Nineteen
It was almost four p.m. before the briefing got underway in the Major Incident Suite. In the thirty-foot-square air-conditioned room the two syndicates of the HSCU sat on identical padded chairs, resting their major incident notebooks on attached side tables, facing a state-of-the-art interactive whiteboard. Standing before it on a raised rostrum was Detective Chief Inspector Diane Harris. Fussing with her light-brown hair to restore it back into a pony tail – a style she’d been forced to resort to, having been turned out straight from her bed that morning – she looked jaded. She had been on the go now for almost nine hours and had had very little opportunity to do anything with her appearance, except apply a little eyeliner and lipstick to add some colour to her tired-looking face. Her white blouse was rumpled and dark-blue slacks heavily creased. She finished coaxing her hair into an elastic hairband and shuffled her gaze among her seated team. Diane Harris deliberately and loudly cleared her throat.
The detectives’ excited chatter died away and a hush fell across the room.
“Good afternoon, everyone. Sorry it’s taken so long for this briefing to get off the ground, but this is not one of our normal run-of-the-mill murders. All will become clear very soon.” She pointed a hand-held remote up towards a projector hanging from the ceiling and an image flashed up on the whiteboard behind her. “The scene of our murder.” Taking up half the screen was an aerial shot, consisting of a section of river running from the top middle of the image down to bottom left. Above the top-left bank of the river was a strip of land incorporating trees and houses. In the middle of the river was a tiny rectangular island, comprising wholly of trees, and from the bottom bank of the river down to the right-hand corner of the picture was an area of woodland, a large field and a few large detached houses in their own grounds. A track separated the woodland from the fields. “For those who are not familiar with this area, or not yet had the opportunity to go to the scene, what you are looking at is an area of Ham. The island you can see is Glover’s Island and these woods at the bottom of the picture, which will become highly relevant in a few seconds, are accessed via River Lane, which is off the A307. Just so you can get your bearings, to the left-hand side of these woods is Ham Polo Club.” Diane Harris caught sight of a number of nodding heads. “Okay. At approximately six-fifty this morning, a witness walking his dog in these woods came across a suitcase wedged beneath a tree by the banks of the Thames, here.” She aimed the remote toward the projector again and the image contracted. Within a few seconds the view homed in on a section of the wooded copse and part of the river. Individual trees could now be picked out and what also became clear for the first time, close to the river bank, was a blue tent with five white-suited people dotted around it. “This shot was taken by the force helicopter at nine a.m. this morning. Inside that tent is the suitcase the witness found. And inside the suitcase is our body.” DCI Harris paused and scoped the room. She had everyone’s attention. “That body was wrapped in clear heavy-duty plastic sheeting similar to the type used by builders, and when forensics removed that sheeting they found that our body had been placed inside the suitcase naked. This is our body.” She clicked the remote and the picture changed. On screen, the shot was of an opened dark-blue suitcase with layers of clear plastic sheeting hanging over the sides. Squashed inside was a naked body, minus its head. The image was laid so only one arm was on show and that had no hand. It had been severed at the wrist. The flesh was waxen-like and wrinkled.
Diane heard someone exclaim “Wow!”
“Wow exactly!” she responded without looking back. She pointed to the screen. “The pathologist has made a cursory examination of the body at the scene and identified that it is female. He is unable to give a time of death at the moment but has said that he does not believe that the body has been in the water longer than forty-eight hours.” She turned back to face her team. “As we yet don’t know the cause of death.” She paused, and smiling added, “And I don’t want anyone stating the bleeding obvious – you know what I mean. The post-mortem is fixed up for seven o’clock tonight. Myself and Scarlett will be attending.” She exchanged glances with her DS and gave her a nod. “Before I move onto our priorities I want to bring you in, Scarlett. You’ve interviewed the witness who found the body. Tell us what you’ve got.”
Scarlett pulled herself up from a slouch and viewed the room. In a clear, confident voice, she said, “I video-interviewed a Michael Linane this morning. Mr Linane is sixty-seven, a retired teacher who lives on Friars Style Road, about a quarter of a mile from the scene. Eighteen months ago he lost his wife, and since then has had difficulty sleeping, and so he has a regular habit of going out walking with his dog each morning at around 6.30, taking the same route.” She glanced up at DCI Harris, who replaced the shot of the headless corpse with that of the previous aerial shot of the scene. “This morning Mr Linane set off at roughly the same time.” She pointed to the top right of the screen. “Leaving his home he crossed over the main A307 to the lane beside Buccleuch Gardens, and there he entered the track which runs beside the river and Petersham Meadows and headed towards the trees. His normal route is to keep to the towpath, cross over River Lane, enter the copse and carry on towards the ferry crossing near Eel Pie Island. There he turns around and walks back the way he came. Same route – day in, day out. I asked him if he ever met anyone on his walks, and he told me that on the first part of his journey, going towards the ferry crossing, he very rarely does, but coming back he sometimes comes across a couple of other dog-walkers who he usually just passes the time of day with. This morning, however, was different. This morning he met two young men on the towpath just before approaching Glover’s Island. He’s pretty sure they were young men, although he didn’t get a good look at their faces, because they had on hooded tops and they didn’t look up as he passed. He says that although he was surprised to see them, there was nothing about them that made him suspicious. They didn’t appear to be in any hurry or anything. Just simply walking along the towpath with their heads down. And he never gave it any thought about the hoods covering their faces because, as we know, the weather was horrible. He said there was nothing about them which raised any alarms, especially as they acknowledged him when he bid them good morning.” She paused and waited a couple of seconds before continuing. “He describes them both as being IC1, and of medium height and build. One was wearing a light-grey hoody and the other a dark-blue one. He thought there was a logo across the front of the dark-blue top, though he can’t recall what that logo was. He can’t remember much else about them. He said good morning to them, and the one in the grey top mumbled good morning back, but neither of them looked up, and they both walked past him. Mr Linane continued along the path, crossed over River Lane and into the woods, where, as we’ve all heard from the boss, he discovered the suitcase.” Wetting her lips she said, “Regarding Mr Linane’s journey, the towpath is narrow and besides the entry from Buccleuch Gardens it has no other access points until River Lane, where, as we can see on the map, there is a large parking area at the bottom. It slopes down into the river and is occasionally used by canoeists as an entry and exit point. I asked Mr Linane if there were any vehicles parked there this morning or if he had heard any vehicle on that lane and he hadn’t.” Pursing her mouth, Scarlett added, “Michael Linane is not known to us and I’m pretty happy with everything he’s told me at the moment. He appears to be simply another ‘dog-walker finds body’ statistic.” She gave a smile, saying, “That’s it,” and nodded toward her DCI, indicating she had finished.
“Right,” Diane Harris said, clapping her hands. “Thank you for that, Scarlett.” She shuffled her gaze from one detective to another. “As you can all appreciate things are still pretty much in their infancy, so there aren’t many actions at the moment, but it is imperative we discover who these two men are that Mr Linane saw this morning. Besides him, for now, those are the only other people we have around the scene where the body has been found. Following Scarlett
’s interview with Mr Linane we have extended our cordon to include the towpath, and besides the Marine Search Unit, I have a Task Force search team joining us tomorrow.” The DCI focussed her gaze upon DI Taylor-Butler, the designated incident room manager. “Other actions I want instigating are house-to-house. I know there aren’t many on River Lane, and given the grounds some of those are set in, and the height of the walls protecting them, I don’t expect anyone to have seen anything, but we have found some good fresh tyre tracks on that lane and as we can see from the aerial video it does provide good vehicle access to the river. As yet, we haven’t identified how, or where, the suitcase containing the body went into the Thames. Until we find that out we make attempts at tracing the vehicle which made those tracks. Scarlett has told me that a couple of the houses have their own CCTV systems fitted, so let’s see if they have a view of that lane; we might just get lucky. It’s too late today for all this so we kick things off tomorrow morning. By then the HOLMES team should have everything up and running, so everyone back in for eight a.m. briefing. I’ll bring back the findings of the PM and anything else we find out about our headless body.”
Twenty
The naked, marble-like, headless and handless female corpse lay on her back on a steel gurney. A Y-shaped stitched incision stretched from the neck down to the pubis area.
“Our victim,” exclaimed DCI Harris, pointing with the remote to the image on the interactive whiteboard. Today she was back to her old self, looking refreshed and smartly dressed. Her shoulder-length hair had been straightened to a bob, and her high-cheekboned face, as usual, had just enough make-up to camouflage the incipient crow’s feet around her pale-blue eyes, which had their sparkle back. She wore a tailored two-piece grey trouser suit with white cotton blouse. “The pathologist puts her at between eighteen and twenty-five. She would have been approximately five foot seven and as you can see she is very slim. She had been dead between twenty-four and thirty-six hours. Her stomach contents consisted of the partly digested remains of a cheese sandwich. Cause of death cannot be determined, and as the head is missing, injuries to that are expected to be the most probable cause. She was certainly dead when her head and hands were removed and there is no water in her lungs, so she wasn’t drowned.” Pausing momentarily she surveyed the room. The majority of her team’s eyes were focussed on the screen behind her. “There is extensive bruising to her back, stomach and legs, indicative of being kicked, punched and even stamped on, and there are marks to her upper arms. Probably finger marks, signs of her being restrained. What is clear is she took a hell of a battering prior to her death, though none of those injuries would have caused her death.” Tightening her mouth she added, “And either she engaged in pretty rough sex shortly before her death or she had been raped.” The majority of gazes were now upon her. “Anally and vaginally. From the pathologist’s findings I’m more inclined to think the latter.” She pointed back. “Without doubt this young lady suffered horrendously prior to her death. And even after death she was treated no better. Her killer, or killers, dismembered her quite crudely. The flesh around her neck and wrists has been hacked in places, suggesting that the knife that was used wasn’t that sharp, and the bones have been separated by a grinder. The pathologist believes it’s one of those small hand-held ones.” The picture changed. “And he has also discovered this.” On screen was a blown-up shot of a shoulder and upper arm. On the waxen-looking shoulder was a distinct crescent moon mark and inside that a shape that looked like a star. The symbols were in the form of raised pink scars which appeared fresh.
“The pathologist said that these are burn marks. They were done while she was alive. More than likely twenty-four-hours before she was killed. I have to confess I thought it was part of her beating until the pathologist pointed out that he had seen similar markings before on two females he had carried out PMs on around Christmas time last year. Two young women who’d died in a house fire. He thinks in Camden Town. He’s sure the detective investigating the case told him that the fire had been in a brothel and he believes the women were of Eastern European origin.” She paused. “He says on that occasion the marks were deliberate brands, like that on cattle.” Shaking her head she continued, “The pathologist is going to get his secretary to go through his records this morning and find out those details. In the meantime we have our own priorities.” She pointed to the screen. “Our victim. We need to identify her. Someone will be missing a wife, daughter, sister – check missing persons. Not much to go on, granted, but let’s make a start. We’ve got her height and build and DNA.” She aimed the remote at the projector and changed the picture. “The suitcase she was found in. Large, blue canvas. It certainly doesn’t appear to be new and doesn’t have any details as to the make but let’s see if we can trace its origin. The plastic sheeting she was wrapped in, the type builders use. That’s currently with Forensics to see if it has any prints on it. I know it’s been in the water for some time but we might get lucky.” She drifted her focus toward DI Taylor-Butler. “The two men our witness saw on the towpath. At present these are our only TIE’s. I want these two traced, interviewed and eliminated as a main priority. Arrange for e-fits to be done, and see if we can narrow down what that logo was on one of the hooded tops, to give us a better opportunity of identifying them. Let’s see if we can get something good enough for circulation. And I want the pathologist’s secretary chasing up. Get what details you can of the two females who died in that house fire in Camden Town. And track down the officer who was in charge of the investigation. Speak with whoever it was and arrange to get a copy of the file. I want to know the location of that fire and the circumstances.” She caught the DI nodding back as he scribbled notes in his notebook and she returned her eyes to her team. “And everyone else, if you haven’t got a priority enquiry its house-to house and liaison with the search teams at the scene.” Clicking the remote she returned the image of the headless woman onto the screen. “It’s imperative we catch whoever did this to this young lady – and fast.”
****
Seething inside, Scarlett was multitasking. She had her eyes set on her desktop screen and the phone trapped between her shoulder and ear. Jiggling with her mouse and tapping the keyboard one-fingered, she was slowly adding sentences to the Lycra Rapist file while speaking with the CSI supervisor, making arrangements for someone to visit Michael Linane, so that a composite e-fit could be compiled of the two young men he had seen on the towpath. Five minutes earlier DI Taylor-Butler had dramatically slapped an action form down in front of her, partially covering some of the documents scattered across her desk and barked, “The e-fit is yours.”
Stabbing a finger at the paperwork she had sharply replied, “But I’ve got some more work to do on the James Green remand file. CPS have requested that I put in more evidence about the attack on Ella, when he was arrested. He’s due back at court this afternoon.”
“That’s not my problem, DS Macey,” he had snapped as he turned his back on her.
As he had marched away she had remembered the words of the Bon Jovi song and mumbled back sarcastically, “Have a nice day” beneath her breath. She knew he had heard her because he had paused momentarily in mid-stride and looked back over his shoulder. She had met his glowering eyes with a fake charming smile.
Finishing her conversation and setting down the handset she glanced over in the DI’s direction. He was staring over his reading glasses back at her. She met his gawp and issued another false smile. “E-fit sorted, Sir,” she mouthed across the room and returned to the Lycra Rapist file.
Half an hour later, with the task completed, she clicked her mouse and scooted her chair away from her desk. On a table opposite a printer whirred into action and began spewing out sheets of paper. She watched her document churn out, counting each leaf inside her head as it was delivered into the printer tray, and just as the last one exited her desk phone rang. Sighing, she snatched it up.
“DS Macey, Homicide and Serious Crime Unit.”
> “Scarlett.” It was DCI Diane Harris. “Can you nip down the corridor to my office? I’ve got a job I want you to go out to.”
“Two secs, boss.” She hung up, picked out the dozen or so pages of the remand file, skimmed through them, checked they were in sequential order and fastened them together with a paper clip. Then, dragging her coat off the back of the chair and picking up her bag, she strode across the room and dropped the bundle over the lowered head of DI Taylor-Butler. It landed in front of him on top of the document he was concentrating on with a loud slap, making him jump.
Scarlett bit her lip and forced back the urge to smile. She said, “The Lycra Rapist update. As I said earlier, he’s due back in court this afternoon for a further remand. Can you check and sign it please before it goes to CPS?”
Over the rims of his glasses he looked up at her with enquiring eyes.
“The boss wants me to go out on some job.” She shrugged her shoulders, an indication that she had no idea what it was for, before adding, “The file needs to be with CPS by lunchtime.” With that she tucked her coat and bag under her arm, turned on her heels and left the room.
Scarlett rapped lightly on Diane Harris’s door and pushed it open.
The DCI was writing away at her desk. A pile of papers lay in front of her. Poising her pen she looked up and beckoned Scarlett to come in. “That was quick.” She set down her pen. “I’ve got a job I need you to do. I need you to go out to Ham House and liaise with the Task Force inspector. His search team have found a stolen BMW sports car dumped in the car park there. Looks as though someone’s tried to set fire to it. It’s only a quarter of a mile from where our body was found. You can probably guess what I’m thinking.”
“Those two hoodies our dog walker saw.”
Scream, You Die Page 9
