by Conrad Jones
“Have you called her?” Alec raised an eyebrow. There would be a conversation about it later in private. Whatever was going on between Stevie and Kisha, he needed to nip it in the bud. Bringing personal feelings into the department was taboo. They couldn’t tolerate it, especially during such a crucial investigation. He expected his team of detectives to be more professional than that.
“Yes, Guv, her phone is going straight to voicemail,” Stevie lied again. He hadn’t tried to call her at all. His eyes locked with Smithy’s and Stevie looked away immediately.
“Let’s get started.” Alec clapped his hands together. He took a few paces to the left, a deep frown on his face as he selected his next words. “First off, someone from this team has been talking to a reporter from the Liverpool Echo called Lara Bridge.”
The detectives in the room looked at each other in disgust. They shook their heads and whispered comments passed between them. The MIT was a close-knit group. Its members would not forgive betrayal easily.
“Tonight’s edition is going to headline our investigation into the death of Louise Parker. We have a leak in this room.” Alec scanned the faces in the room. His detectives looked stoic and returned his stare without flinching. All but one.
“We have had leaks before, and it always comes out who the leak is when this type of thing happens. It’s usually the end of someone’s career.” Alec checked their faces again. No one flinched, except one person, the same person. “There will be no witch hunt while this investigation is ongoing, however the leak will be investigated once we have made the arrests.” Alec looked annoyed, but there was important information to discuss. He would deal with the leak later and Kisha could catch up when she got back. Alec looked at the faces in the room. Everyone looked comfortable except Stevie. “Doc, when you’re ready.”
Graham Libby cleared his throat and tapped a button on his laptop. The screen on the wall showed a series of photographs taken from the hotel where they had found Louise Parker’s hand. An enlarged fingerprint appeared next to the arrest photograph of a prisoner.
“As you are aware, we found several prints in this hotel room, as one would expect,” he looked over his glasses as he spoke. “We identified one particular print which matched prints in your records, a Patrick Lloyd. Detectives questioned him during the investigation into the murder of a drug dealer some years ago, and they printed him at the time of his arrest. We analysed blood splatter found at the hotel and the DNA matches the samples taken from Lloyd. We know he was in the hotel room and we know he was bleeding, but we could not tie him to Louise Parker’s hand at that point. The print could have been left there weeks before the hand was found.”
The doctor removed his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “Please bear with me as there is plenty more to come.” He smiled, enjoying the pregnant pause. “Next I want to discuss the results of the samples taken from Louise Parker.”
The image on the screen changed, and pictures of her body began to flash across the screen. “We took samples of skin from beneath her finger nails, since she must have scratched her attacker,” he paused. “There were several secretions taken from her hair. Apart from her blood, we found semen, urine and saliva, all from the same secretor. The DNA matches Patrick Lloyd.”
There was a silent hush in the room. The killer had urinated, ejaculated and spat on his victim. The detectives were thinking silently as they listened.
“God only knows what the Parker women suffered before she finally died,” the doctor added.
“At least we have a definite target to track down and catch,” Smithy muttered.
Stevie looked at his computer screen again and swallowed hard. The name rebounded around his mind. It was just a coincidence. It had to be. The scientist’s voice droned on in the background as a terrible reality hit him.
“The samples of blood and urine which were taken from the chair at the Parker scene match with the DNA samples which were taken from Salim Oguzhan’s home. His body was recovered earlier today and initial inspection of his body show that he was tortured over a prolonged period. His eyelids were actually stapled open. The killer drove upholstery staples through the lids into the brow bone. The killer wanted him to watch whatever he did to the Parker girl. It is too early to establish the actual cause of death, but I am sure he was dead before he went into the water. His body was in the water too long for us to find any traces on him, but we found secretions around the chair, which the killer tied him to. They, too, match Patrick Lloyd.”
Patrick Lloyd echoed around Stevie’s brain. Patrick Floyd, Patrick Lloyd. Could he have made such a basic mistake? He searched through the file of paperwork on his desk, looking for his original notes. They were not in any order, as he and Kisha had disagreed on the best way to collate the evidence. Now he wished he had listened to her. It had to be a coincidence. As he rummaged through his papers, he realised others were watching him. He was making more noise than he thought. Sweat began to run down the back of his neck and his hands were shaking as he looked around. The Superintendent was looking right at him.
“Is there a problem, Stevie?”
“No, Guv,” he lied. His face was purple and his heart was beating like a rock drummer on acid. He felt a bead of sweat trickle down his temple onto his cheek. He swallowed hard and folded his arms. He was in a huge dilemma. In an unsuccessful attempt to get a reporter called Lara Bridge into bed, he had teased her with the details of the investigation over a Chinese meal. She was young and pretty and had pretended to be keen on him. In fact, all she wanted was a source in the city’s MIT, and a letch like Stevie was ideal. He was a sad, lonely man with a high opinion of himself. He thought women should be falling over to climb into bed with him. When they didn’t, he put it down to the fact that they must be gay or frigid. She had played his game and let him grope her under the table for a while until he was hot and horny, then she had backed off. His touch had made her feel sick, but it had been a means to get her story. Whatever it took, it took. Stevie gave her more details and she rubbed his thigh for a bit, as she asked questions, keeping him on the hook. When he had given her everything he knew, he had made some stuff up to keep her interested. He had thought he was taking her home for dessert, but when the bill had arrived, the bitch had laughed at him and grabbed her coat. She had gone without contributing to the price of the meal and left him high and dry. Stevie couldn’t believe she had led him on so well. The silly bitch was about to blow the case open to the public, and he didn’t have anything to show for his betrayal. She had promised she would keep it secret until they had a clear suspect, but she had lied. He had been so desperate to get her in his bed that he had disclosed information that only the MIT members knew. Now the Superintendent was looking for a mole. It wouldn’t take him long to find out who it was. He could feel his career shattering into a thousand pieces. To make things worse, the name Patrick Lloyd was bouncing around his brain.
“Shall I continue, Superintendent?” The doctor frowned and sighed dramatically. The interruption was most unwelcome, as he was eager to disclose his team`s findings. Alec smiled and nodded for him to continue. He wondered if the doctor would stop frowning if he kicked him up the arse. He doubted it, but at least he would have a reason to frown. “We have some very interesting results from the second blood pool at the Parker scene.”
The detectives stopped looking at Stevie and the doctor had their full attention again. “The blood and DNA taken from the second pool, which in actual fact is the first pool because it is older, matched with samples taken from another murder scene.” He paused and tapped the keyboard once more. Pictures of the battered body of the drug dealer appeared. “This was Jacky Benjamin, victim of a brutal and prolonged attack; as I said earlier, this was some years ago. There were two sets of secretions found at the scene, but only one body was recovered. We found urine and hair on the carpet, which did not match the murder victim. We did not know if there had been a second victim until now. Lloyd’s DNA was found in the b
lood pool, too, semen, urine and saliva.”
“Okay, people,” Alec spoke. “We know Patrick Lloyd is responsible for a string of murders including Louise Parker, and we are sure he killed the Oguzhan family. We think he was one of the armed robbers that hit Connections nightclub, which means he has access to automatic weapons and an accomplice. Uniform had an address for him following the Benjamin investigation, but he has moved on. We need to find him and quickly. Will.”
“Guv?”
“I want you to communicate with the Armed Response Unit, and I want an address for Lloyd today. Find him.”
“Yes, Guv,” Will nodded.
“Smithy,” Alec said.
“Yes, Guv.”
“I want you and your team to find out who was at the Benjamin murder scene. Who was taken from there to the unit? I want to know who else was tortured in that building.”
“We’re on it, Guv,” the ginger officer replied. They would have to reinvestigate the Benjamin murder book and trace his associates, especially those who were now missing. In the drug world, people went missing all the time. It would not be an easy job, but missing persons’ lists would reveal some possible candidates for them to work on.
“Guv,” Stevie felt like vomiting as he spoke. He raised his voice so that he could be heard over the others in the room. As Alec delegated the tasks, the separate teams began to chatter.
“Yes, Stevie,” Alec looked over to him. It was obvious that something was bothering him. Stevie looked guilty. Alec suspected he had had something to do with the leak, but his pallor was concerning. His face was ashen gray and he was sweating.
“The key holder that Kisha went to see, Guv,” Stevie paused. His hands were shaking.
“What is it, Stevie?” Alec looked concerned. Will was about to speak to the DS in charge of the armed unit on call, but he waited to hear what Stevie was going to say. He looked grey and panicky.
“The key holder that Kisha went to see is called Patrick Floyd,” Stevie swallowed again. He held up the piece of paper with the details on. The paper was shaking visibly as he held it up. The detectives in the room swapped worried glances.
“Patrick Floyd?” Alec frowned and the wrinkles in his face deepened. He did not want to see the obvious connection. Everyone in the room could see the similarity, but surely, they could not have made such a simple mistake?
“I entered it into the computer as Patrick Floyd, but my handwriting is shit, Guv. I wrote down Lloyd but entered Floyd.”
“So the computer didn’t flag up that Lloyd was already implicated in the case by the fingerprint?” Alec looked at Will to make sure his interpretation was correct. Will had been one of the first detectives to trial the software. It crosschecked names, dates, fingerprints and addresses. Will nodded his head silently. The name was similar but different. The addresses were different. The program relied on the data input being correct. It was at the mercy of human error.
“No, Guv,” Stevie shook his head. He could feel every eye in the room on him. They looked at him accusingly. Kisha was a respected detective; Stevie wasn’t liked at all. He printed off the Kensington address and walked up to his superintendent like a schoolboy waiting for the cane. “I’ve fucked up, Guv. Kisha has gone to this address to question Patrick Lloyd alone.”
Will whispered to the DS from the Armed Response Unit, and the MIT sprang into action. One of their detectives was in dire trouble and alone with their main suspect.
“Wait, wait, wait!” Graham Libby shouted. The office became still. “There is more on the DNA, I am afraid,” he looked over his glasses at Alec. “We have the Army’s medical records for Patrick Lloyd and his blood type is not the same as our samples.”
“What are you saying?”
“The blood types are different and cannot be from the same man we are looking for.”
“How can that be? What do you mean, Doc?” Alec frowned, creasing his face deeply.
“Your Patrick Lloyd is not the same man that was discharged from the Army. He is the man who was arrested at the Benjamin murder, that is certain, but he is not that soldier.”
“Someone has taken his identity?” Will asked.
“Yes and your 'someone' is a wanted man,” the doctor said solemnly. “Our DNA searches have flagged up a name on the international database. Jack Howarth.”
“Jack Howarth,” Alec said. “That name will ring alarm bells all over the country.”
“It should,” the doctor took off his glasses again. “The newspapers called him ‘The Child Taker’.”
“Jesus, Will and I were involved with him years ago.” Alec shook his head at the memories. “Why didn’t his name come up in the Benjamin investigation?”
“He was never charged with the murder. There was no evidence against him, so the traces were never analysed until now.”
“Howarth is wanted by everyman and his dog, and Kisha has gone to knock on his door.” Alec stood up. They needed to move quickly.
“Alec.” The doctor held up his hand. “His name is also being watched by the Counter Terrorist Unit. John Tankersley from the Terrorist Task Force is on the way to my lab as we speak. The DNA matches someone on his wanted list. By my reckoning, you have about a half an hour head start.”
“What? They interfered the last time Jack Howarth was in our sights,” Alec gasped. “I want this address surrounded and Kisha found before the spooks get here and take over our case.”
Chapter Forty
David Lorimar
David Lorimar and his accomplice, Griff, took Jackson Walker’s body to an associate’s farm in the countryside. Carrying a body through the city during teatime traffic was a nervous time.
“How long is this going to take?” Griff asked distractedly.
“It’s a twenty-minute drive from the city.”
“Who is this guy?” Griff asked. He pointed his thumb to the back of the van, where a roll of carpet contained Jackson Walker. His identity didn’t matter to Griff. This was business.
“Just a dead drug dealer,” David Lorimar smiled.
“Did he cross someone?”
“He took on a hit, but the target got wind of it,” Dava smiled again. “Quickest trigger wins, right?” His accomplice had worked with him in the Middle East when they had been mercenaries. He had asked too many questions back then, and he did now. “Enough said.”
“Fair enough,” Griff looked out of the passenger window and sulked. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
“You sound edgy,” Dava gritted his teeth and the sinews in his wiry neck protruded. It looked like there were sticks of bamboo beneath the surface of the skin. He kept his body lean and fit despite his advancing years. “Are you getting cold feet?”
“Bollocks,” Griff snapped. “This is the boring bit. I just want to get to the pub. It’s poker night tonight, and by the way, it’s you that is being edgy. I just asked you a question.”
“Sorry,” Dava lamented. “I didn’t mean to be abrupt. Old habits die hard. The least said the better, right?”
“No problems,” Griff laughed. “Loose lips sink ships and all that old shit.” Griff Collins was as fit as Dava, but ten years younger. He hated the military because of its hierarchy, and so his career in uniform had been a short one. His mercenary career had been much longer and more lucrative.
“Yes, something like that.”
“Where are we taking him?” Griff asked.
Dava thought about not answering, but didn’t really see the problem with telling him. He would see soon enough anyway.
“A farm out in Cheshire,” Dava said. “I served with the guy in the Congo. He’s solid.”
“A farmer boy?”
“He bought the place ten years back and started breeding cattle and pigs,” Dava shrugged and put on a posh accent. “Pigs says it all, he butchers his own animals and turns them into sausages, burgers and quality meats for the Cheshire set.”
“So this guy is pig food?”
“Basically.”
“Nice, I like your style.”
Dava smiled and they made the rest of the journey in silence. They turned off the M62 at the Birchwood junction. A huge white telephone mast towered above the island, shaped like two angels kissing. The second exit was almost invisible to anyone who didn’t know it was there. Bushes and trees hid the exit leading to a narrow farm track. Potholes pitted the track and gravel rattled off the underside of the van. The passengers bounced about, the headlights casting long shadows into the surrounding woodland. It was fifteen minutes until the track forked.
“Here it is.” Dava turned the van off the track into a farmyard.
“Fucking hell, I hate dogs,” Griff moaned as a pack of German Shepherds surrounded the van. They were yapping in a cacophony of barking. A security light switched on and flooded the yard with light. The halogen glare blinded them for a moment.
“There he is.” Dava pointed to a large barn to the left of the farmhouse. It was a modern building, built from block and carbon panels. A big man in a flat tweed hat and black Wellington boots waved them toward a set of open barn doors. His Barbour jacket was open, showing a check shirt beneath. A long bank of fluorescent tubes hanging from the rafters lit the interior of the barn. They could see rows of walk-in freezers built into the side of the building. The low hum of condenser fans spinning. Dava steered the van cautiously through the pack of yapping dogs toward the open doors. He wound down the window as he approached the farmer.
“Alright, Luke, aren’t you taking the farmer look a bit too seriously?”
“Alright, Dava, you’re still as funny as a wasp up the arse.” The farmer smiled. “How’s it going?”
“Good, thanks, just one for now.” Dava nodded to the back of the van.
