friends.”

  “They said it was suicide,” Mary blurted out. “Suicide. My Kenny. He enjoyed life. Why would he commit suicide?” She cried, painful sobs wracking her body. She could barely get the following words out. “He…h…he was due to come for Sunday roast, the…the…day after he disappeared. He told me not to forget his giant Y…Yorkshires. He told me that the Saturday afternoon and they reckon he killed himself later that day. I…I don’t believe it.” She sat back, appearing exhausted from the effort.

  Yvonne nodded. “I have to say, I was very surprised when I heard the news, Mrs Walters. Kenny was so full of life.”

  “You lot kept stopping him.” Jim scowled at her. “Always searching him in the street. Always coming round ‘ere to find out where he was.”

  Yvonne forced herself to look away from his big hands to Jim’s bitter expression, her own soft, her eyes large and glistening.

  “Kenny was always polite to me,” Dewi offered. “I talked to him, a few times. I didn’t search him, but, you have to admit, he was no angel.”

  Yvonne flicked Dewi a look, clearing her throat. “Kenny enjoyed life to the full,” she said. “We obviously didn’t approve of everything he did, but he was a trier. No-one can take that away from him.”

  “We didn’t have much, when he was growing up.” Mary’s sobs had quietened down, allowing her to properly get her words out. “When he was little, he’d set up a table outside with a little pot and put all his old toys, and anything his friends no longer wanted, up for sale. Making pennies for sweets. Pennies to save up for something he wanted. He’d run errands for people. Take their post. Do some gardening. Anything to earn a bit.”

  �
��He was bullied rotten in school.” Jim’s eyes still held a mild accusation. “He’d come home bruised and cut, clothes ripped. Where were the authorities then? When I went to the school, they’d tell us it was six of one and half-a-dozen of the other.” He took a deep, painful breath. “And now, you tell us he committed suicide. Where’s the justice?”

  “I understand your hurt and frustration.” Yvonne sighed. “There was just nothing to suggest foul-play and certainly no evidence of any other hand in your son’s death.”

  Jim snorted his disgust. “Who commits suicide by injecting themselves with drugs and then throwing themselves in a cold, dirty river? Who? If he wanted to commit suicide, he’d have just used the drugs. Painkillers and alcohol would have been better, surely.”

  “Someone else injected him and someone else pushed him in the river.” Mary appeared emboldened. That pusher-bloke in the papers. People are saying there’s a killer who’s pushing young men in the river. Maybe that’s who killed our Kenny?”

  Yvonne rubbed her chin, before taking out her notebook and pen. “Alright, Jim…Mary, tells us about your last few days with Kenny. What did he say about where he was going and who he was seeing? I’m not saying I agree that he was murdered, but I’m prepared to look into it. Did he confide in you about being afraid of anyone?”

  Mary shook her head. “He didn’t say he was afraid of anyone. Kenny felt he could handle himself in most situations.”

  “What did he say to you about that that Saturday night? Did he tell you where he was going?”

  “He said he was meeting someone. He said he’d buy us the new TV he’d been promising, if the meeting went well.”

  “Did he say who he was meeting?”

  “No.” Mary shook her head. “But he said it was important and he couldn’t miss it.”

  “What about the place? Did he say where he was meeting someone?”

  “He didn’t, but…”

  “Go on,” Yvonne prompted.