by Sarah Flint
Hunter nodded and stepped forward, Charlie following in his wake. She took a deep breath as she entered but still threw her hand up over her mouth and nose at the stench and the sight. The room was airless and windowless and a spotlight had been positioned by the SOCO to illuminate the crime scene. Leonard Cookson sat strapped to a chair in the centre of the space, his head lolling back and his mouth open. Blood covered his face and neck and was dried on to what was left of his clothing. His legs were bound to the front metal legs of the chair with a length of electrical cable and his arms were behind him, his hands held together with a pair of metal handcuffs looped through a metal crossover strut on the chair back. The seat of the chair had been burnt away and his pelvis and buttocks were wedged into the space that was left, his legs keeping him from slumping through the hole.
‘Fucking hell,’ Hunter muttered, bending down to stare at the ground underneath the chair. ‘What did the poor bastard do to deserve this?’ He pointed towards a small metal container standing upright under the body, containing the remainder of what appeared to be a firework. Ashes and burnt remnants of clothing and the wooden seat of the chair were scattered around it. ‘Whoever did this lit some sort of fire underneath him which has burnt through the seat and set him alight. The poor guy’s literally been burned alive.’
Charlie stared at the mess in front of her. She could hardly believe that a few hours previously it had been a living, breathing human being. It seemed that the fire had burnt strongly but only for a short time. There was little else in the building that appeared to be combustible. The murder had clearly been designed to send a message, leaving clues without obliterating the whole scene. She stepped to one side of the body and, as if on cue, her eyes were drawn to several items lying on the floor. The item she saw first and that drew her attention immediately was a rose, the redness of the flower a bright contrast against the black and grey of the ashes.
‘Another red rose,’ she bent towards it, staring at the delicate petals. Something about it looked odd. She stared at it for a few more moments before realising what was peculiar. ‘It’s had all the thorns removed. Look, the stem is smooth.’
‘That’s smart,’ Hunter stared at where she was pointing. ‘No risk of scratching themselves and leaving their DNA. I’ll check with SOCO whether the rose at Ashton’s scene was the same.’
Charlie shook her head, stunned, before her eyes strayed to the other items. ‘Bloody hell boss, look at this too,’ she said, straining to better see what was there. There were three other items laid together. ‘Is that what I think it is?’ She pointed in horror at a thin, pink sliver of roughened tissue, before putting her hand to her mouth subconsciously. ‘Is it his tongue?’
Hunter took a step towards the body and peered at Leonard Cookson’s mouth. ‘I can’t see properly, but it would certainly explain where the blood has come from.’
Charlie nodded, appalled, before staring towards the other two items. ‘His warrant card is here too, but there’s also a Bible and it’s been left open.’ She squinted at the writing on the page and saw it was opened at the Book of Exodus, chapter 20. ‘Guv, it’s the Ten Commandments. Thou shalt not murder, etc. Do you reckon he’s being punished for disobeying one of the commandments?’
Hunter squatted down next to her and stared towards the open Bible, his expression serious. ‘You could be right, Charlie. It’s been left open at this page on purpose. The question is, with Leonard Cookson’s rather chequered love life and career, which commandment is it that he’s being punished for?’
*
Inspector Chapel filled them in on what was known as they walked back towards their car. There was no small talk, only business. With the news coming back that the rose left with Brian Ashton’s body also had the thorns removed, they all knew that the murders were connected. And with a second, so hot on the heels of the first, this latest killing was unlikely to be the last. They couldn’t afford to miss a single detail… or they’d have another dead police officer on their consciences.
The body had been found by one of the first builders to arrive on site just before 08.15, after they’d noticed the padlock had been forced. On checking the building, they’d smelt an unusual odour and, stepping in to the toilet block to investigate, had come across the body. They’d left immediately without touching a thing and dialled 999. They were now at Brixton police station, in a state of shock, waiting for a statement to be taken.
After careful scrutiny it had been agreed the photograph on the warrant card matched the body. Initial enquiries confirmed that Leonard Cookson joined the job in 1991, was a detective sergeant in the Trident South gang’s unit and lived nearby. Officers had already attended his registered address but there had been no reply. His next of kin was shown as a wife, Maria, and it was believed they had two young children.
His date of birth was 22/06/1969; last night, therefore, having been his birthday. Discreet enquiries at his office, with the only member of his team thus far to have arrived, had revealed he had been out celebrating with many of them at his local pub and the last time he had been seen alive was at 23.45 when he had been left to walk the short distance home. Everyone present would be asked to recall the events, including any suspicious customers or occurrences… but as yet everything appeared normal.
The crime scene cordons had been put in place quickly and competently, allowing the forensic team to get started straight away. Once the initial scene was clear, Cookson’s body would be removed for a full post-mortem and further forensic examination. It was difficult to imagine that much would be found to provide an identity for their suspect, bearing in mind the desolation of the scene and fire damage, but every possibility had to be explored. Cookson was one of their own. These murders struck at the core of their collective being.
There was not much else to pass on. DCI O’Connor, as the most senior officer on call, had been informed and was awaiting a full situation report from Hunter on his return. The senior management team were still jittery about Ashton’s murder being linked to a terrorist network, either mainstream or one of the less well-known pockets of disaffection. How much more nervous would they be with a second killing? Charlie listened as Hunter and Glenys Chapel discussed the possibilities as they walked, but they both agreed it was unlikely. No one had claimed responsibility for either death and both had been effected far too clandestinely. With both murders having possible religious connotations, however, it couldn’t so far be ruled out.
Their priority at this moment in time was informing the next of kin, Maria Cookson. They needed to tell her as carefully and sensitively as they could of her husband’s death, before word got out. They were just agreeing to try the address again when a car screeched to a halt and a woman jumped out, running towards them before her vehicle had even stopped moving. Her face was tear-stained and large black smudges of mascara blotted her pale cheeks. She had long chestnut hair which lay across the top of her head, dragged into waves where her hands had pulled at it. Her eyes glistened with further unshed tears, large and wild; the dark brown irises fixed directly at them.
‘Do you have my husband there?’ she blurted out. ‘The mums at the school were saying that a body had been found.’ She threw her hands up to her face. ‘And Leonard didn’t come home last night.’ She stumbled to one side, rubbing at her cheeks.
Charlie stepped forward and took her by the arm, steadying her.
The woman stared straight into her eyes. ‘It’s him, isn’t it? I knew something was wrong when he didn’t come home, but he’s done it before, after a night drinking. I presumed he’d crashed out on someone’s sofa. What’s happened to him? Tell me what’s happened.’
‘What’s your name?’ Charlie said softly, though she didn’t need to ask.
‘It’s Maria, Maria Cookson. My husband is, was, is Leonard Cookson. Is he dead? That’s what they were saying.’ A loud sob escaped from her lips and she threw her hand up over her mouth.
Charlie pulled the rear door to the po
lice car open and guided Maria Cookson towards it. One careless word and the rumours had spread; a wave of destructive gossip that took no heed to the damage or pain tossed up in its momentum.
‘I’m so sorry, Maria, but I’m afraid a body has been found, along with a warrant card in your husband’s name. At this stage we can’t confirm for definite it is your husband, but it would appear likely. Take a seat and we’ll get you home.’
Maria Cookson took a deep breath, before slumping down onto the back seat, sobbing quietly. Her hair fell like a curtain in front of her face as she leant forward, her head in her hands.
An MPV pulled up across the road, an empty child-seat strapped into the rear. Another woman got out, her expression stiff with shock and regret. She headed towards Charlie.
‘I’m so sorry. Everybody was talking about what was going on. We had no idea Leonard had not come home last night. Maria just ran off when she heard what people were saying.’ She pointed towards Maria Cookson, her head still in her hands. ‘She’s my friend. Can I help?’
Charlie opened the other rear door, biting her lip to stop the words of retribution coming out. It wasn’t this woman’s fault. It was just pure bad luck, but how she wished they’d got to speak to Maria first, before her world was devastated so flippantly at the school gates.
Chapter 13
The mood in the office was even more sombre than after Brian Ashton’s killing. Bet had been on the receiving end of several calls from colleagues of Leonard Cookson anxious to know what had happened to their friend, their voices breaking with emotion. It had been all she could do to keep her voice steady as she heard them speak of a big man with a big personality, who was not afraid to stand up and be counted. Leonard ‘Cookie’ Cookson evidently dealt with his allocated crimes in the same way as he dealt with life, he grabbed the cases by the balls and wouldn’t let go until he had achieved what he wanted… and he wanted results. If the management didn’t like his methods, it was tough. He knew a bad guy or girl when he saw one and he didn’t rest until they were behind bars.
It was midday by the time they walked in, but as Charlie and Hunter entered the office, the team stopped what they were doing and turned towards them expectantly. Nick was there now, looking decidedly shame-faced. He opened his mouth as if to address their boss but shut it again rapidly on seeing Charlie shake her head surreptitiously towards him. It was going to be one step forward with him and two steps back.
‘Go through with the others what we know so far, Charlie,’ Hunter said, indicating Bet, Paul, Naz and Sabira and studiously ignoring Nick. ‘I’ll go and brief the DCI. I don’t want to get in his bad books twice in a week.’
‘Fuck it, I’ve ballsed up again,’ Nick said, as Hunter strode out. ‘That’ll be me off to the post-mortem for sure.’ He tried to make light of it, but no one was in the mood.
‘You’ll be lucky to even be doing that, if you don’t pull your socks up,’ Bet muttered. ‘It was bad enough with just one murder. Now we’ve got two, the pressure will be doubled… so I suggest you try not to piss the guvnor off anymore than you have to. He’ll be expecting everyone, including you, to pull their weight.’
‘That’s the end of my sex life as I know it, then,’ Nick grinned, trying to deflect the criticism again. He pulled at his tie, loosening the knot and unbuttoning the top of his shirt.
‘What a shame,’ Sabira frowned. ‘But it’s better than losing your actual life!’
Charlie stared as Nick ignored the comment, stretching and flexing his biceps. He seemed immune to Bet and Sabira’s low opinion of him, preferring to concentrate on Paul and Naz who seemed more susceptible to his charm. She turned away from the sight of his muscular arms, embarrassed. She had yet to make up her mind.
‘Right, I’ll go through with you what we know so far before Hunter gets back. Then you can fill us in with what you’ve found.’
She sat down and her colleagues gathered round, listening in horror as she described the crime scene and recounted everything that had been discussed.
‘We spoke briefly to Maria Cookson but she was obviously in no state to tell us much. Leonard worked long hours and was not what you’d call the model husband, but she was prepared to put up with his faults because he provided a happy, secure environment for her and their two daughters, China, who is eight years old, and Sophie, who is just six. She loved him for who he was, a hard-working, hard-living copper who loved his family but didn’t always put them first.’
‘That’s similar to what I heard,’ Bet added. ‘DS Cookson was well respected and held in high regard. He liked a good bevvy and there was no side to him. You got what you saw. He would back his team to the hilt and expected total loyalty in return. I did get the impression that what happened at work, stayed at work. If you worked hard for him, you would be rewarded. If you didn’t, you’d find yourself on a sideways move.’ She paused, before turning to Nick. ‘A bit like Hunter.’
‘Maria said that he’d been married twice before,’ Charlie continued. ‘His first marriage was to his childhood sweetheart Mary. They’d been going out six years before they tied the knot but the marriage only lasted two years and they didn’t have any children. Maria wasn’t aware of any contact between them since the split.
‘His second marriage was to Sheila and they had two kids, Lenny, now aged seventeen, and Helen who is fifteen. Maria says that Leonard did still see the kids sometimes but not as often as he probably should. The kids are typical teenagers who have better things to do than endure fortnightly visits to their father, and Leonard seemed content to share their lack of enthusiasm. He’s happy when he sees them, but he’s equally happy when he doesn’t. It does all sound amicable though and he gets on well with Sheila’s new husband, Glen. Maria thinks, in fact, that he’s more than willing to allow Glen to deal with all the teenage angst as it’s something he can’t cope with. Leonard, like most men, with the exception of you, Paul,’ she put her hands up to fend off the anticipated remonstration, ‘couldn’t deal with emotions or emotional people; he’d rather cut and run.’
Paul got up and headed for the kettle, smiling. ‘So, he was an old-fashioned man’s man? Not a metrosexual like me, in touch with their emotions and fully domesticated?’
‘You could say that.’ Charlie passed him her mug. ‘There’s a bit of domestic stuff to check. Are his ex-wives and their new husbands really OK with him? Could he have had any mistresses while working his long hours and, if so, could they or their husbands be out for revenge? Was he promising them the world? Or has he been boasting to friends or colleagues about his exploits? The killer cut his tongue off. Could that be to shut him up?’
The door flew open as she was speaking and Hunter strode in, swearing as he did so.
DCI O’Connor was right behind him and immediately turned towards Charlie.
‘I know DI Hunter isn’t impressed with what I’ve just had to tell him… and you have much more important things to do, but in case he tries to forget what I’ve just mentioned… DC Stafford, you and Hunter will both be required to make one final statement with regards to a few matters that the IPCC want covered in their review. It shouldn’t take long. DS Hayley Boyle from the DPS will be contacting me again shortly to arrange a new date for your interviews. I’d like this over and done with ASAP, so you must both co-operate as fully as possible so we can get the investigation concluded.’
‘Yes, sir,’ she said, dipping her head. DCI O’Connor was on their side… and anyway, he had no choice in the matter. He, like they, had to follow orders.
‘Thank you, Charlie. I knew I could rely on you.’ He turned on his heels and marched out.
‘Bloody politics,’ Hunter exploded, as soon as the door was shut. He paced across the room and stood by the window, his back towards them.
‘Here, boss, ignore it.’ Paul offered him a mug of tea. ‘You know as well as we do that it’s the job of DPS and the IPCC to be as stroppy and pedantic as they can, and to question every decision any police
officer makes… on the spur of the moment… when faced with the imminent threat of death.’ They all voiced their agreement. Both departments were disliked by rank and file officers, the IPCC in particular being viewed as having no experience of the actual practicalities and stresses of policing.
Hunter took the mug and sighed heavily. ‘Thanks, Paul,’ he blew hard at the steaming mug. ‘Best I don’t argue with the fact you’ve given me tea and I really fancied a coffee then.’ He grinned, his expression relaxing. ‘Give me a murdering scumbag, armed with a gun or machete any day, rather than dealing with any more do-gooders and their bureaucratic red tape. They’ll be the death of me, I swear.’
The moment had passed. Hunter was back to normal, though Charlie knew that he meant every word he said.
‘Right, now I’ve calmed down, let’s get on with what’s really important.’ Hunter stood up. ‘I’ve briefed the DCI.’ He stopped. ‘Naz, Sabira, are you sure your acid attack case isn’t connected?’
Sabira nodded. ‘As sure as we can be, guv. It’s a classic honour-related attack. A young Punjabi girl who disagreed with the arranged marriage her parents had planned for her. We’re just trying to establish which relative threw the acid, but no one’s talking, as usual. It’s definitely not connected to our murders.’
Hunter nodded his understanding. ‘Good. That’s what I told the DCI and he also agrees there doesn’t appear to be anything to suggest the killings are terror-related. They’re far too covert and personal, but I will be liaising regularly with Counterterrorism to keep them updated. So… in the absence of any forensic evidence so far, what do we have to link the two cases?’
‘Well, the red rose left at each scene, for a start, with the thorns removed,’ Charlie began. ‘It’s far too much of a coincidence for them to have been left by different killers.’
‘I agree, and that detail wasn’t made public. So, if we have the same killer, what links him to our two victims?’
