by Conrad Jones
“Alec,” Graham said in greeting, while the superintendent inspector climbed into his suit. He was always short and to the point. “This is a bloody mess, excuse the pun.”
“Doc,” Alec took in the scene as he spoke. “What do we know?”
“The corpse is hung upside down from an anchor ring, fixed to a metal rafter,” the doctor began. The rafters were open and supported the corrugated roof. They had been painted pale green once, but now rust blistered the metal and orange was the predominant colour. A heavy black chain dangled from the ring, a hook its end which threaded through the ropes binding her ankles together. Oil and carbon crusted the chain.
“It is an engine block tackle,” Graham nodded to the ring and chain. “I think it was here already, back from when this place was a vehicle radiator specialist.”
“What do we know about her?” Alec circled the hanging corpse. The ropes around her ankles cut deep into the swollen mushy flesh. The body was black and blue with contusions, the head swollen beyond recognition. Rats had eaten away some of her flesh and gnawed, yellowed bones were exposed in places. Congealed blood caked her long auburn hair. There was a pool of various bodily fluids beneath her where her body had begun to decompose.
“The body is that of a female aged between twenty and thirty five at a guess.” The doctor pointed to her mouth. “I am guessing her age from the condition of her teeth. I think the cause of death was shock and haemorrhaging caused by these wounds here at the wrist.”
There were deep cuts on the back and chest and shallower wounds around the nipples and thighs. The wounds were blackened with age and maggots wiggled in them, feeding on the flesh. The left hand was missing and the doctor pointed to the stump.
“The hand was removed with a saw of some description and, unfortunately for her, it was removed prior to death. The killer applied a tourniquet to stem the blood loss. I can’t be sure, but I would say the tourniquet failed. I think the blood loss from this injury was probably the final straw.”
“Any sign of the hand?” Will asked. If it was available and decomposition wasn’t too advanced, there was a chance that they could print it while the SOCO worked. Will was making an effort to keep things between himself and the doctor professional, but there was a look of distain on the scientist’s face whenever he asked him a question.
“No, it’s not here,” the doctor shook his head, dismissing the question without looking at Will. “If it is, we haven’t found it yet.”
“Could we be looking for a trophy hunter?” Will thought aloud. The scene had all the markings of a serial murder from television forensic shows. He had read several textbooks on profiling and he relished the opportunity to use the knowledge he had gleaned from them.
“I’m not sure we should be thinking trophy hunter just yet, Inspector,” the doctor said. He looked at Will and shook his head as if his theory was ridiculous. “The chances are the rats have had it.”
Dr. Libby wasn’t a fan of Will Naylor, nor was he a lover of profiling. He preferred to follow the evidence as it appeared to him, rather than painting a picture of a suspect and trying to make the pieces fit that profile. Investigating officers had made too many mistakes in the past by bringing profilers into their case.
“Is there any evidence of sexual assault?” Alec circled the corpse again.
“I think so, but again, until I get her on the table, I can’t be sure. None of the knife injuries were inflicted to her female organs, so for now I’m thinking that this was either punishment, or maybe just for fun.”
“Nice,” Will said. This wasn’t the first woman to be tortured to death by a deranged killer. He had seen a few in his years on the force. “How long has she been here, Doc?”
“It’s difficult to say because it’s cold in here, which could have slowed down the decaying process. The fact that the killer left the body to hang means the air has circulated around the flesh, causing it to dry out. Her body has gone through several stages of putrefaction. Hypostasis or lividity begins about four hours after death; in this instance, it is all in the head and torso because the red corpuscles have sunk to the lowest part of her body. The body is stained and starting to distend so it’s at least a week, but definitely no more than two weeks, even with the temperature taken into account.”
“How can you be sure?” Will frowned. He asked as many questions as he could, which annoyed some people, but the doctor loved to show off his forensic skills. They didn’t get on, but the doctor was good at his job.
“There are maggots in these wounds here. They are third stage bluebottle larvae and they become flies within twelve days.” Dr. Libby grinned. “These little beauties are still wriggling.”
Alec nodded in agreement. He was piecing the evidence together in his mind. The scene consisted of far more than just a mutilated corpse left hanging in a disused building. Something terrible had happened in this unit, and it had happened to more than one victim. The evidence was all around them.
“What are you thinking, Guv?” Will asked.
“There is a significant amount of blood underneath her, but there are other pools over there and they look older,” Alec looked to Graham for his thoughts.
“I agree, Alec.” The doctor nodded his head, his watery eyes looking towards the victim. “There’s no way this woman had enough blood to create several pools of this size. Until I get the results I’m assuming there were other victims at some time in the past.”
“What makes you think there was more than one attacker?” Alec asked.
“Look here.” The doctor walked behind the hanging body. “There are two sets of footprints in the blood and when we measured them, they turned out to be different sizes.”
“What happened here?” Alec frowned and the creases in his face deepened. He looked more like the celebrity chef he shared his name with every day.
“What about the chairs?” Will asked.
There were two wooden chairs placed near to the freshest blood pool. Blood stained the arms and the seat pads were wet and smelt like a latrine.
“I’ve taken swabs from the seats and we’ll test them, but my nose tells me they are stained with urine and faeces.” The doctor looked over his glasses.
“Someone was either tied up there for a long time, or they were so scared they wet themselves?” Alec grimaced. “There are footprints here probably belonging to a victim, because they were not wearing shoes.”
“There are none next to the other chair,” Alec pointed out.
“No, and that is the most concerning thing about the whole scene,” the doctor’s face darkened.
“Why?” Will asked. “What are you thinking?”
“I think we have a conundrum. I’ll know when the DNA comes back. It could be hers, but something tells me it isn’t.” The doctor smiled, but it was a sad smile.
“Come on, Doc, spill the beans,” Alec prompted him to carry on. The doctor only smiled when he was being clever.
“Look here.” He pointed to a dark patch at the front of the seat pad. There was another dark patch on the floor underneath. “This smells of urine. From the position on the seat pad and the staining on the floor, I think a man secreted it. The female urethra is much further back in relation to this stain.”
Alec raised his eyebrows as he thought about it. The doctor was right. The staining was at the front. The stains indicated that the chair had had a man tied to it. “Okay, I’ll buy that.” Alec moved closer to the second chair. “What about this one, what is bothering you, Doc?”
“There are no footprints in the blood here but the seat pad is still stained with secretions.”
“So what?” Will asked.
The doctor raised his eyebrows and frowned again. “Someone was tied to this chair but their feet did not reach the floor.”
Alec felt a cold shiver touch his spine and his stomach tightened. “Even a small adult would touch the floor with their feet.”
“Exactly,” the doctor nodded slowly.
&nb
sp; “A child?” Will felt stupid for not seeing it earlier.
“Well done, Inspector.” Dr. Libby said. “You got there in the end. Look here.”
They walked away from the hanging corpse and the doctor knelt down near a cone-shaped marker. “There are tyre tracks everywhere, as you would expect, but these are fresher.”
“The killer brought a vehicle in here?” Alec followed the marks towards the shutters with his eyes.
“We think so,” the doctor nodded. “Now look here.”
Alec and Will looked at each other in shock. They were processing the evidence, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. “That means they were taken away from here alive?” Alec said.
“Maybe,” the doctor was hesitant. There were footprints near to the tyre tracks. Small footprints, smeared in blood. “They were probably carried from the chair and then put down on the floor here while the attacker opened the vehicle door.”
“How long will it take for the preliminary results?” Alec asked. He had seen enough for now. They had a missing child and a dead woman to identify, and a vicious killer to catch.
“The bloods will be back tomorrow and the DNA within a few days if we work flat out.”
“Will, have we got a list of missing persons yet?” Alec turned to walk away. The stench of decay followed him. “Why haven’t we heard about a missing child?”
“Smithy is collating all missing person reports we can access,” Will followed Alec. “It should be on your desk already, Guv.”
“Okay, cancel all leave and call the team together. I want a full briefing when the blood reports come in.” Alec knew he would have to go straight back to the office. His mother-in-law and his wife would have to lunch without him. It would cause tensions at home, but he had a job to do. He walked out of the unit and thought about calling home, but he decided that he could do it later. He took a deep breath of fresh air through the mask. Alec took off his mask when he stepped outside and breathed the sea air deeply into his lungs. It couldn’t erase the fetid stench of putrid flesh. The sea breeze cut through his clothing and chilled him to the bone.
Chapter Four
Connections Nightclub
When the masked men appeared, the laughter around the poker table stopped. One of them covered the poker players with his weapon while his accomplice threaded a thick steel chain through the door handles leading into the club. He fumbled with the links as he padlocked them closed. He slammed the bolts home at the top and bottom of the door to ensure no one could disturb them. There were at least a dozen minders on the other side of the doors, waiting for their bosses while they played their game. They would be drinking free cocktails and eyeing up the young women that filled the dance floor. The last thing on their mind was their employer’s welfare. There were no weapons allowed in the poker room; tempers could fray during the game, especially as the alcohol went down.
“Do you have any idea who we are?” Leon growled. He twisted his mouth into a scowl. The men at the table looked at each other for a silent signal from someone. A sign to make a move and rush the gunmen, but they were covered with automatic weapons. One wrong move and eight of the city’s most prolific criminals would be twitching in their own blood on the carpet. For now, the best option was to wait to see what the masked men wanted.
“We know who you are, Leon.” The taller of the gunmen spoke first. He walked behind Leon, ramming the muzzle of the machinegun into the folds of fat on the back of his neck. “You’re a fat pimp with a penchant for teenage boys, but I bet your friends here don’t know about that, do they, eh, Leon?”
All eyes turned to look at Leon. Despite the circumstances, this was a very surprising snippet of information. There were several eyebrows raised and the odd smirk around the table. Leon snarled and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t know what the gunman was talking about. Sweat trickled down his chubby cheeks. He did have a thing for teenage boys, but he had thought it was a closely guarded secret. Someone from his outfit was blabbing.
“So you know who we are. Why don’t you tell us why you’re pointing Uzis at us, and then we can go back to our poker game?” Leon tried to recover some self-esteem.
“I think you lost all your chips, didn’t you? Two pairs is a crap hand, Leon.” The men at the table laughed nervously. “What do we want? That is easy. We want the stake money in the floor safe under the poker table. Oh, and we’ll have the five kilos of cocaine stashed under the ice machine.” He waved the Uzi and herded the poker players out of their seats. “Move over there.”
“You must be crazy men,” Jinx raised his hands as he spoke and a crooked grin crossed his face. He towered above the masked men but there was nothing to gain by becoming a dead hero for now. Jinx eyed the gangsters in the room, looking for any sign of recognition in their eyes.
“This is an inside job.” Gus Rickman hissed. The gunmen knew where they held the stake money while the game was in progress. “Only people that have played with us before could know that.”
“Shut up,” the gunmen snapped.
“As for the five kilos of cocaine under the ice-machine, only Jessie and his men could possibly know that there are a shitload of drugs on the premises, eh, Jessie?”
“Who else could know?” Jinx certainly didn’t know it was there until now.
“Shut your mouth, Jinx,” the tall gunman waved his weapon. The skin under the mask was white around the eyes and there was a tinge of an accent in his voice, but Jinx couldn’t place it. He wasn’t black or foreign.
“If you know who I am, then you know I will find you,” Jinx smiled again and walked away from the group at the table. “That’s what I do, find people who take money.”
Dozens of his customers had gone into hiding when it was time for them to repay their loans, but Jinx would always find them. He used cutting-edge technology to track people. He put tracers onto customer’s vehicles or mobile phones before he handed over any cash loans. If they went into hiding, they had no idea that they had been bugged until Jinx knocked on their door.
“All of you kneel down facing the wall. Put your hands behind your head and shut up.” The gunman ordered.
The gangsters moved slowly to the wall and followed the gunman’s instructions. Jinx knelt down reluctantly. The nightclub manager knelt down next to Jinx. He was a big Welshman called Joseph James, or Jessie by his associates. He had a reputation for carrying a Smith and Wesson six-shooter like a cowboy, hence the nickname. Jessie moved in criminal circles and most of the faces in town used the nightclub as a drinking den. The club’s clientele consisted of the more dishonest members from all sections of the population. Jessie was well known and well liked, but everyone knew he was a puppet for a Turkish mob that had moved into the city five years prior. Five kilos of cocaine was way out of Jessie’s league. He was hiding it for the Turks. Jinx looked at his face trying to get a reaction. Jessie shrugged at Jinx, shaking nervously.
“Don’t look at me like that, Jinx,” Jessie whispered. “I’ve got fuck all to do with this.” He was at a loss. Jessie knew the fingers of suspicion would point at him and the Turks would be looking for blood if the gunmen took their drugs. They would spill his blood first as a lesson to everyone. The Turks were brutal bosses and they didn’t tolerate failure.
Jinx could see the fear in his eyes and he ruled Jessie out as the culprit for now, but he knew one of the men in the room was involved. They had to be. No one else would have the affront to pull a gig like this. It was an inside job. There was no doubt about it. The poker table slid easily to one side and the chips clattered as they spilled onto the floor when the gunmen moved it. Jinx had won forty-six grand in the last hand against Leon, and two muppets were about to waltz away with the lot. He didn’t care about the drugs, they were for someone else to worry about, but he was sick about his winnings being taken from him at gunpoint. There would be hell to pay when he found out who was responsible.
“What’s the safe code, Jessie?” One of the gunmen aske
d. He sounded calm and collected.
“Thirty-two, twenty-six,” Jessie closed his eyes tightly as he lied. He was giving them the wrong code because the safe was alarmed. If they entered the wrong code, the bells would ring. Jessie hoped the alarms would alert the small army of armed heavies that were drinking in the club, and they would come to their rescue and annihilate the gunmen. It was a calculated risk.
“You are lying to me. I know the code is forty-six, thirty-two, Jessie,” the masked man corrected him. It was a trick question to see if Jessie would tell the truth. He walked behind the big Welshman and took a pair of pruning shears from his pocket. He held the Uzi in his left hand and used his right hand to place the shears over Jessie’s ear.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Jessie hissed. The shears snapped closed and snipped the top of his ear off. Jessie hadn’t been expecting the pain; he fell forward, screaming. Blood flowed through his fingers and down his wrist from the savaged appendage. A kick in the ribs knocked the wind from his lungs and silenced him. The music in the club drowned out any sound from the poker room. The gangsters looked at each other helplessly.
“You are dead men,” Leon growled.
“Spend the money wisely and leave the country,” Dava advised them. “Trust me, I will find you.”
“Take the money and fuck off!” Jinx growled. He was the closest to Jessie. The gunman grabbed the injured man and pulled him upright. Jessie’s eyes looked into his, pleading, but there was nothing Jinx could do for now. “You’re dead men, so spend the money quickly.”
“Shut up, Jinx, or I’ll put a bullet through your brain. I can think of a few of your customers that would have a party if you croaked it, eh?” He shoved the muzzle of the Uzi into Jinx’s back. “Jessie lied to me, so I’ve had to teach him that there is a consequence to that. The next lie will cost him another ear, then his nose, then his fingers, and so on.”
