Before leaving the station, Colin had arranged a team briefing (the first for the now, murder enquiry) for the following morning, bright and early, to discuss the ongoing investigation. He secretly hoped that there would be news from the many forensic and medical tests that were currently being processed. But he knew better than to pester those concerned for early updates – they were working flat out and would tell him anything important as soon as they could.
As Colin and Matt sat in the lounge, their bottles of beer in hand, Colin felt as if a pressure valve had been released. He picked at the label on his beer bottle distractedly as he let loose all of the pent-up emotions that he had been hiding inside. He told Matt that PC Griffiths had been found dead, detailing his detention, beatings, and method of execution. He explained how the investigation was proceeding, his leads, and the problems that he had linking Griff’s death to any specific person or motive. But he went deeper with his explanations, telling how he had been struggling, personally, the case bringing back nightmares of his time in Afghanistan and of their combined experiences in the Met’s Drug Squad. Matt sat quietly, listening, encouraging when necessary, but accepting that his former partner was severely under stress, and suffering both from the emotional toll of his current case, and from his past traumatic experiences which he clearly had not fully recovered from.
When he finally paused, Matt asked, “Colin, have you looked into counselling? Surely you were offered it after your last tour-of-duty in Afghanistan, and I know you’d have been offered it after our operation went tits-up in London. I’m no expert, but it sounds like you’ve got PTSD.”
“Yeah, it was offered. I even went to a couple of meetings, but it wasn’t for me. Besides, I found ways of coping, I’ve been fine for ages,” replied Colin.
“Sorry to break it to you, mate, but you’re clearly NOT!”
“Yeah, but that’s just because this case has brought back similar emotions, you know?”
Matt thought Colin was in denial. He nodded, encouraging him to continue talking.
“Problem is, all the guilt,” Colin stated bluntly.
“Guilt over what? You’ve got nothing to blame yourself for,” Matt said.
“Back in Afghanistan, when that soldier took a bullet from the sniper, it was my unit; I was in charge, the buck stopped with me.”
“But it wasn’t your fault. There wasn’t anything you did, or didn’t do, that caused it. Shit happens in war.”
“That’s debateable... But anyway, I swore I’d never let another person die on my watch. I nearly lost you on that Op back in London. That was a bit touch-and-go. And now, I’ve been unable to find a missing police officer from my own station, and he turns up with half his head blown away. It’s history repeating...”
“Bollocks, Colin. You’re just stressed ‘cause of this job – understandably so. When was the last time you slept properly? Or had a proper meal?”
“Oh, I dunno.”
“Exactly! The tiredness is messing with your head, man.” Both men finished their beers, placing the empty bottles on the coffee table.
“Want another?” Matt asked, pointing at the empties.
“Go on then, twist my arm,” Colin replied with a smile.
Simply talking to his friend had made him feel 100% better. It was good to be able to share his problems again, bounce ideas about his current case off his former partner. He had missed that sort of interaction. Gary French was good at his job, and he was a great second-in-command, but their relationship was not as intense as his and Matt’s had been. Simply talking about the murder case seemed to put everything into perspective. Colin could feel the anxiety falling away as he relaxed. Matt returned with some more beers. Colin looked at his watch.
“Do you want a laugh?” he asked Matt.
“Go on...”
“Flash your TV up, we might catch Mitchelson giving his press conference on the Ten O’clock News.” Both men smiled. It might be a good way of relaxing, Matt thought, taking the piss out of someone else, to help take Colin’s mind off his own troubles.
The press conference was already underway on the screen. Superintendent Mitchelson was stood outside Force Headquarters in his full dress uniform, the herded crowds of the paparazzi congregated before him.
“Bloody hell! It must have taken him hours to polish all of that silver braid,” Matt said, sarcastically.
“Shame he didn’t take more time studying the facts of the case. If he hasn’t done his homework, those reporters will rip him to pieces,” Colin added, as he sipped his beer.
On the television, Mitchelson stated the facts of the case – that a police officer had been found dead in suspicious circumstances, and that a murder enquiry was underway. A photo of PC Griffiths was displayed on the screen to the side of Mitchelson’s face, the contact number for giving information running along the bottom.
Colin and Matt watched closely, waiting for Mitchelson to elaborate, give some details of what had happened, but nothing was forthcoming. After a lengthy pause, members of the press began shouting questions.
“How was he killed?”
“I am not at liberty to say,” replied the Superintendent.
“When was he killed?”
“Do you have anybody in custody?”
“Have you got suspects?”
“What’s the motive?”
“Is there a killer loose in the community?”
“What are you doing to catch this cop-killer?”
The questions continued at pace, a bombardment that Mitchelson seemed unable to deflect. He stood facing the camera, his cheeks flushed. His eyes darted to the side, looking for someone to assist by answering on his behalf.
“See, I told you he should have prepared,” Colin said with a smile of satisfaction spreading across his face.
“What a numpty,” Matt added. He raised his beer bottle and proposed a toast, “Here’s to John Mitchelson. Once a glory hunter, always a glory hunter.”
“He ought to be careful what he wishes for. Putting your face on screen as the head of a murder enquiry is all very well when you catch the killer, but become the face of the case when it all goes wrong, and your career goes down the drain too. I know which way it’s looking at the moment,” added Colin.
They both watched the end of the news bulletin, finished their beers, then Colin stood up, saying, “I’d better be off, mate. Long day tomorrow...”
“No worries. Look, if you continue to get those flashbacks, if you can’t sleep ‘cause of this case; get some help, Colin. Tell your boss; get taken off the case, whatever... But do something, or you’ll be fit for nothing.”
“I’ll think about it. I need to get Griff’s killer off the streets, get some closure. Once that’s done, I’ll seek help – promise.” Matt doubted it.
“Just think about what I said, OK?”
“I will. Is it OK if I pop back some time, let off steam, tell you how the case is going?” Colin asked.
“Do you really need to ask? Of course you can. I’d be offended if you didn’t.” Both men smiled, shook hands, and Colin left the house, going home to attempt a night’s sleep before the big meeting in the MIR at dawn.
Chapter 18
Colin had not managed to get a wink of sleep! His mind had been a mess of conflicting ideas that needed to be followed up, possible further avenues of investigation.
He arrived at the deserted Bradwell Street MIR nearly two hours before the meeting was due to begin. Sitting behind his desk, the phone in his right hand, he contacted every department and specialist that was working on the murder enquiry. He had half expected most calls to go directly to voicemail due to it being before 6am, but, to his surprise, everybody replied – they had all been working throughout the night to get their tests and enquiries completed. Colin was secretly proud of each individual, thankful for their efforts above and beyond the call of duty. He jotted down notes of what had been discovered, slowly filling 3 pages of a notepad, as he collated a list
of preliminary results to pass to his team at the briefing.
...
A little before 7am, members of Colin’s major incident team began to drift into the CID office in dribs and drabs. Many were still wiping the sleep from their eyes. Nearly everyone was carrying a takeaway cup of coffee or eating a bagel. From the front of the room, Colin watched them, each person nearing exhaustion, but each keen to hear the latest updates, and to get stuck into the investigation having now had a brief respite. There was a quiet murmuring, and a feeling of anticipation in the air.
When everyone was present, and the room was silent, Colin began.
“Good morning everybody, sorry it’s so early.” A few detectives yawned to emphasis the point.
“As you are all fully aware, this is now a murder enquiry. PC Griffiths’ body was discovered in a storm drain yesterday, close to the Drayton Fields Estate.” He let this sink in for a moment. “Normally, a murder squad from HQ would have been appointed to investigate, but you’ll be pleased to know that as I’d normally head that unit anyway, I’ve been given special dispensation to continue with you lot as my team.” He smiled. His detectives smiled too. They were pleased to be the officers hunting for the killer of one of their own colleagues.
“You don’t need reminding (but I’ll say it anyway), this is now a major incident. It is a step up from your previous levels of investigation, and everything will be scrutinised, so we do it all by the book, OK? No shortcuts.” Everybody nodded.
“I’ve been collecting together initial results from every department, and I intend to go through each line of enquiry, updating you all, so that we are all reading from the same page.” Colin flicked through his notes. “Feel free to chip in with any additional information as we go along.” Officers rustled papers and opened their notebooks in readiness.
Colin began with the Force Doctor’s post mortem results. “OK, the Doc has worked all night on the PM. He hasn’t written up his final report, but here’s the gist of what it’s gonna say... TOD (time of death) was midnight to 6am two nights ago. We don’t know the murder scene yet, but it definitely wasn’t where the body was dumped, or where PC Griffiths disappeared.”
“Any idea of where it might be, sir?” someone asked.
“Not at this stage.” Colin continued, “There were bruises and cuts to his wrists and ankles consistent with him having been held hostage. Marks suggest that he was bound or shackled to something.” A murmur spread around the room. “So, obviously, we need to identify where he was being held. It might turn out to be the same place as the murder scene.” He paused. “There was rag-like material deep within his throat and lungs suggesting that he had been gagged. And prior to death, Griffiths had been severely beaten. His entire body was covered in bruises consistent with punches and kicks. As a result, he had a number of fractured ribs, as well as internal soft-tissue damage. In addition to this, he had a lot of bruising, fractures and gashes to his neck, head and back. Doc thinks this was all caused as a result of being repeatedly hit by something metallic, heavy, and with a sharp rounded protrusion.”
“Jesus, he died from a hell of a lot of injuries,” somebody whispered to themselves.
Overhearing this, Colin said, “No, he didn’t. Those injuries didn’t kill him! What actually killed him was one of two things: either a gunshot wound to the head, or a stabbing to the chest. As to which came first is anyone’s guess.” There were a few gasps. Clearly, the details of Griff’s death had not reached the rumour stage yet.
“The gunshot was a single 9mm bullet to the forehead from close range, execution style. Ballistics have fragments of the bullet, so we might get something more specific once they’ve finished their analysis.”
“You say execution style, sir. Do we know that for sure? Could it be gang-related, or was it a professional hit?” asked DS French.
“Unknown at the moment, Gary. All options are still open though.” Gary nodded. “The stabbing was one of 42 individual knife wounds to the face, neck and hands, most of which were superficial slashes. It was a frenzied attack, so the idea of a professional hit seems less likely. But the critical injury was a stab wound down into the chest through the suprasternal notch.” Colin pointed to the indent below the neck, above the sternum. “There was bruising to the skin from the knife’s hilt, and the blade was about 6 inches long, wide, with one serrated edge.”
“Like a hunting knife?” somebody suggested.
“Exactly like a hunting knife,” the DI added.
“What about his body armour? Wasn’t he wearing it?”
“He was, but the knife went in above the neck opening, then down into the chest cavity behind the armour.”
“Oh!” There was a moment’s silence as each officer imagined PC Griffiths’ last minutes.
“There were traces of vomit on PC Griffiths’ clothing and boots. Whether it was his own or someone else’s, remains to be seen. Forensics are checking it for a DNA match as we speak,” continued the DI. “As you know, we recovered his mobile phone and police radio handset from the drainage channel at Brent Lane. Forensics didn’t get anything back off them, but his bodycam is still missing. It is possible that he had it recording during the attack, in which case it could hold vital evidence. Be aware, and keep your eyes open as, and when, we get to the searching stage.” Everybody nodded.
He continued, “I’ve spoken to SOCO, and they’ve collected a number of samples. At Drayton Fields, they took tread markings (plaster casts) which can be compared to the skid marks at Brent Lane. Both fit the width of a Toyota Avensis. Rubber samples from the Brent Lane site are being compared to those taken from the burnt-out car that was discovered yesterday. Unofficially, everything links together – the hire car that we found destroyed was the same as that at Brent Lane, and it matches the marks found at Drayton Fields.”
“The fact that the person who rented it used fake ID, adds to the suspicion,” added Gary. “At this point, it appears that this is our suspect car, and that blurred image on the board...” He pointed to the CCTV image from Case Rentals that was stuck to the whiteboard. “...is our prime suspect.”
“SOCO recovered a crowbar from the burnt-out car which they are comparing to scratch marks found on the lock of the storm drain. Preliminary results suggest a match. They couldn’t pull any prints from the drain’s gate though, or from the remains of the car, and there was nothing of use found on the plastic sheeting that Griff was wrapped in,” continued DI Peterson. “However...” He left a dramatic pause. “...they did recover a swatch of material attached to some bushes halfway down the embankment to the storm drain, and it had blood on it! They are conducting a DNA test on that to see if it matches anyone on the system. It’s possible it might match the vomit too. Anyway, be aware of torn bloody blue denim jeans during your searches.”
As Colin looked around the room, he asked, “Has anybody got any results to add?”
From the back of the room, a lone DC raised his arm.
“It’s nothing of importance, sir, but I’ve got a few enquiry results back.”
“Go ahead. Share what you’ve got, Steve.”
“At the Drayton Fields site, the PSU completed their searches with a negative result. Uniform did some house-to-house enquiries on the Drayton Fields Estate. Nothing was either seen or heard. They did some stop/checks of shift workers and the odd milkman overnight, but again, nobody saw anything suspicious. The CCTV was checked in the area. We found footage of a dark car leaving the estate just after 3am. It could fit with the Toyota although the registration was not visible, and the driver could not be seen. Oh, and the Superintendent’s TV appearance resulted in zero lines of enquiry thus far (apart from the usual crank calls). And that’s it, I think.”
There was a communal yawn and somebody said, “That’s a whole lot of nothing, Steve.”
Colin added sharply, “Yeah, it is a lot of negatives, but at least we’ve been thorough. Thanks for that, Steve. Has anyone got anything else?”
F
rom the seats near the windows, a quiet voice asked, “Clearly the hire car driver is our main priority, but what about the other options we were looking at yesterday? Are we only concentrating on this line of enquiry now, sir?”
“Yes, the hire car option is number one, but that is a very good question, Sally,” replied the DI. “Gary and I have spoken with Fox, the loan shark. While he has a good motive in that he was owed money, my impression is that he isn’t involved. He seemed genuinely shocked and scared for his own business. As for the wife, Donna, we’ve checked into possible affairs or other motives, but nothing fits. I think that’s a dead-end too. We can’t dismiss either possibility totally, at the moment, but I want all of our efforts focused on the hire car angle.”
Just at that moment, the door at the rear of the MIR opened and a short skinny man entered. He was wearing a blue pullover covering a white shirt and tie, had tidy brushed brown hair, and wore a pair of dark-rimmed spectacles. In his arms he cradled a laptop.
“Sorry to interrupt. Err...Detective Inspector Peterson?” he asked.
“Yeah, that’s me,” replied the DI. “What can we do for you?”
“I’m Jon Stone from Technical Services. You sent us a GPS running watch from one of your deceased police officers?” he asked nervously. He was a civilian specialist, not someone accustomed to speaking in front of a room full of police officers.
“That’s correct. I was just about to mention that to my team,” said Colin. “Did you find anything?”
A huge grin spread across Stone’s face. “You might say that...”
“Come up here to the front. Tell us what you’ve found.”
As he walked through the crowd, he said, “Well, we had a bit of luck on our side. The GPS only tracks if someone triggers it to do so. In this case, somebody did...”
“Are you telling me that you can trace everywhere that PC Griffiths was taken or held hostage?” asked the DI.
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