Faceless

by Rob Ashman

  12

  It was 7.15am and Kray was already regretting only puffing on one cigarette on her way to work. A plastic cup of something black and sweet from the staff vending machine sat in front of her on the desk, it was difficult to describe it as coffee. She flipped open a small round mirrored compact from her bag and checked her face, turning one way then the next to catch the light. She tutted to herself dabbing her index finger into the foundation cream and applying it to the purple line running across her cheek, smoothing and patting her skin until it was gone.

  Note to self: don’t rush the morning routine.

  Kray snapped the compact closed and pushed it into her bag knowing only too well that when she took her make-up off at night, the mirror would once again serve as a painful reminder.

  Jackson had been very specific in his instruction over the phone the previous night; she was to get into work early and wait until he called for her. She had replied with a faltering response of, ‘Okay, I’ll see you there’ - it would have been foolish to engage in further conversation. The effects of the bottle of wine were beginning to tell. And besides, from the tone of his voice she had pictured him standing behind his desk and snarling down the phone with a red face, even she didn’t think it wise to put up a challenge.

  She could hear snippets of a discussion booming out from behind the closed door of Jackson’s office. She thought she recognised Brownlow’s voice but it was definitely playing a secondary role in the heated debate. It was not going well. She pushed the half-full plastic cup away from her to join the others lined up at the side of her desk.

  The raised voices stopped, replaced with an onerous silence. She heard Jackson’s door snap open and the sound of shuffling feet making their way towards her. Brownlow stuck his head into the office.

  ‘He wants to see you.’ His face was grey with a map of crimson blotches around cheeks and neck.

  Kray rose from her chair and crossed the empty office.

  ‘Look, Colin, I felt I had no option. You were so—’

  ‘Leave it Roz, you got what you wanted. You could have come to me first.’

  ‘I tried. We owe it to that poor woman to catch the sick bastard who—’

  ‘Stick it up your arse, Roz.’ And with that he walked away.

  Kray was stunned, not because of the abruptness of the comment but because that was the most interesting thing Brownlow had ever said to her. She watched him skulk off towards the stairs then headed in the opposite direction to Jackson’s office with a knot of tension in the pit of her stomach the size of the Tower Ballroom.

  She pushed open the door. Jackson was sat behind his desk looking flushed. He slid a buff-coloured file across the desk.

  ‘The Russell’s Viper, or to give it its Latin name Daboia Russelii. The path report says it’s the most likely source of the snake venom found in Madeline Eve’s blood.’ Kray took a seat and flipped open the file. She glanced through the densely written text and replaced it on the desk. ‘So why don’t you start by telling me what you know about this murder, rather than asking me a series of damned convoluted questions this time.’

  ‘William, I need you to know that—’

  ‘Save it, Roz. What I need to know now is what the hell is going on?’

  ‘Okay first let’s look at the chronology. The post-mortem puts the time of death around Sunday the first of May. This is based on the blown condition of the body, the quantity of flies at the premises, along with the development of pupae and grubs found in the corpse. That level of decomposition takes eight to ten days, maybe more. I found the body on Tuesday tenth of May after a neighbour had called to report the smell coming from the flat. So, on the face of it, that fits. But when I interviewed one of the work colleagues she told me that she had lunch with Madeline on the Thursday before I found her. That’s also been confirmed by the interviews conducted the day before and by checking her records with HR. But we missed it, no one picked that up.

  ‘I did more digging when I was at Madeline’s place of work and she apparently called in sick on the Friday morning. One of Brownlow’s team pulled her phone records and I got a message saying the call came from her handset.’

  ‘Jesus H Christ! This keeps getting worse. I suppose we missed that too, did we?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, sir. It was in one of the statements but no one joined the dots up.’

  ‘Go on.’ Jackson’s face was turning a light shade of pink.

  ‘I believe Madeline was killed on the night of Thursday, fifth of May. And the killer staged the scene to look like she’d been murdered much earlier to cover his tracks.’

  ‘How did he do that?’

  ‘Sir, I could not get the vast quantity of flies in the bedroom out of my head. You expect them to multiply because of their life cycle, but there were hundreds of them. I’ve been to houses before where a body has been undiscovered and, yes, there is a certain amount of insect activity but nothing like this. I went back to the flat a number of times and I kept thinking something wasn’t right. It’s been gnawing away at me then it hit me – how the hell do you get that many flies when the doors and windows were shut tight? There is no other access to outside that I could see. So how do you explain an infestation of flies that’s on a biblical scale?’

  Jackson shook his head but kept his mouth shut.

  ‘I think the killer brought them with him.’

  ‘Shit that’s a new one.’

  ‘I know but I can’t explain it any other way. The flies accelerated the purification process and hence the post-mortem indicated an earlier date.’

  ‘Why would the perp want to do that?’

  ‘So the body is degraded, less opportunity for forensics to find evidence linking him to the victim.’

  ‘And where does the snake fit into all this? Does he bring that with him as well?’

  ‘Not sure, sir. There are a ton of unanswered questions.’

  ‘Well you need to get started Roz because we are well and truly behind the curve on this one.’

  ‘What about Brownlow?’

  ‘He will not be playing any further role in this case. I want you to be SIO and let me know the resources you need. I have approval from the top for a complete news blackout on this until we get some traction.’

  Kray felt a shiver run through her.

  ‘How did you know?’ Jackson asked.

  ‘How did I know what?’

  ‘The Russell’s Viper. How did you know which snake produced the venom?’

  ‘From a wonderful invention called the Internet.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘I researched the types of venom that could cause the same degree of coagulation that we saw with Madeline and there were a handful of candidates. The Russell’s Viper is very aggressive. Most snakes dry bite, which means they don’t waste their venom on animals they don’t think they can kill. The Russell’s Viper injects venom every time it strikes. It thinks it can kill anything.’

  Jackson shook his head. ‘Okay but how did you know it would be this particular snake.’

  ‘It’s like the idiots we get around here, sir. You know the ones who walk about with an attack dog on a lead. They own big Staffs or Alsatians, they don’t go walkies with a poodle. Same for our guy, he’s a complete psychopath. If he’s going to have a snake then it’s going to be bad.’

  ‘Okay, Sherlock, save it with the snake-ology lessons and amateur psychology. There must be plenty of snakes that fit the bill. How did you know it was that one?’

  ‘Firstly sir, the correct term is Ophiology and secondly - I just knew.’

  13

  The day was turning out to be full of surprises.

  ‘I got a couple of bodies to help you out,’ Jackson announced as he introduced Kray to two rookie officers.

  Bloody hell. Jackson must be really panicking.

  Kray shook their hands and welcomed them to CID, truth be told, any support at this stage was welcome.

  Lucy Frost and Duncan Taven
er were both fast-track graduates and exhaustingly keen. He had a face that wouldn’t look out of place in any boy band, all clean lines and a ready smile, but with the build of a second row forward. She had a pretty face with angular features, crowned with a mass of auburn locks pulled back into a tight ponytail. She bore the sinewy physique of a long-distance runner. Kray wondered if this was finally a woman with a body fat index lower than hers.

  Kray spent the morning briefing her new team and setting out a comprehensive investigation plan, meticulously ensuring every angle was covered. She had also commandeered one half of the office so they could all sit together and set up evidence boards. In doing so, she had moved a couple of people working with Brownlow. She had left him voicemail messages, and sent an email, but had received no response. If Brownlow wanted to make trouble she was ready for it, but she doubted he had the balls.

  She focussed their attention on developing a profile of Madeline Eve, identifying who the people were in the photographs at the flat, which bars and clubs she attended, current or previous relationships, what she did for kicks - the full works. Also, there was the whole social media scene to dig around in, along with phone records and bank accounts.

  Her new helpers were bright and enthusiastic. There was a lot of ground to cover and a mountain of statements to process, not to mention new lines of inquiry to chase down.

  ‘Whoever killed her chose her for a reason,’ Kray said to them as they hung on her every word. ‘Part of our job is to work out what that is.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ they responded in unison.

  That is going to get right on my tits.

  ‘Please call me Roz.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ replied Tavener.

  He was spared from being told a second time by Kray’s phone bursting into life. She gave him a scowl and answered it.

  ‘DI Kray.’

  The voice on the other end was brief and to the point.

  ‘Okay I’ll be there in thirty minutes.’ She replaced the receiver, picked up her jacket and strode out of the room. ‘You know what you’re doing, call me if you need to.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  Kray stepped into an enormous white coverall, tugged on a hairnet and overshoes and entered the mortuary. The now familiar smell invaded her senses, bringing with it images of the fetid corpse lying on the bedroom floor of flat seventeen, Dennison Heights.

  Aldridge was hunched over a body on the stainless steel table at the far end of the room, speaking softly into a hand-held recorder.

  ‘You called the station,’ Kray said, interrupting him.

  Harry looked up and pressed the stop button.

  ‘Ah, DI Kray, I didn’t hear you come in.’

  Kray smiled beneath her mop cap. ‘Sorry I didn’t think to call ahead. I made my own way to the lab, picked up a pantomime costume and someone was kind enough to let me in. And please call me Roz.’ She pulled at the acres of material to emphasise the point. ‘Don’t you cater for normal-sized people?’

  ‘We do,’ he replied without dropping a beat. ‘I thought you might be interested in my latest findings and, rather than wait for the report, you’d prefer to get it first hand.’

  Kray smarted at his ‘we do’ comment, making a mental note not to lead with her chin with this guy again. ‘What have you got?’

  ‘You know what it feels like when you have an itch you can’t quite reach?’ he said making his way over to her.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I had three of the little bastards where your case was concerned.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Do you recall when you asked me if I had found anything under her fingernails? And I told you there was nothing.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Well that’s the first itch. I took a closer look and there was absolutely nothing. It’s as if the attacker cleaned out her fingernails. I would expect to find something, maybe specs of dirt, clothes fibres, make-up or traces of her own skin. But there’s nothing. Now why would the killer do that?’

  ‘To be sure there was no residue to be found.’

  ‘And why would that be important?’

  ‘If there had been a struggle.’

  ‘Correct. Now for itch number two.’ He leaned over and picked up a printout from the desk and handed it to Kray. ‘Our attacker administers snake venom which eventually causes massive organ failure. But we know it can take hours for that to occur, even with a large dose. However, there are no marks on the body, suggesting the victim was not restrained in any way while the venom curdled her blood.’

  ‘She must have been knocked unconscious during the fight.’

  ‘But there is no bruising or abrasions that would support her being struck.’

  ‘So he used Chloroform on her,’ Kray said flippantly.

  ‘Very good, Detective Inspector. I found residues of dissolved ether in her lungs and throat. I’ve sent samples into the lab and we should receive the results any time now.’

  ‘Well that’s it then. They fight and the attacker smothers her with Chloroform to knock her out?’

  ‘Not quite. This chemical doesn’t work like you see in the movies. Holding a handkerchief over a person’s mouth and them falling down in a matter of seconds is poetic licence. It would take several minutes to render someone unconscious.’

  ‘But that would mean Madeline would have fought with her attacker for a prolonged period of time and that doesn’t stack up. She doesn’t have any defensive marks.’

  ‘Correct again and that leads me to itch number three. Why is there no evidence of a struggle that potentially could have lasted many minutes?’

  Kray had run out of answers this time. Harry reached over to a computer and pushed the mouse. The machine switched on to show a close-up photograph of a surgical wound. ‘You might not be able to see this but there is a slight discolouration under the skin on the side of the victim’s neck.’ He left clicked on the mouse and a second picture came onto the screen. ‘Same on both sides.’

  ‘Injuries she sustained in the struggle?’

  ‘Yes. I believe the attacker choked out the victim first, then applied the Chloroform to keep her unconscious.’

  ‘He strangled her? But that makes no sense either. We would be able to see that from the damage to the trachea, the larynx and neck cartilage, not to mention external bruising. I’ve seen enough strangulations in my time to know that wasn’t it.’

  ‘No, not strangulation. I think the attacker used a technique called a rear naked choke hold where the carotid arteries are compressed, cutting off the flow of blood to the brain. The victim is able to breathe but is out cold within seconds.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Let me show you. Do you mind?’ Kray shrugged her shoulders as Harry positioned himself behind her wrapping his left arm around her neck so her windpipe was in the crook of his elbow. ‘I reckon the attacker grabbed her from the back like this. The idea is the bicep and the forearm crush the carotid arteries in the neck, severely depleting the brain of oxygen. Your heart rate spikes in a frantic attempt to pump blood to the brain. This induces panic and in a matter of seconds the brain shuts down, rendering the victim unconscious.’

  ‘So the attacker would need to be pretty strong to pull that off.’

  ‘Not at all. It only takes ten pounds of pressure to compress the arteries. If the hold is applied correctly you need no more strength than it takes to break an egg between your fingers.’ Harry released Kray and returned to the monitor.

  ‘It’s like something from an MMA fight. So … let me get this straight … our attacker chokes her out using this naked whatever-it-is hold and covers her nose and mouth with a piece of material soaked in Chloroform.’

  ‘Yes. I think he kept choking her out until the anaesthetic did its job. When she was out cold, he released his hold.’

  ‘Then the killer injects her with the venom from the Russell’s Viper and watches her die as her blood turns to jelly. And to cap
it all, he removes her face and infests the body with a million flies.’

  ‘Yup, our killer went to a lot of trouble to murder Madeline Eve.’

  An alert came up on the computer screen, Aldridge clicked on an email.

  ‘What is it?’ she asked.

  ‘The results are back from the lab.’ He opened the attachment and scanned the details. Kray read over his shoulder.

  ‘What does it say?’

  ‘It says it wasn’t Chloroform.’

  ‘Suprane? What’s Suprane?’

  Aldridge closed down the document. ‘The sample tested positive for Servoflurane or Suprane as it is known in the trade.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘It’s a powerful anaesthetic that works by suppressing activity in the central nervous system, leading to loss of consciousness.’

  ‘So it acts like Chloroform?’

  ‘Yes, but it is more powerful and faster acting.’

  ‘Where would someone get their hands on that?’

  Aldridge checked his watch. ‘I’m sorry, I need to dash to a meeting. Can we pick this up another time?’

  ‘Yeah, I suppose so. I have most of what I need.’

  ‘If you call the lab they have my diary we can talk again if you think it will help?’ Aldridge switched off the computer, gathered his things together and left.

  The lab technician looked over. ‘Something you said?’

  ‘All I said was Suprane.’

  14

  Kray made slow progress back to the station. The stop-start line of traffic crawled along the Promenade past the Tower - an inconvenience which normally would have her raging but, on this occasion, it gave her time to think. The discussion with Aldridge rattled around in her head and, try as she might, the pieces refused to glue together.

  It was late afternoon by the time she marched into the station, taking the stairs two at a time up to the office. There waiting, as instructed, were her team of eager beavers. What she was not expecting was the place looking like a tip.

  ‘Have you been having fun?’ she said, eyeing the mounds of paper, empty box files and morass of post-it notes. The evidence board was festooned with new pieces of paper, notes scribbled across them in fat marker pen. The silhouette of a blacked-out face was pinned to the board with the name ‘Gorgon’ written underneath.