‘Uh-huh.’ Jack was pretty sure Doc had not had time to abduct and butcher this victim, but had no desire to explain. ‘First, we need to identify her. That’s why I need that sample.’
‘I gather you arrested some other suspects this morning. You’ve been busy! Is it true that the Butler lad is an ex-military colleague of my pal, Dickie Maddox? This really is a most intriguing case.’
‘Yeah. I want to get back to do the interviews. Just take a DNA swab for me, then I’ll dash.’
‘That’s rather irregular, Jack. I know Doc Powers is your friend, but he most surely is a suspect and I doubt Sadie Dawson will —’
‘I’m not asking, Bob. I want to see the official sample taken from that body,’ Jack’s finger stabbed the air in the direction of the mutilated corpse, ‘with my own eyes. When I tell my friend who she is, I want to be certain there’s no cock up with the sample, no possibility of confusion at the lab.’
Koch reddened, opened his mouth as if about to protest again, but Jack was in no mood for this, and was not about to enter into an argument over procedure. He interrupted the ME even before the words had formed.
‘There have been two DNA cock-ups this year already. This will not be another. I need to be certain if that victim is Judy Finch — or not… The sample. Please.’
Koch stared at him for a moment, blinked, then nodded.
‘As you wish. But I will have to inform the Superintendent.’
‘Do that. And take a sample to check for yourself. That way you can be sure I’m not a crooked copper interfering with evidence.’ Jack let the anger loose in his voice, even though he knew Koch had a point. The ME had made no move towards the body. ‘Get on with it, Bob. I haven’t got all day.’
Another shrug, then Koch went to work.
***
The Scene of Crimes Officers arrived fifteen minutes after Jack left Fiona fuming over the injustices her boss had heaped on her in the last few days.
Now this latest indignity, after last night when Jack had been most dismissive of her findings in Brixton, her arrest of Willie Mutuku while following up on the source of an old Atlas bone. By the time Soundbite had called the team meeting, Fiona had convinced herself she had single-handedly identified and then found their prime suspect in his Streatham shop too, and deserved more recognition for her contribution to the investigation.
Of course, she knew that locating Harry Butler was a team effort, that Sam and others back at HQ were equally responsible for tracking him down, feeding her the information in the first place. But she was the detective who spotted the photo of the winged tattoo, who’d seen the likeness in the man’s profile, who’d then suggested checking for a handwriting match in any of the official business documents held on file. In fact, she was the one who got the old man to finger his grandson in the first place — while on his deathbed!
It’s not fair! If it wasn’t for me there would’ve been no dawn raid and no arrest. And now the boss wants me to hang around here, wet nursing the SOCOs. As if they bloody well needed supervising…
Well, she would not loiter here any longer than she had to, but would follow up on the Hand of God lead as soon as she could get away.
And Jack Carver can piss off if he doesn’t like it.
Anyway, he always told her to trust her gut instinct, so she would. Later today she’d confront this crematorium employee who had been stealing bones from uncomplaining corpses all those years ago.
If Sam can find an address for the bastard…
Mmm… Teamwork, Fi.
She sighed. Sometimes she just wanted to be like James Bond and do her own thing regardless of what the boss said. Well, today she would have a minor rebellion. Following up on the Atlas bone was important to her, even though Soundbite had insisted it was irrelevant to their current investigation. The Acting Super was probably right too — Willie had been wearing his Atlas bone for over twenty years, long before Rawlings’ killer arrived on the scene.
Too bad.
This was just something she had to do.
Her thoughts were interrupted as the four SOCOs arrived, introduced themselves and asked her where they should start and what they should focus on.
‘Blood. We’re looking for evidence there’s been a murder dismemberment anywhere on the premises. We were hoping to find a fully equipped clinic in the giant cellar, but didn’t, so if you turn up anything suggesting something like that was once here, that would be a great help.’
The odds did not seem good, but some luminol in the bathroom and in the basement might just turn up some gory evidence. They’d also need to check any suspicious items, surgical implements and the like, as well as the bloody bandages in the trash. They would bag that lot up, plus all the suspension gear and so on, then document the entire haul before taking it back to HQ.
After directing them to the task in hand Fiona went for a root around in the office filing cabinet, still wearing her blue gloves, though not bothering to don the white forensic coveralls her colleagues were pulling on. Her boots had already traipsed all through the place so she did not feel the need, she would just have a nosy round the shop while they did their thing on the other two floors.
There was little of interest in the filing cabinet — some letters from suppliers, fancy tattoo designs, bills and receipts, and plenty more of the usual small business admin. Butler’s partner, Sharon Tait, aka Shazza, had been rifling through these cabinets for the list of members, but was there anything else of significance?
Nothing.
Then she came to the lowest drawer. Her mood had dictated that she slam each of the others shut, so she was not being at all gentle as she yanked the last one open. It felt odd as it flew out and hit the stops, as if something had shifted inside, so she pulled the files apart, and squeezed her hand through. Almost out of sight, tucked underneath the green hanging folders, she could make out a shiny metallic glint and felt her excitement surge as she retrieved the hidden device.
A notebook computer.
Brilliant!
Jack, after his phone call to Doc, had bundled up the desktop computer at the back of the shop and taken it with him as potential evidence. This was something altogether more interesting.
The device booted up on command, but was password protected, so Fiona, with nothing better to do, started putting in various combinations of phrases that Shazza or Harry Butler — or Harry Hope — might choose. Sam Sharpe would probably access the machine in no time, but he was not here and anyway, his full attention was on the shop’s computer or Doc’s laptop right now, if her boss’s comments in his final flurry of instructions were anything to go by. So Fiona plopped herself down in a tattooist’s swivel chair, propped the computer on her lap, and idled away thirty minutes while listening to the two SOCOs clomping around upstairs. The other two were down in the basement, no doubt spraying luminol over walls and floors. They would be some time so she was in no hurry either.
Having exhausted every combination of Harry Butler/Hope and Sharon/Shazza’s names and their dates of birth — information she had gleaned from the files in the cabinet — Fiona had just about had enough. As she went to bag the computer ready to take to HQ, a final thought occurred to her.
Maybe Harry used something related to his life with his grandad. The old man’s dog’s name was unusual. She wracked her brains to try and remember what the uniforms had called the terrier when she had read their report. Then it came to her.
Smudge.
Fifteen minutes later, having tried that name, and every likely combination she could think of, she was about to give up for the second time when inspiration hit her again.
Angel wings…
The picture under the stairs in the old man’s house, the image tattooed on their suspect’s back… And Carver had told them in their briefing last night, Maddox used the same symbol for his clinic’s logo, and had a sculpture in his reception created by Harry Butler.
She tried some variations around that theme, but n
othing worked. Then she remembered, the clinic was named for the symbol. Now, how to spell the word, she wondered. A quick Google search turned up the result she needed so she typed the letters in upper and lower case:
Cadaceus
She was immediately rewarded with a view of the desktop, empty except for a file marked ‘Private’.
It bloody well is!
Frustrated by another layer of security, she tried as many of her previous combinations of password as she could think of, but got absolutely nowhere. Finally, she gave up, and grabbed an evidence bag for the offending item just as a voice reached her from the basement stairs.
‘Sarge! You will not believe what we’ve found down here.’
***
‘Hi, Doc. How’re you doing?’
Jack, having just arrived back at HQ well over an hour after leaving a visibly disgruntled Fiona at the tattoo parlour — the delay thanks to his detour to Doc’s home to confer with his colleagues at the latest crime scene — was concerned at the sight of his old friend. Doc’s clothes were rumpled, a shirt button undone allowing a peek of greying belly hair, and the tail was poking out of his trousers, as if he had dressed without care, hurrying to get away from his house even before the gruesome discovery in his garage. Brown eyes, rimmed with worry, clouded with sadness, told a sorry tale.
Jack didn’t really need to ask. He could see that Doc was barely holding it together, probably hadn’t slept after yesterday’s little performance by Harding. Then being confronted by a mutilated body in his garage… And his old man’s murderer was on the loose, too.
The Thames Valley Police had already launched a full scale hunt for the absconded criminal, and national media ensured the whole nation was on the alert for an ‘armed and extremely dangerous’ escapee, but there were no valid reports of sightings, not even a sniff of him at the roadblocks that ringed the area. Hundreds of square miles of the south east of England were being disrupted as a result of the breakout, with lengthy tailbacks on southern access routes to London already, as the police tried in vain to catch Harding while the morning rush hour got under way.
Jack was not hopeful. The people who executed the escape had the hallmarks of ex-military, professional mercenaries, willing to sell their deadly expertise to the highest bidder, with any notions of patriotism long forgotten. Harding was probably well away by now, hiding out somewhere secure, waiting for the dust to settle before making his move against Doc.
And me…
As an Authorised Firearms Officer, Jack could draw a weapon as required, as long as his senior commander authorised it, and Soundbite had already done so for this morning’s arrests. Jack was determined to keep his pistol with him at all times until Harding was safely behind bars. He would square it with his boss later, but right now he wanted to quiz the three freaks they had in custody.
Is Doc up to it?
As if reading Jack’s mind, Doc spoke, his voice quavering but determined.
‘Your man, Sam Sharpe, has my Macbook and phone.’ Doc went on to describe the latest letter that had appeared on his screen this morning, and his theory that The Surgeon had knowledge of some of their discussions.
‘Fuck it! That’s all we need.’ Jack wrestled with himself to regain control as his temper flared. ‘Let’s hope it was only the laptop and not your bleedin mobile too.’
‘The body in my garage. Am I a suspect, Jack?’
‘Not as far as I’m concerned, Doc.’ It was true, though Soundbite was still unconvinced. Jack, having dropped off the DNA sample, had arrived at his office to receive an earful from his boss about the irregularities of this case, but he had insisted Doc continue in his role as consultant. Her words echoed in his head as he reassured his friend:
‘Well, this is formally against my recommendation, Carver. You’d better keep a close eye on Powers — treat him like you’re joined at the hip. And I don’t need to tell you the consequences if you are wrong about him.’
‘Thanks, Jack.’ Doc sighed a mournful note, then asked, ‘Is it… Judy?’
The pleading look, the desperation, like a dog begging not to be whipped by a cruel owner, cut through Jack’s cynical outer shell. He wanted to put Doc’s mind at rest, but had little to give him.
‘I’ve asked for a DNA comparison to be expedited. We can’t be sure it’s her, and if it’s not, we’ll track her down, mate.’ He put a hand on Doc’s shoulder, massaged the taught muscles there for a few seconds, could feel his friend’s anguish through his fingertips. ‘We’re checking all points of departure, in case she left the UK, but it’s a big job. We should know if she used her passport by close of play tomorrow at the latest. Let’s stay positive unless we hear otherwise, eh?’
‘DNA. How long?’
‘Later this morning if we’re lucky. We know the victim’s a female, but that’s all for now. The ME’s team have Judy’s photos on file, hospital records and other details to compare as well as the hair sample you provided for lab analysis. The experts are working on it all as we speak. If Koch finds any distinguishing marks, we’ll soon know. Sorry, Doc, that’s not a quick job either.’
Doc’s fingers, white with tension, burrowed through his curly hair, visibly digging into the scalp. Jack guessed there were terrible images buried beneath, visions Doc was trying to expel. He changed the subject.
‘I wonder why he contacted you directly this time, rather than via snail mail like the two previous times. Risky, if my technicians are half as good as they reckon they are.’
‘It’s another taunt. A signal of his superiority. I doubt your team will be able to trace him… He also wants us to know he’s been listening in… How he manipulated us both into meeting with Harding. Congratulating himself by blasting the evil sod out of Broadmoor while watching me sip coffee in my pyjamas. And leaving that awful gift for me.’
‘Yeah. But we do have Butler in custody. If there are two perps, and Butler’s one, then I’m sure we’ll get the other one, too.’
‘The point is, you were arresting Butler when that message appeared on my screen. He can’t have sent it, Jack. And think about it… We were led to him. Thanks to the old boy who discovered Rawlings.’
‘Yeah. Right in a spot where the grandfather was guaranteed to find the mutilated victim. Suspended.’ Fiona had informed the team last night that the hooks were probably placed by someone with little experience in the strange hobby, but Jack had pointed out that it may have been a hurried job, done in darkness at an unfamiliar location, so that simple fact did not rule out an experienced suspension practitioner as the killer. He ploughed on with his theory that they had arrested the guilty party. ‘Harry Butler left Rawlings strung up in a tree on the old man’s regular dog walking route as a reminder of his war crimes, a form of psychological revenge undertaken by an abused grandson. A disturbed individual who did not expect us to trace him, didn’t imagine his own flesh and blood would finger him as a prime suspect while lying on his deathbed. Doc, he’s the best lead we’ve got.’
Doubt wrinkled Doc’s forehead, the mind behind it working furiously. Jack could sense the frustration as his friend continued down a different path.
‘The more I think about the Butler-Maddox link, the more I think this is all an elaborate set up. Butler may be innocent, just a patsy, being used to point the finger at Maddox. I think they were both being framed.’
‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? I’m going to interview him and I want you in the observation room. I’ll have an earpiece so you can talk to me. And although he won’t be able to hear you or see you, I can. You might want to finish dressing, mate.’
A wink took the edge off the comment, and Doc, startled, checked where Jack’s finger brushed the offending button.
‘Damn!’ Doc’s eyes shifted back to Jack’s, determination signalled with a firm nod, a tightening of the lips. ‘I’m fine, Jack. Let’s do this.’
***
Fiona left the evidence bag containing the computer on the desk,
double checked that the shop door was sufficiently secure to prevent entry despite the shattered lock, then headed down to the basement. She expected the room to be in darkness with special lamps casting a blue light, illuminating traces of blood splattered everywhere, but the view she encountered on entering was much brighter than when she had been here with Carver, with three forensic floodlights all ablaze.
The two SOCOs were at the back of the room, partially obscured behind the curtain, but the flash of a camera bulb told her where they had found something of interest. She felt a surge of excitement again, a tingling in her belly, anticipation that Harry was their perp. As she reached the curtain she wondered what they had discovered that she had missed earlier.
The bulb went off again just as she stepped through, the sudden flare of white light burning the image into her retina, scorching it into her memory, never to be forgotten.
The two white suited technicians had laid a blue plastic sheet on the floor and placed the contents of the freezer on to it. Boxes of burgers, ready meals and bags of vegetables were strewn at their feet, but the SOCO with the camera was standing over one bag as he pointed the lens at the piece of evidence Fiona was sure would put Harry behind bars for a very long time.
She took a step forward, careful not to tread on the sheet, not to disturb anything as she stared at the white object, clearly visible through the transparent freezer bag.
‘Is that real?’
There was no doubt in her mind, but the nod from the SOCO confirmed it even before he replied.
‘It’ll have go to the lab, but I’m ninety-nine percent certain. It’s a woman’s hand.’
***
‘No comment. Thirty times. No bloody comment! His brief’s told him it’ll go against him, if it gets to court, but Butler’s sealed his gob shut like a clam.’
Jack had joined Doc in the observation room and was now staring morosely through the one way glass at Butler junior, venting his anger at the recalcitrant suspect in the full knowledge he could not be heard through the soundproofed walls.
Doc had expected as much. Harry had almost curled into a ball when Jack started with his questions. Had barely looked at the images, was visibly disturbed by the sights Jack thrust under his nose. Not surprising, Doc thought, given the man’s experiences in the army and the resultant PTSD. Even with Doc’s words, delivered through Jack’s earpiece before being repeated aloud, Butler remained uncooperative.
Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2) Page 27
