He grinned at me. “Sure that’s not the newspaperman talking, Dad? Wanting the whole story?”
“Could be. But do you know how policemen and editors are alike? Neither of them wants to be bothered with half a story. So I’m going with my instincts for now, well trained as they are. We’ll keep it to ourselves for the moment.”
“Right. But I was thinking it would be good for someone to go over that alleyway with an expert eye. Do a proper forensic examination. You did say there was blood there, right? Even if we can’t do anything with it now, it would be good to get it sampled, just in case we can use it later, yes?”
I gave him a long look. “What are you thinking, Sam?”
“I could phone a friend.”
“Which friend?”
“Alison Kepple. She’s a CSI. We met at the wedding.”
“Ah. Tall blonde girl. I didn’t know you were friends.”
“We got on well. Talked about cameras, mostly. But I could give her a call, see if she’s free.”
“OK, then,” I said. “Just if she’s free. She’s probably busy, but I don’t suppose it could hurt for her to look, at least. As long as it stays unofficial at this stage.”
“I’ll make that clear,” he promised. “Give me a moment – my phone reception isn’t too good in here.”
He went outside, leaving me wondering if the reception was the issue or if it was more about me overhearing what he said. It depended on how good a friend Alison was. Ah, well, that was something for Sam to tell or not, when he wanted to.
In the meantime, I concentrated on the sandwich. To my surprise, I did indeed have an appetite. I couldn’t quite believe that I was feeling hungry just after watching someone fall to their death. But then, I couldn’t quite believe it at all. It wasn’t something that had actually happened. It felt like something I’d seen on TV.
But it had happened. Right in front of my eyes.
I thought about Adi’s face, screaming, falling away from me, and put the sandwich down again. When Sam came back he found me staring at the old pictures of battleships soaking up the Mediterranean sun, and trying to think only of the distant past.
Alison Kepple was free, as it turned out. Off duty, in fact. She turned up, forty minutes later, in a white Transit Connect with “Police – Scientific Support” on the side in large blue letters.
“Did you tell her to keep it unofficial?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “She said she needed to bring a bit of kit with her.”
Alison, in CSI uniform, got out of the van and came towards us. She was quite tall, attractive, but not pretty in any conventional sense. It was more about the strong lines in her face. And the way she looked at you – a disconcertingly direct gaze.
“Hello, Sam,” she said, and looked at me. “Mr Deeson. You’re not looking good.”
Direct in her gaze and in her speech. To the point of being tactless – which is how Sandy had once described her. “I’ve had a bit of a shock,” I explained.
“Yes. Sam said. Show me where the body was.”
Not wasting time with formalities, then.
We went down the alleyway, till we were outside the Dreadnought. The fire escape door had been reopened, with a wedge put in to keep it that way.
“We think that the person who took the body must have shut the door and used the wedge to stop anyone coming out,” Sam explained.
Alison nodded. She unclipped a torch from her belt and ran the beam along the bottom of the door.
“Nothing of forensic value there,” she announced. She widened her search, examining the ground. “Very little chance of any footprints. Perhaps a partial tread mark on some of the rubbish, but not proof of anything. It’s not a secure area; anybody could come along here for any reason.”
“The body – well, when I saw it, it was over by that big rubbish bin.” I pointed. “He fell from up there.”
Looking up, it was easy to see the big hole in the fire-escape walkway. It was a long way up. I felt suddenly queasy and had to look away. I was regretting the sandwich.
“There must have been some blood,” Sam added. “Perhaps that stain over there?”
The problem was, there were a lot of stains in the ancient tarmac. A lot of stains, a lot of rubbish, a lot of dirt over the cracked surface.
“No, I think it’s probably that one.” I indicated a dark area next to the wheelie bin. “There was a sort of – puddle – coming out of him.”
I was trying very hard not to start shaking again. I didn’t want the paramedics back.
Alison used her torch for a closer look. Most of what I presumed was blood had soaked into the dirt, but there were distinct reddish smears on some of the old polystyrene cups and bits of packaging that were strewn around.
“How was the body orientated?” she asked.
“He fell backwards,” I said. Adi’s face, screaming, falling away from me… “But when I saw the body, it was face down, I think.”
She looked again. “That agrees with what I’m seeing here. The body fell backwards, struck the top of the bin, which flipped it over, so it landed face down, perhaps head first, on the ground just here. There would probably have been impact damage to the head and face, which would result in blood pooling just here. Perhaps internal bleeding as well. The smearing could have been caused when the body was moved, or by an attempt to wipe it up.” She looked at me steadily. “But you do realize that while this is consistent with your story, it does not prove it. There are other reasons why someone might lose some blood here. I can’t even say at this stage if it’s human blood. Someone could have dumped a leaking bag from the kitchens down here while they opened the bin, and you’d get a similar effect.”
“OK. What can we do with this?”
She looked round. “I can take some photos. Show the relative positioning of things, in case it becomes significant later. And I’ll test this blood, just to confirm that that’s what it is, and take a sample. I won’t be able to do anything with it, you understand. Not without a crime number, or authorization from higher up. But I can put it into Property on a temporary basis, and it should be OK there for a week or so. If anything develops, then we’ll be able to submit it for DNA, perhaps get a name. Or, if there’s a suspect, we could check their clothing for blood traces and try to match those.”
“What about up there?” I nodded at the walkway above us. “Where he fell from.”
She peered up. “That looks dangerous. Has it been reported?”
“It’s in hand,” I assured her.
“OK, then. But rusty metal? Not promising. What other surfaces might he have touched?”
I thought back. “There was the window frame. Where he climbed out. But I went out of there as well.”
“What condition was it in?”
I hadn’t really been looking at the window frame. “Everything up there is in poor condition. A lot of old, flaking paintwork. But the floor was dusty, so there might be footprints.”
“Yes, that’s possible. Let me see the tread on your shoes.”
I turned round and lifted a foot towards her, steadying myself on Sam.
“Herringbone with wavy edges. Distinctive enough. OK, I’ll take a look. I want to get some images from up there in any case. I’ll get my camera and get started. If you two could just guard the alleyway for a while, try to keep anyone else from coming by? It’s not exactly a pristine scene anyway, but it’ll help if we can keep it secure for a few minutes at least.”
“How long?” asked Sam.
“No more than forty-five minutes,” she said briskly. “Because after that I’ve got to be back at the station to start my proper shift. So I need to get on with it.” She turned away and headed back to her van without another word.
“I don’t think she means to be rude, Dad.” Sam gave me a glance. “She just doesn’t realize how it sounds.”
I nodded. “I get that impression. Not a problem – she’s doing us a big favour.”
Her
timing was quite precise. Forty-two minutes later, she was carrying her equipment back down the alleyway.
“Did he have anything in his hands when he fell?” she asked.
“He had a stick. That was on the ground next to him. It would have been quite obvious if it was still there.”
“Anything else?”
I closed my eyes, reluctantly visualizing the scene. Fake Adi, standing on the walkway. Talking to me. “Just doing a job,” he said. And I thought he was going to come back in. But then his phone rang.
“He had a mobile,” I said. “Just before he fell, he was answering a call.”
“Did you see what sort it was?”
“Not really. Small, black. I think.”
“Something like this?” She held up a clear plastic evidence bag, containing a black mobile with a shattered screen.
“Yes, that could be it! Where did you find it?”
“Behind the wheelie bin. If it was in his hand when he fell, it could easily have ended up there when he hit. But, of course, it could have been tossed over there yesterday, and have nothing to do with this incident.” She frowned at the phone, not liking the ambiguity.
“So can you do anything with it?”
“Not really. It was in a pool of something that had dripped out of the bin, so no chance of DNA or fingerprints – even if there was a decent surface on it anyway, which there isn’t, now that the screen’s broken. If this was a real crime scene, I could send it up to the Technical Forensic Unit, and they might be able to get something useful off the SIM card. But not without a crime number, and even then there’s a month’s backlog for anything but high-priority cases.”
“I could have a go at it,” said Sam.
We both looked at him.
“Well, I worked in this place for a while, picked up a few tricks, that’s all. I might be able to get something. Or not.”
Alison tossed the bag at him. “I’d rather not have it sitting around in Property under my name anyway. A couple of blood swabs I can explain away if necessary, but if I pile too much junk up, someone might notice.” She glanced at her watch. “I need to go.”
She put her kit away, climbed into the van, and was gone without a goodbye.
“Not much for small talk, is she?” I said.
“No. But she’s pretty good at her job.” Sam held up the bagged mobile as evidence.
“No arguments there. Come on, we should get off home. I want to be back before your mum; it’ll make the explanations easier.”
“You’re going to tell her then?”
“Much better than trying to hide it. Trust me, I speak from experience. She always knows.”
CHAPTER 7
“I don’t want excuses, I don’t want explanations, I don’t want your honest opinion! I want results, that’s all!”
Adi Varney, half-time team talk, as quoted by Johnnie Muldoon
Honesty may not always be the best policy, but it does give one the chance to control the narrative. I was able to avoid any mention of the steak sandwiches.
I also managed to downgrade my sprint along the street to a “gentle jog” and the three flights of stairs I’d struggled up to a “short climb”, which didn’t avoid a frown from Sandy. However, there was no way of glossing over the fact that I’d watched a man fall to his death.
“He fell? Three storeys?”
“Well, four actually,” said Sam, not helping.
“And you saw it?”
I nodded. My wife has seen death. More than I have, actually. She understands, and she understands me. I hadn’t realized how much until she put her arms round me, hugged me tightly, then looked into my eyes and said: “Graham. It wasn’t Adi. It wasn’t him. It was a terrible thing to see, but it wasn’t him. Have you got that?”
In my mind, it played out again. Adi’s face, falling.
Not Adi, though. I focused on that thought. Overlaid the image in my head with the words. Not Adi.
I returned the hug. “Yes. Got it. Thank you.”
“What happened then? Did you get the police?” Sandy continued to hold me. Sam took up the story, and explained about the paramedics, the missing body, and Alison’s unofficial scene examination.
“That’s bizarre,” she said. “And you’re sure that it was this Leather Jacket man who took the body away?”
“I can’t see any other explanation.”
Sandy stepped back, but kept hold of my arms. “You should have called the police.”
“I wish I could have. But there are problems with it.” I went over the reasoning again.
“You could have talked to someone unofficially. June perhaps – no, she’s on her honeymoon. Or David Macrae?”
“A very busy man. I’d rather not risk squandering the goodwill we have with him. Not until we have a little more to go to him with, at least.”
“A little more…” She narrowed her eyes. “Graham, you’re not thinking of taking this further?”
Actually, I hadn’t made a conscious decision. But as soon as she put it into words, I realized that I had no intention of leaving things as they were.
“Sandy, think about this. Think of the implications. That person wasn’t Adi – but in that case, where is he? The real Adi. Because, the thing is, if they were resorting to using a double, that implies two things. One is that they couldn’t get the real Adi to do it, and the other is they were confident that the real Adi wouldn’t turn up to spoil the show. Either way, something must have happened to him. I can’t just let that go, can I?”
She said nothing, just looked at me with eloquent tears shining in her eyes.
“Look, I understand your concerns. And I promise I won’t do anything stupid. There isn’t a lot I can do, actually, apart from ask around a bit. You know, check with some contacts, do a bit of background research, maybe find out a bit more about this Lonza and his company. Reporter stuff. Not detective stuff.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Graham… I can’t lose you.”
“I know. You won’t.” She was still looking at me in the same way, and slowly shaking her head. “What would you do? Would you just leave it alone?”
Which was a low blow, and I regretted it as soon as it was out of my mouth. Because we both knew the answer to that, and what it had cost.
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the tears were leaking out. “OK. OK. If you must. But just research. No chasing people round dangerous buildings. No chasing anyone.”
I nodded. “No chasing.”
She opened her eyes again, brushed at her face. “I know I sound like a hypocrite. But I was lucky, Graham. More than lucky. Perhaps I had divine protection or something. I don’t know. But you know I would never have got into that if I’d realized how dangerous it was. You – you’re talking about some sort of organized crime gangster. Someone who makes bodies disappear. Suppose that was you or Sam?”
Sandra has a special horror for bodies that disappear, or that are unidentified, unknown.
“I won’t go anywhere near Lonza or his sidekick,” I promised. “Internet searches, phone calls, that’s all. If we go out of the house it’ll be to walk the dog or get a pizza.”
“No pizza!” she snapped, but with a faint smile. “You need to watch your health, Graham!”
“Yes. Of course. In fact, I’m going to have an early night tonight. I’ll have a shower, come down for a bite to eat, then bed. OK?”
She nodded. “Off you go then.”
I made my escape.
I spent a long time in the shower, and afterwards a long time sitting on the bed and staring into nothing. Reliving the events. I kept on seeing that moment when the rusty metal gave way, and Adi’s face fell away from me, screaming.
It had helped to talk it over. I had read somewhere that we deal with trauma by putting it into words, where the events are defined, locked down, and confined to history. Then we can start putting it behind us, in the past, at an ever-increasing safe distance. I supposed that that was what I was doing
.
Perhaps going over it again with Sandy would help the process along. I finally got dressed and went back downstairs.
Sandy and Sam were talking as I approached the lounge door.
“I should have stopped him running off like that,” Sam was saying.
Talking about me, obviously, and I paused at the door. Old reporter’s instinct, I told my conscience, and ignored the traditional danger attached to eavesdropping.
“I wish you had,” said my wife.
“He caught me by surprise. This argument – it looked like it was going to get out of hand, and that had all my attention. I didn’t even see him go. I just looked round and he was already halfway down the street. It was just so unlike him, Mum. Dad’s never been the sort to act on impulse. He’s a ‘measure twice, cut once’ sort of person. Suddenly chasing off like that, I just didn’t expect it.”
I suddenly realized that Sam was feeling guilty for not keeping me out of trouble. It felt weird to know that. Wasn’t I supposed to keep him safe? When had our roles as father and son become reversed?
“I know, I know,” Sandy was saying. “Don’t blame yourself, Sam. He hasn’t been himself lately.”
Really? How so?
“How do you mean?” Sam asked my question for me.
“Oh, little things. Like the way he was badgering Karen Varney about Adi. It’s not like him to be so insensitive. But it was thinking he’d seen Adi that set him off. He always was a bit strange where Adi was concerned.”
Sam didn’t say anything, but I could imagine the raised eyebrows and the little half-smile that said, “Come on. Don’t leave it there, tell me more.”
Sandra sighed. “They were a strange pair to be best friends. Very different people. And your dad used to get really frustrated with Adi. Like you said, Graham was never impulsive, always liked to think things through, whereas Adi was all instinct and action. Of course, his instincts were usually pretty good, especially with regards to football, but he dropped some monumental clangers sometimes as well. Graham said once that he never felt safe around Adi, always on edge.”
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