by Jay Nadal
“Will do, Guv.”
***
Scott hung by Matt’s car door as he finished up his call.
“Morning, Matt. Have you got anything for us yet?”
“No chance, buddy. We’ve only been on the scene for under an hour, so we’re just mid-way through the analysis.”
Scott nodded but said nothing, resting one elbow on the roof of the white van as he glanced around and took in the neighbourhood. He noticed a distinct lack of character. All the houses bore an identical resemblance, constructed in a methodical and economical way with small gardens surrounded by tall brick walls.
Matt continued, “We’ll be finishing up with the victim shortly. We just need to go over the surrounding area first. However, initial inspections suggest a forceful impact to the side of the neck. That’s all for the moment, mate.”
“Ok. Keep me informed.”
As Scott was about to walk away, Matt added, “It seems like a similar attack to the one we’ve just had. Lone male, trauma to the neck, attacked at night. Hard to believe it’s a coincidence,” his voice drifted, as he focussed off through his windscreen into the distance.
“That’s what concerns me,” Scott replied. The gravity of the situation started to dawn on him.
As Scott headed back to Abby, pathologist Cara Hall arrived and was making a beeline for the tent.
“Dr Hall,” Scott called out.
Cara turned to greet him with a smile. She held a hand out to indicate a mock stop. “Before you start, don’t crowd me, don’t press me, don’t annoy me and don’t on any account mess up my crime scene. Now, how can I help?”
“Straight to the point, Dr Hall.” Scott smiled. “I’ll leave you in peace to do what you need to do. If you’re able, can you give me a cause of death, so I have something to go on until you’ve done your PM?” Scott asked pleadingly.
“I’ll try my best,” she said as she continued to the tent.
***
Abby started to fill in Scott as Mike and Raj arrived.
As the four of them congregated a safe distance from the tent near the cordon, Abby continued with what she’d gleaned through the police databases.
“Guv, the car is registered to a Dave Fraser, thirty-nine, and he’s known to us.” Mike and Scott shot each other a glance.
“We’ve crossed paths with him in the past,” said Mike. We’ve nicked him a few times.
Abby continued, “He’s got a charge sheet as long as your arm, a major known supplier around town.”
Scott didn’t like the sounds of this but just nodded, lost in his thoughts. The first murder was proving a bit of a challenge, but to now be faced with two similar attacks in just three days began to concern him. He knew DCI Harvey would be banging on his door for answers, and as it stood, he didn’t have much to go on except two dead men with previous convictions, both killed in a similar manner in under a week.
“Ok, well let’s get him formally ID’d, hopefully SOCO can get us his personal possessions shortly, and then we can go from there.”
Scott instructed Mike and Raj to start following up on the door-to-door enquiries that uniform had already started. “It’s a built-up area, but well-shielded with the high garden walls. The car park’s got a bit of light with that street lamp, so someone might have seen something suspicious or out of the ordinary in the last twenty four hours.”
Scott knew he was clutching at straws; relations between the police and locals were strained at the best of times. Residents would rather turn a blind eye than to be seen helping the police.
***
Scott headed over to a house across the road from the scene. A Mr Albert Norris had made the initial call.
It was the end house of a terrace of three identical properties. They were all brown brick built, with low-rising roofs and exposed brick porches.
Scott found it odd that this particular property had a front door and a small window to the right and a further first floor window directly above the door, but the property seemed to be missing a large ground floor lounge window, and a first-floor bedroom window. It appeared as if the builders had forgotten to leave spaces for the windows and just carried on building the rest of the house. How odd, he thought.
Scott rang on the doorbell and a uniformed officer answered moments later clutching a mug of tea.
Scott presented his warrant card to the officer who acknowledged it with a “Morning sir, Mr Norris is in the kitchen.”
The house appeared darker inside probably as a result of the anaglypta wallpaper that was in dire need of a fresh coat of paint and the tobacco stains that tainted the walls and ceilings a golden honey shade. He walked along the hallway that split the property in half.
To his right was the downstairs cloakroom by the front door and some stairs leading to the first floor. To the left Scott saw a lounge that he noticed had a blue velour sofa suite that had seen better days judging by how the velour had worn away in places, and a small TV sitting on a stand. The kitchen was directly in front of him at the end of the hallway.
The kitchen was small and cramped with most of the work surfaces covered in a mixture of unopened post and flyers and a few empty plates with remnants of dried food on them. It was generally tidy but needed a good de-clutter and clean in Scott’s opinion.
Mr Norris was sitting at a small square dining table that had two wooden chairs opposite each other. He was a small gentleman, thinly built, his face framed with metal rimmed glasses, and grey hair oiled down with a left-hand parting the way you’d expect your granddad to have. He wore the grey classic polyester trousers that so many of his generation wore, with a white shirt, tie and black tank top jumper.
Scott held a degree of respect for this generation; they grew up with manners, and were always dressed sensibly, even if not to his taste.
Mr Norris was holding a cup of tea between both hands when he looked up to see Scott peer in through the kitchen door. Scott pulled out his warrant card, “Mr Norris, I’m Detective Inspector Scott Baker from Brighton CID. I understand you made the initial call this morning, may ask you a few questions?”
“Of course,” he replied. “Can I offer you some tea or coffee?”
Scott declined his offer.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Well I’m not sure I can be of much help as I told the officers.”
“I can assure you, Mr Norris, anything you mention could be vital in our investigations and help us to piece together what happened.”
“Ok, well I got up about 2.15 a.m., because I needed a piss, the old bladder ain’t what it used to be, if you know what I mean,” quipped Mr Norris.
Scott nodded not wishing to interrupt him.
“Anyway, as I was coming out of the bathroom, I thought I heard a bit of shuffling out front. I just thought it was cats or foxes sniffing around the bins across the road. I went to the front window and didn’t see much other than someone walking away from the car park.”
“What time would that have been?” Scott asked as he lent forward with interest. He was excited; this was the first possible breakthrough in this series of killings.
It took Mr Norris a few moments more to answer Scott’s question. He had digressed to recall how serving in the war meant he was up all hours and had never really settled back into a decent bedtime routine since then. With his wife Edith passing away some years back, he struggled to sleep at night.
“Perhaps it’s the loneliness,” he trailed off looking into the bottom of his cup.
“Mr Norris?” Scott jolted him back to the present, even though he didn’t want to interrupt this man deep in thought about his life and love.
“Sorry Detective Inspector...hmm it was probably around 2.30-ish I’d imagine” he said holding his chin.
“And what did you see exactly, can you describe the person, male female? Tall, short? Wearing any clothing that stands out, anything like that would be of great help?”
“My eyesight ain’t what it
used to be and I didn’t have my glasses on. All I can say is the person was wearing dark clothes,” he paused looking up towards the ceiling, as if checking his recollection. ”Black probably…definitely dark… they had their hands in their pockets and a hood pulled up over their head. I couldn’t honestly say if they were male or female.
Anyway that’s hard to tell sometimes in daylight don’t you think? With the way they dress?” He started waving a hand near his ear, “Blokes wearing earrings, women wearing torn jeans and spitting…what’s next, hey? There’s no respect these days…bring back national service, I say,” he concluded with a firm nod and a light thump of his clenched hand on the table.
Scott didn’t comment, but hoped the old fella felt better for getting that off his chest.
“Where was this person when you saw them?” Scott continued.
“They were walking out of the car park and heading down the road to Whitehawk Crescent.”
“Mr Norris, you’ve been very helpful, thank you for your time, and I’ll arrange for one of my officers to get a full statement from you today.” Scott pulled a business card out from his wallet. “Don’t hesitate to call me if you think of anything else.”
***
Scott headed back over to the car park just as Cara Hall was putting away the last of her things. She looked up as Scott approached and greeted him with a smile.
“Safe to come near you?” Scott questioned.
She tipped her head to one side, “Is that the best you can do?” she fired back. We’ve got to stop meeting like this, the neighbours will talk,” she replied as she looked around in mock fear, her eyes wide open.
Scott smiled in response. “So what have we got?”
“Similar to the last killing I’m afraid. Stab wound to the neck, bit messier this one though. Someone likes giving their money away, too.”
“Sorry?” Scott asked quizzically.
Cara looked up from checking her messages on her phone. “I’ve just been talking to SOCO, and they’ve found three twenty pound notes stuffed in the vic’s mouth.”
“We dealing with the same person?”
“Possibly. I’ve not come across another case that carried these hallmarks, especially the money,” said Cara. I’m going to get a PM done late this afternoon, so I’ll call you later if that’s ok?”
Scott nodded his agreement.
“I do find this case particularly fascinating and intriguing, the money in the mouth has certainly piqued my curiosity.”
“It’s a strange one,” replied Scott.
“Perhaps we should catch up over a drink and swap theories?” suggested Cara.
Scott hesitated for a moment, unsure how to respond, taken aback by the strange feeling of uncertainty he felt inside. “Erm, yes, that sounds good. We’ll talk later,” he replied.
Chapter 10
The afternoon was spent doing the various admin tasks a senior officer was expected to undertake which also took him away from the recent murders that needed his attention. Scott didn’t enjoy this part of his job. He’d much rather be out there at the coal face. He soon realised with promotion comes added rounds of meetings, an in-tray that seemed to have a mind of its own, and the supervision of junior officers.
Not forgetting, the ever increasing pressures for accountability from senior managers and the police crime commissioner, that heaped more work upon him.
Scott had recently read several internal papers, perused police forums and digested reports relating to the changes the force was going through.
Scott often felt it required the tact and diplomacy of a slippery politician to balance politics versus policing. He wasn’t a political person by any means, but it was often felt that beneath the surface bubbled a long-standing issue in British policing. That being, who really controlled police tactics and policies, and in particular, where the reasonable limits of acceptable political influence should lie.
He knew though that there was considerable political controversy over a number of policing issues and police reform. It wasn’t just police numbers and public order tactics, but also about government cuts, the input of elected police and crime commissioners, and even the hotly contended issue of possibly importing police chiefs from other countries. Scott shook his head in disbelief as he thought of that last point.
With such a convoluted approach, any officer had to question the notion of whether the police had any degree of operational independence, or further still, whether politics and policing needed each other to co-exist for mutual benefit.
Above and beyond that, he had a team to supervise, a team that faced its own problems. He was already down a few officers who were signed off with stress as result of too much work and fewer resources. Scott was resigned to that fact, and he knew that it wasn’t a localised problem. All forces were experiencing this crisis.
He sighed as he rubbed his temples and pushed his chair away from his desk. Turning around he stood at his window looking out over a sullen grey sky that didn’t really improve his mood. Being slightly elevated meant he had a better view over the town as it sloped away from the station towards the Old Steine.
His office was at the back of the station overlooking the yard. He watched as a group of uniformed officers all piled into a public order van, no doubt heading off to patrol the busy streets of the town centre.
Scott’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. He spun around almost caught by surprise to see Raj in the doorway. Raj Singh had been with Sussex Police for the past three years. He was a well-liked and trusted member of the team. A cheeky smile and practical joker, if anyone was going pull a stunt in the office, it was Raj.
He was also responsible for the team collectively battling with their weight. Raj was a cakes and biscuits man. There’d always be some tempting treats at the end of one of the desks, proving irresistible for anyone walking by.
Raj was an officer that Scott needed to supervise closely. There had been rumblings amongst the team that Raj wasn’t always taking his role seriously. He’d had the odd heated run in with Mike about not pulling his weight and doing the barest minimum on occasion. Mike, being the straight-talking northerner, wasn’t afraid of giving him a piece of his mind, which led to colourful exchanges that Scott had to referee.
“Guv, we’ve just had the report from forensics regarding the first death. They found a hair fibre not belonging to the victim.”
“Ah, ok.”
“Check this out, the hair fibre went through extensive cross analysis, and it was matched to a death three years ago. A clubber by the name of Stephen Wentworth aged twenty-three. He was found unconscious outside the Urban nightclub.”
Scott raised a brow in surprise. “Right Raj, fill me in as we walk, let’s get the team together, we’ll stop in on Matt en-route.”
***
Ten minutes later, Scott and the team were back in the briefing room. There was a renewed energy in the room as there was finally a breakthrough in the first case.
“Ok, listen up team. Forensics has come back with some interesting information on the first case. Raj, do you want to carry on?”
Raj almost seemed to revel in the opportunity to have all eyes on him listening to his every word. This certainly played to the extrovert side of him who enjoyed the limelight.
“Thanks, Guv. Ok, forensics found a match for a hair fibre they found on the first victim. The match comes back to a Stephen Wentworth, who died three years ago following an assault outside the Urban nightclub. At the time, one of the doormen,” Raj briefly paused whilst checking the file, “A Pete Tomlins was charged with the assault.
The case was dropped due to insufficient evidence. A bleed to the brain was the cause of death. There was talk at the time of witness intimidation.”
“Thanks, Raj. So we have two deaths in under a week. We could be dealing with the same killer and my guess is we are. The cause of death is almost identical, both were stabbed in the neck, both had money stuffed in their mouths.”<
br />
“Perhaps it’s the fallout from a business deal gone wrong, Guv?” suggested Sian.
“Could be. The cases must be linked in some way. However, we now have this hair fibre found on the first victim. If it belongs to a victim from three years ago, it’s possible that whoever was there three years ago at Stephens’s death was present at the death of Ed Stone.”
“That’s a long time in-between,” offered Abby.
“It is, but the money thing bothers me.”
“Well, I still think it points to a business deal gone wrong and its some sort of payback?”
Scott paused for a moment as he stared at the white board. On it was a picture of Ed Stone and recently added, Dave Fraser, after SOCO had confirmed his identity, plus the pictures of the crime scenes and the PM pictures of the wounds. He then turned to Abby.
“What have we got on Dave Fraser?”
“He was thirty-nine. Known drugs supplier in Brighton and the surrounding area, a very menacing figure as we know. He claimed he was a legit businessman but that never washed with anyone. He owns a small gym called Hardcore in Portland Road, Hove. Built like a brick shithouse, and when he was last nicked, it took six officers to take him down.
He has convictions for possession of class B, did three years at the age of nineteen. Then convicted at twenty-four, for the supply of Class A including cocaine and ecstasy. Received fourteen years for that, was due out after eight years. However, he was arranging importation of drugs, and as a result, he got a further six years for running a drug smuggling ring inside prison with hidden phones.“
“A right scroat, then,” Scott replied.
Abby just nodded and shrugged her shoulders.
“I’ve spoken to Matt in forensics, and as far as he’s concerned the sample analysis stands good. There’s no chance of error, the DNA profile matches with Stephen Wentworth. So….” Scott paused as he gathered his thoughts.
