by mark mctighe
Wass stabbed the needle through the pink and white striped shirt and into the arm. He closed the syringe. ‘That will get you moving in a jiffy’. Wass closed the doors of the heavy metal cabinet; threw the bolts top and bottom; a padlock through the eye of the lock in the centre. He hummed a nothing sort of tune to help while away the time. Wass sat back for a moment in the Conran leather reception chair and studied his handiwork. The unit was certainly robust, twice the weight of the modern equivalent; built to last, to withstand. There was absolutely no way that he could kick his way out of there. After about 25 minutes the metal unit started to moan and groan; gentle cursing and then frantic. The repeated kicking was starting to dent the door. Wass could hear the shortness of breath, the muttering confusion.
Wass stood up, “as I said, I’m Simon Wass........ Three years ago I killed Mr Wilson. I put him in a locker just like this and crushed him to death; all that was left of him was liquid....”
“Don’t tell me that, I don’t want to know that, I mean you shouldn’t tell me that Simon, please don’t tell me that Simon. Look, how much do you want? Name your price, 250,000, 300,000, it’ll go no further, no police, it’s a promise.”
He just didn’t get it, “you don’t get it do you? It’s not a negotiation” Wass struggled to find the right words; “it’s not a negotiation it’s.......” Wass paused to find the precise word he was looking for. “Yes it’s an inevitability.” Wass walked over to the lift and pressed the button, his hands gloved. The sliding doors drew back immediately. He lent in and sent the lift to the basement.
“Look Simon, you must want something, what do you want? I can make it happen, you can have it.” Wass knew that not even Oscar Whittaker had the power to give him his life back; his past; to reverse the clock and right the wrongs. “What do you want? It had turned into a pleading. The elevator had stopped moving. Wass cut the power and used a special key to open the doors. A black concrete lift shaft was revealed, a greased rail for the counterweight; a thick steel cable. “What the fuck are you doing Wass?”
“It was a long way down those stairs; you never even came down to see if I was really hurt.” Wass touched his nose with the back of his index finger; it was not a good time for a nose bleed, ‘shit.’ He pulled the cabinet back onto the two wheeled trolley and pushed towards the open shaft. “Bon Voyage, as Jamie said, and you never stopped him.”
Oscar Whittaker was bouncing around inside the cabinet even before it entered the shaft; screaming. Fourteen floors plus a couple in the basement; it only took a second or two before the silence had returned and the nosebleed had stopped.
5. Call.
Leo glanced at the luminous dials of the bedside clock, 6.05; his mobile vibrated and sang. He sat up on the edge of the bed and answered. “Yes...... Ok....... Got it.....I’ll be there in 25 minutes, yes get Mikey to meet me there.” He dressed in silence and left the empty house.
The Defender’s engine caught; ‘so Ziggy’s already there with a couple of the forensic techs; open lift shaft, body in a locker, well it isn’t suicide’. He drove quickly and smoothly, the traffic lights were on his side today. ‘Whittaker’s Tower’, the non-descript, ubiquitous, smoked glass building sat alongside an impressive, smooth, grey stoned Victorian office block. The underground parking was restricted to vehicles of 2.00 metres or less so Leo pulled up the curb and parked directly outside the building. Mikey appeared and gestured for Leo to follow.
“What have we got then Mikey?”
“Security arrived at 4.00am; opened the gates for the underground car park; blood dripping through the roof of the lift so they called us. Ziggy’s isolated the lift and gone in from the floor above. There’s a metal locker, pretty bashed up, it was padlocked; a body inside. That’s as much as we knew five minutes ago.” They had arrived at the open lift, a thick cable snaked across the top floor of the car park, two powerful lights attached to tripods and angled down. Leo lent over the edge and viewed the scene. The impact had been brutal; the locker twisted and compressed, the bent door now open.
“Any view on how far it came down Ziggy?” Leo hollered down the shaft.
“A long way, Dylan’s checking now.”
“It’s from the very top........ Floor 14” Dylan’s disembodied voice echoed down the shaft.
“Thanks Dyl.... He’s been checking the shaft walls for scoring.” Ziggy stood up and stretched. “Christ it’s knackering my back down here...... There’s not a great deal more can be done in this baked bean tin; give me another...... whatever, I’ll meet you on the 14th.”
“Perfect” Leo replied, “Any Id?”
“No, no jacket, I’ll check his trousers in a minute, you may find more up top, he’s wearing a light grey Prince of Wales check”.
Leo turned to Mikey, “we don’t want to lose anyone else; so can you get this taped off.” He pointed towards the yawning doors and open lift shaft. “We need to close off the car park and floor 14 for the time being, probably the rest of the day..... And Mikey, I don’t want anyone, ANYONE, in the building until we’ve had a chance to walk the other floors....... And Mikey”; Mikey hadn’t moved, he knew there was more to come, there was always more to come. “As soon as Mandy gets here, CCTV, there are cameras everywhere; when you’re sorted I’ll see you on 14.”
Leo took the fire escape up, a moment of solitude and time to think. He couldn’t explain it but he was still feeling flat. A new case usually got his blood boiling, fizzing but this time.... Flat, ‘for Christ’s sake this is what it’s all about, what’s wrong with me? I just feel fucking exhausted.’ His head was in the wrong place and if Jack suspected that, well he’d reassign it to someone else. He took the 28 flights of twisting stairs two at a time. His chest heaved, the stairs had finished; a flat metal sign indicating he’d reached floor 14. He pulled the heavy metal fire door open and came face to face with Dylan.
“Hi Guv, I’ve taped off the office where all the action seems to have taken place and around the lift shaft, there’s more blood there.”
“Which office?”
Dylan pointed towards a door; “Oscar Whittaker, CEO; seems to be blood and urine on the carpet. I’m setting up for photographs then Ziggy wants to come up and supervise the taking of samples.” Dylan moved off, in his own world, to process the rest of the floor.
“Ziggy” Leo shouted down the shaft his voice echoing towards the basement.
“Christ Leo, disembodied voices screaming at me down the shaft are not conducive to this line of work..... What?”
“Have you got an ID yet? A wallet, anything?”
“Yes, he’s too knocked about to be sure, but if this is his driving licence then he’s Oscar Whittaker; I’ve finished down here, feel like a bloody sardine, we’ll recover everything back to the lab, I’m coming up there.
Leo pulled back from the shaft and smiled to himself as Ziggy cursed his way off the roof of the lift and up the step ladders. ‘So almost certainly Oscar Whittaker of Whittaker’s Tower’ Leo thought. ‘How’s that going to affect the business? And what exactly is the business? He put on protective shoe covers and gloves and ducked carefully under Dylan’s tape and into the office. The furniture looked modern and expensive, mostly wood; warm ‘the murderer must have brought the old cabinet with him. A large patch of urine in the centre of the office had darkened the carpet, specs of blood. Leo had seen something like this before, the high electrical charge of an immobiliser and the body lets everything go, blood from the barbs biting into the flesh. He wouldn’t try and second guess Ziggy, he hated bringing old news to the table; but it could be that Oscar Whittaker was immobilised, contained; maybe a discussion was had, then eventually disposed of down the shaft. Leo was doing what he always did, sketching out a possible sequence of events within moments of arriving on the scene, it was usually reasonably accurate, but as always it wasn’t the sequence that really mattered it was the reason, the motivation that caught the killer.
Leo browsed through a corporate brochure, i
nvestment fund, ‘boutique investment fund’, just about covered every sin, ‘highest performer for the last five years..... Investment fund of the year’. The marketing blurb looked good but it was all meaningless, at this level they could justify just about any figures they chose to produce, delaying cost, depreciating over decades, pulling profits from future years back, it was....... It was what the city of London did well, and nobody seemed to have the power to stop them. He stood by the large plate glass window and stared. The morning was up, traffic stagnating; black, steel and reflective glass filled a tenth of the colour spectrum; nine tenths of grey, grey stone, sky, concrete, roads. He still felt flat. ‘Is it the job? Am I missing Simone? Rufus? The Mountains? I’ve not been climbing for a couple of months, perhaps it’s that. Not had the time to keep fit and that always depresses me.’ He shook his head vigorously; ‘wake up job to do’.
Ziggy was already in the office, supervising the taking of photographs, fussing, nagging Dylan.
“Don’t you ever get sick of all this shit?” Ziggy looked up from behind the view finder shaking his head.
“It’s what I was born to do; scrape up shit, cells, body parts; I mean sure it’s got its boring parts, but that’s why I’ve got people like Dylan, hey Dyl.... He just loves the boring stuff. I often say if it’s tedious give it to Dyl.” Dylan smiled a strained smile. “Don’t worry Dyl another twenty years and you’ll be doing the exciting stuff, then a year later you’ll retire.” Ziggy laughed at his own joke and punched Dylan on his bottle neck shoulder. “Pig in muck, that’s me;” Ziggy picked up a microscopic particle with a pair of tweezers.
“I’m just tired” Leo said, “and I don’t know why”.
6. V.
Whittaker’s Tower would be fully open by the following morning. The express elevator would remain out of use and access to Oscar Whittaker’s office would be forbidden.
Mikey paused to cough his guts up as he reached the fire door on floor 14. The door opened towards him and Leo stood there smiling.
“Mikey” he shook a disapproving head, “the fags have got to go”. He paused; Ziggy’s got 14 covered, you take 13, 11, 9” Leo’s hand gestured a continuance. “I’ll do the even numbers. Is Mandy here yet?”
“She’s just getting started with their head of security”. Mikey raised his eyebrows at the prospect of a 14 floor tower block having a security head. They started down the fire escape together, Mikey’s phone ringing.
“Ok Mandy..... Thanks...... I’ll let you know; hold on...... Leo wants you to come up and meet him on the 12th.” Leo could hear Mandy’s every word in the cold silence of the concrete stairwell.
“So... No CCTV, no remote footage; this is starting to look very professional. I’ll get Mandy to find out who has building access, key holders; are any keys missing? Who knows about their security set up, protocol? And Mikey find Oscar Whittaker’s PA, secretary, whatever, a man in his position is bound to have at least one. We need to speak to her, cover the obvious, threats, enemies; and she can put us in touch with the family for a formal ID.” As Mikey made his notes Leo pulled door 12 and disappeared into a bright, silent, office reception area. ‘He’s too slick’ Leo thought, ‘difficult to see a woman doing this, yes, almost certainly a bloke, too brutal, terrifying, shit...... Slick...... He’s eliminated the security, even the off-site recordings. When you’ve gone to that much trouble you’re hardly going to start leaving evidence about willy-nilly.’ But all 14 floors still needed to be walked. He sat down and scribbled his thoughts into a note book. ‘Professional? Boutique Investment Fund – How would this damage the business? Corporate attack? There could be hundreds of millions resting on Whittaker’s life. Access to an immobiliser; knowledge of security/building; key to open lift doors; isolating lift power?’ He turned the page. ‘Who was OW? Enemies; family; inheritance; intercompany rivalry; shareholders.’ He started a new paragraph; ‘someone must have seen that cabinet, it would draw attention; question everyone in the block, anyone visiting the block yesterday; where’s it from? Is there a storeroom for old furniture?’ He turned back a page and added a few further notes; rooted around in his pocket and pulled out the mobile.
“Mikey; change of plan. I want everyone in the building questioned about whether they’ve seen the cabinet or not; and question all visitors; let’s say in the last couple of days. I’ll borrow Dylan to walk the floors, ciao.” Leo’s pen remained poised over the paper as his mind drifted back to his recent sabbatical, his son Rufus, his diminishing relationship with Simone. ‘Fuck, distance and relationships just don’t work, no common ground’ he thought.
The door was thrown open and Mandy strode in. “What do you want me on Guv?”
“Access to the building, key holders, missing keys, security and how it was screwed up. Find out from Ziggy when he’ll have something for us and set up a meeting for tonight; let Jack know, it’ll bring him up to speed and book one of the meeting rooms; I reckon 6.00pm but check with Ziggy first.”
“Yes Guv, got it Guv.” Mandy was no nonsense, thorough, squat, almost square and blessed with an enthusiasm for her work that propelled her at great speed into every investigation; a foot soldier who would answer each question with an unflinching ‘yes Guv’.
Leo moved swiftly from office to office and floor to floor; occasionally stopping to add more notes to his book. There was no point in disturbing Dylan, the investigation would benefit from focusing on floor 14. The rest of the building looked clear. Mikey had confirmed that Oscar Whittaker was married and had three children and that his wife Katy Whittaker was scheduled to make a formal ID at midday. Leo wanted to be there.
The day passed in an investigative blur of note taking, interviewing, analysis and thought. There was no clear suspect, just a shadow, faint sketch, outline of a killer, or killers; cold, calculating, organised and cruel. The team gathered in meeting room B at 6.30pm. It was Leo’s meeting to run. Jack was there to share his experience, to come up to speed, to understand and provide extra resource as required. Mikey, Ziggy and Mandy adjusted their papers, made a few last minute notes and waited.
“Ok, let’s get started” Leo began. “We’ve had a formal ID of the body from Katy Whittaker and yes it’s her husband Oscar Whittaker.” Leo turned to Ziggy, “Ok Zigs, what have you got for us?”
Ziggy drew in a deep breath and launched into an enthusiastic monologue. He was a wind-up toy and there was no point in interrupting until the spring had unwound. “1950’s metal filing cabinet, pressed steel and adapted for the purpose of locking someone up, bolts retro fitted top and bottom, clasp and padlock central to the door. The damage inside, denting, would suggest that he was held awake and violent for 20 minutes or more. It fell nearly 16 floors, from 14 to -2, the sub basement level and landed on top of the lift. It remained locked and is covered in partial prints..... Inside was the body of Oscar Whittaker. Pulverised is probably the best way to describe it; broken legs, back, neck, instant death at the point of impact. But.... we’ve had a chance to clean him up a bit and found a couple of interesting points. He was electronically immobilised. The barbs had bitten through his shirt and embedded in his chest. These were not removed carefully but ripped out. We also found chloroform on his shirt, nose and mouth. Subsequently some form of adrenalin was injected to rouse him. Trousers soaked in urine, and all these samples match with samples found in his office; urine on the carpet, spray of blood as the barbs were wrenched out, chloroform traces. But.... There is a second blood type close to the lift doors. We’re running the prints from the locker, but nothing to show yet. So, a probable sequence of events is; someone or ones waits until late, goes to his office, immobilises him, shot of adrenalin then locks him in the cabinet. He’s awake long enough to kick a serious dent, there’s probably a discussion; then pushes him down the shaft fully conscious and aware.” Ziggy paused, the spring was starting to unwind, he twisted his neck left and right. “Sorry, it was a bit of a neck breaker down there today.”
“Thanks Ziggy.
......”
“Hold on I’ve not quite finished. There is one more interesting point.” He passed a couple of enlarged photographs around the group. It was difficult to make out and no one was quite sure which way to hold them up. “This way” Ziggy held the print, a distinct V in the middle. “It was written on the inside of the unit, in shit. Oscar Whittaker was trying to tell us something; he had crap on his fingers and wrote V. I don’t know what it means but it’s there.”
“If it’s the start of a name he knows the killer” Mikey added. “I’ve got a list of employees; I’ll see how many Vs there are.”
Reports from Mandy and Mikey followed; Leo summarised, there was nothing and everything to go on. “Family is too distraught, we need to give them a couple of days to come back to reality” Leo began. “Perhaps they might remember something then. But his wife did say one interesting thing. He was a brutal man; not physically brutal, ‘a brutal personality’ she said, and that upsets a lot of people. In essence he was a hard arse, but it’s probably the nature of the job. His secretary and fellow Directors could shine very little light on anything but I can’t help thinking that if he knew his killer, then his family or colleagues are likely to know them as well. This is where I want us to work the case tomorrow; Mandy family, Mikey work; let’s find out everyone who disliked this man.” Leo paused and flicked through his notebook. “So what do we know so far?” He questioned rhetorically. “We’ve got possible bloods of the murderer, maybe prints; name may begin with a V; knows how to use a Taser; owns one or has access to one. Knows how to isolate the lift and has a key enabling him to open the lift doors; oh and office keys; isolates the CCTV, very professional..... Where’s the filing cabinet from? Good with their hands, adapting the unit.” Leo kept glancing down at his notebook, turning the page from time to time. “Killer knew Whittaker was at the office; may have been following him..... His death may damage the business, we could be talking hundreds of millions here and people kill for a lot less. Was it a professional hit? Competitors? Was he being forced to pass on a code for a safe, an account? Look it’s pretty open ended at the moment but, yes, let’s start questioning family and colleagues tomorrow.” The meeting meandered for a further fifteen minutes. It was 9.00pm.
