by BIBA PEARCE
The technician nodded. “Yes, sir. We didn’t find much. It’s fairly new — you can still smell the leather — but we took samples anyway.”
“Good.” If the killer had sat there before they’d launched their brutal attack on the unsuspecting victim, there might be a hair or skin sample left behind.
There was a shout from the kitchen.
They filed in. A crime scene officer was bending over the sink. “There’s blood in here. Lots of it. Looks like the killer used it to wash the blood off his hands or clean the murder weapon.”
A thought hit Rob. “Could it be the killer’s blood?”
“Not sure. I’ll take samples.” The forensic officer bent down to fetch the appropriate equipment from his kit bag. “We’ll get them analyzed for you.”
“Thanks.” Rob glanced at Mallory. “It would be very convenient if the killer cut himself in the process and left us some DNA in the sink.”
“Too convenient,” Mallory muttered. “He probably just cleaned the blood off himself before he left the house.” He twisted his head to nod back towards the living room. “That would have made quite a mess.”
“We can hope.” Rob cast his eyes around the kitchen. “Check this out.” He pointed to a block of wood that had six different knives sticking out of it. “None missing.” He opened the drawers but didn’t find any more sharp knives, only your usual run-of-the-mill cutlery. “Have you been upstairs?” Rob asked.
“No, not yet. I didn’t get here much before you.”
They climbed up the narrow staircase and paused on a wide landing. Above them, subdued winter light streamed in from a rectangular skylight. Rob squinted up at it. The loft had been removed to create extra-high ceilings, which made the top floor appear more spacious. That would have been an expensive job.
“This must be the main bedroom.” Rob indicated an open door on the right, through which a wooden king-sized bed was visible. They entered the room. The bed had pride of place in the centre, flanked by two bedside tables, both in the same dark mahogany as the bed frame. The duvet cover was a steely grey, a shade lighter than the pillows, and it was perfectly made. There was not a single crease in the smooth material.
“Does he have a cleaner?” Rob enquired, walking around the room.
“I’ll find out,” said Mallory.
The carpet was clean with faint striations in it that told Rob it had recently been vacuumed. The heavy curtains were open, tied back with tasselled cords. Not his taste, but it did the job.
“The bathroom’s through here.” Mallory was holding open a slatted door that had been made to look like it was part of the built-in cupboards. He switched on the light and the extractor fan immediately whirred to life.
“Really?” Rob walked through the narrow entrance into a tiled bathroom complete with walk-in shower, basin and toilet. It was much larger than he had expected, then he realized it must have been a smaller bedroom next door that had been converted. No bath, he noted. The bathroom was sparklingly clean, and the mirrors were clear and unsmudged. He doubted Aadam Yousef was the type of man to get his Marigolds on and whip out the Windolene. No, this had been professionally cleaned, and not too long ago. He’d guess as recently as yesterday morning. Yousef hadn’t had time to mess it up.
The bathroom cabinet contained men’s toiletries, paracetamol, ibuprofen tablets and an electric toothbrush. Nothing remotely feminine.
“I think it’s safe to say he lived alone,” Rob muttered, closing the cabinet. Mallory switched the light off and the fan lapsed into blissful silence.
The guest bedroom didn’t look lived-in. There was a double bed but the mattress was bare. The only items in the built-in cupboard were some winter coats pushed to one side. There were no personal items on the dresser beneath the window, nothing to indicate the room was in use.
“What’s in those?” Rob nodded towards two cardboard boxes piled on top of each other in the corner.
“Extra bedding,” Mallory replied with a shrug. “Nothing of interest.”
Rob frowned. “When did Yousef move into this house?”
“The title deed said two years ago. He obviously didn’t use this room.”
Rob opened the top of the box and peered in. “Pink,” he said. “It’s a woman’s bedding. Find out if he used to be married or had a daughter or sister living with him prior to moving in here.”
“I’ll get right on it,” Mallory said with a curt nod. One of the things Rob liked about working with Mallory is that he never took notes, but still seemed to remember everything he’d been instructed to follow up on. He’d once told Rob he had an episodic memory — Rob wasn’t entirely sure what that meant — but it had come in handy at school and the police academy. He could recite even the most obscure laws, rules and regulations that most officers forgot the second they left college.
They moved into the study.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Rob. Unlike the bedrooms, it was a mess. The desk was cluttered with papers, a laptop lay open to one side and there were two used coffee cups making rings in the wood. It was a nice desk, too. Yvette would go ballistic if he did that. He resisted the urge to move them. “I’m guessing the cleaner wasn’t allowed in here.”
“That’s for sure.” Mallory ran a latex finger along the windowsill and held it up. “Look at this.” It was covered in dust.
“Let’s get SOCO in here. It might give us an indication of what line of business he was in.”
Mallory flicked through the papers on his desk. “These are all household bills. I can’t see anything pertaining to a business.”
“Invoices?” asked Rob.
Mallory nodded. “Yeah, electricity, council tax, car insurance . . .” He put them back down. “Everything’s in Yousef’s name and there’s nothing addressed to a limited company or business of any sort.”
Rob scratched his head. “We need to find out what Yousef did for a living. This house and that car didn’t pay for itself.”
“Nothing in his wallet indicated he was employed. No key cards or name badge, no company business card. Only a debit card and a driver’s licence, both in his name.”
“Okay, let’s run him through the database when we get back to the station and see what pops up.”
Rob opened a desk drawer and let out a low, slow whistle. Mallory peered over his shoulder. “Burner phones?”
“Yeah, and a stack of them at that.” He rifled through the pile of devices, all different sizes and makes. “I count nine.”
He opened the other drawers. “There’s more. What the hell was this guy up to with so many prepaid phones?”
“It can’t be good,” muttered Mallory.
Was this what had got him killed? Something he was into? An illegal scheme or business deal?
Not finding much else, they went downstairs just in time to see the ambulance service wheeling out the black body bag.
“When’s the post-mortem?” Rob asked Liz, who was still on her knees packing up her kit.
She rubbed her forehead. “I can’t do it before three o’clock tomorrow. I’ve got a queue running. It was a busy weekend.”
Rob nodded. He would have liked it done sooner, but it couldn’t be helped. She had her hands full. He’d heard about the multi-vehicle pile-up on the M3 near Thorpe Park that had resulted in several fatalities. The motorway had only just reopened.
“Thanks, Liz.” He turned to Mallory, who was talking to a member of the SOCO team about bagging everything in the upstairs study. “Let’s head back to the station. There’s nothing more we can do here.”
Chapter 3
The Putney major crime team was housed in an uninspiring grey four-storey building at the bottom of Putney Bridge Road. Despite its unflattering exterior, it had recently undergone an extensive refurbishment and now boasted a shiny reception area, a decent cafeteria and three floors of open-plan office space including stylish, glass-walled incident rooms that made briefings feel more like business meetings.
Rob stood at the head of the twelve-seater table in Incident Room One waiting for his team to filter in. Mallory, his right-hand man was pinning photographs of their victim on to the whiteboard behind him.
“Come on, we haven’t got all day.” He kept his voice light but he was impatient to get started.
DS Jenny Bird and DS Will Freemont, two experienced sergeants, sat on either side of him, followed by DC Celeste Parker, all of whom had worked on the Surrey Stalker case with him last year. New to the department were DC Mike Manner, a tall black man with a distinctive London accent, and DC Jeff Clarke, a young northerner who’d transferred down south to be closer to his wife’s ageing parents. Rob didn’t know either of them very well.
Since the new incident rooms had been installed, Rob couldn’t decide whether to sit at the head of the table or stand like he used to when addressing his team. He figured since he’d be pointing to the whiteboard most of the time, he’d be better off standing. Mallory finished attaching the photographs and walked around to sit at the foot of the table.
“Thanks, Mallory,” he said. “Right, let’s get started. The victim is forty-year-old Aadam Yousef from Hounslow. He was found by his neighbour, a Mrs Banerjee, who looked through the window, spotted him lying on the floor and called the police. He was stabbed several times and the knife wounds were extensive. I’m not sure exactly how many there were — the post-mortem will confirm — but at first glance, at least seven or eight.”
There was a gentle murmur around the table.
“This is what we know so far.” He turned to the whiteboard. “Yousef lived alone and, as far as we can tell, was unmarried. There was a box of pink bedding in the spare room, so he may have had a guest or a family member stay there at some point. Jenny and Will, can you get hold of his phone records, social media accounts, emails and so on? We need to identify his next of kin and if he was seeing anyone, or if he had any children from a previous relationship. Anyone who can give us a better idea of who this guy was.”
The two sergeants nodded and made notes on their handheld devices. It seemed notepads were a thing of the past. It felt right, in keeping with their high-tech new image. In fact, he was the only one with a paper and pencil in front of him on the table. Mallory didn’t use anything.
“We need to find out what this guy did for a living. We found a stash of burner phones in his study. Judging by his new house and fancy BMW, he had recently come into some money. I want to know the source of that income.”
Mallory sat up straight. “I’ll get on to SOCO and see if we can get access to his laptop and the phone records.”
“Celeste, will you coordinate a door-to-door with Hounslow Police? Maybe the neighbours or someone in the local community can shed some light on Yousef’s business dealings. Oh, and find out who his cleaner was. We urgently need to talk to them. They would have been there the day of the murder, I’m sure of it. The place was spotless.”
“I asked the neighbour, she didn’t know,” cut in Mallory.
Rob pursed his lips. “Okay, there might be something in his paperwork or telephone records. Everyone keep an eye out for contact information for a cleaner.”
Nods all round.
“What about CCTV?” asked Celeste.
“Yeah, I’m getting to that. The house is off the A4 on the way to Heathrow, so there’s bound to be some coverage. That’s a major thoroughfare. Mike, can you and Jeff look into that?”
Celeste grinned. Rob always gave the CCTV to the rookies, and last year it had been her. Trawling through hours of footage was dog work, but it got results. Often it was the CCTV footage that led to a successful prosecution. He said as much now, and the two young men nodded, although Jeff looked disappointed. He probably wanted to get stuck in to the real police work, but this was important, and everyone had to earn their stripes.
“Yes, guv,” they said in unison.
He noticed Mike had a jagged scar on his jawline. It wasn’t noticeable unless he tilted his head backwards and the light caught it. Rob made a mental note to chat with both the new guys when he had time. He liked to get to know his team, and he knew nothing about these two. Mike had appeared a couple of weeks ago, having transferred from Southwark Police, where he’d been a uniformed officer. He looked like he could handle himself, with a broad chest and shoulders that had been honed in the gym. It would be interesting to find out why he’d made the switch to the major crime team.
Jeff was easier to read. Young, eager and motivated, he wanted to work his way up the ranks as quickly as possible. Ambition wasn’t a bad thing, but Rob wanted to make sure he covered all the basics on his way up the ladder.
“Now, I want to take a moment to talk about the nature of the crime. We’re still waiting on forensics, but by all accounts, this was a vicious, personal attack.”
Mike leaned forward in his seat. “So, Yousef knew his attacker?”
“Yep, no doubt about it,” said Rob. “There was no forced entry. The victim let his attacker in, even offered him a drink. There were two whisky glasses found at the scene.” He pointed to the evidence pictures on the board behind him. “One was on the table, empty, and the other on the floor where the victim dropped it when he was attacked.”
“That doesn’t mean he knew his killer.” Jeff spoke out. “That could have been their first meeting.”
“True.” That was quite astute. The number-one rule in policing was assume nothing. “But he was expecting him. The house was freshy cleaned, the living room was spotless and they were enjoying a fairly expensive single malt. You don’t give that to just anybody.”
Jeff nodded slowly. “Maybe his phone records will show us who came round.”
“Maybe.” Rob sent a pointed look in Jenny’s direction. She nodded. “Stabbing someone over and over again takes real anger,” he continued. “This was not a cold, calculated attack. That’s not to say it wasn’t pre-planned, but the attacker wanted that man dead, and he wanted it done in the most violent way possible.”
“Are we assuming it’s a he?” asked Jenny.
Another good question. “No, we can’t assume anything yet. Forensics might help with that, however. Yousef was a big man, so unless he was taken by surprise, I can’t see a woman getting the upper hand over him. Also, there was no lipstick on the empty glass, and no evidence of sexual activity on the body.”
“And women don’t usually drink whisky,” said Mike. At Jenny’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Do they?”
Celeste crinkled her nose. “No.”
“Maybe he was drugged?” This from Will.
“It’s a possibility. Again, we’ll have to wait for the toxicology report for that.”
“It was definitely pre-planned,” said Mallory from the foot of the table.
All eyes turned to him. Rob motioned for him to go ahead. He liked to give Mallory free rein. He was a good detective and showed a lot of initiative. Rob had been encouraging him to apply for a promotion to Detective Inspector, but Mallory seemed reluctant to push himself forward.
His sergeant got to his feet. “The murder weapon, for one thing. The killer brought it with him. That takes a certain level of premeditation. Then, there’s the blood found in the kitchen sink. It looks like the killer cleaned the blood off the knife before leaving the house, but we’ll know this for sure once we get the blood results back. And he made an appointment with Yousef. As DI Miller pointed out, they knew or knew of each other.”
“He washed off the knife?” repeated Mike.
“Yeah, committing a crime like that would have been pretty messy,” said Rob bluntly. “He couldn’t go out with a bloody knife.”
“What about his clothing?” asked Jenny.
“There would definitely have been blood spatter,” said Rob. “Let’s see if CCTV picks up anything. I’ve got the Hounslow Uniform division searching all the bins and skips in the area looking for the murder weapon or any items of clothing with blood on them.”
Mike and Jeff both nodded.
The importance of the CCTV footage was becoming more evident.
Rob wrapped up the meeting soon after that. There wasn’t much more they could discuss until they got the results back from the lab and the post-mortem had been performed.
* * *
“Rob, a word,” came Detective Superintendent Lawrence’s rumbling voice from the other end of the squad room. He wasn’t yelling, but his natural volume was so loud it rose above everyone else’s.
Rob made his way to his boss’s office. It was also made of glass and resembled a square bubble in the corner, affording no privacy whatsoever. Lawrence liked it that way. He’d once told Rob that it made him feel more connected to the action. He was a very hands-on boss, often following up on leads when they were short-staffed. Secretly, Rob thought Lawrence would be happier in the thick of things than driving a desk.
“Close the door.”
Rob did as he was told. The office may have been completely see-through, but it was soundproof, so even if Lawrence was yelling down the telephone — a common occurrence — they couldn’t hear anything from outside the room if the door was shut. The only indication of the shouting was the Superintendent’s mottled expression and the veins standing out in his thick neck.
“How is Yvette?” He leaned back in his executive swivel chair and surveyed his senior investigating officer.
“She’s improving, sir,” said Rob. He knew where this was going. Lawrence was worried about his ability to commit to the investigation.
“I’m glad to hear it. She took a bad knock last year.”
You could say that again. After spending a week in hospital, she’d proceeded to have a full-blown nervous breakdown, and had had to go home to France for a month. He’d taken some time off and visited her at her parents’ farm on the outskirts of Lyon, and they’d gone for long walks, talked a lot about the important things in life, and eventually got married in a tiny church in Saint-Étienne. It was a small wedding with only her parents and sister and brother-in-law attending. They’d agreed that they’d have a bigger ceremony in London when she was feeling stronger.
