by Ian Robinson
‘Until I get confirmation from Dr King as to the MO, this is how each investigation will run – side by side. King thinks there’s a link between the two deaths and given his track record in the field of forensic pathology I wouldn’t disagree with him. Especially having witnessed each scene. So, to CCTV, anything from Jade’s block?’ Nash directed the question at Jonesy.
‘Too early to say but from what’s been viewed so far there’s nothing startling. Same phone entry system as Melissa’s block. Usual stream of regulars each day. We’ve requested footage a week before the death and we’re working back from that. On the day, there was a brief power outage that disrupted the system as the backup generator was installed for heat and light only. The CCTV system wasn’t on the circuit. I’m in contact with the London electricity board to look at the outside connections for any signs of foul play. It was off for twenty minutes then came back on,’ he replied.
‘House-to-house is still on-going, and a press statement has been released by DCI Carlson. Next of kin has been informed and the FLO is with them,’ Nash said and finished writing in her daybook as she looked up.
‘Now, where are we with tracing the rider from the Phelps case?’ she enquired of DS Matthews.
Matthews smoothed out a page in his decision log. ‘We’ve drawn a blank with local firms. I went through the correspondence from Melissa’s flat and among some of it was a poor-looking excuse for a business card from a handyman. My Intel desk did some work on it. When I called you last night on an unrelated matter, you’d mentioned that Williams’s bathroom looked to be freshly tiled or at least grouted. I looked at the scene photos for Melissa’s flat and the bathroom looks like that’s had some work done too.’ Matthews paused as he turned the pages back and forth in his book.
‘Where’s this leading, Owen?’ Sagona chipped in.
‘I’ll tell you where it’s leading, Mighty Mouth, if you’d be so kind as to give me the opportunity to present what we’ve discovered,’ Matthews said.
‘It would appear that a man giving the name of Neil Buchanan was offering his services in the area as a handyman. He has a website. One of the pictures shows him on a motorbike. I thought he may do jobs that require enough tools to carry in panniers and he could be our mystery dispatch rider. Why he hasn’t seen the appeals and isn’t coming forward is another matter. We can ask him when we find him.’ Matthews closed his book and sat back.
Nash knew it was a lead they’d have to follow up on. It was a reasonable line of enquiry and if Buchanan had access to the flats in order to work, they’d need to know. He may even have been given access to the app that unlocked Melissa’s door.
‘Do we know where he lives?’ Nash asked Matthews.
‘There’s nothing apparent on searching the name on the card. He has a photo of him on a motorbike and he’s looking back into the camera. The index number’s displayed. We have an address for a registered keeper, but it isn’t the same details given on the business card. It’s a start though.’
‘Let’s speak to this Mr Buchanan and see what he has to say. Treat him as a potential witness but up the game if he doesn’t want to play,’ Nash replied.
‘If there’s no other business let’s crack on. Owen, I’ll come with you to Buchanan’s potential address. Bring two DCs,’ Nash said.
Owen nodded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Nash sat in a non-descript car and observed the outside of the block of flats where the registered keeper of the motorbike was purported to reside. The block stood among other similar drab-looking buildings, all pebbledash and decay, which the council had the temerity to describe as a thriving community estate in the heart of North London. It thrived on poverty, drugs and despondency. A play area gave the allusion that children lived there and could have fun. DS Matthews sat with a half-eaten apple. The other two detectives had utilised a different car.
‘Which flat does the registered keeper live in?’ Nash asked.
‘Third floor, 5C, didn’t you listen to the briefing?’ Matthews replied sarcastically as he wiped a misted side window.
His nose rose towards his eyes as his pupils reacted to the low sun. He placed his hand that held the almost spent apple against his forehead in salute. The shield helped his vision as he glanced up at the front door to 5C. He’d ensured they were parked a sufficient distance away so as not to alert Buchanan should he appear at a window or on the balcony.
Nash insisted on caution as Buchanan was the only lead they had.
Nash’s phone pinged. A WhatsApp message appeared on her phone’s screen. The other DCs confirmed they were in position at the back of the building. She let them know by return of message that she and Matthews were going to try the front door.
‘Let’s go,’ Nash said as Matthews searched for somewhere to dump his apple core and opened the glovebox.
‘Seriously?’ Nash said.
‘What? I’ll sort it out back at the base,’ Matthews replied as they stepped out of the car and made towards the block.
The main entrance was unlocked and the lift wasn’t working. Matthews bounded up the stairs two at a time, while Nash took each one with purpose. She felt fit and composed. Preservation of energy was her main focus should Buchanan decide to kick off at the sight of them. She hoped it wouldn’t come to that. At the top of the stairs they linked up again and crept towards the main door to the flat. A smell of cooking was emanating from inside. A radio pumped out a steady bass beat. A small window was ajar that overlooked the balcony. Nash assumed it was one to the kitchen.
Nash looked at Matthews and gave him a nod. Matthews knocked on the front door. There was no reply. The music maintained its volume. He tried again, this time with purpose. Still nothing. Matthews lifted the flap to the letterbox that sat halfway up the door. Although the interior of the flap was occupied by bristles he felt a distinctive rush of air. The sensation was soon followed by the bellow of ‘Stop Police’ being shouted from the rear of the block.
‘Fuck, he’s bailed out the window at the back!’ Matthews yelled into the void.
Nash had reacted to the shouts and was already close to the ground floor. She fled out the rear door. Ahead of her she saw the outline of DC Andy Parker’s back. Parker was more of a wrestler than a runner and Nash already knew his lead on the suspect was lost. She caught up with Parker who was doubled over, hands on his knees. Parker jabbed his index finger in the direction of where the runner had now disappeared from view. He’d lost him.
The other DC, Mohammed Begum, was nowhere to be seen until a car shot past them both as he headed in the direction the subject was last seen running. It was no use. The area was like a maze.
‘Was it Buchanan?’ Nash demanded as Parker caught his breath and began to pat his jacket as though he’d lost his warrant card in the chase.
He produced an asthma inhaler and took a deep lungful. Nash knew it was a waste of time. Parker was fit for nothing. Matthews had now joined them. He too reacted with venom once he’d ascertained the situation.
‘Parker! How could you lose him? He was three floors up for fuck’s sake! He couldn’t just drop and run! Where were you two? Oh no… you were both in the car, weren’t you? Neither of you were out of the vehicle where you should’ve been! He just descended the drain pole like Incy Wincy fucking Spider and was on his toes pissing himself laughing, I bet!’
Nash let Matthews run with it. Matthews was their DS and as far as she was concerned was handling the situation accordingly. Begum would also be getting an earful on his return and it wouldn’t just be from Matthews. The team would be livid. Nash’s stoic silence was enough for Parker to realise just how pissed off she was. Nash turned to Parker who was now standing upright. His breathing was now under control.
‘Both of you should’ve been out of the vehicle, not sat in the warmth where you lost the bet to run should Buchanan decamp. Get your car back. You and Begum can go and check who else is in there. The tenant on the books is a female and I don’t suppose
it was a female who made off?’ Nash said.
Parker shook his head.
‘Knock on doors in the building. Let any occupant know we wish to speak to anyone who has knowledge of the occupants of 5C. Find out all you can. I need it confirmed that it was Buchanan, but I need whoever it was who ran to feel safe enough to return once the heat’s died down. Don’t tell the neighbours why we need to see the occupant. Keep it simple and he may return,’ Nash said.
Parker nodded.
‘Sorry, both of you. We just didn’t think anyone would come out of a flat three floors up and it was… well… pointless us both being out the back,’ he said.
Matthews raised his eyebrows while he gripped his hair in both hands. He too had to control his breathing but for entirely different reasons. Matthews faced Parker close enough to be considered an invasion of personal space.
‘Your job was to cover the back. Not think about it, or debate it.’ Matthews shook his head and joined Nash who was already walking towards the front of the building and back to their car.
He’d ensure all could be done to locate Buchanan. He was hopeful he could establish an observation point and had the ideal pair of DCs in mind to provide twenty-four-hour cover on split twelve-hour shifts. Matthews left her to join Parker and Begum.
Nash had taken a call from Moretti on the way back to the Peel Centre base and he’d updated her on the post mortem. It was as they’d suspected, an identical MO. Nash updated him on her morning’s work and there’d been a long pause that wasn’t due to a loss of signal. She’d see him back at the incident room after she’d spoken with the source unit.
Nash had used the drive back to the incident room to compose herself and calm down after the fiasco she’d witnessed. She parked her car on the parade square as it wasn’t in use and entered the main building. Nash knocked on the door to the source unit and waited as the squeak of a chair and the roll of wheels became louder. The door opened and the Silverfox greeted her sat upon his wheeled office chair. He had a mobile phone held to one ear. He raised an index finger and mouthed, ‘one minute.’
Nash entered and found a seat. The environment of the covert unit could only be described as stark. Desks were tidy and clear of paper. A fish tank containing a shoal of guppies sat upon a deep window ledge. It provided a calming effect.
The Silverfox finished his conversation and put the mobile down on his desk. The covert officer was known as the Silverfox due to his greying hair and slick looks. He was also as cunning as they came when dealing with sources. He had a unique working partnership with his DS, Hugo Dillon. They belonged to the Metropolitan Police, MO3 – Covert Policing Command. Nash valued the unit as they provided vital support to her investigations and she hoped they would give her job a leg-up now.
‘Who was that then?’ Nash asked, knowing full well what the answer would be.
‘Very good, Pip, very good. Like I would ever tell you…’
They laughed. The Silverfox got up to make them coffee, which Nash desperately needed even if it was at risk of drinking it from the unwashed mugs the unit’s detectives drank from.
‘Actually, I can let you know about that call, as it goes,’ the Silverfox said as he went to the kettle.
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Have your lot just been on the Warburton Estate looking for a fella?’
‘How on earth would one of your sources know that?’
‘We have our ways, we have our ways,’ the Silverfox replied, as he dumped a spoon of sugar and what looked like powdered milk into each mug.
He added the boiled water and brought the drinks over. He handed Nash hers before he sat down.
‘We’ve hawked that CCTV image from the block and there’s been no takers at all. To be fair to them though, it is shit. However, I spoke to George this morning who’d said you were going out on an enquiry. He gave me some of the lowdown on the person you sought. I put a call in to a very good source of mine on the estate you were on. Upshot is they said you shouldn’t have put Puff Daddy and Slow Mo on the rear of the block.’ He spat out his coffee as he laughed at his own joke and Nash joined him.
It had been a dismal morning and the atmosphere felt colder than the forensics freezer.
‘It was Matthews who tipped you off, wasn’t it?’ she asked with a smile, as she stared at the ceiling and a covered strip light that contained a graveyard for insects.
The Silverfox nodded in confirmation and placed his mug down as his shoulders juddered so much he couldn’t hold it well enough without spilling the contents.
‘Wait until you make DS or DI, then you’ll realise the job’s not that simple when you have to manage people and use what resources are available,’ Nash said as the Silverfox regained his composure.
‘Fair enough, Pip. I’ll never take promotion, so I’ll have to take your word for it. Anyway, I see you’ve copped another murder and anything we can do, just ask,’ he said with a look of genuine sincerity.
‘As it happens, we need you now. Our lead opportunity has done a runner. No idea why he ran, and that’s why we played it low key as the bloke who lives there may have nothing to do with either murder, but may have attended the block where Melissa Phelps lived prior to her being killed. Our Intel desk came up with this guy, Buchanan. Anything you can get on him would be good. Especially if he works as a handyman, rides a motorbike and dresses like a dispatch rider. Here’s a photo off the net. It’s from a webpage he’s setup.’
Nash removed the image from her coat pocket and slid the print of Buchanan across the desk. The Silverfox scooped it up and added it to a folder of images.
‘Why don’t you just call him and get him to come and give you a quote for some work?’ he asked, taking a sip of coffee then sniffing the mug before he took another.
‘Too soon for that now. He’s been spooked, but certainly a consideration should you fail to find him…’ Nash said.
‘Oh, we’ll locate him, but can your lot catch him…? That’s the question,’ he replied with raised eyes over the rim of his mug.
‘Call me as soon as you get anything,’ Nash said, as she got up and exited the room.
She returned to her office, hoping she might find some good news there as DCI Carlson wanted an update on each investigation and Nash knew she had little to give that he wouldn’t already know by now.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘I know why we’re sat here and not Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dumber but, man, it’s a drag,’ Moretti said to Nash.
They were crouched on the flat roof of the block adjacent to Buchanan’s. The evening had turned from dusk to a blanket of darkness. Matthews had established the observation point on the roof and had tasked Begum and Parker with the first shift. Nash had surprised them all by offering to take over after she’d had a call from the source unit. Nash peered at Buchanan’s kitchen window. There was no movement.
‘Sometimes you have to be the ones with the eyes on if you want the arrest phase to go without a hitch,’ she replied, as Moretti tutted and viewed the street using binoculars.
He was pissed off as he’d had plans for the evening, and she’d rained on his parade. Such was life.
‘Just keep your eye on the prize and say if you see him. Anyway, you’re on overtime whereas muggins here isn’t.’ Nash fastened down the poppers on her coat and rubbed her gloved hands together.
Despite the weak illumination from the street lamps below, the night sky gave a hint of starlight even though it was early evening. Nash was hoping the Silverfox would call again. This would hopefully happen soon and Nash could move the investigation on as the day had produced little in the way of progress.
She’d had an earlier meeting with DCI Carlson who’d, to use the analogy of a shotgun, used both barrels and may as well have worn a helmet with “Lock ’n’ Load” scrawled across it. Nash had pointed out that the lack of progress was due to the early days in what were two murder investigations with little to go on. But he was having none of it. ‘Get detecting
then,’ were his only words of encouragement. He’d had the press bureau on the phone demanding a statement they could release. He’d managed to placate that department, but it wouldn’t last for long. They too were getting pressure from the media for information. More so now another murder had happened in the capital.
The streets below changed as night took hold. Dealers emerged and took up their corners; buyers surfaced, bought, and then scurried away like feral rats. Neither Nash nor Moretti paid any interest in the illegality of the activity and they concentrated on the streets below for signs of Buchanan. After a short while, Nash’s phone vibrated in her pocket with a message from the Silverfox – “On way” was all it said.
Nash looked at Moretti. ‘We’re on – eyes up.’
Twenty minutes later Nash noticed a shadow down by the block. A stooped hooded figure whose face was obscured by a bandana, hugged the wall with their back. The street lamps provided enough light for the binoculars to be of use. Nash gently rotated the focus ring and tried as best she could to steady the view on the new target.
She gestured as to where Moretti should look. He was already focussed and Nash knew he’d clocked the subject as he nodded in recognition. The figure hugged the wall using it as a shield as they moved around to the front entrance. Whoever it was, they were either waiting for an opportunity to buy, or deal, or for the door to the block to open so they could rush in without wasting time opening it. A good criminal knew that time spent outside a locked door could result in them being jumped on from outside. Far better to wait for others to be around, to provide cover and people to push in the way of harm from police attempting to arrest or a rival attempting to assault them.
The motion-activated lights flickered on and illuminated the stairwell of the block. A woman with a buggy bumped the carriage down each step. The subject had seen a strip of grass in front of the block light up and they appeared to ready themself for movement. Nash hoped it was Buchanan and not a mugger. She watched the door to the block open. The woman used the buggy as a prop.
