At First Glance

by Paul Gitsham

  Mallucci tapped the floor with his foot, then pointed towards the ceiling. ‘Poured concrete. There aren’t even any floorboards to pull up.’

  ‘So, he must have kept his drugs elsewhere?’

  Mallucci nodded. ‘This place is clearly just somewhere to keep his head down. I imagine he kept a lock-up.’ He ground his teeth in frustration. ‘The question is where?’

  ‘I might be able to help you with that, sirs.’

  Andy Harrison had been photographing the contents of Hicks’ refrigerator. He invited them over. Mallucci scowled at the young DC who’d opened the fridge briefly to check for drugs. Warren kept his face neutral; score one for Harrison’s CSI team.

  Tucked between a furry block of cheddar and an even furrier loaf of bread was a see-through plastic bag containing a set of keys.

  ‘So, you’re saying he wasn’t killed by someone reaching through the open window?’

  Professor Ryan Jordan had been kind enough to take a detour to Middlesbury on his way home that evening. DSI Grayson had joined Warren and the pathologist in Warren’s office, bringing some of his famous coffee. Ever since the warning from SOC to back off, the Superintendent had taken a personal interest in the case; he didn’t like having his turf trampled on any more than Warren did.

  Jordan looked grim. ‘Crime scene interpretation isn’t my forte, but I can’t see how that would work.’ He swiped the screen of his tablet computer. ‘As you can see, it was a single laceration across the throat, with a pattern consistent with the knife found at the scene. However, the direction was from right to left, not left to right.’

  ‘Meaning the killer was behind him and left-handed,’ said Grayson.

  ‘I’ll give you the left-handed.’

  ‘Why not behind him?’ asked Warren.

  ‘The car is a three-door, meaning the killer would have needed to escape by tipping the passenger seat forward or clambering out the back through the boot. According to the preliminary crime scene report, there isn’t any blood on either the seat lever or the back seats. It’s hard to believe that there would have been no transfer at all.’

  ‘So, the killer sat in the passenger seat, to the victim’s left?’ suggested Grayson.

  ‘That would imply that they knew him,’ said Warren, ‘I can see Hicks talking to a stranger through an open window, but he isn’t going to let them get into his car.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Jordan swiped the screen again, switching to a close-up image of the victim’s forehead. ‘These bruises are consistent with somebody pushing his head back against the headrest…’

  ‘Exposing his throat,’ finished Grayson.

  ‘Exactly. And before you ask, no prints, the attacker was probably wearing gloves. But I’ve managed to identify which digit made each bruise.’

  The next picture was the same image overlaid with labels on each bruise.

  Warren saw it first.

  ‘The print was made by a right hand reaching through the window. There were two killers.’

  Day 3

  Sunday

  It had been an early start for Warren and the team. Sundays were like any other mornings this early in a murder investigation. As usual, Moray Ruskin was raring to go, the glow of his early morning run and gym session yet to fade; by contrast Shaun Grimshaw looked like something the cat had dragged in, as he slurped noisily on a bucket of coffee and wolfed down a bacon sandwich. Jorge Martinez was as immaculately dressed as usual, working his way through a pot of microwave porridge.

  All things considered, Warren thought the slight pink colour to the whites of his eyes he’d seen as he shaved that morning wasn’t too bad, given how little sleep he’d had over the past couple of days – he had nearly fifteen years on Ruskin after all. It was just a shame about the handful of new grey hairs he’d spotted that morning interspersed in his otherwise dark hair.

  After filling the team in on Professor Jordan’s autopsy findings and the previous day’s key developments, Warren handed over to Rachel Pymm who’d been compiling the reports that had come in overnight.

  ‘Forensics have largely finished searching Kyle Hicks’ car, and they have some interesting findings. As we know, the car was registered to him, but it had been modified with new exhausts and a bigger spoiler, to conceal that the car is actually the bottom of the range. It was sold at auction two years ago as an insurance write-off, although it was still roadworthy.’

  ‘Which fits with what we know about Hicks,’ said Grimshaw, ‘all mouth and no trousers.’

  ‘The glovebox had also been modified to allow access to the compartment where the airbag would normally be found. Presumptive field tests on residue found in there suggests that’s where he kept his drugs. It was a pretty amateur job by all accounts, they found his hidey-hole in less than five minutes.’

  ‘I assume there were no drugs left in there?’ said Hutchinson.

  ‘None.’

  ‘Which suggests that either he’d sold everything, or the killers took the drugs with them,’ said Warren.

  ‘And any takings; his wallet was in his back pocket and only had two tenners and loose change in it,’ added Pymm.

  ‘What else?’ asked Warren.

  ‘The search team also found a handgun concealed under the driver’s seat, although it wouldn’t have been much use.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Ballistics have identified it as .455 Webley service revolver dating back to before the war. The two bullets it was loaded with are even older and it’s 50/50 at best that they’d even go off. If he did fire them, he’d find it almost impossible to buy original replacement cartridges and he’d have to rely on somebody retooling modern bullets.’

  ‘Where the hell did he get that from?’ asked Martinez.

  ‘Either his granddad neglected to hand it in after the war, or it was stolen from somebody else’s granddad and he bought it down the pub. Residue indicates that it has been fired recently, but there are no reports on the computer about this type of ammunition being used in a crime.’

  ‘All mouth and no trousers,’ repeated Grimshaw.

  According to the hospital, Carol Hicks, the mother of Kyle Hicks, was stable and comfortable after a small heart attack. However, the doctors were adamant she wasn’t fit to be questioned just yet. Therefore, Warren’s first stop was to see Hicks’ girlfriend.

  Madison Gilmartin fit few of the stereotypes of a drug dealer’s girlfriend. Petite and blonde, she looked significantly younger than her nineteen years – an impression hardly helped by her mascara-stained features and reddened nose.

  ‘I loved him, and he loved me.’ Her defiant tone was betrayed by her trembling bottom lip, and the badly shredded tissue she continued to destroy with her long fingers. Warren was glad he’d banished her father to the front sitting room. Wesley Gilmartin clearly felt that Kyle Hicks’ sudden removal from his precious daughter’s life was not entirely regrettable. Fortunately for him, his plane ticket from New York, bought at short notice after the news had been broken to his daughter, provided an iron-clad alibi; he’d been on the other side of the Atlantic when Hicks was killed.

  Warren took a sip from the fine porcelain cup that Yulianna, the Gilmartins’ Russian housekeeper, had served his Earl Grey tea in, managing not to grimace at the bergamot oil that infused the brew. From the moment Warren’s car had scrunched the length of the driveway, it had become clear that the worlds that Kyle Hicks and Madison Gilmartin moved in couldn’t be farther removed from one another.

  For his part, Moray Ruskin had practically gulped his tea down, immediately pouring himself another, complementing the housekeeper on her choice of blend.

  ‘How long had you and Kyle been together?’ asked Warren.

  Gilmartin blew her nose before answering. ‘Almost a year. Kyle said he had a surprise for me on our anniversary.’

  She looked as if she was about to burst into tears again, and Warren quickly moved on.

  ‘Tell me a bit about him.’

  Sh
e sniffed loudly. ‘He was the sweetest man I ever knew. He really knew how to treat a girl. I can’t believe someone would kill him. Who would do such a thing?’

  Warren glanced at Ruskin; early impressions of Madison Gilmartin matched what her father had told them, in hushed tones, as they waited for her to come downstairs. Somewhat naïve and in thrall to an older man, to Madison Gilmartin (protected from the cruel outside world by her father and a housekeeper who’d acted as a surrogate mother ever since her own had passed away) Kyle Hicks had represented excitement, with just a little bit of danger.

  ‘I blame myself,’ Wesley Gilmartin had admitted before his daughter appeared. ‘I’ve never had much truck with counselling and all that nonsense. You can’t change the past, just get on with it I say, but I guess that doesn’t work for everyone. Madison hardly ever mentioned her mum and I suppose I thought she’d got over it.’ He shook his head. ‘Shows how much I know. I first knew something was wrong was at the end of her first year at sixth form. She absolutely bombed her AS levels. I managed to persuade the school to let her stay on – it’s a private school, and they needed a new minibus – but she dropped out before she sat her final exams.’

  For the first time, the man’s bluff, no-nonsense mask had slipped. ‘If only I’d been paying more attention. Perhaps spent some time with her, instead of working seven days a week and letting some teenage housekeeper bring up my child…’ He cleared his throat. ‘Anyway, she went rather off the rails, as they say. Smoking, drinking and of course hanging about with that yob… What she saw in him I’ll never know…’

  Warren had felt a wave of sympathy; he could see the pain that the man was desperately trying to conceal. If Warren and Susan were ever blessed with a daughter, he knew he’d be terrified if she started hanging around with the likes of Kyle Hicks.

  ‘How did you and Kyle meet?’ asked Ruskin after the teenager composed herself.

  ‘In a club, in Stevenage. We were outside having a smoke. We got talking and realised we were both from Middlesbury. Different ends of town obviously.’ She waved her hand at the tasteful, expensive furnishings that were light years away from the second-hand junk that filled Kyle Hicks’ apartment.

  ‘Anyway, we both agreed that Middlesbury was shit and the sooner we moved on the better.’ Her eyes started to fill up again. ‘He took my number and friended me on Facebook, but he didn’t try to pressure me or anything,’ she sniffed. ‘Most lads my age just want a shag. They sweet talk you all night, buy you a few drinks, then expect to get you into bed. But Kyle was different. He picked me up and took me out for dinner. We’d been out three times on proper dates before I even stayed over.’

  She stopped, as if remembering where she was and who she was talking to.

  ‘What can you tell me about his lifestyle?’ prompted Warren gently.

  She snorted. ‘I can’t believe the bullshit people are saying about him being some bigshot drug dealer.’ She looked away. ‘He had a few dodgy mates, and he could usually get hold of some gear if we were having a party, but he wasn’t into half of what people were saying.’

  ‘What are people saying, Madison?’ asked Ruskin.

  She took a long sip of her tea. ‘You know, crap like he controlled all the drugs in that part of town, and that he had got hold of some big shipment of heroin.’

  She looked away again. It was clear that she was conflicted; she must have known what her boyfriend was doing, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself.

  If what she had just said was true, that immediately suggested a motive. It also explained SOC’s interest in Hicks.

  ‘Do you know who might have wanted him dead?’ asked Warren.

  Gilmartin said nothing, wrapping her arms tightly around herself.

  ‘Please, Madison,’ said Warren, ‘Kyle was murdered in cold blood. I need your help to bring his killer to justice.’

  He paused. When he started again, his voice was soft. ‘We know what Kyle did for a living, and we know that he did more than a bit of dealing to his mates. If you know anything, then please tell me now.’ He paused again, before speaking in a harder voice. ‘Unless we know why he was killed and by whom, we have to assume that everyone who knew him – including you – is also at risk.’

  Gilmartin buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking. When she finally emerged for air, her voice was stronger. ‘He never used to tell me anything. But I heard things,’ she sniffed again. ‘Everyone thinks I’m just some dumb blonde trophy girlfriend, but it wasn’t like that. He loved me and he wanted to protect me.’

  ‘What did you hear, Madison?’

  ‘I heard that one of the local distributors had been killed and that they decided to let Kyle take over his patch. They’d had a big shipment come in and needed someone who knew the area to split it up and make sure that everything ran smoothly.’

  ‘Did Kyle tell you this?’

  ‘No. But I’m not an idiot. I hear things as well. Kyle was excited about it; he started talking about how he was going up in the world, and I was excited as well. I was relieved.’ She sighed.

  ‘Why were you relieved?’

  ‘Because it meant he would be getting off the streets. You’ve seen how dangerous it is. I figured that if he started distributing, he’d be safer. He’d be a middleman. He just needed to recruit a few bodies and set up his own network.’

  Warren resisted the urge to look over at Ruskin. She really had no idea. He phrased his next question carefully. ‘Do you think he could have upset someone? Perhaps a disagreement over the cut he was taking, for instance?’

  She was vehement in her reply. ‘No, definitely not. Kyle was too smart for that. He used to say that it was greed that got people into trouble. He reckoned that if you kept it straight, and didn’t take advantage, then it wasn’t in anybody’s interest to rock the boat. He was a businessman. He never even touched the product.’

  She, at least, seemed to believe what she was saying.

  ‘Did others know about Kyle’s… change in status?’

  She shrugged. ‘I guess so. I heard about it second hand, so I suppose others must have.’

  ‘And do you have any names you can help us with?’

  She looked at her nails. ‘Not really. He never told me who he dealt with. He wanted to protect me.’

  ‘Nobody at all?’

  ‘Nobody important, just one of his street dealers. A junkie that would do the actual selling for him.’

  ‘Do you have a name? Can you describe him?’

  ‘I only saw him once. He came over to speak to us once when we were out, and Kyle told him to piss off and leave him alone in public. Kyle called him “Madman”.’

  ‘And can you remember what he looked like?’

  She frowned. ‘About my age. Hoodie and tracksuit and slim.’ She paused. ‘And he wore a red bandana under his hoodie, like he was in some LA street gang.’

  ‘Thank you, Madison. You’ve been very helpful’.

  Back at the station, Warren called Mallucci. Even if SOC were only paying lip service to their joint operation, he was determined to be professional and share anything relevant with him.

  ‘Madison Gilmartin claims that Hicks had been promoted recently. Something about a distributor being killed and him taking delivery of a large shipment.’

  There was a silence at the end of the line, before Mallucci finally spoke. ‘Yeah, that pretty much matches our intelligence. Up until a few weeks ago, we hardly knew Kyle Hicks. He was just some street level pusher, full of bullshit. He didn’t deal with the customers directly, he had a lackey to do that, but he’d keep hold of the stash in his car and take the money.’

  ‘Madman,’ supplied Warren.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Madman. Madison Gilmartin said that was the nickname of his dealer – 19 or 20, slim build, wears a red bandana with his hoodie and tracksuit. She reckoned he’s an addict.’

  For the first time since the conversation had started, Mallucci sounded interested
.

  ‘That’s a name we’ve not heard of before. As far as we knew, he dealt exclusively with a kid called Cameron Bird, aka “Birdman”. He’s tall and fairly well-built, so he’s probably not a user himself.’

  Warren heard the clack of a keyboard in the background.

  ‘Nope. Nobody matching that in our system. Thanks for that, Warren.’

  ‘My pleasure. Now you were telling me all about Hicks?’

  Mallucci chuckled. ‘Fair enough. Madison Gilmartin is right. A few weeks ago, there was a fatal shooting in East London. The victim was a well-established middleman who used to distribute product amongst gangs around the north of Hertfordshire and Essex and the south of Cambridgeshire. The problem was a couple of hundred kilos of heroin had just landed in the UK and they needed it divided up quick smart.’

  ‘Step in Kyle Hicks?’

  ‘Pretty much. He was in the right place at the right time. He jumped about three rungs of the ladder in one go.’

  ‘Sounds convenient,’ said Warren.

  ‘We thought so too, but from what we can tell, it was just dumb luck. The shooting was over a girl on a night out, and the killer was a nobody.’

  ‘Presumably he isn’t going to shift all those drugs himself?’

  ‘No, he’d need a team of dealers.’ Mallucci sighed. ‘I don’t mind telling you Warren, the death of Kyle Hicks has been a bit of a blow. After the shooting we were scrambling a bit to catch up, as he was barely on our radar, but he was so inexperienced that we were hoping he’d lead us to contacts both above and below him in the food chain. Who knows, maybe we could even have turned him. Kyle Hicks could have been one of our most useful intelligence assets for years.’

  Warren sympathised, but he could see a bigger and more pressing problem.

  ‘So where are the drugs now?’

  ‘Probably in whatever lock-up those keys fit.’