Bad Seed: a gripping serial killer thriller (DI Kate Fletcher Book 3)

by Heleyne Hammersley

  ‘Shit!’ she cursed, getting out of the car. Still scanning the car park, she strode over to the operations van where she showed her ID to a young female PCSO who looked like she was only just old enough to have finished her A-levels. Her blonde hair was neatly scraped back into a bun beneath her cap and her face was devoid of make-up. The high-vis vest covering her body armour did little to disguise her trim figure.

  The PCSO studied Kate’s ID as though it were an ancient artefact from an unknown civilisation before handing it back to her with a practised smile. ‘You’ll want to see the body,’ the young woman said. ‘There’s quite a crowd back there at the minute.’

  ‘And I’m SIO on a similar case so it’s important that you let me through.’

  The woman blushed. ‘Of course, ma’am.’

  ‘It’s detective inspector, not ma’am,’ Kate said to the PCSO as she stepped round her.

  Behind the ops van was a narrow alley, flanked on one side by the tall wall of one of the warehouses and, on the other, by a rusting chain-link fence which had lost most of its plastic coating and sagged like a damp spider web on a wet day. Kate grabbed a set of overalls from the back of the van and covered her clothes and shoes before proceeding into the gloomy gap between two industrial-sized refuse bins with bright red bases and rugged black plastic tops.

  A group of figures huddled about halfway down the length of the building and Kate could make out Kailisa and Barratt as well as two other men who she assumed were SOCOs. She stood, watching, as they slipped evidence into paper bags, the only sound an occasional muttered instruction and the rustle of their protective suits as they brushed against the wall or the fence.

  Barratt stood up as she approached, blocking her path towards the body.

  ‘Want to share?’ Kate asked him.

  ‘Body of a female. Found this morning when the bin men came in on their rounds. The bins were at the end of this alley and, when they moved the second one, they saw her up here.’

  Kate looked back down towards the car park. ‘Were the bins locked?’

  ‘No. I had the same thought. Why drag her up here when he could have just tipped her into one of the bins?’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She’s displayed like the last one. Naked from the waist down. Same injury to her abdomen.’

  ‘Can I have a look?’

  Barratt stepped back, flattening himself against the wall to allow Kate to pass. Kailisa turned as she approached and she was almost sure that she heard him sigh.

  ‘Detective Inspector Fletcher. How lovely to see you,’ he said turning back to his examination of the body. ‘Let me answer your questions as succinctly as possible.’

  Kate smiled; despite his formal tone he appeared to be in the mood to co-operate.

  ‘Female. Early twenties to early thirties. Well nourished. Fair hair, minimal make-up. Undressed from the waist down. Large incision to the abdomen. Bruises around the neck and throat with a possible hyoid fracture. Time of death as yet unascertained. Identity unknown.’

  Just like Melissa Buckley.

  Kate peered round the pathologist and was shocked at the similarity to the photographs of the last crime scene. The woman didn’t bear any physical resemblance to Melissa but the similarities in the pose and the wound were striking. The body was propped up against the fence, legs pointing towards the warehouse wall. Her upper body was clothed in an expensive-looking short-sleeved blouse, the top two buttons open, displaying an ample cleavage. Her hair was strawberry blonde, carefully styled and looked recently cut, and her make-up, while subtle was expertly applied. Her face looked almost serene, eyes closed, head tilted slightly back, but the bruises around her neck screamed violence. As Kate shifted her gaze downwards she saw the damage done to the woman’s abdomen, a long cut, about three inches below her navel. It looked identical to the one inflicted on Melissa but Kate knew Kailisa wouldn’t commit to any similarities until he’d completed a thorough PM and the accompanying forensic tests.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, leaning in for a closer look. The woman’s feet were bare but there was something on her ankle.

  ‘Tattoo,’ Kailisa said. ‘Looks like a Chinese character.’

  ‘Any others?’

  ‘There’s another one on her wrist, small, discreet.’ He reached out a gloved hand and turned the woman’s left arm over revealing a stylised flower design on the skin below her palm. Outlined in black, it looked almost geometric.

  ‘What is that? Some sort of flower?’

  ‘It’s a lotus flower,’ Kailisa said. ‘It has many meanings in Hinduism. Purity, beauty, fertility, prosperity.’

  Fertility, Kate thought. Coincidence?

  ‘Can you email me photographs of the tattoos, please? If we can’t ID her we can try local tattoo parlours, somebody might remember the designs. The lotus looks unusual.’

  ‘I’ll send the photographs as soon as I get back to the DRI.’

  Kate itched to reach into her jacket pocket and get her phone out but that would have involved unzipping her overalls and she couldn’t risk any contamination of the scene.

  ‘Anything else?’ she asked. ‘Jewellery? Other distinguishing marks?’

  Kailisa gently eased a few strands of the woman’s hair clear of one of her ears.

  ‘A gold sleeper in each ear. Nothing unusual, nothing fancy.’

  Kate stepped back, trying to imagine what attracted the killer to this particular woman. Was it the fertility tattoo or was it something else? She appeared to be well dressed although they would need to see the clothes from the lower half of the body to be sure. The make-up and jewellery suggested that she might have been on a night out, but her clothing was understated. Perhaps she was meeting somebody who was already known to her? She might not have felt the need to pull out all the stops for somebody who was familiar, especially if she’d been going for a meal or to the cinema.

  That made sense. The previous evening had been Friday – traditionally a big night out but it could just have easily been a convenient evening for a more low-key date. Had her killer courted her first? Was this all part of his plan? Kate had a gut feeling that, if she could identify this woman, she might be much closer to finding her killer than she had been with Melissa Buckley.

  ‘I need pictures of those tats as soon as possible,’ Kate said. ‘If I step back beyond the cordon to get my phone out of my pocket, can I use it?’

  Kailisa frowned up at her. ‘We’re about to remove the body. Can it wait until I can send you the photographs?’

  ‘No,’ Kate said. ‘I need to find out who she is. If I can ID her it might take us a step closer to the killer.’

  Kailisa sighed. ‘Very well.’

  Kate retraced her steps, brushing past Barratt on the way and struggled with the zip on her protective overalls. It seemed to take her an age to remove her phone from her inside pocket and zip everything back up and she could almost hear Kailisa drumming his fingers on his instrument case.

  ‘Sorted,’ she said, stepping as close to the body as she dared. ‘If you could just…’

  Kailisa had anticipated her request and turned the woman’s arm over again to reveal the tattoo. Kate snapped off three quick shots, two close-ups and one from further away to show the position of the design on the wrist.

  ‘And the ankle.’

  Kailisa stepped back allowing Kate a clear view of the Chinese character.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘PM tomorrow?’

  Kailisa smiled for the first time since Kate had arrived. ‘Tomorrow is Sunday, DI Fletcher. I know police officers work long hours but I’m not obliged to follow suit. Monday morning will be soon enough.’

  Kate grinned back. She knew that Kailisa would happily work on a Sunday if he had co-operative staff. He was just as dedicated as every member of her team when it came to seeking justice for murder victims.

  ‘I’ll see you then,’ she said heading back down the alley.

  Three emails and two phone calls la
ter and she’d allocated jobs to each member of her team. Cooper and O’Connor were dispatched to various tattoo shops around the town and the outskirts; Barratt had opted to stay with the body until it was removed and then check through the statements given by the bin men; Hollis was on his way to meet Kate at ThInk!, Doncaster’s largest and most popular tattoo studio.

  Chapter 17

  ‘You never fancied one?’ Hollis asked, scanning the designs that covered every wall of the cramped reception room.

  ‘What makes you think I’ve not got one already?’ Kate said.

  Hollis squinted at her and shook his head. ‘No. Can’t see it. I doubt you ever had a rebellious phase.’

  ‘I think my rebellion was more of the drinking and smoking type. I’ve never really had the urge to indelibly mark my body. What about you?’

  ‘What, spoil this?’ Hollis flattened one hand and ran it down the front of his body. ‘You can’t improve perfection, especially not with a tattoo.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say perfection,’ Kate responded. ‘At least you’re looking a bit better today.’

  Hollis’s appearance had improved a little. When she’d met him he was freshly shaven and his suit looked neatly pressed, but he still looked hungover and in need of a haircut.

  Whatever he’d been going to say in response was cut off by the appearance of a middle-aged woman from a door which obviously led to a back room. She was short and her slim figure was swimming in a pair of oversized dungarees under which she was wearing a white vest that revealed sleeves of artwork on both arms. Kate’s first thought was that she’d escaped from Dexy’s Midnight Runners sometime around the mid-1980s.

  ‘Can I help you?’ the woman asked, looking at Kate before giving Hollis a long once-over.

  ‘We’d like to speak to you about some tattoos,’ Kate began.

  ‘Well you’re in the right place. What is it you want? Matching? His and hers?’

  Kate held out her warrant card. ‘We don’t want to get tattooed, we’re trying to find out who might have been responsible for the artwork on a young woman. You are?’

  ‘Jill,’ the woman said. ‘Jill Ogden, like Coronation Street. I own this place and do a lot of the work.’ She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her dungarees, her face suddenly serious. ‘You’re trying to identify somebody, aren’t you?’

  Kate gave her the usual line about not being able to comment on an ongoing investigation, but she could see that Jill wasn’t convinced.

  ‘Fine. I know you can’t tell me but if it’s somebody local the chances are that she came in here at some point. We’re the best in town and everybody knows it.’

  ‘How many people work here?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Three. In the week we have a receptionist and another sketch artist – he’ll probably be in later. It’s only me this early on a Saturday though. If I get a customer, I just leave the door to the studio open so I can see if anybody else comes in.’

  ‘Do you do many Chinese symbols?’

  ‘A few. They were more popular about ten years ago, after the Celtic art phase. Then the Maori stuff came in. Now it’s all either celebrity faces or fantasy stuff.’

  Kate held out her phone. ‘Do you know what this symbol is?’

  Jill took the phone and used two fingers to enlarge the image.

  ‘Woman. It’s the Chinese symbol for woman. I’ve done loads of those. Did one really high up on a girl’s thigh. Told her that by the time somebody saw it they’d have worked out what sex she was.’

  Kate took the phone back and flicked through the images until she had the clearest one of the lotus flower. ‘What about this?’

  Jill’s face froze.

  ‘You recognise it?’ Kate prompted. ‘Is it one of yours?’

  ‘No, it’s not mine, but I know who did it. He was going to fill it in but he never got the chance.’

  Kate heart rate gave a sudden jump. Could it really be this easy?

  ‘Hazza, the other artist who works here did that. It’s quite small, right?’

  Kate nodded in confirmation.

  ‘His girlfriend wanted a tattoo on her wrist. He said it wasn’t a good idea. Wrists are like the neck, really hard to cover – I suppose you could wear tight cuffs but that’s not great in warm weather. Anyway, he couldn’t convince her otherwise so he said he’d do it if she kept it small. Did the outline in heavy black and he was going to shade it in in pale blues and purples but she dumped him before he got the chance.’

  ‘Do you remember her name?’

  ‘Course I do. Chloe. Nice lass. Probably a bit too good for Hazza. I always thought that he was her bit of rough.’

  ‘Chloe what?’

  The woman scratched an eyebrow. ‘Same name as some celebrity. Or was it a newsreader? Shit, what was it?’

  Kate waited, trying to rein her impatience.

  ‘Welsh. That was it. I remember Hazza saying something about her being English and thinking it was hilarious. Chloe Welsh.’

  Hollis took out his notebook and wrote the name down.

  ‘And when was this?’ he asked. ‘When did she dump Hazza?’

  ‘Two, three years ago. And she never did get that outline filled in.’ Realisation struck. The woman went still as the full implication of the conversation sunk in. ‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’

  Kate and Hollis remained silent.

  ‘I know you can’t say but that’s why you’re here. Bloody hell. Hazza’ll be devastated. Loved her, he did.’

  ‘Do you have a contact number for Hazza?’ Kate didn’t want to get drawn into any further conversation about Chloe Welsh’s fate. Jill groped in her pocket for her phone.

  ‘It’s his morning off and it’s still early so he’s probably in bed, hung-over. He lives in town on one of the streets off Thorne Road, up near the hospital. Sorry, I haven’t got an address. I’ve got a mobile and a landline.’ She showed Hollis the screen and he noted down the numbers.

  ‘His name’s Josh Harrington.’

  ‘Whose name?’ Kate was puzzled.

  ‘Hazza. His real name’s Josh Harrington. We call him Hazza because of his surname.’

  Not the most original nickname, Kate thought as she thanked the woman and led Hollis back to where she’d parked her Mini.

  ‘Shall I ring the others?’ Hollis asked. ‘Seems like a bit of a wild goose chase now we’ve got a name.’

  ‘No.’ Kate wasn’t ready to pull both of her colleagues off the search for the dead woman’s identity just in case Jill Ogden was wrong. ‘I’ll give O’Connor Sam’s list and send Sam back to base. I think she’ll be more use trying to find out anything she can about Chloe Welsh. I’ll try this “Hazza” first though.’

  She dialled the mobile number that Jill had given Hollis but it went straight to voicemail.

  ‘Must still be in bed.’ She tried the landline. Just as she was about to hang up somebody picked up the phone at the other end.

  ‘Hello?’ The voice was groggy and difficult to hear.

  ‘Josh Harrington?’

  ‘Who wants to know? If this is a sales call you can sod off.’

  ‘Don’t hang up,’ Kate instructed. ‘I’m a police officer and I need to talk to you about your ex-girlfriend Chloe Welsh.’

  ‘Is this a joke?’

  ‘It’s no joke, Mr Harrington. And I’d rather not do this over the phone. Jill Ogden gave me your number but she didn’t have an address for you other than you live off Thorne Road somewhere.’

  ‘I’m not giving you my address,’ Harrington said, his voice much stronger now. ‘How do I know who you are?’

  Kate had expected this. ‘I’ll give you the number of my desk at Doncaster Central. Ring it and ask if I work there. Or ring Jill Ogden, she’ll confirm that we’ve just spoken to her.’ She gave him the number and told him that she’d ring back in ten minutes.

  Chapter 18

  ‘Nice place,’ Hollis remarked as they pulled up outside a Victorian house on a shady street that ran s
outh off Thorne Road. ‘Wouldn’t have thought tattooing would be very lucrative.’

  Harrington had rung back within Kate’s ten-minute deadline and given his address. She and Hollis had driven separately to Doncaster Central where Kate had left her car, allowing Hollis to drive to their destination.

  ‘It’s probably been knocked about inside,’ Kate said. ‘Flats and bedsits. The building’s probably all fur coat and no knickers.’

  She led the way up the laurel-shrouded path to the imposing front door and her suspicions were confirmed as she scrutinised a row of labelled door bells. She pressed the fourth one down and the main door opened, with a buzz, into a dingy hallway which smelled of cooking with an underlying hint of cat pee.

  ‘Maybe it’s not such a nice place,’ Hollis mumbled.

  Two scuffed and peeling doors led off left and right with an imposing staircase dominating the middle of the hallway. Kate checked the doors but they were numbers one and two so she started to climb the stairs which wound round to the upper floors. The stale smell seemed to dissipate as they climbed higher and the next floor was brighter – lit by a skylight in the landing to the second floor.

  ‘There,’ Kate pointed to a door at the foot of another staircase. It looked like the ones below, shoe marks near the base where it had probably been held or kicked open and the paint around the lock and handle a peeling off-white.

  The door was slightly ajar so Kate pushed it open. ‘Mr Harrington?’

  ‘In here.’ The voice came from a room at the end of a short hallway. Kate pushed open the next door to reveal a crowded sitting room which smelt of cigarette smoke and something sweeter, possibly incense, possibly cannabis. A sagging sofa faced a huge flat-screen television. Beneath it was a games console – four handsets lay clustered around an overflowing ashtray on a grimy-looking coffee table. Kate instinctively checked the contents of the ashtray and noted that the smell definitely wasn’t incense.