by L M Krier
All the team members were quiet for a moment. Although it wasn’t their case, they’d all been affected by what Ted had told them about it. Especially the discovery of children’s bodies buried under the foundations of a swimming pool. Children who had appeared in extreme porn films found on the property, sometimes with their deaths recorded on film.
The silence was interrupted by DS Mike Hallam’s desk phone ringing. He answered it quietly and listened, making notes, asking the occasional question. When he ended the call, he looked up to report on its contents.
‘Right, another severed body part found. On the other side of town from where the leg was discovered. A hand and forearm. Parcelled up in the same way, in bin bags, but found stuffed into bushes on the edge of a park this time.’
‘Boss, do random bits of body like this need a post-mortem, like a complete corpse would?’ Jezza asked. ‘And will that need to be done by a Home Office pathologist, in case it does turn out to be a murder case?’
‘Another nice bit of legal research for you, Jezza,’ Ted told her. He knew the answer but it was good training to let Jezza find out for herself.
‘We’ll need CCTV checking for the new dump site as well now,’ Jo told them. ‘Steve, you and Maurice can help on that one. Let’s see if we can’t get a lead on what’s going on, preferably before any more bits of body turn up. ’
‘Any nail varnish on the fingers, Mike?’ Ted asked. ‘That might help us establish a link between the parts. I’m hoping we’re just dealing with one body here. That’s bad enough. I don’t want to think we have more than one dismembered body to come to light.’
‘Impossible to say, boss,’ Mike told him. ‘The hand was missing all its fingers and the thumb. Initial reports from the site say they look to have been removed with something like a pair of heavy-duty bolt cutters. Whoever the poor victim was, let’s hope that was done when they were already dead.’
Chapter Two
‘So you’re saying there’s a possibility of a copycat arsonist on our patch?’ Superintendent Debra Caldwell asked Ted. The car in which they were travelling was winding its way through traffic, heading for the M60 and Central Park, the force headquarters.
They were going in Jim Baker’s official car. He had a driver for the occasion so the three of them could work on the way, going over figures they would be presenting at the various meetings. Ted had taken the opportunity of having both his bosses in one place to flag up the news of what was probably an arson case.
Ted, in the front passenger seat, opened his mouth to reply to her question but Jim Baker was ahead of him.
‘Of course the other bloody possibility is that someone cocked up the first case and the wrong person is inside doing time for crimes they’re innocent of. If that turns out to be what’s happened, you might find yourself doing the digging into what went on there, Ted. Now you’ve shown yourself to be rather good at that sort of thing.’
‘I don’t know anything for sure yet, but the OIC said he should be able to let me know within about twenty-four hours. Once the Investigation Officer has been in, and the fire dog, if he decides to call for one.
‘It’s several years since the arsonist with the same MO was sent down and we’ve not so far heard of anything with a similar signature. Steve’s running a check on that. I don’t want to start getting ahead of myself but that did make me wonder if it was someone who’d been inside with the original arsonist, learned about his methods and decided to try it for himself when he got out.’
Once on to the motorway, the traffic was more fluid so they made good time. Knife crime was one of the subjects on the agenda for the day’s meetings. Ted had spent some time before the morning briefing updating his figures to reflect the week’s cases and to include yet another incident from the previous night. The statistics made grim reading.
The force’s Assistant Chief Constable (Crime), Russell Evans, was chairing the proceedings for much of the day. As soon as he saw Ted arriving with Jim and Debs, he made his way over to them.
‘Ted, you and I need to find time to talk at some point today. Debs and Jim too, probably. There’s the usual indifferent buffet on for lunch so we can find a quiet corner to get together before that. I’ll come and find you.’
With that, he was gone, working the room, greeting people, catching up with news, before it was time to call the first session to order.
Jim Baker and Debra Caldwell were both much taller than Ted. They turned inquisitive looks towards him which inevitably meant they were looking down at him. It gave him an uncomfortable flashback to his school days. Doggedly standing his ground, chin lifted in defiance, as one teacher or another was reading him the riot act when he believed he was in the right.
‘What’s that all about?’ Jim Baker rumbled. ‘It sounded ominous. What have you been up to?’
‘I genuinely can’t think of anything I’ve done or not done that the ACC would have heard about.’
Ted found himself distracted for the rest of the morning, wondering what Evans wanted to talk to him about. It left him not paying as much attention as he normally would to the proceedings.
‘Right, Ted, this only came to my attention this morning, although I saw your report at the time, of course. I’m guessing you’ve not seen it yet.’
The ACC handed printouts to each of them. The first session had finished and they’d adjourned to another room. A long table had been laid along one wall laden with various uninspiring collections of sandwiches, limp quiche and pizza of dubious vintage.
The heading on the single page they were each given related to something called Mercado International Life and Finance. The page in question was subtitled, ‘Mind the Money’.
As Ted scanned it quickly, he was shocked to see a blurred but, to him, unmistakable enlarged mobile phone shot of Trev on the terrace of the Spanish hotel where they had stayed for the case Ted had been on. It was clear from his posture that Trev was gyrating wildly with DI Josie Balewa, who had both hands on his hips, low down.
‘Only hours after a joint operation between Europol, Spanish, and British police had uncovered the bodies of several abused children, two detectives on the case were partying the night away at a nearby hotel. One of them, a Detective Chief Inspector from Greater Manchester police, Ted Darling, had flown his husband out to Spain to join him, a source told Mind the Money. His husband, a civilian with no police connection, also took part in a raid on an armed suspect’s house, which resulted in several arrests. The husband is pictured here dancing with a second GMP officer, DI Josie Balewa, from Bury.’
Jim Baker flapped the page in his hand and said, ‘Well, this is a load of old bollocks and a total non-story, Russell. I knew about Trev being out there. He was acting as unofficial interpreter until the liaison officer got there.’
‘Boss, thanks, but that’s not quite accurate,’ Ted told him, then addressed the ACC. ‘Sir, I didn’t know myself that Trev was coming over. He turned up out of the blue on the Saturday and I didn’t tell Jim until the Monday. I should have informed him earlier, of course.
‘Once DC Vine and I had finished what we went out there to do, we happened by chance on the other suspect, Ian Maxwell. When I realised the risks involved, I immediately sent DC Vine back, so Trev was worried about how I would manage without an interpreter.’
‘But did Trev go on the raid?’ Evans pressed him.
‘Not strictly speaking,’ Ted was trying not to be evasive, but all too aware of what it sounded like. ‘He drove me there because it was his insurance details on the hire car, not mine. I didn’t go with Josie and Jock Reid because I knew they’d be staying longer than I needed to. But Trev stayed in the vehicle, away from the action, at all times.’
Superintendent Caldwell, the Ice Queen, was still scan-reading the article.
‘I don’t understand why this has appeared. It seems to be some sort of internet scandal sheet making allegations of financial irregularities. Largely unsubstantiated, if this article is rep
resentative. So why is this even of interest to them?’
‘The Press Office picked up on it. They have alerts set up for anything which may be relevant or of concern to us. Of itself, it’s something and nothing. The only worry is if, for any reason, it gets seen and picked up by any of the nationals and turned into some sort of “Dodgy cop partying in Spain at the taxpayers’ expense” sort of nonsense. You know how much the gutter press like to turn on the police at the least opportunity. Especially on a big case.
‘Our people have dug into the site and the person behind it. It’s some Brit ex-pat, operating out of Gibraltar, who publishes this pile of crap, supposedly to warn people away from investing in dodgy property deals and finance. Ironic, since both he and his chums offer exactly that. He apparently hosts property exhibitions where people can go and snap up their future home in the sun. He claims to vet anyone dodgy and not only to refuse them exhibition space but to publish some salacious report about them. Warning people off. He’s as slippery as an eel. No one’s yet managed to sue him successfully for libel, so he keeps on going.
‘We’re assuming he must have had a tip-off from the hotel about police presence there in connection with the raid.’
He looked to Ted for confirmation as he spoke. Ted nodded, remembering how Trev had told one of the hotel staff that he was Ted’s husband. Ted’s name would have been on the hotel records, as would both Josie’s and Jock Reid’s, in all probability. A staff member might have seen the possibility of making some money on the side by selling the information.
‘Ted, you’re usually sharper than this. Letting your Trevor go anywhere near the scene of the raid was always a risk. I wish you’d got a lift with someone and walked back or got Trev to drop you off and pick you up well away from the action. But it is what it is. The Press Office advice is to say nothing unless and until it goes any further than this, then consider our options carefully.’
‘Sir, I only billed the Met for the agreed nights in the hotel. Because it was my decision to stay on, I paid for the rest of the time myself. Delaying my flight cost nothing because it was a flexible booking, and Trev paid for his own flights, car hire and fuel. Like I said, I didn’t know he planned on coming over or I would have told him not to. But his presence there was in no way at the public expense and I can prove that, should it be necessary.’
‘I hope it won’t come to having to justify anything but let me have the paperwork, just in case. I wish idiots like this bloke − what does he call himself, David Mercado?’ the ACC jabbed an angry finger at the byline on the article, ‘would realise that officers are entitled to some down-time, especially on a case like this one. And god knows, Josie deserves to let her hair down more than most, with what she’s been through in her lifetime.
‘Let’s hope this is the last of it and no one picks up on this load of old rubbish. You don’t need me to tell you, Ted, that if anyone tries to contact you directly about this, you don’t speak to them at all, other than to refer them to the Press Office. Let’s all just keep our fingers crossed in the meantime.’
The mop, meticulously wrung out to avoid streaks, glided slowly and rhythmically the width of the long corridor as the man worked.
Left to right. Then a precisely executed circle.
Right to left. Another circle.
Then back into the bucket to rinse and start again.
All the time the prisoner worked, he kept up a low humming to himself. A Sixties country classic. Just the chorus and the short brass refrain. Repeated over and over, on an endless loop.
There was nothing distinctive about the man. The sort easily forgotten. He looked to be in his forties or thereabouts. His colouring was bland. Mousy hair, thinning on top. Hard to describe. Easy to overlook as he blended into the background.
Another man came walking down the corridor towards the mop-wielder. Thirties. Tall and gangly. The sort of stride which bounced him up and down as he walked. The sort of face which smiled at everyone. He was wearing a dog collar.
‘Hello, William. Hard at work, I see,’ he greeted the prisoner brightly. ‘And doing a first-rate job as usual. Well done. Really, jolly good job.’
The man paused in his mopping and humming. He lifted strange light grey eyes towards the priest.
‘Hello, padre. Thank you. I try my best. If a job’s worth doing, it’s worth doing well, I’ve always believed.’
‘That’s the ticket. Absolutely so. And the chapel is certainly looking cleaner than ever with you as our Red Band. You have just the right positive attitude. Work hard, keep your nose clean. That’s the best way to survive in here. That’s what will impress a parole board.
‘Now, I just wanted to say that when you’ve finished your cleaning in the chapel after here, I wanted to talk to you about a new Listener assignment for you. A young man, Joey Barrow. His first time inside and he’s utterly lost, poor lad. I’ve cleared it with the governor to talk to you about him. Your training and attitude is exactly what’s needed to help him. He’s Catholic, too, like you and me, so I feel you’re the best person to reach out to him. Then I can hear your confession at the same time, as you requested.’
‘I still have all of this corridor to clean first, padre. I can’t finish until the job is done. But I’ll certainly get permission to talk to you after I’ve finished the chapel. I have, as ever, many sins to confess.’
His grey gaze looked searchingly into that of the priest as he added, ‘I wonder if you have, too.’
It was late when Jim Baker’s driver dropped Ted and the Ice Queen off back at their own nick. The meetings had run on. And on. There were plenty of grievances to be aired. Constant pressure to improve clean-up statistics with ever-dwindling resources.
The ACC had listened to his officers and allowed them time to express their feelings. Things were bad enough without them believing they were not being given an audience by the top brass. He’d at least done them the courtesy of hearing them out and promising to do what he could, although he warned them it might not be much.
Both Ted and the Super headed for their respective offices before they could even think about going home. Ted had sent a swift text to Trev to say he was likely to be late. Again. If Trev wasn’t used to it by now, there was no hope for them.
Ted found a note from Jo on his desk but no signs of any of the team still at work. The note said, ‘Another bit of body. Upper arm this time. Phone me for an update when you get back.’
All Ted really wanted to do was to clear his desk as soon as he could, go home, change out of his suit and relax. Instead he got his phone out to call Jo.
‘How did your day go?’ Jo asked him to begin with.
‘No change. The usual tune. Get better results with fewer resources. So tell me more about our mystery body parts.’
‘The latest was just the upper arm, sectioned at the shoulder and the elbow joint. It was found in a skip, roughly halfway between where the other two bits were dumped. A site that’s had some recent development on it, hence the skip. Someone was rummaging for anything useful and played the honest citizen by letting us know what they’d found.
‘We’ve been trawling Mispers for any likely matches, although we really haven’t got much to go on. No obliging tattoos or anything else distinctive on any of the bits uncovered so far. Nothing showing up on CCTV of anyone dumping black bin bags of anything, let alone body parts, for the first two. And no CCTV near this latest dump site.
‘We don’t yet know for sure whether the remains are male or female. Professor Nelson’s taking an interest herself now, though. She says it will make a fascinating case study for her forensic pathology students. So that’s all to the good for us.
‘Oh, and the fire officer from this morning phoned for you. He said to tell you the investigation officer is also pretty sure the blaze was an arson. They’ve had the dog in today and the handler and dog will be working over the weekend, so he’ll update you on Monday, hopefully.’
Ted’s good intentions of c
learing his desk abandoned him. He’d been planning to come in at some point over the weekend. He decided things could wait until then. He sent Trev another text to say he was on his way. He was in need of some good hot food after the offerings at lunchtime.
‘You look shattered. Hard day?’
Trev was in the kitchen, preparing the meal, when Ted arrived back after the short drive from the station. Trev paused to hug his partner as he was taking off his jacket and pulling off his tie, fending off young Adam who immediately vied for his attention.
‘Long meetings. Not much progress. And this, which the ACC dumped on me.’
Ted pulled the computer printout from his pocket and handed it to him. Trev started to read it, then looked at him in horror.
‘Oh, god, Ted, I’m so sorry. I’ve screwed things up for you and that was never my intention.’
‘With any luck it will be a five-minute wonder which no mainstream press takes up and I can forget all about it in a day or two. But in the meantime, I need to furnish the ACC with proof that your presence there wasn’t funded in any way by the public purse. I’ve got the hotel receipts from what I paid, but I’m going to need your credit card statements to show you paid for your own flight and the hire car.’
‘Oops.’ Trev looked guilty. ‘I was rather hoping to hide those from you until I’d got things a bit more under control.’
Chapter Three
‘Another bit of a body found late on Saturday. An upper leg this time, from hip to knee. Dumped in a stream on the opposite side of town and once again, it floated up to the surface where it was spotted by a passing jogger,’ Jo told the team first thing on Monday morning, for the benefit of those who weren’t yet up to date with the latest development in the case.
