Divided House (Dark Yorkshire Book 1)

by J M Dalgliesh

  Either something worthy of note had passed them by or Chloe was leading them up the garden path once more, but if so, what did she stand to gain? For the time being she had been bailed to return in a fortnight, charged with assaulting a police officer and time would tell if further charges would be levied. In the meantime, Frank Stephens had agreed a surveillance operation, albeit a limited one, to keep an eye on her movements. Caslin suspected she was in far deeper than she was presently prepared to let on.

  Signing in at the desk, the signatures of previous visitors caught his eye. Gerry Trent had accessed the evidence room earlier in the week. DI Baxter had been down on two occasions the day before, signing in first for an hour at 11 a.m. and again at 16:40, for a brief period of twenty minutes. Replacing the clipboard in its holder, he was directed to the aisle where he would find Garry McNeil’s effects.

  Pulling the archive box forward, he hefted it up and over to a central table. From here he lifted the lid to observe the meagre contents. All that he had examined on the first night in the vehicle was there and he found nothing new to grab his attention. Deciding that it was worth a punt to check out CCTV footage, he made a note of the date and time on the fuel receipts to follow up later. The maps and tourist guide leaflets appeared out of place but as to why, he couldn’t figure. Removing the mobile phone from its evidence bag, Caslin turned it on. The screen flashed into life. Slightly taken aback, Caslin watched as the boot up process went through its cycle. An error message notifying the absence of a SIM card came up on the screen before the low battery indicator flashed, and the handset powered down. Absently drumming his fingers on the screen, he assessed what that could mean. Flipping the handset over, he prised open the cover, tapped out the battery and checked for the SIM card. It wasn’t there.

  Unsure of exactly what else he hoped to achieve, he reassembled the phone and replaced it, along with the other items back into the box. Then he returned it to the shelf from where it came. Turning away, he checked that he had noted down the catalogue number and headed for the exit. Whilst signing out he scanned the page more thoroughly than he did on his way in before heading back upstairs. Instead of taking the route to CID as planned, he left via the main entrance, giving Linda a wave as he passed. Once outside he reached for his phone and brought up the contacts list, dialling the number as soon as he found it. The phone rang only twice before it connected.

  “Good morning, Nate,” an upbeat and familiar voice came through.

  “Morning Sara, is the sun shining with you this morning?”

  “You are so poor at basic pleasantries. I’d go so far as to say the most transparent individual I know, apart from my mother, perhaps. Let’s skip them seeing as I’m busy down here. Fortunately for you though, I still love you.”

  Caslin laughed, his general mood lifting higher than it had been for some time.

  “Sara, forgive my persistence. Honestly, I don’t mean to badger you first thing in the morning, but did you manage to get anywhere with that little favour I asked the other day?”

  “Honestly, don’t apologise. We both know you don’t mean it but you have saved me a phone call. And this was not a little favour, believe me. On this one you don’t just owe me, you owe me big.”

  Caslin was intrigued.

  “Really?”

  “In fact, I would go further and say forget dinner next time you’re in town. I want dancing, theatre tickets and a new outfit while you’re at it. And I get to choose, all of it.”

  “Agreed, now tell me,” Caslin barely hid his impatience.

  “Special Branch.”

  “Special Branch?” Caslin reiterated.

  “Yep.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “I am most certainly not and judging by whom he works for,” she paused, Caslin knew what was coming, “I think it’s best that we keep this short. You never know who might be listening.”

  The line went dead. Caslin smiled again. He hadn’t even had a chance to say thank you. All joking aside, Sara would’ve been serious about the night out and he was in no doubt she would collect. What the hell was Special Branch doing at Fulford Road? There was always the prospect that his source was wrong but he doubted it. She was thorough and he trusted her more than almost anybody else he knew.

  Refocusing his attention on the task at hand, he dialled Harman’s mobile number. Surprisingly, the DC answered. Caslin was expecting to have to leave a voicemail, knowing how poor the reception was at the farm.

  “How are you getting on out there?”

  Harman was positive. Caslin assumed it was a result of having a task to do that he had confidence in himself to fulfil.

  “Well, very well. There was a layer of encryption that I’ve had to work through. Seriously out of date but a still a high grade and far more than your average business system would carry, let alone a domestic one.”

  “What does that mean to a layman such as me?”

  “This isn’t off-the-shelf software. It may not be the latest update but to give you a context we don’t use anything this sophisticated in our office. It’s military grade stuff, at least from a few years ago, anyway.”

  Caslin assessed that for a moment.

  “Would McNeil have had access to that sort of kit, could he have brought it with him when he left the army?”

  Harman sounded uncertain, “In the infantry, I don’t know. Perhaps in the Signals or the old Pioneer Corp. Was he involved in that?”

  “From what we’ve been told, categorically not but let’s see what we can turn up ourselves. How about the server, what’s he been using it for?”

  “Storing vast amounts of data and maintaining websites, by the looks of it.”

  “Do you need a server to do that? My son has his own website dedicated to… something or other, but he hasn’t got a server. It’s all hosted in the clouds or something.”

  For a moment he thought he heard quiet laughter at the other end of the line but chose to ignore it.

  “It’s not necessary, no. Not unless you want to keep control of your own data as well as that of those who access your domain.”

  “To what end?”

  “Maybe he’s making some money from whatever he’s doing online.”

  “Hmm… what’re the orientations of the websites?”

  “I’ll need a bit more time before I can tell you that. I’m only just getting to them.”

  “Okay, when you do, give me a shout. Have you had a look at McNeil’s mobile phone?”

  “No, didn’t know he had one.”

  “Well then, I’ve got another little job for you the next time you’re back at the station. Get a hold of it from the evidence room and see what you can find for me, dialled numbers, received calls, that sort of thing.”

  “Locations as well. If it has an inbuilt GPS system, we’ll be able to see where he’s gone.”

  “You can do that?”

  Harman laughed out loud this time, “Yes, Sir. As long as it has inbuilt GPS. With a bit of luck, we could get a trace from the signal as it relayed through transmitter towers.”

  “You just said a bunch of things that I have no understanding of but it sounds good, do it. Talking of signals, how come you have one today?”

  “Iain’s set up a booster. I think his team were getting annoyed with being off the grid.”

  “Fair enough. You’ll find the SIM is missing from the phone. Can you still access the stuff you said?”

  “Depends on the phone but I’ll take a look.”

  “Good man. Let me know what you come across.”

  “Will do.”

  “Oh, and Maxim.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Don’t take the piss.”

  “No, Sir.”

  Caslin hung up. Suddenly he felt very much like an analogue watch in a digital age. He felt old. The unknown song came back to mind as he headed for his car. Remembering that Dr Taylor had left him a message to say she had prepared a preliminary report on the body
unearthed at Radford Farm, he decided her office should be the next port of call.

  Meeting Alison Taylor in her office, instead of across a number of corpses, was far more pleasant. Immediately struck by how attracted to her he was, Caslin had to will himself to focus on the topic at hand, the unidentified body, rather than the shoulder-length dark hair that framed her finely sculptured features. Dressed in a business suit, Caslin couldn’t help but admire her style as she bid him to take a seat opposite her. She passed him a file and he began to scan the one-page summary at the front.

  “Death was as you suspected, ligature strangulation. I put his age range between mid-thirties and forty and died approximately two months ago.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Not at the moment, no. The estimate fits the time-frame of deterioration but the conditions he was buried in determine rate of decomposition and what with winter coming late, it’s hard to tell. I’ve taken some larvae off the body and sent them to the laboratory for more tests, which will help narrow it down.”

  Caslin felt that was reasonable.

  “He was a big guy,” he said aloud, whilst reading through the results. “It’s not an easy thing to strangle someone to death. It takes time.”

  “Indeed, it does. When you push on the muscles of the neck, they push back,” Dr Taylor agreed with him. “It’s much easier if the victim is unconscious when you do it, which is what I believe happened in this case.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “There was a wound to the back of the head that would most likely have been enough to incapacitate him. There aren’t the usual signs of a struggle that I would expect to find if he was putting up a fight when he died. The red spots around the eyes back up asphyxia and the lack of muscle stress is consistent with an unconscious state at death.”

  “Any idea of the weapon used?”

  “A blunt instrument is the best I can do, as wide as your palm possibly, and flat. It could as easily be a rock as a paperweight but it struck him with enough force to cause a bleed on the brain. He would have been in trouble without seeking medical help even if he hadn’t been strangled.”

  Caslin thought for a moment, continuing to read.

  “Were there any other injuries of note?”

  “None that I found, although, it is a little odd that he had signs of pressure sores on his shoulder blades and to the rear of his hips.”

  “What could have caused that? He doesn’t strike me as a bedridden individual.”

  “Certainly not, he’s in good shape, apart from being dead.” They both smiled at the inappropriate reference. “Most likely he had a prolonged spell lying down on a hard surface, with an inability to move.”

  “Any signs of restraint, marks on the wrists or ankles?”

  Dr Taylor shook her head, “I considered that but no, there were not. Before you ask, I carried out a full toxicological screening as well and found no drugs in his system. There is always the likelihood that they would no longer be traceable after this length of time.”

  “You were thinking along the lines of a roofie or GHB?”

  “That would make sense if you wanted to incapacitate someone for a period of time, and they were a strong individual, or perhaps physically larger than you. Let’s face it they’re date rape drugs for a reason.”

  “In your opinion is it possible that a female of greatly inferior stature could have done this, or would we need the perpetrator to be considered stronger, as in more likely a male?”

  “I would say that this could be done by more or less anyone. Provided they were in reasonable health, anyone could have killed this man once he was incapacitated. He was already very far gone by the time the air stopped entering his lungs.”

  “Any DNA under fingernails, unidentified blood?”

  “I scraped the fingernails but they were in a state. A fair amount of damage to the flesh at the end of the fingers also as if he was scratching at something. So, in short, I expect that’s unlikely but when the results come back, I’ll give you a call. I was able to use water to inflate the fingers, so you have a full set of prints to work with. However, the body had been doused with bleach and I mean heavily soaked. So much so, that if there was any organic matter from your killer, it was destroyed. Although…”

  “Although?” Caslin asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure that the bleach was poured at the time of death. It is possible that it was done more recently.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “The soil and vegetation on the body are of mixed origin. As if some samples had had more recent exposure above ground than others. Have you ever heard of The Body Farm?”

  Caslin shook his head, “No, sounds ominous.”

  “It’s at the University of Tennessee. They have an outdoor area utilised specifically for the study of decomposition rates of the human body. Their subjects are exposed to different environmental conditions, timescales, seasonal trends, insect exposure. Almost any factor that you can imagine is analysed. From a forensic pathology point of view, it is truly fascinating.”

  “That sounds… a little creepy, to me.”

  Dr Taylor laughed. It was a gentle sound and caused Caslin to smile.

  “The environmental conditions, insect infestations and the type of organic matter surrounding the body can make a significant difference in determining length of time in the ground. I’ve ordered some extra tests to try and ascertain if I’m right or not.”

  “When do you think you’ll have something?”

  “If I could have a couple of days, then I’ll be able to give you a more definitive answer.”

  Caslin nodded enthusiastically, “By all means do. Perhaps we could meet and discuss the results?”

  He was unsure of where that invitation had come from, but was now committed, and hoped that the wave of anxiety currently washing over him would not become apparent. Dr Taylor paused before responding, casting a momentary eye over him.

  “I’m sure we will be able to arrange to discuss it. If not in person, then certainly over the phone.”

  Caslin was crushed.

  She continued, “The effects of the bleach on the body are also unusual, which further backs up the notion that it was added significantly later, after death. That could indicate—”

  “That the body was dug up, to destroy evidence?”

  “Possibly,” the pathologist was hesitant, “but please don’t quote me on it, just yet. I haven’t made too much of it in my preliminary report that you have there.”

  “Don’t worry, I won’t. That’s very interesting. Good work, Doctor.”

  Caslin felt himself wince at his response, certain that she would see straight through the feeble praise, recognising his growing infatuation. It felt like he was back in the playground. Caslin felt his cheeks flush. For her part Dr Taylor didn’t appear to notice. If she had, then she hid it well.

  Chapter 21

  A match for the set of fingerprints provided by Dr Taylor took only a matter of minutes to return. To Caslin’s surprise it was not Daniel Horsvedt but a William Johnson whose information appeared. Previously he had been arrested for several drunk and disorderly offences, none of which were recent. He hadn’t otherwise been known to the police in the past five years. His last known address was registered in Ipswich but that was several years ago.

  A cursory examination had shown that Johnson had served in the British Army but only for four years, never seeing frontline service. A call to the MOD returned information that he had been removed from duty due to alcoholism, leading to neglect of duty. He had been dishonourably discharged from the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers shortly after. Divorced, with no known next of kin, there was no discernable link to Radford Farm or Garry McNeil.

  Having nursed a cup of coffee for over an hour, Caslin felt his frustration mounting. He had reviewed the forensic reports that were coming in from Robertson’s team, without finding anything that could steer him in a use
ful direction. They had located a pit, barely large enough to conceal a person, beneath the filthy mattress within the bunker. A sheet of heavy-gauge ply, restrained with a padlock, prevented the inhabitant from being able to escape. This was believed to be the holding place for William Johnson, at least until his death. The underside of the wood showed clear signs of someone tearing the ends of their fingers to shreds in repeated attempts to claw their way out. The requirement for such a place was lost on Caslin. Was it as simple as a secure location to detain someone? Perhaps it was a more sinister method of control, a way of conditioning a captive to conform? The former was unsettling enough but the latter, indicated a malevolence of spirit that made him shudder at the thought of what occurred within those walls.

  To further compound the issues that he faced, the press had latched onto the investigation. A lid had been kept on most of the details, Caslin was unsure how though. Considering the early admissions that had leaked out, they had largely avoided too much press intrusion up until now. However, that had changed with the early morning releases. Some had gone with links to the Ravenscar killings. That was the story that had fed the media for days with sensationalism but, without new information emerging, had subsequently begun to tire. Other publications now led with a second serial killer roaming Yorkshire.

  Caslin had considered an immediate riposte to highlight that the perpetrator was in fact most likely, already dead, but thought better of it. In his own mind, it was the most likely part of his statement that would fuel the speculation further. After all, until the investigation was complete he couldn’t categorically state that McNeil was guilty. Moreover, the press were less interested in the truth and far more so in selling copy. Any statement from him would only make the situation worse.