Turning, he stared at the bouncer who had spoken to him earlier.
‘I told you, it was just the beer,’ he protested.
‘Your feet,’ the bouncer replied.
‘What? What about my feet?’
Without relaxing his grip on Jamie’s arm, the bouncer glared at the floor.
‘What? What?’ Jamie stammered. ‘What are you doing? What’s wrong?’
He glanced down and stared, his eyes riveted to a black footprint just behind where he was standing.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘You tell me, wanker.’
Jamie shook his head. ‘Whatever it is, it’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Take off your shoes.’
‘What?’
‘You heard me,’ the bouncer said, leaning forward and glaring at Jamie. ‘Take off your shoes.’
A second bouncer had joined them and Jamie complied with a sigh. Turning his shoes over, he was surprised to see a dark glistening on the bottom of both his shoes. The first bouncer touched one of the souls and grunted.
‘What the hell have you been walking in?’ he asked.
‘You can’t bring that shit in here,’ the other one said.
‘It’s not my fault if –’ Jamie began and fell silent as the second bouncer shone a bright torch on the shoes to reveal that the sticky substance was not black after all, but dark red. ‘Is that –’ Jamie stammered. ‘What is that?’
‘You tell me,’ the first bouncer said with a nasty leer. ‘You been up to no good while you were out there?’
He began to frisk Jamie, demanding to know where the knife was.
‘I haven’t got a knife,’ Jamie protested. ‘I don’t know where that came from. I just went out for a fag. Give me back my shoes.’
‘Where’s the victim?’ the second bouncer demanded. ‘He’s going to need assistance. Where is he?’ He was shouting urgently.
‘I went out, and round there,’ Jamie replied, pointing wildly in his panic. ‘It was in the alley. I just had a smoke, that’s all. I didn’t see –’
The second bouncer ran outside, his phone in his hand. In his socks, cursing and complaining, Jamie was forced to accompany the square-faced bouncer through an internal door which led along a corridor into a small office. A small man seated behind a small desk looked up when they entered. He was wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, and a gold chain hung around his neck.
‘What have we here?’ he asked with a weary grimace.
The square-faced bouncer held out Jamie’s shoes, upside down, so the dark red substance that covered the soles and heels was clearly visible in the electric lighting.
‘What the hell is that?’ the man behind the desk asked.
‘It looks like blood,’ the bouncer said grimly. ‘This bloke went outside, he says for a cigarette, only when he came back in he appeared to have been wading in blood out there. He won’t say whose it is but it doesn’t look like his own. Robbie’s gone out to see if he can administer first aid, in case the victim’s still out there and in trouble.’
The manager swore. ‘That’s all I need,’ he said. ‘Oh well, nothing for it.’
‘I don’t know –’ Jamie stammered. ‘I’ve no idea – I just went out for a smoke.’
‘Save it for the cops,’ the manager replied wearily. ‘Here’s hoping they don’t shut us down.’
‘It was outside, boss. He went out. There wasn’t any action in the bar.’
‘That’s something, at least.’ The manager nodded and picked up his phone. ‘Still, a stabbing on our doorstep is all I need right now. You couldn’t have done your filthy business somewhere else, could you?’
‘I haven’t done anything,’ Jamie protested. ‘I just needed some fresh air, that’s all. Whatever happened out there, it was nothing to do with me.’
‘Save your breath… Hello? I need urgent medical assistance and then I need the police.’
20
Geraldine woke and stretched. Ian was already up and she could hear him clattering around in the kitchen. She had decided to request leave for a day to visit her sister in London. It was rare for her to ask for time off when they were involved in a murder investigation, but she needed to speak to Helena urgently. With luck she would be able to persuade Eileen to grant her request, without going into too much detail. While she was rehearsing what to say, Ian called out to say that breakfast was ready. But as they sat down at the table, their phones pinged simultaneously. Glancing at his screen, Ian swore. Geraldine leapt up and ran to the bedroom to dress quickly and followed Ian out of the flat. They drove to the police station in separate cars, as usual. When she drew into the car park, Geraldine saw his car already parked. She hurried to the incident room where the briefing began a few minutes later.
‘We don’t have a name for this latest victim yet, but we’re treating the death as murder,’ Eileen said, glaring at the assembled officers.
It was less than ten days since Angie had been killed, and they had a second victim to investigate.
‘According to the assessment team, it’s going to be difficult to establish an identity, but we’re hoping forensics will be able to come up with something. In the meantime, let’s get to the scene and see what we can find out before the body’s moved.’
‘There’s a good possibility this was an accident,’ Ian said. ‘If the assault took place outside a bar in the early hours of Saturday morning, as we’ve been led to believe, surely it’s more likely to have been the outcome of a drunken brawl than a deliberate murder. It’s unlikely to have anything to do with the case we’re working on.’
‘Yes, it’s possible this was the result of a fight, or an assault, that got out of control,’ Eileen conceded, ‘but the assessment team seems to think it was rather more than an inadvertent stabbing. In any case, whatever happened, a woman is dead and we need to look into it.’
With the whole team bustling into action over the report of another fatality, it was hardly the right time to request a day off, but Geraldine was desperate to speak to Helena and explain what had happened. In a week’s time, Ian had promised to arrange for Helena to be sent to a safe house. By the time Geraldine handed in her delayed report, Helena would have a new identity in a different location, somewhere untraceable. After that, Geraldine would be unable to track Helena down without threatening her sister’s safety in her new life.
‘Eileen,’ she said, ‘would it be possible to takea day’s leave?’
Eileen turned to her in surprise. ‘Geraldine, this isn’t the time. Ask me later.’
‘But I need –’
As Geraldine hesitated to explain that she needed to take time off straightaway, Eileen turned to talk to someone else, and the moment was lost. Helena’s future was uncertain, but the latest victim was dead, and Geraldine had to get to work. She still had a week in which to speak to Helena. With a sigh, she switched her attention to her allotted task which took her to the bar adjacent to the scene where the body had been discovered. Safely wrapped in protective clothing, with her shoes covered, she walked along the common approach path along a narrow cobbled alley, where a woman’s body had been dumped beside a row of large rubbish bins. One side of the alley was bordered by a high white wall covered in red and black graffiti. Several large rectangular blue garbage bins stood nearby, beside a row of smaller bins.
A forensic tent had already been erected over the site. Several white-clad scene of crime officers were working silently, gathering minute scraps of litter that might yield crucial evidence: cigarette butts, matches, bottles, gum, condoms, anything that could be examined under a powerful lens for hairs and fibres and skin cells too small to discern with the naked eye. If they found any trace of Greg’s DNA at the scene, two murder cases might be solved in one day.
Entering the tent, Geraldine looked down at the body and drew in a sharp
breath.
‘Not a pleasant sight, is she?’ a scene of crime officer said. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it, and I’ve been at this job for years.’
The dead woman was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that had once been white. Blood had splattered over her arms and legs as well as drenching her T-shirt, and she lay spreadeagled on her back, with a brown shoe on her left foot. The other shoe lay a short distance away where it had fallen off, perhaps during a scuffle. Her long hair appeared to be black, but nothing else about her was in any way recognisable. What had once been a face was now a shapeless mire of bloody pulp, the features indistinguishable. Her nose had been flattened, her eyes and mouth crushed beneath a mess of congealed blood and splintered bone. Only the position of her head, and her hair, indicated where her face had once been.
‘Someone wanted to conceal her identity,’ the scene of crime officer commented.
‘Or they were angry,’ Geraldine replied. ‘Are her teeth intact?’
‘All smashed, along with her skull. There’s not much left of her head. Even parts of her brain are unrecognisable. What monster did this? Let’s hope we find him soon.’
‘We’ll do our best,’ Geraldine replied.
‘It’s enough to give you nightmares,’ he went on. ‘And it’s not like we’re not used to dealing with corpses.’ He drew in a breath. ‘Oh well, I’d best get on, I suppose. The mortuary van will be here soon. Good luck with getting anyone to confirm this one’s identity.’
‘It looks like someone was keen to obliterate anything that could be recognised, so I’m guessing there was no handbag, and nothing in her pockets?’ Geraldine asked.
‘Nope, nothing on her at all. Pockets empty, no jewellery, no watch or rings, no piercings or tattoos, and no handbag anywhere along the alley. We’re still hunting for it but it looks as though whoever attacked her took any identifying evidence away with him. It’s a quiet alley. He probably had time to search her after she was dead, and go through her pockets.’
‘Was she killed here in the alley?’
The scene of crime officer shrugged. ‘We’re not absolutely sure about that yet. Once we move her, it’s going to be easier to establish whether she was placed here after the event, but from the amount of blood on the ground, it looks as though she was killed right here. In fact, I’d put money on it. But don’t quote me on that.’
With a final look at the gruesome mask of blood that had replaced the victim’s face, Geraldine left the tent. She did not often feel nauseated by the dead, but there was something singularly horrific about the faceless woman abandoned in an alley that usually concealed only litter and rubbish bins. For once she was relieved to leave the crime scene. There was no point in her lingering there. Any evidence that might be found would be discovered by the forensic team tasked with scrutinising every inch of the place. Geraldine’s time would be more usefully employed talking to potential witnesses. Peeling off her outer layer of protective clothing, she took a deep breath to clear the stench of death from her lungs, before turning her attention to the living.
A team of trained constables had already started the long drawn-out process of speaking to everyone who had been in the bar the previous night. Many of the guests had now gone home, having answered an initial set of questions and given their contact details. None of them had seen the body, but they had all been informed that a murder had taken place outside the bar. They were all being asked whether they knew of anyone who had gone missing. So far, no one was unaccounted for.
Leaving the team to continue working through the guests, Geraldine focused on the staff. She started with one of the bouncers. He was a tall, strapping youth of about twenty, dark haired, with a broad pale face.
‘We’re paid to sort out drunken scraps, you know,’ he said, jittery with shock. ‘We’re trained to break up brawls, and deal with obnoxious creeps and drunks and shit heads, that sort of thing. We’re not paid to look at things like that, out in the alley.’ He grimaced. ‘Bloody hell, have you seen what he did to her? Some sick bastard he must be.’
‘I see from your initial statement that you went to investigate because someone came into the club with blood on his shoes?’
The bouncer nodded, frowning. ‘He told my colleague he’d just gone out for a smoke, but I went to take a look outside, because the soles of the bloke’s shoes were covered in blood, like he’d been walking in it. He was leaving dirty marks all over the floor.’
Geraldine nodded. ‘You did well to take his shoes off him straightaway.’
‘Yes, well, we were thinking of the carpet as much as anything,’ he admitted. ‘Anyhow, my colleague took the guy straight to the manager and I went to check on the victim and call for medical assistance. I just assumed it was a stabbing, you know, and we’re trained in emergency first aid so I thought I might be able to stop the bleeding and save the guy who’d been stabbed. Only of course it was too late.’ He shook his head, with a miserable scowl. ‘I tried to check for any signs of life, but it was obvious she was dead and I didn’t want to touch her.’ He shuddered. ‘I mean, she wouldn’t have been able to breathe, would she, even if she hadn’t bled to death. She couldn’t breathe without her – I was relieved when I heard the sirens, and the paramedics arrived, I can tell you. I mean, even though I knew she was dead, it was still awful having to try and do something, although there wasn’t anything I could do, was there? The first aid course didn’t prepare us for something like this.’
21
The manager of the bar was a small man in a plain black T-shirt, and black jeans, with a gold chain around his neck. His face was drawn with tension beneath his designer stubble, but when he spoke he sounded irate rather than fearful.
‘When is the body likely to be moved?’ he demanded in strident tones, once Geraldine had introduced herself. ‘You do realise it can’t stay out there much longer. And anyway, surely you can examine it more thoroughly in the mortuary than out there in the alley? They’re telling me the van hasn’t even arrived to take it away yet. What I want to know is what the hell is going on out there? This isn’t CSI. We don’t want a lengthy drama made out of a tragic incident. You don’t seem to appreciate the bad publicity something like this could generate for us.’ By the time he finished speaking, he was almost shouting in his agitation.
‘No one wants any drama,’ Geraldine assured him. ‘And the media are being kept well away, although of course we won’t be able to prevent your customers from talking to them. All we can do is tell the public as little as possible, and request their discretion, but we have no control over them.’
‘Listen,’ the manager went on in a more measured tone of voice, ‘I know we were heaving last night, and I get it that you want to speak to everyone who was here, in case anyone saw anything kick off indoors before they took it outside. We agreed to co-operate with your enquiry as far as we can, and I made it perfectly clear your team of constables were welcome to speak to everyone here on the premises. But you must understand we can’t allow this situation to continue indefinitely. It’s the weekend, and tonight is one of our busiest nights of the week. We have to open as usual and that means I need you all gone, or,’ he added, seeing Geraldine’s expression, ‘at least out of sight. You can carry on nosing around in the alley, if you must, but I can’t have a police presence inside the bar. It would be an absolute disaster for us. We’d be ruined. I just can’t allow that on a Saturday night. You do understand, don’t you? If this had been a week day we could have been more relaxed about it and allowed you to remain here longer, but on a weekend I’m afraid it’s just not possible. So I’d very much appreciate it if you would ask your officers to leave. If you don’t, I’ll have to tell them myself, but I’m sure it would be better coming from you.’ He gave her a strained smile as he finished speaking.
Geraldine drew up a chair and sat down, uninvited. ‘Mr Collins,’ she began.
‘Jeff,’ he interru
pted her. ‘It’s Jeff. No one calls me Mr Collins.’ He gave her another forced smile.
‘Mr Collins,’ she repeated firmly, ‘there is no way you are going to be able to open your bar to customers this evening, and probably not for another week, at least, until we’ve made a thorough forensic search of the premises.’
The manager half rose to his feet, his face turning red with pent-up fury. The gold chain at his chest swung slightly with the movement.
‘But – you can’t expect me to –’
‘I hope you are not intending to obstruct us in our murder investigation?’
‘Murder investigation? What are you talking about? What the fuck is going on here? Aren’t you getting a bit carried away? Someone got accidentally killed in a fight and you’re closing the club for a week? You can’t do that. It’s insane.’
‘You didn’t see the victim, did you?’
‘I don’t care if her arms and legs were sliced off, you’re not closing the club on the weekend, and that’s final.’
‘Her arms and legs were not “sliced off” as you put it,’ Geraldine replied quietly. ‘But the front of her head was. Although her face was obliterated by being crushed by repeated vicious blows, rather than sliced off, I’d say. If you don’t want to take my word for it, perhaps you would like to see for yourself? I can show you photos of the victim if you like, but I should warn you, it doesn’t make for pleasant viewing. She is completely unrecognisable, not just as an individual, but as a human being. So no, this was not a fight that got out of hand, nothing like it, and you are going to have to be very discreet about what really happened out there, unless you want your bar to remain closed for a lot longer than a week.’
While she was speaking, the manager sat down and bowed his head. He had a small bald spot on his crown, about the size of a two penny piece. When she fell silent he looked up, his cheeks no longer flushed, and his eyes were weary.
‘I see,’ he said, his voice drained of any indignation. ‘I had no idea you were investigating a murder.’
Evil Impulse Page 9
