Monument to Murder

by Mari Hannah

  Valerie checked her watch. ‘’Bout an hour and a half,’ she said. ‘I’m ready to crash.’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed an unattended patient lying on a trolley in the corridor, just his head showing above the covers. To be fair to Louise, he was only partially visible from where she was sitting. But still . . .

  The SHO pointed at the trolley. ‘Whose patient?’

  The girl shrugged. ‘Maybe Dr Suri’s . . . or Dr Templeton’s.’

  She was blatantly guessing.

  Valerie didn’t think much to either suggestion. Both doctors were long gone. She’d passed them in the corridor as she came back in after collecting her breakfast from her car. On call since midday, they’d had their coats on and were on the way out of the building.

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘They’ve gone off duty.’

  ‘Roger’s then?’ Another guess.

  A staff nurse appeared, a manila folder under her arm, calling out to the old man. As the two shuffled off behind a brightly coloured curtain, Valerie glanced at a box on the wall where patient records were kept for those awaiting treatment. Curiously, it was empty. Her eyes shifted from the box to the man on the trolley, then back to Louise.

  She tried not to sound cross. ‘Any idea how long he’s been waiting?’

  ‘I’m sorry, no.’ Louise looked worried.

  Valerie attempted a smile of reassurance.

  If in doubt, ask the patient.

  She set off to do just that. But as she drew closer, her steps faltered, an inexplicable feeling of dread eating its way into her subconscious. Seized by panic, she stopped short of the trolley and glanced nervously over her shoulder at reception. Louise barely acknowledged her. Valerie’s gaze shifted back to the patient. Steeling herself, she stepped forward, placed index and middle fingers on his neck. His skin was cold to the touch. No pulse. No need to call for the crash team. He was as dead as a stone.

  3

  DAWN WAS BREAKING as Detective Chief Inspector Kate Daniels’ Audi Q5 sped off the coast road en route to Silverlink Industrial Estate, Detective Sergeant Hank Gormley by her side. She was strangely apprehensive. Word from the control room had reached her only half an hour ago. The incident she was rushing towards was serious. As duty Senior Investigating Officer in Northumbria Police’s Murder Investigation Team, that was a given. However, something in the controller’s voice had raised her antennae, putting her on high alert for a case outside of the norm.

  ‘Sounds nasty,’ yawned Hank. He was barely awake.

  ‘Maybe the eyewitness got it wrong.’ Indicating left off the roundabout, Kate stopped at a red light, glancing at him as they waited to move off again. ‘You know what they’re like sometimes. In the dark they see things that aren’t there. Panic sets in and we get half a story.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Hank said hopefully.

  The lights changed to green. Kate floored the accelerator, keen to reach her destination. But as she rounded the corner, she was met with a sight that forced her to slam on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to an abrupt halt that nearly put them both through the windscreen.

  ‘Or maybe not,’ she said drily, her eyes glued to the road ahead.

  The crime scene was bigger than either of them could have imagined. Blue lights flashed at either end of an access road empty of civilians but crawling with police personnel. Traffic officers had blocked off the grey strip of tarmac for as far as the eye could see. Arc lights were being erected and forensic officers in white suits were walking the line, placing tread plates every metre or so, a process that was ongoing.

  Without another word passing between them, Kate and Hank got out of the car, ducking under crime-scene tape that warned others not to cross. As they neared a grey Mercedes van – the focus of everyone’s attention – they saw Home Office pathologist Tim Stanton on his knees in full forensic kit, the hood of which was pulled tight around his head to ensure no contamination of evidence.

  He looked up, a pained expression on his face.

  From where Kate was standing, it was impossible to tell what he’d been looking at. But his eyes held a warning: This is not something either of you want to see. Receiving his unspoken message, Kate sent Hank to find the witness who had called the incident in. Only after he’d disappeared did she step forward, all the while hoping that her imagination was conjuring up worse images than she was about to view.

  She was wrong.

  Her heart rate increased as her tired eyes travelled down the side of the van to a place near the rear offside wheel. Despite the urge to look away, she knew she couldn’t. No matter how gruesome a spectacle, she was paid to investigate murder. She couldn’t afford to buckle. Still, she found it hard to make sense of what her eyes were transmitting to her brain, even harder to quell the silent scream inside her.

  Suspended from the underside of the roofer’s van was the naked torso of a white male – or what was left of it – a mangled mess of bloody flesh, missing limbs, a gaping jaw . . .

  What is that? Bone? Teeth?

  Don’t look into his eyes.

  Suddenly cold, Kate pulled up the collar of her coat. Doing up her top button was the only distraction available. She was calm on the outside, but traumatized on the in. Hank arrived at her side, his attention immediately focused on the victim. He tried his best to make out he wasn’t moved by what he saw, but failed miserably. In fact, he seemed to shrink physically the longer he stared. When finally he glanced up, his eyes were dull with shock.

  ‘The witness is pretty shaken up.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Can’t say I blame him, now I’ve seen it for myself. He’ll be having nightmares for weeks.’

  ‘We all will,’ Stanton said.

  Kate mimed to Hank: You OK? Concern she wouldn’t voice in the presence of the pathologist.

  Hank nodded. The detectives would debrief later.

  ‘Who found him?’ she asked.

  ‘David Prentice, security guard at this place.’ Hank thumbed over his shoulder to the premises behind them, a two-storey warehouse in need of a paint job. ‘Apparently the estate is like a racetrack some nights. He wondered if joyriders had hit a pedestrian and carried on driving, not realizing there was someone underneath.’

  ‘If he’s under the impression that this is a tragic accident, he couldn’t be more wrong.’ Stanton didn’t look up. ‘The IP’s body is secured to the chassis with a thick leather belt. See, here . . .’ He beckoned the DCI with his index finger.

  Kate crouched down as he pointed at a section of the torso that remained intact. Outrage and sadness competed for space in her head. What kind of despicable act of madness was this?

  ‘Can you make it out?’ Stanton’s tone was impassive. ‘The belt is looped in such a way as to make it impossible that this was anything other than deliberate. Judging by the trauma inflicted, the vehicle must’ve been travelling at terrific speed. The buckle is almost embedded in his stomach. There’s no doubt whatsoever that we’re dealing with a murder case. Forensics are trying to locate the rest of him – if they can scrape him off the tarmac.’

  Kate had no words.

  Stanton’s tone softened as they both stood up. ‘I’m so sorry you had to see this.’

  Thanking him, she turned away, taking Hank with her. The road was lit up like a busy airport runway. They walked the route the van had travelled. Every few metres or so they saw pieces of the victim ground into the road surface: an ear, teeth, a section of scalp and bits of unidentified bone.

  Halfway along, yellow chalk circles had been drawn on the road. Kate called out to one of the crime-scene investigators, asking what they were.

  ‘Improvised plates,’ he told her. ‘We ran out. They’ll guide you the rest of the way.’

  Nodding, she walked on.

  ‘You OK?’ Hank asked.

  ‘I’ve been better. You?’

  Trying hard not to react to the revolting detritus on the road, even though it was affecting her deeply, Kate registered the absence of gallows h
umour from Hank this morning. No jokey routine to get him through the horror. There were times when it wasn’t appropriate, and this was one of them. He was as disturbed as she was. No question. An hour ago, they had been in their respective homes, fast asleep, oblivious to the brutality taking place on this deserted stretch of road. Now they were viewing a scene so gruesome it would never leave them, illuminated by the volley of camera shutters and flashbulbs going off on all sides.

  Kate took a deep breath. Their job was never pleasant. They had attended some nasty pile-ups and collisions in their time – including a particularly harrowing incident a couple of years ago on the A1 trunk road – but this was something else. It was deliberate.

  It was sick.

  A traffic officer approached wearing a fluorescent jacket, his eyes partially shaded by the peak of his cap. Introducing himself as the senior accident investigator, he asked Kate if she was the duty SIO. She nodded, giving her name and rank, presenting Hank as her second in command.

  ‘You’ve done a great job,’ she said. ‘What’s your take on this lot?’

  ‘It stops, or should I say starts, adjacent to Halfords.’ He pointed along the road. ‘Looks like they stripped him, tied him on to the Mercedes, got in and floored the accelerator. The van did a reciprocal round the mini-roundabout – probably what killed him – then it travelled west at high speed along the main road here, round the roundabout at the top and back down again, turning sharp right, dumping the van where it is now. The victim never stood a chance.’

  Kate’s jaw bunched. ‘According to the control room there was a second vehicle involved.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘I want it found. Any sign of his clothes?’

  ‘Not yet, but the CSI lads are on it.’

  ‘That’s good. Keep me posted.’

  In the distance, Kate saw motorists abandoning their cars to stare in her direction. To the left of the roadblock a group of pedestrians stood behind flapping tape, craning their necks to see what was going on, probably crowing because they couldn’t get to work. They would be demanding to know when the diversion would be lifted, resentful at being held back by officers as clueless about it as they were.

  The DCI sighed. With forensic evidence spread over such a wide area, the site would remain closed for some time. Hundreds were employed on the industrial estate, and soon there would be delivery vehicles and shoppers adding to the congestion. ‘I can almost hear the complaints pinging their way into my inbox already.’ She grimaced. ‘There’ll be a million calls to handle: enquiries from the press, local MPs, headquarters – all wanting answers we don’t have.’

  ‘Yet,’ Hank reminded her. ‘But you’re right, this’ll end up feeling like we’re working in a circus instead of a major incident room.’

  Kate was exhausted just thinking about the day ahead. ‘Well, they’ll all have to wait. We have other priorities.’

  A mobile rang.

  They both went for their pockets.

  It was Kate’s. The screen showed Pete Brooks. She swiped to answer. ‘Go ahead, Control.’

  ‘Looks like we found your second vehicle, boss.’ Brooks hesitated, checking details. ‘CCTV picked up a Range Rover heading west along the coast road towards the city centre shortly after leaving Silverlink. It was found abandoned and on fire off Walker Road in the East End five minutes ago.’

  ‘Damn!’ Kate’s shoulders dropped. ‘The victim’s clothing was probably inside. Are Forensics at the scene?’

  ‘They just got there.’ The controller paused as someone spoke to him at the other end. After a few seconds, he came back on the line. ‘The fire is out, but don’t hold your breath for a positive result. Forensics say it’s going to take a while for the vehicle to cool down, then it’ll be a question of seeing whether there’s anything left to examine.’

  ‘Problem?’ Hank asked as Kate thanked Control and hung up.

  ‘The Range Rover – it’s been torched.’

  He narrowed his eyes. ‘What did you expect?’

  Frustrated by the development, she looked away, her eyes finding the warehouse entrance. Something about her crime scene didn’t quite add up. It was always difficult at such an early stage of an enquiry to second-guess what was going on. She expressed her reservations in a question to Hank. ‘Why dump the Merc in full view of CCTV rather than on a piece of wasteland? God knows there are plenty of those scattered around the city.’

  She didn’t expect an answer. Didn’t get one either. They both knew there was only one plausible explanation. Whoever was responsible didn’t just want their victim to suffer. They wanted him dead. And they wanted him found.

  4

  THE DEAD PATIENT was handsome, late twenties, early thirties. Only his head was visible. Dr Valerie Armstrong got a whiff of expensive aftershave as she said a silent prayer for him. The man had obviously looked after himself. His skin was perfect, his eyebrows waxed. He had long dark lashes, a straight nose and strong jawline. There was no pillow on the trolley, so his head was tilted back slightly, his mouth open as if inviting a kiss. What an absolute tragedy, that someone so young should die on a hospital trolley, unnoticed in the midst of all the frantic activity of A & E.

  Wondering whether he was a family man, her eyes shifted from the face to the blue blanket that covered his body. It was then that she saw the blood, now a dark brown where it had dried out in the high temperature of the corridor, staining the open weave around the abdominal area. A sob left her throat as she pulled back the cover and saw that the dead man’s elbows were bent, his hands resting on his stomach, a wedding band on his left ring finger – his only finger. Every other digit was missing, including both thumbs; not crushed or ripped off, as she would have expected had he lost them in an accident, but severed with a smooth blade. As the blanket fell from her hand she saw that more blood had pooled on the sheet either side of his torso, presumably from an injury to his back.

  Valerie ran to reception and made an urgent call.

  THIRTY MINUTES LATER, argumentative voices reached her as the medical director arrived in A & E, followed by the duty lead consultant. For the next few minutes, pointed questions were asked. The director was furious on two counts. One: because he’d been hauled out of bed. Two: because the consultant hadn’t run her shift properly. As he threw his weight around, she bit back, citing understaffing and pressure in the department, shifting responsibility to him. Neither gave a thought to the identity of the dead man or how long he’d been there.

  ‘Stop!’ Valerie glared at them both.

  The director bristled. ‘Excuse me?’

  The SHO flicked her eyes toward the entrance where a couple assisting a wheelchair patient were calling for help. Ignoring them, the director asked her to cover up the corpse.

  ‘Or better still,’ he suggested, ‘move him out of sight to one of the side wards.’

  Valerie refused point-blank. ‘This is a police matter, we can’t move him.’

  ‘I insist!’ the director whispered through gritted teeth. ‘We can’t possibly leave—’

  ‘I agree with Valerie,’ the consultant cut him off. Reminding him she was still in charge of the unit, she nodded to the receptionist. ‘Make the call, Louise.’

  As the girl hurried back to her desk, Valerie beckoned a porter. ‘Get some screens over here. And see to it no one goes near the body.’

  IT TOOK THE police less than five minutes to arrive. A male sergeant and female colleague, both in uniform, walked through the door with radios squawking. Ushering them to a side room where they could talk without interruption, Valerie explained the situation. Even in her head, it sounded incredible. It was painfully obvious that the officers were unimpressed. Whether that was because, like her, their shift was almost at an end and they could do without the hassle of staying on duty, she wasn’t able to gauge. And, if it was, who could blame them?

  The senior officer perched on the edge of the desk, asking her to repeat her account one more time. Thi
s time around, his colleague took notes in her pocket book. But it wasn’t long before Valerie ran out of words. Much as she appreciated the importance of getting every detail straight, she could only tell them what she knew.

  ‘I saw nothing,’ she said. ‘Right up until the moment I spotted him lying in the corridor.’

  ‘Well, someone must have,’ the sergeant said, an accusation almost. ‘The way you described his injuries, Mystery Man didn’t walk in unaided, did he?’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose he did.’

  ‘So what’s the sketch? Any idea how he managed to pull it off?’

  Valerie’s eyes found highly polished lino. She had no theories – at least, none that made any sense, none she cared to share. She’d just completed a marathon shift and was due for another in a matter of hours. All she wanted was to go home, crawl into her bed and sleep. She’d done nothing wrong and had no reason whatsoever to feel guilty. So why did she? The sergeant’s hard eyes weren’t helping.

  A female voice pulled her back into the room.

  ‘Doctor?’ The PC stopped scribbling. ‘The sergeant asked you a question.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Valerie shook her head, tried to focus. ‘As I said, I have no idea how he got here, or how he came to be missed. We were extremely busy—’

  ‘How about when he was found?’ the sergeant asked. ‘Do you have any ideas on that score?’

  ‘That I can tell you. It was almost five-thirty. One of the admin staff asked me how long before I went off shift and I checked my watch. When I discovered he was dead, I put in a call and questioned the triage team myself while I was waiting for a response. It seems he wasn’t assessed on arrival by any of the nurses on duty. I realize you’ll also want to talk to them.’

  ‘Except you didn’t call us at five-thirty, did you?’ he said.

  ‘Well, no, not personally.’

  ‘My information is that your receptionist called it in some time after six.’

  ‘That’s correct. But I’d reported the matter to the medical director. It’s procedure.’