by Jay Nadal
He picked his way around the structure, looking for any openings or windows that would allow him to peer in. The door had a simple padlock that he prised off with relative ease using the butt of his torch. He smiled to himself as he thought about how ineffective such locks were as he opened the door and stepped in. His smile disappeared, replaced with a grimace as a pungent foul smell assaulted his nostrils. He placed the crook of his elbow over his nose as he glanced around the shed in horror.
A large A-frame had been constructed in the middle of the shed. What appeared to be the carcass of a dead dog, hung by its back legs from bloodied ropes. Flies bounced around the four walls of the shed, several dozen others gorged themselves on the fleshy remains. Mike batted them away hoping that many would escape through the open door. To his right sat a stack of Tupperware boxes each filled with items that raised Mike’s curiosity.
Having snapped on blue latex gloves, he pulled the lid off the first container. He stared dumbstruck and open-mouthed at a pair of eyeballs rolling around in a sticky layer of congealed blood. Other containers had macabre exhibits that took him by surprise. A hairy testicle sack, half a dozen chicken claws, and a furry foot that Mike assumed to belong to either a rabbit or a cat.
A large container held a small animal skull that had been stripped back to the bare bone.
Mike stepped out in to the fresh air, cleared his lungs and called Scott.
Thirty minutes passed before Scott and Abby arrived. With no road close by, they had parked some distance away and travelled on foot, guided by Mike’s directions.
“What have we got?” Scott asked as he approached.
Mike shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue, Guv. It looks like some chop shop for animals. Whoever’s been here has been dissecting and storing animal parts.”
Abby peaked in through the doorway and recoiled from the smell as she scrunched up her nose and moved away. “Fuck sake, it stinks in there.”
Scott held his hand over his nose as he ventured in. Mike’s description couldn’t have prepared him for the rancid, putrid, overpowering stench that clawed at him, and sent waves of nauseating bile shooting up his throat.
Scott counted twenty-three containers, and based on Mike’s discovery, assumed that the rest carried something similar.
Back out in the open, Scott scouted the location. Forest surrounded the shed on all sides, and it would have been well hidden from prying eyes. “Abby, can you put in a call for forensics. We need to have the containers taken away, and the shed given a once-over. We’ll need a veterinary pathologist to confirm the origins of those samples.”
“Will do, Guv. I think we may have found the animal abductor that uniform are looking for. I’ll contact the constable who is handling the case.”
“There’s a locked box in one corner, Guv. I don’t know if you saw it?” Mike asked, flicking his head in the direction of the shed. “Do you want me to break it open? Or shall we leave it to forensics?”
“We might not have to wait, Mike,” Scott suggested as he pulled a small plastic evidence bag out of his pocket.
The bag held a set of keys found whilst searching Daniel Johnson’s room. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. Scott stepped back into the shed, followed by Mike. Scott’s eyes watered from the overpowering smell.
How anyone could sit in here was beyond Scott’s comprehension. The key fob had three keys of different shapes and sizes. The first key didn’t fit. The second key did fit. Scott lifted the lid to find a roll of cloth which he carefully placed on the floor.
Mike and Scott fell silent as Scott rolled out the cloth. An assortment of gleaming surgical utensils glistened in the semi-darkness of the shed. There were several scalpels of different shapes and sizes, fine metal picks, several pairs of scissors, metal tweezers, and several large knives including one that Scott recognised as a machete.
“Looks like we’ve found the tools of the trade,” Mike concluded. “Hopefully, they’ve got Johnson’s prints.”
The two officers stepped back outside and ran through several scenarios.
“So do we do an obo and wait for Johnson to come back?”
Scott shook his head. “For a start, we don’t know if it belongs to Johnson. The fact he was in possession of some keys relating to the box doesn’t confirm ownership of the tools or shed. For all we know, he may have just been looking after the keys for someone else. At the moment, we can’t prove that these keys belong to him. We also haven’t got the manpower to have someone sit here day after day waiting for someone to return.”
“Guv, we might not have to wait that long though.”
“It’s an unknown, Mike. Judging from the carcass in there, the shed has been used in the last few days. But we have no indication how often it’s used, or when someone might return. The fact that there’s a carcass hanging off an improvised A-frame in there makes me think that whoever did it left before completing the job. Perhaps they were disturbed, or got spooked, and legged it before getting caught.”
“So, what now?” Abby asked as she joined them.
“I’m hoping that forensics finds DNA evidence in there that’s a match for Daniel Johnson. In the meantime, whilst we are here, we’ll spread out and see if we can find any other evidence.” Scott lowered his voice saying, “For all we know, Daniel Johnson might be close by and watching us. So call it in, Abby, and let’s see if there is a dog unit free. It might be able to pick up a scent.”
32
The discoveries of the day before filled the team with fresh hope. SOCOs had gone through the shed in meticulous detail. There was some debate last night as to whether the shed should be disturbed or not. Mike argued that it would have been better to leave it undisturbed hoping the perp would return.
His suggestion would have needed surveillance, which Scott knew wouldn’t be approved. Mike had assured him that a remote sensing camera fixed to a nearby tree would serve the purpose. Such cameras captured images triggered by movement, without the need of manpower. He explained that the technology offered a second set of eyes for hunters and wildlife managers.
Mike’s military experience had led him to use similar cameras in hostile territory where insurgents were positioned. Evidence of their movements could be captured on the ground, much in the same way drones captured evidence from the air.
Scott asked Mike to speak to the techie team to see if this could be organised as a matter of priority. Captured images of Daniel or Xabi could allow Scott to ask for extra resources.
In the meantime, Scott decided against leaving the shed undisturbed. The containers had been examined, recorded, and removed to a location where a veterinary pathologist could examine them. Frustration tinged Scott’s excitement, as early indications suggested that there was no evidence of human body parts.
Everything possible was being done to track down Xabi and Daniel. The press appeal hadn’t yielded the expected results, and uniformed officers were on the lookout for both suspects. The lack of two suspects sitting in the cells troubled Scott. He added more findings to his notepad as he reflected on the case and chewed on cold toast. He tapped the end of his pencil as he glared at his scribbles. Where are you Xabi? Where are you hiding?
“Guv, have you got a minute?”
Scott looked up from taking a bite of his toast to see Raj’s smiling face peering from around the door frame. Scott waved him in.
“I’ve been looking into the affairs of Alistair Woodman, and he’s got a chequered past to say the least.”
Just the man’s name piqued Scott’s interest and he sat up.
“I found several press articles that were buried in some other parliamentary stuff. It’s on an anti-government blogger’s website. It’s called Free of Anarchy, and run by a financial blogger called Freedom Joe.” Raj shot Scott a look that suggested, “Weird I know.”
Raj looked at his notes before continuing. “Anyway, in the past, Woodman had been under scrutiny on suspicion of organising lucrative trade deals with S
outh African firms. I called his office and posed as a travel company conducting a survey. It turns out that he’s been to South Africa over a dozen times in the past three years. Whilst out there, he met frequently with tribal leaders.” Raj handed over a few sheets of paper.
Scott glanced over each one. They were images pulled from Facebook and Google, with Woodman posing with tribal leaders and elders. There was nothing unusual in the images themselves, but Scott’s eyes were drawn to the caption beneath the pictures. It stated that Woodman was meeting with Zulu tribal leaders.
“I believe it gives us grounds to investigate him further. You said yourself that there was something that made you suspicious about him. And here he is rubbing shoulders with Zulu tribal leaders. And yet he’s also supporting the deportation of asylum seekers from South Africa, who are fearful of Zulu witch doctors.”
Scott’s eyes wandered around the room as he listened. He stopped at the pictures of him as a police constable. His mind wandered as he tried to process the many loose strands that were creating confusion. “He’s a Member of Parliament, Raj. We can’t just investigate them. They’ve got many privileges and rights that keep them well protected. To investigate Woodman’s financial situation would require authorisation from a higher person. I doubt that the super would support me in that request…especially knowing Woodman’s connection with CC Lennon.”
“I know, Guv. If you run with the accusations made on this blog, Woodman irons out the paperwork to help firms bring goods into this country without paying excessive duties. Or, he’s supporting the undervaluing of goods. Now that’s all circumstantial, but what if there’s an element of truth? This blogger claims to have several key contacts within Parliament.”
“Like informers?”
“Why not? We use informers. And there’s an article here from a former junior member of staff within Parliament who blew the whistle on corrupt practices. They too highlighted the same revelations about Woodman. So that’s two independent sources.”
Scott tapped his pencil even harder as he crunched through the various scenarios. “So, Woodman could help firms profit. The question is whether he takes a slice of those profits?”
Raj stood up and spread out all his findings over Scott’s desk. “Guv, just look at all the information. My gut feeling tells me that he’s as crooked as a barrel of fish hooks. But then I think that about most politicians. Self-interest, overinflated egos and money grabbing bastards.”
“That’s a bit strong, Raj…” Scott smiled. “We’re treading on thin ice when it comes to investigating politicians. Officially, we haven’t a cat in hell's chance of getting authorisation to investigate him or make further enquiries. And if we did, the response would be that Woodman is supporting and encouraging stronger trade links between the two countries. He would have reasons sewn up watertight.”
Raj let out a huge sigh. “I know what you’re saying, Guv. But surely this smells to you? The whistle-blower spoke about rumours of bribes. And now that whistle-blower’s been hushed up and refuses to make any further comments. Apparently, in parliamentary circles, a fair number of accusations have been made against Woodman in the past. Anything from inappropriate behaviour towards female colleagues, right through to taking backhanders from local and international businesses. Every accusation has been countered, rebuffed, and dismissed. Nothing seems to stick.”
Scott shrugged. He’d walked the fine line on many an occasion and had even crossed it a few times and lived to fight another day. But digging into the background of a politician? That was a whole new ball game. They don’t pay me enough to do this shit. This is career suicide, but… Scott raised his hands in the air in frustration. “Okay, okay. Find anything on Woodman. Discreetly.”
Excited at the prospect, Raj’s smile stretched from ear-to-ear.
“Contact the Parliamentary Commissioner for standards to find out what information they are allowed to share publicly. Because as far as I’m aware, there is a registry of members’ financial interests, and there’s also a code of conduct for Members of Parliament. These may flag up what other interests and involvement Woodman has.”
Raj nodded expectantly as he jotted down his final note before dashing out of the room.
Scott pressed back in his chair. The frame creaked beneath him as he pushed back with his heels and planted his feet on the table. He thought he’d underestimated Woodman. In his mind, he gave Woodman the nickname Mr Teflon.
33
Meadows had tracked Scott down not long after his conversation with Raj. If he wasn’t paranoid before, he certainly felt it now. Meadows had a knack of popping up when Scott least hoped he would. Much more of this, and Scott would be convinced that Meadows kept tabs on him.
His boss wanted reassurances that Scott hadn’t gone against the wishes of CC Lennon and investigated Alistair Woodman without concrete evidence. Scott was economical with the truth. He stated that Woodman was still on the radar, and that they were keeping an open mind into his financial dealings and points of contact.
Scott hoped it would pacify his boss and buy them some time. He knew he wasn’t following procedure, but sometimes he couldn’t help it. His mind was strong, but his heart was stronger. Perhaps that was why he kept getting into trouble.
Scott gathered the team around the incident board. It didn’t paint a pretty picture. An assortment of pictures taken by SOCO’s, and the ones of the post-mortems highlighted the gruesome nature of the case that they were dealing with. Pictures of Daniel Johnson, Pastor Xabi, and pictures of the shed that they had just discovered now crammed the board. Various lines darted between them. To an outsider, the board would look a total mess. In the back of Scott’s mind, the board did look a mess.
“Raj has been uncovering some interesting stuff on Alistair Woodman. I’ll leave it to him to update you after this briefing. In the meantime, we have three children unaccounted for. Their bodies haven’t been discovered yet, so we can assume they are alive and being held somewhere. I spoke to Superintendent Meadows yesterday, and the reason we haven’t gone to the press about these three is because we have little to go on. We don’t want to create widespread panic.”
“We may never find them, Guv,” Abby speculated. The concerned look on the faces of the others suggested that they shared her thoughts. “We can’t be certain that they’re still in the country. We’re facing a wall of silence. We know six families that are in detention, and the Home Office hasn’t granted us access to them. For all we know, any one of those three missing children could belong to the families that are being held.”
Scott nodded in agreement. “It’s a fair point. However, if any of those kids belong to those families, you’d hope the Home Office aren’t that callous and would have informed us. We need to keep pushing, chasing down all leads, and just keep digging.” Staring at the incident board, he reflected on how he had never come across a case where those involved had been so secretive, so shy, and so scared of their lives.
The Home Office continued to deny open access. Scott had persevered, and as a result, senior managers at the detention centres would consider the request if the Home Office relented. That was a positive step as far as Scott was concerned.
“Mike, how did you get on with the techie boys regarding the camera?”
Mike shook his head. “It’s not the type of thing that they keep. I’ve already made contact with a wildlife photographer, and he will let me borrow one. I’m picking it up this morning and heading straight over to set up.”
“Excellent. Good job, Mike. At some point today, I’m expecting to get initial forensics on the instruments that we found in the shed. That will help us to confirm who’s used the shed. But I’m hoping that this camera idea will increase our chances of tracking down Daniel Johnson. Whoever used it has been there in the last few days. A carton of milk in the shed had only been purchased in the last few days. It still had four more days left until its expiry date. There was a half-eaten sandwich which other than being stale
, showed no signs of mould growth or any type of decay.”
“Where were they from?” Helen asked.
“Sainsbury’s. But the chance of trying to identify where they were bought is time-consuming, and time isn’t on our side at the moment. So let’s get out there and keep searching.”
As he drove out of town, Scott’s conversation with Meadows ran through his mind like a one-hit wonder. For that reason, he’d go alone. Meadows pointed out that with no proof and no crime committed, there was little value in investigating Woodman. Scott wasn’t so convinced. Something about the man made him aloof.
Members of Parliament had this knack of being very precise with their words, and how they delivered them. Perhaps it was media training, or the fact that politicians rarely answered a question as expected. It was clear from his last visit that Scott had touched a raw nerve. And like a bad itch, Scott wanted to keep scratching it.
The Oving remained just as impressive as he recalled from his first visit. The large sweeping gravel driveway crunched under his tyres as he made his way up the path. In the brilliance of the afternoon sunshine, the house looked regal and elegant. It could have been the setting for a period drama. A horse and carriage parked outside, maids and servants scuttling about, and children playing on the lawn with a hoop and stick, or skipping rope.
Scott smiled as an image of the TV programme Downton Abbey sprung to mind. Though with his history being a little sketchy, he wasn’t sure whether the programme represented the same era depicted so vividly in his mind’s eye.
He glanced around. The lawns were immaculately maintained, the hedges neatly pruned, no expense spared in showing off the property and its grounds to full effect.
