by Rob McCarthy
Noble stood up.
‘Mo, what else did Technical Services have on the video?’ she said.
Wilson looked down at his notepad.
‘They reckon it was filmed on a GoPro, guv. It’s a compact camera that you can fix to something mobile. They’re designed for skiing, sports, stuff like that. They think he attached it to his body with a strap, or a headband, or something. They’ve seen it before in child porn, hardcore stuff.’
‘Traceable?’
‘Afraid not, guv.’
‘What about the rapist? Nothing on his identity?’
‘The only parts of his body that come into view are his hands and forearms, and he’s wearing a long T-shirt tucked into those gloves,’ Wilson said. ‘They can estimate his height as between five-nine and six foot, but that’s it. The voice was electronically modified with audio editing software after the video was filmed. They might be able to get something on that, but it’s going to CEOP for specialist analysis. Could take weeks.’
‘Shit,’ said Noble.
‘What else do we know?’ Marsden said. She had moved to the front of the room now. If it wasn’t for all the suits Harry could have been back at medical school, in some tutorial where he didn’t know any of the answers.
‘There’s something,’ Harry said. All the faces turned to look at him, and Noble nodded at him to continue.
‘It’s possible the offender is HIV-positive.’
‘Really?’ said Marsden. ‘On what basis?’
‘Keisha Best was, and Solomon Idris is,’ said Harry. ‘I take it that none of them use protection in that video?’
Wilson shook his head. ‘We don’t see any other part of his anatomy in the video. He’s clever like that. But there’s no evidence of condom use, no. And serial sex offenders tend not to.’
‘Don’t want to ruin the experience,’ Kepler said. ‘Motherfuckers.’
‘If he is positive then how would we spot it?’ said Marsden.
‘Well, once you’ve got a suspect in custody we can take a blood sample,’ Harry said. ‘With their consent. Whoever it is would have to take regular medications, several every day. But if it’s well controlled, then you’d have no idea.’
‘Right,’ Marsden continued. ‘Anything else? This is open forum.’
‘Access to a blue-and-silver motorbike,’ said one of the other detectives. ‘And access to the gun.’
DI Noble stepped forward, next to Marsden, who regarded her with a suspicious sideways glance. Another alpha female was pissing on her territory, Harry thought.
‘Statistically, we’re looking for a male aged between thirty and sixty,’ Noble said. ‘Point one: we know those kids were drugged. The post-mortem on Keisha Best found a long history of benzos, GHB and ket. I know stuff like that isn’t hard to get hold of these days, but he knew exactly how much to give them so they were compliant, but not passed out.’
Harry shuffled on his seat, fully aware where Noble was going. When he’d said the same things, freezing his arse off in the front seat of her car on Peckham High Street, it had just been conjecture. In retrospect, it looked terrifyingly prophetic.
‘Point two. The evidence suggests that Best had a termination shortly before she died, but there are no records of her going through any legal channels. So someone arranged it on the sly. I think we’re looking at a healthcare professional, probably a doctor, with access to the Ruskin’s computer system.’
‘Good work,’ said Marsden. ‘This project, what’s it called, Saviour?’
Noble and Wilson nodded.
‘It’s an obvious place to start,’ Noble said. ‘It’s the only significant contact Solomon Idris had with the healthcare system in four years, aside from two visits to A&E. If he was supplied with cannabis, that could have been used as a way in, a grooming strategy. And it seems likely that the offender accessed Keisha Best through Solomon.’
Harry listened to the words, still processing what they meant. Someone in the project, someone he potentially knew, was responsible for that, the horrors he’d just seen.
‘Who runs this gaff?’ asked Deakin, the detective who’d interviewed Harry.
‘It’s the GPs out of the Burgess Park Practice,’ Noble said. ‘And some A&E staff at the Ruskin.’
Deakin held up a computer printout.
‘The tech report says that our mate Lahiri made his change to the allergy at 07.20 on Monday morning. Are we thinking he still did it, or was it someone else using his account?’
Harry almost stood up to speak, but Noble got there first.
‘Keep an open mind,’ Noble said. ‘It’s possible Lahiri did it, for whatever reason. It’s possible he was involved. But it’s also possible that someone else who knew his log-in details could have done it.’
Harry’s skin burned hot, and he felt sick again. It’s possible he was involved. Not with that, Harry thought, not with that abomination I’ve just seen.
‘Really?’ another detective said. ‘Wouldn’t a stranger stick out in the hospital?’
No one said anything and Harry realised all eyes were on him. He tried to suppress his anger at Noble’s previous comment and answer the question plainly.
‘Not necessarily. There are a good few hundred doctors at work at the Ruskin every day, and most of the time there’s some locums in, especially in A&E, so an unfamiliar face wouldn’t raise too many alarm bells. You put a stethoscope around your neck, you can get just about anywhere in a hospital.’
‘Mmm,’ Marsden said, obviously fighting for control of the room. ‘We’ll cross-check all Saviour Project staff with those who may have been at the Ruskin around that time. And let’s not forget, it’s possible that there’s more than one person involved here. We could be looking at a group of offenders. A ring, so to speak.’
That thought resonated around the room for a short while, before Wilson piped up.
‘There’s something else,’ he said. ‘Whoever shot James Lahiri last night wounded the harbour watchman as well, but he took the time to put a tourniquet on. And he knew how. That’s another indicator we’re looking at a medic here.’
‘So he’s a nonce who works in a hospital,’ a young detective said. ‘Surely they couldn’t get a job, with that kind of record.’
‘We know how clever some of these fuckers can be, Helen,’ another copper replied. ‘They can stay clean for years.’
‘He’s not a paedophile,’ someone else cut in. ‘Those are teenagers, not kids. It’s a different type of perv we’re looking at, and that’s important.’
‘Good point, Mike. Also, sexual activity with both a male and female, that’s unusual.’
A few more voices shouted out, until one cut through them, the booming, didactic tone that belonged to DCI Fairweather.
‘Gentlemen, ladies, please,’ Fairweather said, standing up. ‘I’m sorry to tread on your toes, Louisa, but it does strike me that we’re making a very dubious assumption. We’re all talking like we’re sure that the murder of Dr Lahiri yesterday evening is linked to all of this.’
‘With respect, Marcus—’ Marsden began.
‘I’d like to hear a better idea if you’ve got one,’ Noble interrupted. ‘Sir. Lahiri was Idris’s GP. They’re linked. Like I said, there are two possibilities. Either Lahiri was involved in the abuse, and he’s been taken out by his co-conspirator to stop him coming to the police. Or he’s not involved, but he knew something that would tip us off. He told Harry about the scheme to prescribe some of the Saviour Project patients cannabis.’
Harry had never felt an urge to hit a woman before, but he was getting close. Lahiri was dead, and Christ, he hadn’t been a perfect man by any means. But the suggestion that his friend was a sexual sadist set Harry’s blood rising, and he was finding the words to attack Noble’s statement when Marsden started talking.
‘We know they’re connected,’ she said, turning to DCI Fairweather. ‘It’s the same gun.’
‘What?’ Noble said. ‘Ballistics confirmed
that, did they?’
‘They did indeed,’ said Marsden. ‘Worked overnight for us. DS Cheung got the report through this morning. Terry?’
Cheung stood up and addressed the crowd. Harry was struggling to concentrate on what he was saying, still furious at Noble’s earlier suggestion. She was the one he trusted, the one who’d made a pact that they would find out what had happened to Solomon Idris, and now she was just wrong.
‘We recovered two shell casings from the marina,’ Cheung continued. His accent was almost comical, the Scouse obvious, but with a breathless, sweaty voice that reminded Harry of a man who’d often frequented the pub he’d worked in during medical school. ‘Nine-millimetre rounds. Firing pin markings on the casings were forensically matched to those recovered from the Wyndham Road crime scene on Sunday evening.’
Cheung was playing with a laptop, opening up an email attachment.
‘They ran it through NABIS and got nothing. The gun’s not been used in any previous crimes. But we do have a lead on the ammunition.’
The detective zoomed in on the round, brass surface of the base of a cartridge casing. Harry squinted to look at it, the markings stamped into the metal vaguely familiar.
‘That’s army-issue,’ Harry said. Underneath the NATO motif was a military L number, a designation system which was only used by the UK.
‘Yeah, it is. Radway Green, manufactured in 2004. Apparently, we’ve seen this ammunition in London before.’
Next to Harry, DS Wilson spoke up.
‘Fitz,’ he said.
‘Sorry?’ said DCI Marsden. ‘Who’s Fitz?’
‘He’s a gun dealer,’ Wilson said. ‘CID are investigating him in a joint operation with Trident. He popped up on our radar just before Christmas. We don’t know his full name, but everyone calls him Fitz; we think it’s an abbreviation of his surname. He’s local to the Elephant & Castle area, been seen drinking in the Wetherspoons there. He exploits a loophole in the law with respect to antique firearms – goes over to Europe with a few mates posing as collectors and buys old World War One pistols at antiques markets, which you can legally import into the UK.’
‘Well, it’s legal until he puts live ammunition into them and sells them to teenagers,’ Noble added.
‘And he uses military ammunition?’ Marsden said.
‘According to our sources,’ Wilson said. ‘He’s a double amputee. We heard he used to be in one of the engineering regiments – might have been bomb disposal. But Trident haven’t got anywhere with an ID.’
‘More than that, though,’ Cheung said. ‘That ammo’s from the same batch recovered in seized weapons known to have come from him.’
‘Christ,’ Harry said. Ordnance disposal was done by ammunition technicians, whose other duties included acting as armourers during deployment. It wasn’t exactly a transferable skill, unless you were willing to break bad.
‘Right,’ said Marsden. ‘Any other forensics?’
‘Potentially,’ said Cheung. ‘Scene of Crime recovered a DNA sample from the belt our shooter tied around the security guard’s thigh. They’re running it against all known parties. Might have something back by this afternoon.’
‘Great work on the gun,’ Marsden said. ‘That’s one hell of a lead if we can bring this guy in and sweat him. DS Wilson, that’s your action. Get it done. Terry, I want you to coordinate with my team and run the backgrounds of everyone who worked with the Saviour Project team. Prioritise anyone with a previous conviction, even if it’s not sexual, and anyone who would have had access to the computer system at the Ruskin. Frankie and Marcus, my office, and we’ll draw up the Major Investigation Plan, make sure we’re not missing anything.’
Marsden turned around, preaching now. Harry shuffled on his chair as people stood up, sure that his omission in her list of orders hadn’t been merely accidental. He was thinking of the video and the look in Solomon Idris’s eyes.
‘It’s the easy stuff which will win us this one, guys,’ Marsden continued. ‘Let’s do it right.’
Some of the other detectives spat out platitudes in response. Harry stood and locked eyes with Noble, who cocked her head towards the door.
When they got out into the corridor, Noble opened a fire exit and stepped out into fresh, powdery snow. Harry looked at the ground while she lit up. He was rehearsing his words in his head, trying to work out how to put his argument. The snow wasn’t sticking.
‘I can’t—’ Noble said.
Harry leant forward and picked the cigarette from between her lips.
‘Fuck you,’ he said.
‘Sorry, I was just trying to—’
‘Not for that,’ Harry said. ‘I mean fuck you for what you said back in there.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Two theories,’ Harry quoted. ‘You think Lahiri was responsible for what we just watched? You think he did that? You think he got his kicks from raping teenagers?’
Noble stared Harry down, retrieved her cigarette from his fingers, and smoked it.
‘What I think is that there has to be a reason for someone to kill him,’ she said. ‘So either he was involved, or he knew enough about it to be a reasonable witness against someone who was.’
‘He wasn’t a rapist,’ Harry said. ‘I knew him for fifteen years, and he was my best fucking friend.’
‘Harry, I’ve heard wives say that about their husbands. We all have.’
‘Well, not this one,’ Harry said. ‘He’s dead now, OK? And it is fucking me up, and I promised the boss I’d find who did it, and ignorant coppers who didn’t know him talking shit about him is not fucking helping!’
He finished, his cheeks hot despite the cold. Two community support officers jogged around the building, come to investigate the commotion. Noble dismissed them with a gesture, and Harry felt like crying again. Wished he could find the pressure valve and let everything out.
‘Sorry,’ he said.
‘It’s OK,’ said Noble. She reached out to touch his arm, but Harry drew it away. She laughed. ‘I’m being friendly, alright? I’m not gonna try and fuck you in the car park.’
Harry shook his head.
‘I’m serious,’ he said. ‘Lahiri wasn’t that man. If you go down that road, then you’ll waste a lot of time, OK? You’ve got to believe me.’
Noble nodded.
‘I believe you,’ she said. ‘But in this line of work we never assume a thing. You can understand that, can’t you?’
‘He called me over,’ Harry said. ‘He told me about the cannabis prescriptions, about all of that. Why’d he do that if he was guilty?’
‘Misdirection,’ Noble said. ‘Trying to get us to focus elsewhere.’
‘Then surely he’d direct us away from the Saviour Project, wouldn’t he?’
‘Maybe. But there’s no point agonising over stuff like this. I hate to say it, but Marsden’s right on this one. Whoever’s behind this will have a record and a history. We’ll get there with old-fashioned hard work. Knocking on doors.’
Harry nodded. Snow fell down and cooled his face, and he thought about the sound of Tammas crying through his tube. Behind them, someone came out of the fire escape. They both turned to look. It was Wilson.
‘There you are, guv,’ Wilson said. ‘DS Cheung’s looking for you.’
‘Well, aren’t I the lucky one,’ Noble said, crushing out the cigarette. ‘Mo can sort you out – speak to uniform and organise you a minder – and then you’ll want to go home, I guess?’
‘I’m not having a minder,’ Harry said. ‘And I’m gonna head to the hospital first. Check on Idris.’
Noble shook her head.
‘Harry, this is our case now. Don’t cause us grief.’
And with that, she strode away. Harry watched her jog along the corridor, the dark jeans tight around her legs, remembered his drunken fumblings of the night before. Adrenaline, alcohol, cortisol, the right combination of brain chemistry for two sensible, professional people to do somethin
g wild and stupid. He hadn’t even been attracted to her when they’d first met. Wilson beckoned Harry into the corridor.
‘I’m not having a shadow,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll take my chances.’
Wilson breathed in.
‘The guv said—’
‘I know what she said,’ Harry said. ‘Tell her I ran off if needs be. But I’m getting out of here.’
‘Take your chances, then. But stay the hell out of trouble.’
Wilson smiled. Harry could tell he knew that he wasn’t going to honour those words and smiled back. They got out into the car park and stood under an alcove, watching uniformed coppers scrape snow and ice off patrol car windscreens.
‘Do you need a lift to the hospital?’ Wilson said.
‘I’ll get a cab. You don’t have a spare phone I could borrow, do you?’
His own was still in the evidence locker. Wilson reached into his pocket and handed him an old Samsung.
‘Take mine for now. I’m sure I’ll see you later. I’ve got my work one anyway. That’s got Frankie’s number if you need it.’
Harry nodded. He was thinking about what Marsden had said, about their best lead bearing on Wilson finding the man who’d likely sold the gun which had killed Lahiri. A man with no legs who spent most of his time in a chain pub in the middle of Walworth couldn’t be too hard to find.
‘Tell me what you know about Fitz,’ Harry said.
‘The gun dealer?’
‘Yeah. You think it’s short for his surname?’
‘I reckon so,’ Wilson said. ‘Fitzgerald, Fitzwilliam, you know, something like that. I’m not on the team investigating him, but one of my CIs has heard of him. My guy runs an off-licence on the Elephant & Castle roundabout, reckons that this bloke comes in pretty much every day for two six-packs of Special Brew. Sometimes has people asking after him.’
‘So he’s a heavy drinker?’ Harry said. ‘And he’s in a wheelchair?’
‘Yeah, so I’ve heard,’ Wilson said, sounding confused. Harry had an embryo of an idea, something that would probably get him struck off if he went through with it, so he stayed quiet. Wilson looked at him suspiciously, but let it go.
