It made him yet more precious to her.
As she stepped into the shop she saw the two women enter and told Glen, who had just finished with his customer, that he should grab a coffee while she took over.
‘Hi ladies. Are you lost? You don’t look like you want tattoos or piercings.’ Shazza’s people radar was pretty good, and she had these two sussed immediately.
Feds!
‘No, we need some information. I’m DS Fielding and this is DC Jewell. You work here?’
A warrant card was presented and then disappeared again before Shazza could inspect it, a cursory action that seemed habitual rather than designed to inform. The dark skinned one was short and stocky, though her tight fitting trousers indicated well muscled thighs, and she carried herself with an air that suggested she could handle herself if it came to it. She exuded authority and a physical presence the pretty blonde who strolled in behind her lacked. Shazza would have known who was in charge even without the introductions.
‘Sure. What can I do to help?’
‘I don’t see any photos of your suspension club. You do that here, don’t you?’
‘Yeah, we do, but we don’t advertise. Invitation only. Why?’
The senior plod did not bother answering, just began inspecting the numerous photos of customers’ tattoos and various designs pinned to the walls, feigning interest it seemed. The other one shoved a tablet at Shazza with a picture of some basic items of suspension gear for her to peruse.
‘Take a look at this lot, love.’ The copper tapped the screen. ‘What can you tell me about these items?’
‘You don’t know?’ Shazza let the sarcasm seep into her voice. ‘We use them on willing volunteers. You look like you’d enjoy a go with these. Might help you relax. What’s this all about?’
The Afro piped up then, her face to the wall, nose still rooting round the photos.
‘You do the suspension on these premises with like-minded folk who enjoy that sort of thing?’ Her gaze shifted to Shazza, who felt herself stripped bare by the detective’s stare.
It was unsettling.
Probably a technique she learnt at police academy.
‘Yeah. We have a small club, only fifteen members. We get together once or twice a month. There’s a massive cellar below that’s perfect for what we do. Why? We ain’t committing any crime. We don’t do no harm —’
‘I’d like the member list. Any medical personnel in the group?’
That stare again, boring into her, as if the policewoman could see the dark patch below her shirt collar, could somehow divine that it was freshly damp from Harry’s confessional tears. Shazza’s hand brushed at it reflexively as she lied.
‘Not that I know of…’ She took a few paces to the rear of the room and began shuffling through some papers in a filing cabinet drawer as she framed her answer. ‘Don’t you need a warrant to come round asking for this sort of information?’ Shazza had no idea about the law, her question was really just to divert them from the falsehood she’d uttered. She found the list and made a copy, though she could have rattled off all the names from memory. ‘They’re more like personal mates than strangers, though they all make a small contribution for club funds. I’ll just add my name too. I do the admin so I don’t have to pay subs. Why do you need this?’
The black detective had followed her, was literally breathing down her neck now. Shazza fumbled with the pen as she amended the document, could feel the woman’s breath on her nape.
‘Sharon Tait… I’ll take that. Thank you.’ The detective took the paper from Shazza’s fingers without even bothering to answer her questions, her tone sceptical as she asked, ‘Is this everyone?’
Those eyes again, carving into hers, as if convinced every word being uttered was an untruth or half-truth. Shazza felt transparent, as if this woman could see into her very core.
‘That’s all our paid up members. Glad to be of help.’
‘Are you missing any gear — wires, hooks, pulleys and the like? Had any break-ins that you failed to report to the police?’
Failed to report?
Spoken as if Shazza was guilty of hiding something.
I am. But not that.
‘Nothing worth reporting to your lot. We think some kids must’ve forced an upstairs window to try and gain access at the weekend, but we checked, and we’re pretty sure there’s nothing missing. Are you going to tell me what this is all about?’
‘Lanny. Show her.’ The senior plod wandered back to the wall to continue her inspection of the customer photos, as if she had lost interest, though she pulled out her phone and took shots of some images while telling her colleague, ‘I’m sure the jungle drums in their strange little world will deliver news of what happened soon enough. That’s if she hasn’t heard already.’
‘Take a look at this, miss. I need to know whether the person who inserted these hooks was an experienced practitioner or not.’
The screen showed a close up of a person’s back with misaligned suspension hooks unevenly inserted through the flesh. Shazza pointed this out, relieved to be dealing with the less intimidating officer, hoping her deception had gone unnoticed. Satisfied, the copper scrolled on to another photograph, a shocking image that looked unreal, like a deformed mannequin somebody had strung up in a tree. As she took a closer look she could see the suspension wires stretching from behind to the branches above.
‘Ugh, Jesus! Is this the front view of the picture you just showed me?’ She felt a little faint and nauseous as she realised. ‘The hooks are in this poor person’s back?’
Her mind was tumbling again. Things she had heard whispered by her agonised lover just minutes before were now whirling through her head. The senior detective must have seen her anxiety and moved in, firing words at her like bullets, blasting through the fug that was engulfing her brain.
‘What can you tell us about this? The victim was found on Clapham Common, not that far from here. Left there by one of your fellow freaks.’
‘I can’t tell you anything. Why would you think I could?’ Shazza heard her voice, verging on hysteria, the words almost a shriek.
‘What the bloody hell’s going on? You okay, Shazza?’
Glen reappeared and his reassuring presence gave her the strength to recover, although the senior detective’s stare was stripping her bare again.
‘We’re about to leave. Can I just take your name, and are you on this list of club members?’
Glen went to snatch the paper from the detective’s fingers, but Shazza stopped him.
‘It’s okay, Glen, they’re coppers.’ His face reddened but he stayed quiet as she continued, addressing the detectives. ‘This is Glen Jackson. He’s a member, though he works here too. Has done for the last four years. He’s a top tattoo artist.’
The detective scanned the paper and asked, ‘Harry Hope? He’s the owner, correct? He’s not on this list of your suspension club members.’
It was Shazza’s turn to redden.
Shit!
Glen answered.
‘Not that it’s any business of yours, but yes, it’s Harry’s and Shazza’s shop. Partners. He does sometimes join in the suspension fun. He’s not really a member as such — he lets the rest of us use the premises for peanuts. Now, if there’s nothing else —’
‘Where is he? I’d like to meet him. I have a few questions for him too.’
The senior copper addressed Shazza, homing in on her weakness, could probably tell she was relieved when Glen answered. Shazza was badly rattled and needed to speak to Harry herself.
‘He’s not here, but if you give me your number I’ll get him to call you when I see him.’
‘Does he live here? Above the shop?’
‘We all do —’ Shazza blurted, her voice trembling, before she was silenced by a look from Glen.
‘The three of you? Anyone else?’
‘Just us. Why?’ Glen threw a questioning glance as he spoke, but the copper butted in with a question o
f her own before Shazza had a chance to explain.
‘Mind if we have a look around while we’re here? Upstairs? Downstairs?’
Glen snorted as he said, ‘Yeah, you can look all you want. When you come back with a fucking search warrant.’
For several seconds Glen stared down at the diminutive detective, a seemingly immovable object deflecting her from her objective. Then, grudgingly, she plucked a card from her pocket, ignored the man who towered over her and handed it to Shazza.
‘Tell Harry Hope to call me.’
Then they were gone.
Shazza felt the air discharge and her shoulders relax at the sight of the two detectives leaving the premises, but their departure gave her barely a moment of false hope. Glen’s words burst that bubble.
‘What the fuck was that all about, Shazza?’
She blurted out her fears.
‘It’s about that bloke they found on the common yesterday.’
‘What? The one who was dismembered?’
‘Yeah. He was strung up in a tree and left for dead.’
‘So why would the filth come here? I don’t see what that’s got to do with our club.’
‘The poor guy had hooks in his back, was hung there using suspension gear… I dunno Glen, but Harry said some stuff to me about it just before the Feds arrived… I’m really worried about him. I think he might’ve got himself into some seriously deep shit. Again.’
***
‘That was Winston Diamond, Jack. Head of security.’
Doc flicked the indicator and guided the Jaguar to the nearside lane, steering with one hand as he finished the call. The blue M3 motorway exit was signposted Crowthorne and they were just minutes from Broadmoor High Security Hospital.
‘Don’t you have hands free in this motor? Wireless or something? You know it’s illegal to use a mobile like that while you’re driving.’
‘So arrest me then… Listen. Winston reckons he’s got something for us. Apparently there’s another inmate Harding’s been manipulating, and a staff member causing some suspicion. You might be able to get something out of them both.’
‘Well, that’s possible. I’m still not sure how Harding fits into this, if at all. What did you make of Maddox? He ticks a lot of boxes for our killer.’
‘Well, he’s certainly mellowed since I knew him, though that’s not surprising after so many years. He seemed genuine enough. I’m not convinced he’s involved, Jack. He’s narcissistic at worst, has the requisite skills, but he’s no psychopath.’
‘Unlike Harding. Who Maddox is treating. And what about the prior relationship with Harry Butler and that amazing sculpture. A forces trained medic with a history of violence and mental health issues, a frustrated surgeon who fits your profile. It’s almost too good to be true.’
Doc had been thinking about the web of connections too, and he did not like the conclusion he was coming to.
‘You know I said this is just a game to the perpetrator, our psychopathic surgeon wannabe? He’s been planning this for years.’
‘Yeah, and then your TV series sparked him off. Your failure, as he sees it, to link his other mutilated murder victims to Diana Davies, the hooker. You offended his sense of pride, failed to give him full credit for his crimes, so he’s now trying to prove he’s better than we are, even after giving us a load of clues.’
‘That’s what I thought, Jack, but now I’m not so sure what triggered all of this. It’s so complex, with so many moving parts, so many threads… I don’t think we have even half the information we need to find the real villain. Or, more likely, villains.’
‘Well it’s early days, yet. We only found Rawlings yesterday morning. Didn’t even know his name until a few hours ago. You sound even more impatient than me! Give it time.’
‘I don’t think we have much to spare. If he’s half as clever as I think, we need to catch him quickly or he’ll disappear. This is his endgame. And right now he’s controlling the moves.’
‘You sure he doesn’t want to be caught, Doc?’
‘Definitely not. He’ll have an escape route and he’ll bolt as soon as he feels threatened.’
Jack’s phone chirruped as they arrived at the hospital car park.
‘Soundbite. I’d better take this.’
Doc stepped out of the car and left Jack sitting talking to his boss, giving him a quiet moment alone to think. His mind was roiling, like muddy water eddying, concealing all that lay below. He had already asked Jack twice today whether the team had made any progress in finding Judy Finch and was not reassured by the answers. She had vanished, although Jack had promised to have all airport and ferry terminals checked, going all the way back to the beginning of January. The detective’s reluctance to spare the resources was understandable. They had so many lines of enquiry to pursue already and only a small team but Doc had been insistent, convinced Harding’s words were meaningful rather than merely mean.
‘Let’s see what Winston has for us, eh?’ Jack’s voice penetrated Doc’s thoughts, bringing some relief from the worry eating his soul. They made their way to the entrance gate while Jack explained why his boss had called. ‘Bob Koch has given the Acting Super the full report on his autopsy on Rawlings this morning. He was indifferent about the African thing, the muti. That’s the word she used.’
‘Really? So she’s still unconvinced?’
‘Yeah. Interesting too, given his background, being born there. Mind you, Koch agreed with your other conclusion — about the practising and so on.’
‘Was it your idea for him to come to the hospital yesterday, to examine Rawlings?’
‘Er, yes and no. I phoned him and asked him for a copy of the Davies medical file and when I mentioned our new victim, he offered to meet me and give me his opinion on Rawlings while there.’
‘He invited himself into the investigation…’ Both Jack and Doc knew what that might mean. Many criminals like to involve themselves in police enquiries related to their own misdeeds. It was partly the thrill and partly to keep abreast. ‘Perhaps you should take a closer look at him, too.’
‘I plan to, Doc. Another one to add to list. He’s always been a bit odd, but yesterday, he seemed excited at the prospect of getting his hands on Rawlings. On the mortuary table.’
‘Does he have any links to Harry Butler?’
‘Now there’s a thought. We’ll have to look into that, but first, let’s focus on Harding and the Broadmoor links, see if we can get to the bottom of why he’s been dragged into this.’
They passed through the security scanners and entered reception, gave up their mobile phones and any items that could be used as weapons, took their passes and lanyards and waited for Winston to appear.
It was not long before the security chief arrived, looking haggard, a little unkempt, and Doc had the impression Winston had slept in his clothes as he seemed to be wearing the same items he had on during their meeting yesterday. After hasty introductions he led them through to his office, giving a quick update on what he had found out from his enquiries.
Jack spent several minutes quizzing Winston, demanding answers about what he had been doing since Doc’s visit had indicated Harding was being fed information by someone with contacts beyond Broadmoor’s walls.
Doc was impressed with Winston, who was thoroughly professional, agreeing when Jack pointed out the failings that had led to the current situation. The entire security team had been working overtime to narrow down the suspects, with their chief beavering away through most of the night, though he’d dozed for a few hours in his office, then started again before dawn this morning in preparation for their meeting.
Finally satisfied, Jack asked Winston for the background on the two individuals suspected of aiding Harding. The security chief presented three files to them, including Harding’s, and gave a quick summary of how they had identified the inmate and guard.
‘We did a full analysis of all Harding’s contacts for the last three months, then in depth background ch
ecks of all involved. From that lot, I came up with a shortlist, personally interrogated each of them and narrowed it down to this guard. Meanwhile, all the relevant inmates’ rooms were searched, and we found these just before you arrived.’ Winston opened a file, and spread some photographs across the desk. ‘You’ll recognise most of these, although there are four more victims.’
Rawlings was included in this batch, a photograph Doc assumed had been taken not long before the man had been left on Clapham Common.
‘No letters, just these pictures? Odd…’ Doc could see Jack agreeing, both of them coming to the same conclusion.
The detective’s next comment confirmed it. ‘It’s almost as if Harding expected us to find them, so destroyed any correspondence that came with them.’
‘Correspondence that would help us identify who’s helping him, Jack, and possibly who took these victim photos as mementos.’
Both visitors took a closer look at the additional photographs to the ones they had seen already, before Jack made an observation.
‘These will probably be in the post to you tomorrow morning, Doc. Looks like we’re a step ahead of The Surgeon. Finally.’
Doc was not so sure. It was all too contrived. He wanted to know more about Winston’s assessment of Harding’s Broadmoor assistant.
‘Unfortunately the inmate is not likely to be of much help. He’s one of our less compos mentis guests. A paranoid schizophrenic who has been manipulated by Harding since his arrival in January this year. I think his room was just somewhere convenient to hide these. Harding knew his own room would be taken apart the moment we received the letters to Doc implicating him. I’m pretty sure the other inmate was blissfully ignorant of these items’ existence, just as he claims, but you can make up your own mind, Inspector.’
‘And the guard?’
‘He refused to speak to me without a union representative and his senior officer present. He’s not employed by us directly, just contracted to us by GCS, so he thinks he’s off the hook for now, expecting to be reassigned with no serious consequences. I’m sure a detective questioning him will loosen his tongue.’ Winston finished his explanations with an invitation. ‘You can use this office, Detective. I will need to be present throughout, though. Hospital policy, I’m afraid.’
Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2) Page 21
