by T J Harris
The Silver Knot
By T J Harris
Text Copyright © 2016 T J Harris
Front Cover Image Copyright © 2016 designbase
All characters, corporations and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, organisations, current or historic, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.
Chapters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Author's Notes
Chapter 1
Carver sat staring at the monitor perched on his desk contemplating their plush new office block. It was cleaner and much better equipped than the old building, but somehow it still didn’t feel right. It just didn’t feel like a proper nick. His desk was arranged in a cross with three colleagues in a larger open plan office, there were breakout spaces, whatever the hell they were supposed to be. There was even a coffee machine that served coffee rather than the brown sludge they had been used to. The interview rooms were equipped with comfortable chairs, even if they were bolted down. It was all very nice but how was he supposed to break suspects when they felt like they were just chatting at Costa?
He sighed, he had moved from the Met to Gloucestershire CID three years earlier, mainly to placate his wife but partly to make a fresh start. He had joined the force as an eager graduate with dreams of making it to the top. For the first few years he had been fast tracked but his arrest record and clear up rate had never been quite as good as his peer group. Slowly but surely the following crops of bright young things had streamed past him, leaving him a dependable, if somewhat tired Detective Inspector. A drug bust at a squat in Hammersmith, at which Carver had been stuck with a used hypodermic, precipitated the move. The weeks that followed waiting for the HIV, Hepatitis and God knows what other tests to come through had put an enormous strain on both him and his family. He had been used to the danger that came with the job. Over the years he had been shot at, threatened with all kinds of weapons and, on one occasion, pretty badly beaten, but the needle had been the last straw. It was the uncertainty that got to him. As soon as the all clear came through, he had agreed with his family to request a rural transfer. He had taken the DI spot at Gloucestershire despite the accompanying drop in salary and pension.
He was pleased with the move though, the work was interesting and he enjoyed it. His old mates still ribbed him about spending all his time tracking down stolen tractors, but there was still the odd murder to keep him interested. They were mostly in the form of nightclub stabbings or middle-aged offspring bumping off aged parents for the inheritance. There was no real gang activity to worry about which was a plus. Recently though, a task force had been pulled together to cover Gloucestershire, Avon & Somerset and Wiltshire. They dealt with most of the murders, when they did happen, with a local senior officer taking the lead. He had lost his best sergeant to such a case for six long weeks a few months back. He had not been required, some teenager from Wiltshire had taken the DI role in the case and had been commended for his inclusive management style. He grimaced to himself as he tried to wrap his head around it.
He pushed his chair back, deciding to make his way over to the gleaming coffee machine. He had to admit he was developing more than a bit of a taste for it.
“We’ve got a body!” announced DS Moss, busting in through the lobby door. She was in her late twenties; young for a detective sergeant, with shoulder length brown hair tied in a functional bun at the back. She was wearing her normal black trouser suit with a light pink cotton shirt. Smart but practical. Carver’s desk-phone lit up and chirped a second later. He snatched up the receiver. “Carver here” he said, raising his eyebrows at Moss as she strode over to join him.
“Jeff, it’s George” the friendly but authoritative voice announced. He hated this first name culture. He was Carver and his Sergeant was Moss. Whoever heard of a crime-fighting duo called ‘Jeff and Claire’?
His Chief Inspector, George Philpot, proceeded to fill him in. A female body had been found in a car at one of the car parks in the Forest of Dean. Local uniform had secured the scene. He was to get over there and take charge as senior investigating officer for the case. He was pleased to be given the SIO spot but he needed it to go well. His annual review was due the following month. Having decided not to take his retirement at fifty, he needed to prove to the management that he could still hack it in the field before they moved him to a desk job.
By the time he got off the phone, Moss had gathered her kit and was leaning against her desk, waiting for him. He didn’t bother to ask her how she knew that they had a case before he did. She was young, keen and hung out with the guys from the control room. One of them had probably tweeted her the details. God he felt old.
The half hour journey to the forest car park took Moss just nineteen minutes. She had passed the advanced driving skills course with distinction and never missed the chance to light up the roof. Carver was impressed with her skills, like everything else she did. He was sure he would lose her to a bigger job before long. He just hoped it wouldn’t be his.
As they pulled into the New Fancy View car park, a uniformed PC stepped to the side of the entrance that he had been guarding. Moss lowered her window as she stopped. “CID, what have you got for us?”
“The body’s in the lower left car park”, he pointed up the rough gravel track to a T-junction. “We’ve been parking in the top area on the right to keep the scene tidy. Sergeant Wilkes is down there waiting for you.”
Moss thanked the PC and they drove on. Typical of the forest car parks, New Fancy View was arranged into a number of large bays, each capable to taking a dozen or so cars. Carver knew it well. This one had two main parking areas, a lower one surrounded by trees with paths that led into the forest and an upper area with a path leading to a lookout point where he and his daughter has once spotted a goshawk hunting above the tree tops. There was also a large flat grassy patch, sheltered by trees, probably intended as a picnic area, but which, judging by the small stone circles filled with ash and the odd empty beer can, was also a hit with nocturnal teenagers.
The body was in the lower parking area. Carver was pleased to see that the scene was well organised. A uniformed constable was standing guard by a blue and white police tape conveniently wrapped round some trees and forming a ten metre cordon around a bright red Mercedes SUV. The rear door was open and he could see, what he supposed was the victim, sat motionless in the back seat. There were three other cars parked nearby and a huddle of people. He counted two more uniforms and 7 members of the public. Three of them were fighting to keep their excited dogs under control.
“DI Carver” he said as he walked down to the uniformed sergeant, a man in his forties with an impressive moustache and beer belly. Moss left him to his introductions and strolled down to the PC on the tapeline.
Straight to business, the sergeant removed himself from the small crowd. “Sir, we’ve got a female victim in the back of the Mercedes. She was
found by Mrs Hawkes”, he nodded towards a woman in her 70s struggling to control a black Labrador. “She opened the car door, checked for a pulse and then dialled 999 on her mobile.”
“She checked for a pulse?” Carver looked across at the old woman, who was getting more and more agitated with the dog.
“She’s a retired nurse apparently. She said her dog was barking and jumping up at the car. She could just about make out that there was someone inside, so she went to apologise then realised that something was wrong.” He checked his notebook. “That was at 10:15”, then glanced at his watch, “so 75 minutes ago.”
“We’ll get a full statement, but did she say anything else? Any cars leave before you guys turned up, anything like that?”
“Nope, she called her husband after us. He arrived just before we did, but she didn’t have anything else to add. I checked the body as soon as we got here, looks like strangulation. I confirmed there was no pulse but other than that, no one has touched her. We’ve tried not to contaminate the scene.”
“OK thanks, that’s good. CSI should be here soon. What about the other cars?” Carver looked over at the other three cars parked around the red Mercedes, also trapped inside the blue and white tape. There was a battered Focus, a small Honda, Carver didn’t recognise the model, and a Freelander.
“The Focus belongs to that couple”, he pointed out a middle-aged couple in walking boots. “They returned from their walk ten minutes ago. They say the Merc was there when they arrived at 8:15 but they didn’t notice anything. They couldn’t say if it was occupied or not I’m afraid. It’s hard to tell through the privacy glass. We’re still waiting for the Honda owners to return. I’ve done a PNC, which came back with a Mrs Spence, aged 68 and lives in Mitcheldean. The Freelander belongs to Mrs Hawkes. The other people are dog-walkers from Parkend, just being nosy mainly, they haven’t been able to add anything. No press yet though.” The sergeant was pleased to be able to hand over the scene before that lot arrived. Someone would tip them off soon, it was only a matter of time. “I’ve told them they can’t take their cars until the CSI have given them the once over.”
Carver thanked the sergeant and walked down to join Moss who had already pulled on her white cotton coverall, hairnet and latex gloves. She passed him a set. It was going to be a hot summer's day, too hot for the extra layer, but there was no choice. He put on the coveralls, gloves and booties and nodded to the PC to lift the tape. “Don’t you need one for your chin too?” Moss said, passing him the hairnet. He liked to wear his hair long, even though the dark curls were tinted with more grey than black these days. Recently he had taken to sporting a stubble beard, also grey, and was constantly being ribbed for it.
“Thank you Sergeant.” he replied giving her a mock stern look and taking the kit.
Once the PC had logged their names on his clipboard, they walked carefully over to the car, watching each step to ensure they didn’t disturb any potential evidence. The ground was dry and there was little chance of any footprints in the gravel, but they were careful nonetheless.
Carver knelt down to look inside the rear of the car, careful not to touch anything. A slim woman with long mousey chestnut hair sat upright in the rear seat staring forwards with bloodshot eyes. They were starting to grey, but were still a striking blue. She had high cheek bones and had obviously been an attractive woman. Elegant, Carver thought. She was dressed smartly in a black knee length skirt and white blouse. The skin on her chest and forearms was fair and looked smooth and well maintained. The complexion changed markedly above her neck however. There was an angry red mark that cut across her throat and around the back of her neck. There were traces of blood where the skin had been torn. There was some blotching below the mark but above it, the face was reddened with blossoms of crimson showing through where tiny blood vessels had burst beneath the skin. Her lips were slightly swollen and had turned a red at least two shades deeper than her pink lip-gloss.
Moss peered in at the body over his shoulder. “Nasty. Looks like she was strangled from behind, then placed upright in the seat. Strange though, she’s more obvious sat up like that, even through the privacy glass. It’s almost as though she was left deliberately on show. If the killer had laid her across the seat, she might not have been found for hours, days even. Shall I check the boot?” The first officers on the scene should have checked it straight away. It was not unheard of to find further victims, usually children, especially where there were no obvious signs of a sexual assault.
“Better do.” replied Carver standing back up and walking round to the back of the car. He braced himself as Moss found the boot release and gently clicked it. She tried to open it slowly but the large rear door was motorised and quickly but silently wound itself open. They both held their breath involuntarily, but quickly breathed out in unison when the boot came into view.
“There’s a briefcase, shall I open it?
“Carefully, we don’t want to upset CSI but check to see if it’s unlocked…”
Moss pushed down the single buckle of the brown leather case with her gloved hand and gently lifted the flap to reveal the contents. There was an expensive looking laptop, some papers and a small Lock & Lock lunch box containing what looked like a tuna pasta salad.
“Macbook Pro. Nice, probably cost two grand that.” Moss was impressed, “I noticed a handbag in the front passenger foot well too. We’d better take a look, we don’t have an ID yet. The PC said the PNC came back with a firm in Gloucester, must be a company car.”
“No, let’s wait. We’ll need it photographed in place before we can disturb it. Leave it for CSI, they shouldn’t be too much longer.”
They had started to walk back to the tapeline when the CSI van pulled into the car park and stopped. The two specialists got straight out. Carver recognised Angela Stewart as she walked down to greet them. She was the department’s senior crime scene officer and had worked with him on a couple of aggravated burglaries and a stabbing. They got on well.
“Hi Jeff, what you got for me. You know it’s nearly lunchtime.” Angela was a large woman who didn’t believe in either sandwiches or the gym. On their last job together, she had told him that seeing all the ways people found of dying had made her realise that you had to live life for today. So, if that meant enjoying a good pub lunch and relaxing on the sofa with a book in the evenings, then that was just fine by her. What’s so great about getting old anyway, she had teased, looking him up and down. Carver had to agree with her, ignoring the jibe at his age.
“Middle aged female, looks like strangulation. We could use an ID though. There’s a handbag in the foot well but we didn’t want to disturb it until you got here.”
“Your learning”, she smiled. “Chris, get photos first, but we need the bag soonest.” Her young assistant was suited up already and retrieved a large professional looking camera bag from the back of the van. He nodded as he made his way down to the car. He left the camera bag on the tapeline, taking only a large SLR set-up with a big flashgun clipped to the top. He started taking shots, working methodically around the vehicle before moving in for close-ups, the flashgun firing like a strobe with each burst of the shutter.
“Let’s see then…” Angela indicated for Carver and Moss to follow her down to the scene for the initial walk through. “You open the boot?”
“Yes.” replied Moss, “We wanted to check for any other bodies.”
“Good thinking, and the door?”
“The woman that discovered the body. She opened the door and checked for a pulse before reporting it.”
“We’ll need her finger prints and DNA.” Angela added quietly as she leant in concentrating on the corpse. “Attractive woman, doesn’t seem to have put up much of a fight though”. She lifted a hand gently to look at the fingers. “Nails are intact”. She lifted the chin to get a closer look at the trauma surrounding the victim’s neck. “Lots of force used. Who ever did this meant to kill her, that’s for sure.”
“As oppo
sed to?” Moss was leaning in as close as she could, eager to learn as ever.
“Suicide, erotic asphyxiation, attempted rape, a mugging gone wrong, there are lots of possibilities when it comes to strangulation.” replied Angela. “Looks like it happened in the car though.” She pointed to the victim’s legs. “There would be damage to the knees from the gravel if it had happened outside.”
“Opening the handbag.” announced Angela’s assistant. In their rapt attention to her examination, the two officers had forgotten about him. They looked up to see he had the handbag on the passenger seat. “I’ve got a wallet,” he unclipped an expensive looking leather wallet with a gold clasp. It opened to reveal a range of bank and credit cards, a small bundle of cash and half a dozen till receipts. There was a flap with a photo showing a slightly younger version of the woman looking happy, standing with a handsome man next to a palm tree. There were more cards behind it. “Drivers licence is in the name of Mrs Helen Brooks, the photo looks like a match,” announced the assistant, “the address is in Perrystone Hill, Ross-on-Wye.” He laid it out next to the handbag and took another burst of shots before handing it through the car to Carver.
“Great.” said Carver standing up and struggling to retrieve his mobile from under the coverall. He speed dialled the station and got through to a DC. He relayed a series of commands and waited while they were confirmed.
Two more cars arrived at the car park and spilled out four more members of his CID team, his second DS and three DCs. They walked up to the tape. Carver joined them, still with the mobile clamped to his ear.
When he returned to the car, he informed the others that the address checked out. The computer had confirmed that a Mrs Helen Brooks lived at that address with her husband. She worked at a scientific services company in Gloucester, the same company that the car was leased to. “The husband works in Hereford. We’d better get over there.” he said to Moss. “We’ll check the home address on the way. Goldberg can carry on here and I’ve sent Hughes and Reid to the woman’s firm.”
