by Conrad Jones
Stirling walked around the room and knocked on the walls. “Nothing but bricks,” he muttered. He desperately wanted to find an answer. Although nobody had pointed the finger of blame at him, he felt professional guilt. Discovering that they had been duped in a manner seldom encountered by many detectives was painfully embarrassing despite the unusual circumstances. “These walls are solid.”
“Then we look at the floor,” Annie said. The floor covering gave the impression that it was tiled. “You start at that side and I’ll work this side. We’ll meet at the other end. This is linoleum over levelled concrete, right?”
“Yes,” Stirling agreed. “It’s screed. Usually just a thin layer of concrete laid wet to get a flat surface beneath laminate or tiles or this stuff. It looks like tiles but its warmer and a tenth of the cost to lay.”
Annie scanned the edges of the floor where they met the walls.
Nothing.
The symmetrical pattern made her eyes wander. It was difficult to focus on it. She skirted the staircase and bent low to check the area where it joined the cellar floor. It was dirty and covered in dust but there was nothing unusual. “Unless Barton was a magician, there has to be another way out of here.”
Stirling had reached the far end and he picked up the desk that was pressed against the wall. He dumped it down near the opposite wall. He rapped at the bricks where it had stood.
Solid.
Annie followed the skirting board line and met him where the desk had been. She squatted and ran her fingers across the linoleum. “Look here,” she said pointing to four small holes where the desk had been. The edges of the holes were raised slightly. “Are they screw holes?”
Stirling knelt and ran his hand across the floor. “There’s more screw holes here?” He stood up and picked up the desk again, putting it back where he had moved it from. The legs were made from box metal with stabilising bars between them and they covered the screw holes completely. They looked at each other and Stirling flipped the desk upside down. The stabilising bars had been drilled. “These holes line up with the holes in the floor.” He frowned. “So the desk was screwed to the floor?”
“Yes but from underneath,” Annie pointed to the legs. “The screw holes are only underneath these bars. Put it back where it was,” she said deep in thought. Stirling flipped it over and put it back where he’d found it. He slid it to line up with the holes in the floor. “There,” she said. “Now if there were screws attached from underneath, we’d be able to lift the desk and pull up the floor,” she shook her head. “Then if you climbed down and removed the screws from below, if someone moved the desk they wouldn’t realise.”
“The linoleum would remain in place,” Stirling nodded. “He could have stayed down there until he was sure that we were gone and then resurfaced and left at his leisure. I’ll get this floor lifted.”
************************
“I’ve spoken to a sergeant at the San Francisco Metro Division’s traffic unit,” Gwen rolled her eyes skywards. “I had to repeat everything that I said at least four times. Can you believe that they can’t understand what we’re saying?” she shook her head. “We invented the bloody language, they misspell everything at every opportunity and then they wonder why they can’t understand what we’re saying!”
Google smiled and shook his head. “But you’re Welsh, Gwen,” he pointed out. “I can’t always understand what you’re saying and as for spelling, your lot can’t talk!”
“Charming,” she shrugged.
“What did you find out?”
“Ah, now that is the interesting thing,” she raised her index finger. “Both plates do in fact exist and they belong to what he called, an RV rental company,”
“Recreational Vehicles,” Google nodded wisely and looked around the team.
Gwen raised her eyebrows. “I think everyone knows what RV stands for.” He blushed a little. “When I told him why we we’re investigating these plates, he said that he would contact them today and ask some questions and that he would also contact their Investigations Department and ask one of their Captains to call and talk to us. He said that he would get back to me later on today.”
********************************
With the linoleum cut away, they could see an access hatch. The lid had been set into a metal frame were it was flush with the concrete. “You’re safe to lift it,” the Bomb Squad officer said chirpily. “Give me a minute; you can see what is below.” He mumbled to himself as he inserted tungsten hooks into the screw holes and lifted the lid. He shone a torch into the void. “A proper little hideaway.”
Annie and Stirling looked inside. There was a cot bed covered with a sleeping bag, a torch and a large water bottle. “He lifted the desk and the linoleum and hatch were lifted with it,” Annie said. “Then he pulls the hatch down and the weight of the desk pushes everything back into place.”
“Then he unscrews the desk from underneath and if we had moved it, there would have been nothing obvious to make us think there was another way out.” Stirling felt better about the situation now that they had an explanation. “Not that we were looking for anyone else.”
“So who did he shoot?” Annie sighed.
“Someone that he was holding captive,” Stirling shrugged, “but who was he and why did he shoot him?”
****************************
“I am looking to speak to Detective Evans?” Gwen heard an American accent when she answered her phone. Her pulse quickened.
“Speaking,” she smiled at the sound of the voice. “Who am I speaking to?”
“This is Sergeant Kowalski from the Metro Investigations Division,” he introduced himself. “My captain asked me to give you a call regarding a couple of vehicle plates that you’re looking at.” Gwen smiled at his pronunciation of vehicle, ‘vi-hi-cal’. “We had it handed to us from traffic.”
“Firstly, thanks very much for taking the time to call me back,” Gwen said. “What time is it there?”
“What?”
“The time,” Gwen repeated. “How far behind us are you?”
“Er, I’m not sure,” Kowalski said confused. “It’s five after ten here.”
“Eight hours,” Gwen commented. “Tell me did the traffic department explain what it was all about?”
“They did but I don’t understand it all,” Kowalski replied. “All I was told was that you guys are working a double murder and there could be more victims, so we thought it was worth a look.” He paused. “I thought it was going to be a bug hunt but we’re glad that you contacted us.”
“You are?” Gwen couldn’t help but sound surprised.
“Sure. We traced those plates to a company that works out of the bay area; they rent out trucks and RV’s. It’s kinda quiet here now in the winter so both vehicles were in their pound.” He paused as if he was checking something. Gwen could hear papers being rustled. “The owner is a very helpful lady and she let us take a look inside both vehicles. Now we didn’t know what we were looking for so we took CSI with us and one of our crime scene guys sprayed a little Luminol around and guess what?”
“What?” Gwen said hanging on every word.
“The place lit up like Epcot on the fourth!”
“Blood trace?”
“Yep, lot’s of it,” he said. “We have both vehicles being pulled in as we speak. Our CSI will take them to pieces.”
“That’s great,” Gwen commented. “And you’ll keep us in the loop with any results?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks very much for the help.”
“No problem but now you can help us a little,” Kowalski lowered his voice. “My captain wants to know where all this blood came from.”
************************
As they walked back to the car, Annie checked her phone for messages. Nothing. They seemed to be constantly waiting for forensic results before they could slot the next piece into place. Each time that they did, they didn’t appear to move any closer to
the conclusion. Each piece to the puzzle raised more questions than answers. “What are you thinking, Guv?” Stirling asked blowing into his spade like hands.
“I am thinking that I should be winding this investigation down but instead we’re still chasing shadows.” She shook her head. “Tod Harris butchered two women and we have locked him up for it.” She shrugged her shoulders. “So why do I feel so crappy about?”
“If it had been Barton that had blown his brains out like we thought at first, we’d be laughing,” Sterling said opening the car with the remote. “Do you think Barton is Tod Harris’s accomplice?”
“I don’t know,” Annie shook her head. “Are we sure that he had an accomplice?”
“There’s no forensic evidence to say that he did but,” Stirling didn’t finish the sentence.
“There’s a connection between Barton and the victims so it goes without saying that there’s a connection between him and Harris.”
“Barton was the number one suspect for Simon Barton’s abduction and now we know that Harris had the boy’s underwear in his trophy collection. Coincidence?”
“I can’t swallow coincidences,” Annie grumbled. She opened the passenger door and climbed in. “If he did take the kid then they’re working together. If Barton didn’t take the kid and was innocent then why blow a man’s brains out in his cellar?”
“Peter Barton is a very clever man who has used every grain of his police training to throw us off the scent. Sorry, Guv, I need to get this.” Stirling looked at his phone. “DS Stirling.”
“Sergeant,” a familiar voice said. “This is Coco from Flatfoot Sam’s.”
“Hello,” Stirling frowned and climbed into the driver’s seat and put the call on speaker. “How can I help?”
“I was chatting to some of my men last night about your investigation,” he paused. Stirling remained silent and looked at Annie. “You know that we couldn’t find any camera record of Jackie Webb leaving the club.”
“Yes.”
“Well, one of my men remembers a woman being outside of the fire exit next to the ladies toilets.”
“Go on.”
“Obviously, when he saw that the exit was opened, he went to investigate,” Coco explained. “He said that there was a woman outside and she was drunk as a skunk, falling all over the place.”
“Jackie Webb?”
“He said she was a blond.”
“Okay, then what?”
“He remembers that there was a guy holding her up and when he challenged him, he showed him a badge,” he paused. “A detective’s badge. He said that he would make sure that she got home safely so he closed the door and never thought about it again.”
“There’s no cameras on that exit?”
“It covers the entrance to the toilets but there’s a support column blocking the view of the exit.”
“Is it alarmed?”
“As soon as he told me, we checked the door. The sensor had been cut and bypassed. We didn’t even notice until now.”
“Did he give you a description of the man?”
“Thirty to fifty, wearing a hat. About six feet tall. That’s all he could remember. Like I said, once he saw the badge, he didn’t give it a second thought.”
“Doesn’t sound like Tod Harris,” Stirling offered.
“I thought that too,” Coco agreed. “I showed him a picture online but he couldn’t be sure.
Annie made a hand gesture as if she was holding a pen. “We’ll need him to sit down with one of our sketch artists. When is he working again?”
“He’ll be in tonight at about nine.”
“Thanks for calling,” Stirling said. “I owe you one.”
“No problem. You’re welcome.”
The call ended and Stirling sat back and raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Rob Derry?”
“I’m not convinced.” Annie sighed. She let out a deep breath and looked out of the window. “So Tod Harris might be telling the truth about an accomplice.”
“To a degree,” Stirling agreed. “The evidence still says that he raped and killed them. It makes no difference if there was someone else involved, he’s bang to rights.”
“Agreed,” Annie nodded. “The existence of an accomplice may throw some seed of doubt to a jury but the forensic evidence would overwhelm that.”
“But regardless, now we know that we’re looking for another killer,” Stirling said starting the engine. “Peter Barton.”
“And he’s out there with a head start. What is he trying to achieve?” Annie felt her phone vibrate before the ringtone kicked in. “DI Jones,” she answered. The number calling was from a switchboard.
“It’s Becky, Guv,” her DC sounded stressed.
“Becky, what’s up?”
“We’ve just had a call from uniform at Halewood,” she babbled. “Emilia Harris was found hanging from her stairs.”
“When did this happen?”
“Twenty minutes ago, Guv. Her sister called around to see her and noticed that all the curtains were closed. When she couldn’t get an answer, she called 999. The responding officers said that there’s a note in a sealed envelope addressed to you.”
“We’re at the Barton property,” Annie said holding two fingers to her forehead. She rubbed at her temples to sooth the dull ache that was developing. “We’re not far away, ten minutes at the most. Thanks, Becky.”
“Guv.”
Stirling looked at her and waited for her to compose herself. She took a deep breath before she spoke. “Emilia Harris has strung herself up from the banister,” Annie sighed. “We’ll have to notify Harris via his brief. I’m not sure that a warped bastard like Tod Harris will give a monkey’s!”
“I wouldn’t put a rope around my neck for him even if he was my son,” Stirling said, anger in his voice. “Poor woman. It must have been too much for her.”
“She’s left a note.” Stirling looked at her and waited for more. “Apparently, it’s addressed to me.”
They drove through the suburban streets in silence, each consumed by their own thoughts. Murder was never just about the victim. There were always many victims. Husbands, wives, mothers, fathers, grandparents, siblings, uncles, aunties, nieces and nephews, friends, work colleagues, schoolmates and even neighbours were often distressed by the victim’s death. Grief rolled out like a ripple in a pond washing over those close to the epicentre. People expected this to happen without giving much thought to those close to the perpetrators. Their grief was equally as devastating but gained far less empathy from onlookers.
“I was talking to a relative of Brendon Ryder at court not long ago,” Stirling broke the silence. “His mother rarely leaves the grounds of her house nowadays.” He tilted his head and glanced at Annie. “Imagine being known as the mother of the Butcher of Crosby Beach. She’s a prisoner in her own home.” As they pulled up at the Harris home, a mortuary van arrived. Stirling opened his door. “I’m chalking Mrs Harris as another victim for Tod, the little shit. She’s as much a victim as Jackie Webb and Jayne Windsor.” He climbed out and slammed the door with the force of a hurricane.
Annie grimaced and opened her own door. “Are you sure that’s closed?”
“Sorry, Guv. Heavy handed.”
“Do you think so?”
Stirling shoved his hands deep into his leather jacket and walked towards the front door. He nodded to the uniformed officer that was guarding the house. “It won’t be long before the press arrive,” Stirling said. “Can you tape off the driveway so they can’t get near.”
“Sarge.” He stepped away from the door to allow them access.
They climbed into forensic suits and placed plastic overshoes on and then stepped inside. The smell of pine air freshener mingled with urine and excrement. Annie closed the door behind them to stop any prying telephoto lenses from snapping images of the body. Emilia Harris was dangling from a blue rope. It was thin but looked strong. Her neck was snapped and her head lolled onto her left shoulder. The
mouth was wide open and the blackened tongue hung over her bottom lip. “The rope has cut deep into the flesh,” Annie observed. “Washing line cord maybe?”
Stirling nodded in agreement. “There’s haemorrhaging to the whites of the eyes.” He looked up at the staircase to where the cord had been anchored. “She must have climbed over the banister and then dropped.”
Annie walked into the living room and looked around. On the coffee table a sealed envelope stood leaning against a book. It was addressed in blue ink to DI Jones. Annie picked it up with a gloved hand and opened the gummed flap making sure that she didn’t rip the envelope. She slid out the letter and unfolded it carefully. Stirling stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. She read from the tear stained notepaper.
Inspector, I’m afraid that I’m not strong enough to cope with things. My son is an abomination and the fact that he came from my body is something that I can’t live with. I found this book in the spare room. It was hidden. I think it might help you with your investigation. I truly hope that it does. I want to apologise to the families of the people that my son has hurt as I’m certain that he won’t. His dreadful acts lie too heavy on my heart for me to stay in this world any longer.
Emilia Harris
Annie looked at Stirling as she folded the letter and placed it back into the envelope. She put it onto the coffee table and picked up the book. “Harry Potter?” Annie said confused. The hardback had a thick plastic protector around it. She opened the cover and read the stamps inside. “Halewood library,” she pointed to the most recent date, “Call them and find out who borrowed this book last.”
