Cold as Ice

by Lee Weeks

  ‘Yes. This afternoon. I’ll give you a call when we’re ready to start.’

  ‘Thanks.’ They left Harding in the tent.

  ‘The tattoo’s got to mean something to someone, Ebb,’ said Carter as he and Willis stepped back over the crime scene tape and walked back towards the detectives’ pool car: a black BMW. ‘We’ll get Harding to take a biopsy. The inks used might help us narrow it down to certain tattooists. Did you ask the canal man if he’d seen anything suspicious? He might have seen someone coming to try it for a location. Did you get a statement from him?’

  Ebony nodded. ‘Yes, but nothing suspicious.’

  Carter pushed past a journalist who called out ‘Excuse me, mate?’ as he passed.

  ‘Christ – no – you can’t have a frigging interview.’ Carter squared up to him. ‘If you vultures don’t get out of the way I’ll do you for obstructing a police investigation. And I’m not your frigging mate – got it? MOVE.’

  The reporter backed off with two hands in the air in a mock show of compliance.

  ‘Just doing our job.’

  Ebony looked across at Carter as he shook his head, annoyed. They’d worked together for a year. She knew him well. She knew he’d be cross because the reporter was right and, on most days, Carter would have chatted to the journalists, got them on his side. But today Carter was somewhere dark in his own head. He looked across at her and shook his head, exasperated.

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘You all right, Guv?’

  ‘Yeah. Sorry – got a lot going on at the moment, Ebb.’

  ‘Guv?’

  She raised her eyes towards the car to show where they’d left it and to show Carter that he was going in the opposite direction.

  ‘I know, I know,’ he snapped irritably.

  Carter got into the driver’s seat and waited till Willis shut her passenger door and then reversed at speed, almost hitting the photographer who had just stepped off the kerb to get a photo of them leaving. Willis stayed quiet. She looked across at him. She’d worked with him long enough to know he’d tell her in his own time. She was waiting for him to calm down and get back to what he was good at. Carter was the best ‘people person’ she knew. Today was an ‘off’ day.

  ‘You want me to attend the post mortem on my own, Guv? It’s no problem.’

  ‘What, and let you have all the fun?’ He smiled gratefully. ‘No, I’ll be all right, Ebb. Nothing like the smell of a post mortem to get things in perspective.’

  After the black BMW had passed him on the bridge, the man turned back to look at the white tent below. The fog was just beginning to thin and he could see it shine bright in the wisps of white. He smiled to himself. He was breathless. Something told him today was the day she would finally rise through the dark water to reveal herself to the world – reborn. And the game would begin again.

  Chapter 3

  Tracy Collins was still in her dressing gown watching telly while she got ready for work. She was on a late shift today. She worked on a cosmetics counter at Simmons department store on Holloway Road. Because Christmas opening hours had just begun, her shift started at two today and would go on until nine.

  Her husband Steve had left for work already so Tracy didn’t have to bother about anything other than putting on her face for work. She liked the noise of the television to keep her company while she got ready. She listened to the news as she wandered in and out of the bathroom between applying layers of make-up.

  ‘Damn.’

  It all seemed to be going so well then she dropped an eyelash just as she was about to glue it into place. Tracy knelt on the lino and tried to pick it up between her finger and thumb but her acrylic nails were too thick at their ends. Instead she licked the pad of her forefinger and pressed it down on the lash. She stood back up and deposited it on the side of the sink, stopping to listen to the reporter on the telly in the other room.

  ‘Today a woman’s body was found beneath the ice in the Regent’s Canal at King’s Cross.’ Tracy walked back into the lounge, looking at the TV screen – at the image of the fog and the frozen canal. ‘Police are not yet able to identify the woman and are treating her death as suspicious. They are appealing for any witnesses and anyone with any information to come forward and ring the number on the screen.’

  Tracy moved closer to the screen to get a better look at the canal and the crime scene tent. She knew the area well. She’d had many walks along the canal. She knew that exact spot. As she swung her head in disbelief and squinted at the images of the crime scene tent she caught a glimpse of an Italian-looking detective with immaculate black shiny hair and a stripy scarf pulled up around his chin. Then, a few seconds later, she saw a blonde-haired woman in a white forensic suit emerging from the tent. Just as she was absorbed with watching the report the phone rang and made Tracy jump. She ran and grabbed it from the bathroom where she’d left it on top of the toilet cistern.

  Her heart thumped as she looked at the number on the screen.

  ‘Yes?’ she said abruptly.

  She hadn’t meant to sound so jumpy. The news, the disturbance to her routine had done it. She was jittery.

  ‘Is it a bad time?’ It was a woman’s voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘No. Sorry. You just caught me, that’s all. I’m getting ready for work.’ She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

  ‘Is it still okay for today?’ the woman asked.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ Tracy said, her voice metre swinging too high. ‘I’m looking forward to it. But – I’m sorry – I don’t have long. It will just have to be a quick chat today. You do understand? It’s Christmas opening hours and we’re going to be really busy in the shop.’

  ‘Yeah. You said before.’

  ‘Oh sorry . . . of course . . . I’m just nervous. Are you still bringing your son with you – Jackson, isn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t have a choice. He only goes to school in the mornings.’

  ‘And you know where it is?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s fine, as I said, there’s a Christmas Fayre just around the corner from me. We can meet there by Santa’s Grotto.’

  ‘Okay. See you there.’

  ‘But I don’t know what you look like.’

  ‘I’ll know you,’ the woman answered.

  ‘Oh . . . all right. Well, I’ll see you at four then. I’m looking forward it.’ Tracy was just about to ask her how she would know her when the phone went dead. ‘Hello? Danielle?’ Tracy looked at the phone in her hand for a few seconds. Had she handled that well? Had she come across okay? She sighed and set about saving the number: new contact.

  Tracy felt butterflies in her stomach. Some of it was guilt. She hadn’t told Steve what she was up to. She didn’t know why but it didn’t seem a good idea; not until she was sure what would come of it. She went back into the bathroom and applied fresh glue to the eyelash on the side of the sink. As she waited for her hand to stop shaking she looked at her reflection. Danielle must have come into Simmons and seen Tracy behind the counter. What had she thought? She always tried to make a good impression and to look her best. Had she looked okay that day? She must have, she supposed, otherwise Danielle wouldn’t want to see her, let alone bring her son.

  Tracy paused, eyelash on her finger, and looked into her reflection. She felt old suddenly. She looked at herself and frowned. Thirty-six wasn’t old. Deep inside she was still the same girl she used to be. She still wore the same make-up she’d worn as a teenager. Her hair was dyed to keep it looking vibrant. Her skirts were longer now. But inside she was the same girl who’d got pregnant at fifteen.

  Chapter 4

  Carter and Willis returned to Fletcher House, where they were part of the thirty-eight-man Murder Squad. Fletcher House was at the back of Archway Tube station and joined onto Archway Police Station. Just a door separated the normal goings-on of a police station from what they called ‘The Dark Side’. It was home to Major Incident Team seventeen, MIT 17
, along with three other MIT teams that served Londoners north of the Thames. Each MIT team had its own, identically laid out, floor. MIT17 was on the third floor.

  ‘Sir?’ Carter knocked and entered Detective Chief Inspector Bowie’s office door. Since the retirement of Superintendent Tanner, Bowie was the most senior detective in MIT 17.

  ‘You got a callout this morning?’ Bowie asked from behind his desk. The desk itself was messy, littered with papers and personal effects. In pride of place were photos of his wife and kids.

  Carter came to sit down opposite him. Despite his expensive suit and three-hundred-quid shoes, Bowie always had a dishevelled look; his shoes needed cleaning and his suit didn’t sit properly on his bony shoulders. He struggled to keep weight on. He was pale, tall and blond with watery blue eyes.

  ‘A woman pulled out of Regent’s Canal at King’s Cross, Sir.’ Carter took off his coat and scarf and hung them over the back of the chair.

  ‘Any idea who she is?’

  ‘Not yet. She’s pretty distinctive with long auburn hair, youngish – early twenties. She has a tattoo which we’re hopeful about.’

  ‘How did she die?’

  ‘She’d been strangled. Probable sexual motive. She had a plastic bag over her head.’

  ‘Maybe a sex game gone wrong?’

  ‘I was thinking the same.’

  ‘Dismembered?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Heat of the moment then – he panics and throws her into the canal.’

  ‘Yeah,’ agreed Carter. ‘Except Doctor Harding says the bag was put on after death.’

  ‘You’re SIO on this investigation. Operation Sparrowhawk.’ Carter nodded. Murder Investigations were named in alphabetical sequence, they followed groups. The last group had been towns in Australia; this time it was birds of prey.

  ‘Still, I think a prostitute seems likely,’ said Carter. ‘We’ll get officers out on the surrounding streets with a photofit of her and see if any of the regulars recognize her. SOCOs are out searching the surrounding undergrowth and along the towpath for any items of clothing or ID but I’m not expecting great results. Doctor Harding estimates she’d been in the water a couple of months, maybe three.’

  ‘Was she wearing any clothing?’

  ‘She was naked except for a chain around her neck with two rings on it. One of them is worth money – we’re running it through lost and stolen property files now.’

  ‘What’s the condition of the body?’

  ‘The drop in water temperature has kept it from decomposing too far. Skin is still there but it’s lifted and most of her fingers are gone. But she was in a bad way before she ended up at the bottom of the canal.’ Carter took out his phone and handed it to Bowie. ‘She has these wounds over her body.’

  Bowie took the phone from him and slid his finger across the screen as he viewed the shots.

  ‘Nasty. Aren’t they caused by the pond life?’

  Carter shook his head.

  ‘What does Doctor Harding say they are?’

  ‘She says they started out as ulcers left untreated – it’s possibly down to some contaminated heroin injected under the skin.’

  ‘Better see if there is some on the streets that’s capable of that.’

  ‘Yeah – doing it.’

  ‘Anyone interviewed the lad that found her yet?’

  ‘We took a statement from him earlier, much earlier.’ A smile crept across Carter’s face. ‘We’re holding him for a bit longer just in case we remember anything else we want to ask him. Then maybe he’ll remember his civic duty next time and call us first instead of posting a photo on Instagram.’

  ‘Jesus Christ – little fucker. Let me know what you need after you talk to Robbo. Let’s get it all set up. When’s the post mortem?’

  ‘Harding said she’d get started in about an hour. I’m heading over there shortly.’

  ‘Okay, keep me in the loop.’

  Carter left Bowie’s office and walked down the corridor to the largest office in the department – the Enquiry Team Office. Willis was sitting at one of the six long desks. Jeanie Vincent the Family Liaison Officer sat diagonally opposite her. When the office was full there were twenty detective constables and five detective sergeants in it.

  Ebony was scanning through Missing Persons records.

  Carter stopped at her station and looked over her shoulder at the screen. ‘Anything in Mispers?’ His eyes drifted up to nod a hello to Jeanie. Jeanie smiled back.

  ‘Not yet, Guv.’

  ‘Okay, you ready? We don’t want to be late for Doctor Harding.’

  ‘Ready.’ Ebony stood and picked up her jacket. ‘Are we walking over, Guv?’

  Carter didn’t answer so Jeanie did. ‘Don’t be silly. Of course not.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You know he hates what the damp air does to his hair, Ebb.’

  Ebony smiled.

  ‘And don’t forget you’re coming to Sunday lunch soon. Peter’s cooking it so you’re safe. It’ll be edible this time.’

  ‘Nice to know some things never change,’ said Carter as he waited for Ebony to shut down her PC.

  Jeanie nodded. ‘Yep. It’s never a good thing to admit you can cook to a man – slippery slope. How are your parents, Dan?’

  Carter nodded. He looked ready to say something and then changed his mind.

  ‘Give them my love.’ Jeanie’s eyes lingered on him.

  ‘Will do.’

  They caught the lift down to the car park. Ebony looked across at Carter. She was used to the awkwardness between Jeanie and Carter. They had been a couple long before Ebony began working at the Murder Squad. They still found it difficult to work together. But Ebony had seen the way Carter hesitated at the question about his parents. She knew something wasn’t right. She’d met his parents many times when she and Carter had called in after work and been fed or given a coffee. She was very fond of them. She hadn’t been around to their home in Finchley for a couple of months.

  He turned to see her watching him.

  ‘My dad’s really ill. He’s got throat cancer.’ Carter smiled sadly and shook his head. ‘Cigars have done it. That and a few brandies every night.’

  ‘Is he having treatment?’

  ‘Yes. He’s having an operation to remove what they can. It’s a terrible thing to feel so helpless. I can’t do anything to help him. He can’t eat. He sits in his chair in the lounge and he pretends to be fine about it but I can see the panic in his eyes. He’s scared.’ Carter started up the engine. ‘Still, where there’s life – there’s hope, huh? He’s a fighter.’

  ‘He’ll be all right, Guv.’

  ‘Yeah – let’s hope so, Ebb. And at least he didn’t end up at the bottom of a freezing canal.’

  The fog had cleared and the man walked away from the canal bridge and back through the new building works in King’s Cross. He stopped to look through a peep hole at the massive construction site that encompassed the whole of King’s Cross Station and the surrounding area. The day stretched pale blue and a giant crane swung in the air. The ache and groan of steel being driven into the earth made him feel exhilarated. He felt the blood pump around his body as he stood watching the huge machinery languidly move its metal limbs and lower and lift.

  A group of Chinese students passed, all chattering together. They didn’t notice him. A woman passed walking too fast for her skirt. She was in a hurry – going somewhere. She glanced his way; he stared back. He saw beneath the make-up, he peeled her open like an onion, folding back the layers of skin, fat, muscle and severing tendon and ligament, snapping bone.

  She came level with him and he smelt her perfume. It made him want to grab her by the neck and pin her to the wall, squeeze her neck, lift her feet from the ground as he cut off the oxygen to her brain. He would watch her eyes widen, panic, stare at him, drift and lose focus and roll back in her head and he would part her thighs and enter her at that moment and the last thing she would feel was him inside her, the pleasure and the pai
n in death and ecstasy.

  The woman stared back at him as if she knew what he wanted to do and was inviting him to try. Just fucking try. He smiled at her. She tossed her chin in the air and walked on by.

  Didn’t she realize who he was? Didn’t she realize she was in the presence of greatness? He had complete control over other human beings – over her, if he wanted it. He had power at his fingertips that she would never know because she wasn’t worthy. He picked the women he chose to play his game very carefully. He handpicked them and he decided their fate from that moment on. He decided how they lived and how they died.

  He turned back to watch the magnificent machines he loved. The massive cranes stretched up to the sky and prepared to do battle with one another, lowering and lifting their mighty heads. His head hurt with the pleasure of it all.

  ‘Got a light, mate?’ An art student from nearby Saint Martins interrupted his thoughts. The student had a hand-rolled cigarette in between his fingers. His hands were dotted with paint.

  ‘Got a light, mate?’ he mimicked. The young man scowled and turned his head away for a few seconds as if considering his reaction.

  ‘Got a light? Got a light?’ he parroted again.

  For a second the two men stared at one another.

  ‘Go fuck yourself.’ The young man shook his head and started walking away. ‘Fucking weirdo.’

  Chapter 5

  Doctor Jo Harding had a reputation for being as cold as the corpses she cut up. She was brittle inside, steel outside. She worked exclusively for the Murder Squad. She carried out the forensic post mortems in her laboratory in the Whittington Hospital mortuary department which was just a few minutes’ walk from Fletcher House and Archway Police Station.

  Mark, the mortuary technician, knocked and entered her office as she was looking at the X-rays.

  ‘Inspector Carter and DC Willis are on their way over, Doctor.’

  She pushed her chair back and looked up from her desk. ‘Okay – you can begin. I’ll be out in a minute.’

  Mark left her office with a nod and went to get changed before going through to the body store and wheeling out the body from the canal. He waited to unzip the body bag. For him there was a ceremonial aspect to the disrobing of the victim. He showed reverence, in deference to the deceased person. He was a sensitive soul. He already smelt the odour of advanced decomposition. He kept his eyes lowered as he opened the zip all the way and then his eyes took in her injuries one by one and he felt a heavy sadness that was the same today as it had been the first time he’d seen a dead body, the day he started work at the funeral home where he had worked for eight years before joining Doctor Harding. He sadly peeled the edges of the bag back and looked at the auburn-haired woman, her face moulded into a mannequin of horror, her auburn hair snaking out and he thought how beautiful she must once have been. He moved to the top of the table and laid out the necessary tools on the tray above the sink.