by Wonny Lea
Matt talked his way through the detail of his case without interruption, and was surprised at the order it had brought to his thinking.
‘It sounds like your first case is turning into a bit of a cracker. A murder and a double-double mystery.’
Matt nodded. ‘Hopefully! Both Elizabeth and Ellie seem really nice and I hope something good’ll come out of this for them. It would’ve been better if their lives had come together at a different time, but there’s no arguing with fate, is there?
‘I think Ellie will come to terms with things quite quickly but I’m not so sure about her mother. She’s kept the existence of her daughter a secret for more than twenty years, and now she’s struggling to cope with its exposure within hours of being told that her father’s dead. Not just dead … murdered.’
Matt’s phone rang and he answered to the familiar voice of Mrs Williams.
‘I’ve got the professor with me, and he wants to talk to you about the toxicology report on Edward Ferguson. He’s got some things he thinks you would like to see.’
‘I’m with DCI Phelps at the moment but I’ll come straight down.’
‘If you’re on the top floor, get the DCI to switch on our link and we’ll come up to you – metaphorically speaking.’
Mrs Williams gave a nervous laugh and turned on the connection from her end. Matt told Martin what Mrs Williams had suggested, and he did the same.
Matt was impressed. ‘That’s the speediest visual linkage ever!’
As always, the Prof was enjoying enthralling his audience. ‘Our gentleman was killed by a dendroaspis polylepis.’
‘By a what?’ asked Matt and Martin in unison.
There were several screens in the Prof’s favourite post-mortem room that were mainly used for training purposes, and on one of them was an image of a deadly looking snake.
‘If you know this beauty at all you’ll recognise it by its more common name – it’s a black mamba. I could entertain you all day with the stories that surround it in Africa. It’s sufficient to say that if one was making for me I’d be running away as fast as these old legs could carry me, and even that may not be good enough. These killers move at up to sixteen kilometres an hour when targeting prey, and their venom is deadly. Without the very specific antidote, no human being could expect to live more than about, oh, an hour – possibly less than twenty minutes.’
‘Bloody hell,’ interjected Matt. ‘Are you saying there was a deadly snake loose on the train? Could the puncture wound on the leg be where it bit him, and not from a needle at all?’
The professor laughed. ‘Don’t get carried away, young man, there’s not a deadly snake on the loose in Cardiff! Unfortunately the killer is human, and rather more dangerous than the black mamba, who after all only kills for the food it needs to survive. Mr Ferguson was injected with a syringe full of its venom, and that’s why death was so swift. I doubt even if there had been an antidote immediately to hand it would have worked on that level of poison.’
‘Would he have died instantly?’ asked Martin.
‘Well, not quite, and that’s the clever thing. Even though the content of the syringe was lethal and the dose was excessive, it wouldn’t have worked straight away unless it was administered intravenously. A substance has to get into the bloodstream first of all but once it’s done that the process of absorption is usually rapid.
‘I said the dose was excessive, but that doesn’t mean a large amount of fluid was injected. There are all sorts of ways to concentrate toxicity into a small dose which makes it quicker to administer by injection. The killer wouldn’t have wanted to spend even a second more than he had to pushing fluid into the muscle and possibly attracting attention.’
‘If someone stuck a needle in me I’d jump,’ suggested Matt. ‘But we’ve asked witnesses if they saw any strange behaviour before Mr Ferguson died and there was nothing. Still, from what you say he could have been injected some minutes before he died so we need to wind their memories back a bit.’
‘You do indeed. I’ve made some enquiries about this particular snake venom and it’s likely that respiratory paralysis was a prime mover in the death. It’s probable that our man just sat there until his lungs, and then his heart, were fatally compromised, and your killer was in a far corner of the carriage waiting to make a speedy exit.
‘Now that I know about the venom I’m going to re-examine my post-mortem findings. I don’t expect to be able to give you any further information but I need to see if there is anything I should have picked up – for future reference.’
With the video link severed, Matt reiterated what had been revealed and went back to sharing his thoughts on the case.
‘If the syringe had been found there’d have been a faster route to its contents,’ stated Martin.
‘So far Alex has got dozens of fingerprints and all the other things people leave behind on public transport. In the event of me finding the killer I may be able to prove he travelled in that carriage. Problem is, I haven’t even got a suspect to match things against. I’ve ruled out a random killing, and I’m convinced that the motive will turn out to be some sort of gain. My second thought is that maybe he was silenced. From speaking to his daughter I get the impression that Edward Ferguson was an astute businessman, who didn’t suffer fools gladly, and it’s likely he made enemies in the City.
‘I’ve got people trawling all over his business dealings and his personal finances, and speaking to members of his golf club. We’re still at that stage of information-gathering when what I really need is a breakthrough.’
‘It’ll come,’ replied Martin. ‘Have you engaged with the media at all?’
‘They’ve been given a statement and I’ve appealed for passengers on the train or in Cardiff Central at the time to come forward. Someone must have seen something! There is one man in particular that we’re looking for and he shouldn’t be that difficult to find. Several passengers noticed a stranger, and factoring out the usual differences in observation they seem to be describing the same man. Unfortunately people’s powers of observation can leave a lot to be desired, and basically all I know is that he’s big, probably not from the area, and has very large feet! I guess I’m pinning all my hopes on him coming forward, but if he’s the killer I’m not holding out much hope of that happening.’
The two men laughed.
‘Feel free to use the new facilities that have been set up here,’ Martin offered. ‘You can feed in all the interviews your officers do and ask for the word recognition programme to select any witnesses who mention the same feature – for example a ginger-haired man or a young woman wearing a short skirt. The words you’ve just mentioned, “big” for example, are freely bandied about but there could be more interesting common threads surrounding them.
‘It would take you forever to go through every one of those statements with a microscope but this programme will throw up any relevant details in a flash. As we both know, the devil’s in the detail, and more than often it’s some small detail that solves a case. I don’t need to tell you that it’s still really early days for your investigation, and you’re likely to get more and more frustrated before the end. We’ve all been there but I’m sure you’ll crack it. Pity me, trying to find the identity of someone murdered eleven years ago!’
Matt grinned. ‘I don’t know where I’d start with that one! Alex told me what he remembered about the case but I’ve no recollection of it being on the news at all.’
‘Let me tell you about what I think could be my big break and you can tell me if I’m in with a chance or need to see a shrink!’
Martin told Matt about the shrine he and Shelley had found the previous Saturday.
‘I think someone must be laying a fresh stone at each anniversary of the young man’s murder.’
‘I guess Alex would be able to tell you if the stones were all placed there at the same time or if there’s a period of time between each new arrival.’
Martin acknowledged Matt’s s
uggestion. ‘I thought about that, but until Thursday is over I don’t want anyone going near the shrine. It looks to me as if the stones are rearranged with the arrival of each new one, to keep the appearance of the petals of a flower carefully placed around one central stone. It’s not just a once-yearly thing, either, because the stones are regularly polished and the surrounding area kept free of weeds. Alex’s people have already set up some well-hidden CCTV cameras, so all I can do is wait.’
‘And if memory serves you’re not very good at that,’ laughed Matt. ‘Anyway, I hope you get a result. Obviously someone has had good reason to remember the victim all this time. If it’s one of the kids that found the body or one of the local Somali groups we’d have heard about it. The press love that sort of thing, but there’s a very strong Somali community in Cardiff so it could just be someone that wants to see a fellow countrymen regain some respect.’
‘And that’s my biggest worry. If it is just a fellow countryman, he’ll know as little about the victim as I do. I can’t believe it’s the killer, and my hope is that it’s someone who knew the victim, maybe even a relative. I’ve tried to think about what was happening with new arrivals from Somalia around that time, and my main memory is of the “boat people”. We hear stories from all over the world about asylum seekers fleeing war zones, and I guess any country with a coastline is a potential destination. I’m just hoping that my victim came here with someone who still remembers him.’
‘Good luck with that,’ said Matt and without warning changed the subject in a way which answered questions that had been concerning some of his friends.
‘Sarah’s going to Australia and I’m bloody fed up,’ he announced.
‘Do I take it from your tone that she’s not just having a once-in-a-lifetime holiday?’ asked Martin cautiously.
‘No, it’s been in the pipeline for some time – she’s got relatives there. To be honest, I think it’s to do with a relationship she had with a senior doctor. He turned out to be married with kids and she felt very publicly humiliated. She swears she’s over him, but before we met she’d put the wheels in motion for Australia and I don’t know if I’ve done enough to stop her.’
Chapter Sixteen
Wednesday was almost exactly as Martin had predicted. Both he and Matt were immersed in the collation of detail for their respective cases. It was boring and frustrating, but often proved the most revealing and productive part of an investigation.
For the umpteenth time he checked on the arrangement for the monitoring of the shrine. He kept changing his mind regarding his own involvement in the operation. He wanted to watch the monitors Charlie had set up, and at the same time be in one of the unmarked cars that were to be parked on street corners near the site of the shrine.
He wouldn’t be going back to his cottage in Llantwit Major – that would be too far away from any potential action. Of course, there was no guarantee there would be any action, and he reminded himself that the whole operation was a long shot. He tried to narrow down the most likely time, and marked up the time the body was discovered as one possibility. Maybe the person who was visiting the shrine knew the time the body had been left there and so he or she would be visiting earlier.
He worried that the whole thing would be a total waste of time and tried to concentrate his mind by reviewing some of the original documents. The post-mortem report was every bit as sketchy as he’d remembered, and a closer examination showed that there was at least one page missing altogether.
The usual preamble was there and helped Martin get a much better picture of Geedi. All the body measurements were in metric, but Martin made the victim five feet seven in height, with a weight of just six stone six pounds. He was hardly the size of a full-grown man, more like a lanky adolescent, but Martin didn’t have the knowledge to be able to factor in things like ethnicity and poor nutrition.
He studied the photographs carefully and noted a lack of facial hair. There was pubic hair, but it looked to be relatively early in its development. The DCI referred back to the front sheet, where the estimated age of the deceased was recorded as between 20 and 25 years.
No way!
Martin though back to some of the sometimes painful processes that took place during adolescence. To the best of his recollection, he would have been about twelve years old when his body was at the stage of development shown in Geedi’s photograph. He wouldn’t have been as tall, as his major growth spurts had come a bit later – and he would have been much heavier, as he was going through what Aunt Pat had called his ‘chunky phase’ – but even allowing for the differences in ethnicity and way of life Martin could not see Geedi being more than fourteen at the time of his death. He would have been tall for his age, but everything else put him as being much younger than previously recorded.
Martin thought hard. He might come up with an age by a process of deduction, and still be years out – but the pathologist had had all the tools of her trade at her disposal, so how, or why, did she get it so badly wrong? It made no sense whatsoever.
Martin walked over towards the window with the case notes in his hands and stopped short as the change of light caused him to notice some alterations. He could see very clearly the estimated age, but until that moment he hadn’t noticed that the writing had been superimposed on some other figures.
He knew Charlie had scanned in the post-mortem report and so Martin systematically went through the index she had made until he found it. It was easy to enlarge the image of the part that had captured his interest and bingo – there it was!
The pathologist’s original figures agreed with his belief that Geedi was between twelve and fourteen years old at the time he was murdered. An attempt had been made to erase the original figures and it was only with the help of the computer enhancement that Martin could see that the new estimation of age was written over the previous entry.
If there had been a simple clerical error a line would have been drawn through the original entry and a new one written alongside. This looked like a deliberate attempt to turn attention away from the fact that this was the body of a boy and not a man – but why? What difference would that have made?
Martin remembered Ian Baker’s warning about not taking anything about this case at face value, and now he had found something to support that thinking. He looked at everything with the fresh pair of eyes that Chief Superintendent Atkinson had indicated the case would need. Martin enhanced all the files, and began a page-by-page trawl through all the previous reports to see if there were any more ‘errors’.
The daylight that had helped Martin pick up the first irregularity was disappearing fast and, just as he realised that he was struggling to read the lights came on. It was Shelley.
‘Your smile’s the second thing to light up the room.’
‘I know you’re not coming home tonight, but I thought you’d like to fill in the time between now and midnight with a meal and some company.’
‘I know how I’d like to fill in the time,’ suggested Martin. ‘But it may not be considered the best use of police facilities.’
Shelley kissed him but quickly pulled away as she realised that he was more than a little serious about his preferred activity.
‘You need to keep your mind on what could be a different sort of amazing night,’ she teased. ‘Let’s get you fed. I wasn’t thinking of going anywhere special – maybe somewhere where we can get some half-decent pasta. Then it’s off home to bed for me. With any luck you’ll join me before tomorrow, but I won’t hold my breath.’
For a couple of hours Martin pushed almost all thoughts of the case aside and enjoyed his time with Shelley. He told her what Matt had said about Sarah going to Australia and she shook her head.
‘Men! What are you like? It took you yonks to even notice my existence, and now Matt’s letting what he wants slip through his fingers. He doesn’t want her to go, does he?’
‘I get the impression he very much wants her to stay.’
‘Then
he needs to tell her! She’s not psychic. Contrary to popular belief we women don’t spend all our spare time talking about the men in our lives – though of course you do get a mention – and past relationships are fair game! I know Sarah was devastated when she found out some surgeon she was in love with already had a wife and kids. I think she felt the humiliation more than anything, because from what she says he’d had a string of affairs and everyone but Sarah seemed to know about them. She and Matt make a great couple but she’s scared of making another mistake. He needs to tell her exactly how he feels about her or she’ll feel she’s got no option than to follow the plans she’s put in place. Talk to him!’
‘I didn’t know I was in love with an agony aunt,’ laughed Martin. ‘But you’re right, we men aren’t always good at expressing our feelings. OK, yes, I’ll talk to him.’
It was just after 10.30 when Martin got back to Goleudy, having settled on a chicken and spinach lasagne that he would’ve liked to have washed down with a large glass or two of Chianti – but in the circumstances he settled for mineral water. He’d decided to do the full night shift. There was no point considering anything else as there was no way he was going to be able to sleep.
Martin checked the rota he’d been given and yet again satisfied himself that all the arrangements were in place. There was nothing else he could do and so impatiently waited until almost midnight before joining the first team of officers in the monitoring room.
Almost instantly the screen showed a man walking his dog and the sound system even picked up the scraping of a poop-scooper as the dog owner cleared up after his pet.
Shortly after midnight a young couple decided to stop directly in line with one of the cameras, and after a few passionate kisses just couldn’t keep their hands off one another.
