by Vicky Newham
*
I reached the Manor House site before Dan. It was a half-finished development. Luxury apartments, penthouse suite and gym, and not something the locals were happy about. While I was waiting for the foreman to meet me, I rang Alexej for an update on the arson investigation. Indra had confirmed that she and Simas were Jewish, and they’d left the bagel shop’s Star of David in place as they liked it. Alexej had questioned Solomon Stein about the freehold on Rosa’s newsagent’s.
‘What’s Stein like?’
‘It’s Solomon Stein junior. His father bought the freehold. Dead now. Junior’s all about the money, but he says he’s got clauses in his contracts saying he can sell the freeholds. He doesn’t need to torch any of them.’
‘Sounds like we can rule him out then.’ There was still no sign of the foreman. ‘Dan and I will be here for a while so can you and Shen question Agnieszka and her husband? Make sure Agnieszka stays with her mum afterwards. Jackie’s going to interview Artem. Shake him up a bit.’
‘Sure.’
‘Before I go, any developments on our UnSub or Ali?’
‘Negative.’
‘OK. Dan’s arriving now. Keep me posted.’ I rang off and walked along Stepney Green Road where Dan was getting out of the car.
We talked as we approached the site entrance.
‘I got Shen to pull up some research on the Manor House,’ he said. ‘It seemed a bizarre place to have a farm until I read the history.’
‘My niece adored Stepney Farm when she was younger.’ It was a neighbourhood I knew well, only a few miles east of where I’d grown up. ‘Such a shame that they’ve plonked the development here though.’ I took in the pretty village church of St Dunstan’s, and the local secondary school, Sir John Cass Redcoat. ‘When they floated the plans for these apartments, lots of locals were furious.’ We’d arrived at the site entrance now. ‘I wonder why the killer decided to leave the body here?’
Dan was paraphrasing from his email, momentarily oblivious of my question. ‘. . . built on the grounds of an old Tudor manor house . . . some of the farm-land wasn’t being used . . . so presumably developers spotted an opportunity?’
One implication of working with a detail-obsessed newcomer to London was that he filled in all my knowledge gaps, whether I wanted it or not. I surveyed the red cranes, the hoardings, the high-tech machinery and warehouses, and said loudly, ‘This place is crawling with CCTV. Isn’t it?’
‘Sorry. Yes.’ Dan stuffed his mobile in his pocket. ‘That should make our lives easier.’
‘Thank God there’s no media yet.’ I knew we had minutes before they arrived. ‘The red tops are going to have a field day with this.’
Outside the hoardings, at the crime scene perimeter, a uniformed officer was guarding the site. A man in a fluorescent jacket was charging towards us at the entrance. Beneath his hard hat, he was red in the face and veins bulged in his neck. ‘How long is this going to take?’ He addressed his question to Dan. ‘We’ve got equipment arriving today.’
‘As long as it takes, I’m afraid,’ I said quietly. ‘DI Rahman, Senior Investigating Officer. This is DS Maguire.’ I watched him absorb his faux pas and we both showed him our warrants.
‘You are?’
‘Robert Johnson, the site foreman. The architects are due from Sweden. We’ve got millions of pounds worth of equipment arriving today and—’
‘And a man is dead. The site will be closed for at least twenty-four hours. After that, areas may be released in stages or the whole thing.’
He tutted. Took out a packet of tobacco and papers from his trouser pocket and began rolling.
‘My officers will need to see your CCTV. Could you organise that, please?’
He looked up. Lit his roll-up and nodded.
‘Who found the body?’
‘Young lad. Chris Thomas. Was doing an early morning site check. He’s in the Portakabin over there with one of your officers. Badly shaken.’ He pointed. ‘By all accounts it’s not pretty, I’ll warn you now.’ He gestured to his mouth.
‘We’ll take it from here.’
‘Chris says it’s one of our guys. Patrick Ryan. He recognised the work boots and his tattoo.’
‘Why did he think it’s related to the fire?’
‘You’ll see.’
Dougie joined us, two white forensic suits and protective wear in his arms. ‘Dr Clark has just arrived.’ He passed us protective clothing.
We pulled the suits over our clothes, and the shoe covers on, and followed Dougie through the outer cordon, round various items of machinery, diggers and concrete churners, and onto the crime scene via the common approach path.
‘The team are still taking photographs.’ Dougie was filling us in as we walked. ‘We’ve got the elements to contend with, but the crime scene has a few characteristics I think you’ll be interested in.’
His intonation reminded me of the foreman’s gesture. ‘Like what?’
‘The—’
‘Morning, Maya.’ It was Dr Clark, our regular pathologist.
‘Morning, Doc. What’ve we got?’ I smiled an apology at Dougie.
‘Most unusual, actually.’ Dr Clark was standing over the body, his cheeks flushed pink with excitement. A man’s body lay on its back on the ground. His arms were spread-eagled. In the middle of his chest, there was a cluster of bullet holes. The clothes had diluted blood on them. A black bandana had been tied over his nose and mouth, with the LfA logo clearly visible.
‘Shit.’ I leaned over him and the fumes hit me. ‘So, he’s been shot, had a scarf tied over him and been doused with petrol?’ I turned to Dougie. ‘Is that why uniform said it was linked to the fire?’
‘Er—’
‘Must be a good canister of petrol there.’ Dan interrupted. ‘Pain in the arse as it’ll have washed off some of the blood pattern and GSR.’
‘There’s more,’ said Dr Clark. Using gloved fingers, he carefully lifted the mask. The victim’s mouth was open, and where his tongue should have been, there was a gaping black hole.
It was a sickening sight.
‘The tongue’s got to be a statement.’ I looked at Dan, who was the other side of the body.
‘Someone’s keen to link him with LfA.’ He pointed at the mask. ‘The arson too?’
‘What if this is our arsonist? Someone knew what he did and shot him. It’s a possibility, isn’t it?’
Other than what the body was lying in, there wasn’t any blood spatter around the corpse.
‘Presumably he wasn’t killed here?’ I asked Dr Clark.
‘My guess is he was killed elsewhere and brought on site. It would be too much of a risk to shoot him here and cut out his tongue. I’m sure Dougie’s team and ballistics will be able to add to that, and I’ll leave you to establish why the body was left here.’
‘What about the tongue? There’s not much blood around his face and neck, so presumably that was done post-mortem?’
‘Subject to the PM, I’d agree.’
‘Do we have the tongue?’
‘Sadly, not.’
Ideas coursed through my mind. Had the killer taken it as a souvenir? My thoughts turned to the victim’s family. ‘Right. Someone tell Chris Thomas to keep schtum about Ryan’s ID. Last thing we want is it getting in the media before we’ve had time to notify next-of-kin.’ I turned to Dr Clark. ‘Have you got a slot for the PM?’
‘I’ll get it done later today.’
‘I wonder what the petrol’s about. D’you suppose they were planning to set him alight or is it hinting at the fire on Friday?’
‘Impossible to say,’ Dr Clark replied.
‘Fortunately, it’s dry so if he’s been brought here from another location, there may still be transfer materials on him.’ I surveyed the scene.
‘Speaking of transfer materials, his body is covered with what looks like dog hair.’ Dr Clark pointed.
‘Oh, yes. I can see them.’ Medium-length dark hairs had collected in the
fibre of his clothing and speckled his skin.
‘As soon as I give the go-ahead to move him, the CSIs can start on the body’s forensics.’ Dr Clark was recording measurements.
‘Cheers, Doc.’
Dan had gone to speak to Chris Thomas, so I left the crime scene area and pulled off the white suit and shoe covers.
Back on the street, the site foreman, Robert Johnson, was leaning up against the wooden hoardings around the development, bellowing into his mobile and pacing up and down. When he saw me, he cut his call and tucked his mobile in his pocket. ‘Sorry about earlier. Behaving like a dick.’ He looked sheepish. ‘Working in this kind of environment, the alpha male thing becomes a habit after a while.’
I smiled. It can’t have been an easy thing to admit. ‘I would appreciate it if you would tell your guys not to discuss the man’s identity with anyone. We don’t want it leaking into the media until we’ve notified his next-of-kin.’ Suzie came to mind. No doubt she’d be sniffing around any moment. ‘Was Patrick Ryan scheduled to work today?’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Was he in yesterday?’
‘His shift finished at 6 p.m.’ He began rolling another cigarette. ‘Manor House HQ is at Canary Wharf, if you need them. Patrick was a nice bloke. This is awful. He had a daughter similar in age to mine.’
I caught the anguish in his voice.
‘He used to show me photos of her, and I could tell how much he loved her.’ He coughed to cover his sniff, and turned away from me. ‘The Manor House bosses are shouting about delays. Time. Money. It’s a billion-pound project with massive penalties for late completion of works. No excuse. And all I can think about is that Patrick’s kid is going to grow up without a dad.’ He kicked at the kerb with his boot. ‘I don’t know what the police is like as an employer but people in my world aren’t interested in human factors. They shake them down the line. Make sure that we all feel responsible.’ He snorted. ‘Over-sodding-responsible, more like.’
I knew what he meant. It was how the police worked too. ‘We will release the crime scene as quickly as we can.’
‘I appreciate that.’ His eyes were bloodshot. ‘I’m lucky. I’ve still got my missus. After all he’s been through, Patrick has done amazingly. I can’t believe this has happened to him.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s not really my place to tell you. His ex will fill you in, I’m sure. Nice lady.’
I was curious. ‘I’ll ask her. Did Ryan have any enemies at work? Recent fall-outs?’
‘Not that I know of. He was a popular staff member. A people-person, you know? He got on well with the labourers and the bosses. Not everyone can do that.’ He shook his head and started to make the next phone call.
Dan re-appeared at the site entrance, out of breath from running. He clocked the foreman, so I walked to meet him. ‘Just talked to Chris Thomas. Ryan has a tattoo on his arm, saying “Amanda”. It’s his daughter’s name.’
‘Has Chris told anyone who the victim is?’
‘He says he hasn’t but he was pretty cagey. I’ve just rung the personnel office. Ryan was divorced. His wife has re-married, and lives in Mile End with their daughter. Ryan lived in a shared house in Bromley-by-Bow. I’ve sent a uniformed officer round to his ex-wife to notify her of the death, and a team is on its way to search Ryan’s home address.’
‘Good. I can’t see any of us getting any sleep over the next few days. We’ll have to plough on with investigating Rosa’s newsagent and crack on with this investigation. Can you interview his ex-wife and then get over to the Strozyk’s and Tomasz?’
‘Sure. Except—’
‘I’ll stop off at Bromley-by-Bow and see if the search of Ryan’s home address turns up anything useful.’
‘Maya, hold up.’ Dan stood still, legs apart, as though he wasn’t going anywhere until he’d said what he wanted. ‘You aren’t going to like this, but I think you need to put finding Ali on the back-burner. I know you feel guilty for him running off, and so do I, but we’ve got a hell of a lot on, and we can’t watch out for every kid that’s in trouble.’ He paused. ‘Also – we run the risk of screwing up again if we try to spread ourselves too thin.’
I absorbed his words and felt my determination galvanise. ‘No way.’
‘It’s not fair on the team.’
‘Since when did you speak for everyone?’ I heard my voice rise.
‘I’m not. I’m saying how I feel. I’m part of your team.’
The mumbled comment back at the station must’ve been Dan.
‘You heard what Ali said. Kyle’s going to kill him. He’s homeless, for Christ’s sake.’
‘I know that. I still think we need to prioritise solving crimes that have actually happened, not ones that haven’t but may. Our resources are stretched as it is.’
‘Rosa’s shop hasn’t been torched and we are investigating that.’
‘It’s not the same, Maya, and you know it. We are investigating an arson attack and two deaths, all of which occurred because the culprit got the wrong shop. We need to know who might want to target Rosa’s newsagent’s in order to find out who set fire to the soup shop.’
‘Fine.’ I caught the sulky tone in my voice but couldn’t help it. ‘I’ll look for Ali in my own time then. Thanks for your support, buddy.’ And with that, I left Dan standing there and stomped off.
Dan, 12.30 p.m.
In the watery afternoon sunlight, Dan entered the gated community where Patrick Ryan’s ex-missus lived. It was a new development, overlooking the canal behind Mile End park. After the barney with Maya, the neatly trimmed hedges and immaculate lawns irritated him. He wondered how Aroona would enjoy living somewhere like this, with gardeners and visitor parking bays and swanky wrought iron electric gates.
He parked the car and hurried up the manicured path to the main entrance, his warm breath billowing in the chilly air. He rang on the entry-com system. ‘It’s the police.’
‘Second floor,’ came a posh-sounding woman’s voice, and he was buzzed in.
Dan took the stairs. There were no blood stains here, no empty dope bags or graffiti. The walls were papered and painted – belt and braces – and their surfaces gleamed. A thick cream carpet made the stairs springy under his shoes.
The second floor had a view out over the canal and lock. A woman was waiting for him, the flat door open. In jeans and a jumper, she was drying her hands on a tea-towel.
‘Mrs Grant? I’m Detective Maguire. Could I speak to you about your ex-husband?’
She nodded solemnly, and led him into the flat, past neat rows of coats and along a spotless hall. There wasn’t a scooter or toy in sight. The lounge was similarly immaculate with a large crate in the corner where games and toys were neatly stacked.
Dan thought about his girls, and how frustrated Aroona got at the continually scattered toys in their apartment at home. He felt a pang of homesickness. How he wished his life here had the cushion of a family to return home to, something permanent which wasn’t a part of him being a cop. ‘We are all very sorry for your loss.’ Dan let her settle.
She pulled her sleeves down over her wrists and shuffled over to a large red sofa.
‘We will do everything we can to find the person that’s responsible.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was found on the Manor House site first thing this morning. One of the workers was doing his rounds. We are treating it as a suspicious death.’
‘That means you think he was murdered, right?’
‘We suspect that’s the case but can’t say any more at the moment. His identity will be given in the media. I’ve arranged for a family liaison officer to come over shortly.’
Nicola was bent over with her arms round her knees, looking at the carpet. ‘I knew something like this would happen. I knew it. I told him over and over, you go back to that stuff and you’ll end up dead. I really thought he’d changed.’ Her voice creaked with anger.
‘Can yo
ur husband keep you company for a couple of days? It’s bound to be a dreadful shock.’ Dan was interested in why she feared Patrick would end up dead, but wanted to give her time to take the news in.
‘Alan will be back later.’ She had her hand clamped over her mouth. Wide, staring eyes were fixed on the floor in front of her as she rattled off a succession of questions and statements. ‘What am I going to tell Amanda? She’s going to be devastated. She adores her dad. Always has. It hit her hard when he and I split up. This is going to break her.’ Her eyes bulged with anguish. ‘How do you tell your daughter that her dad’s been murdered?’
Dan swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry.’ It was impossible not to feel her pain. ‘I have daughters myself and I honestly don’t know. I’m sure the family liaison officer will be able to help with what to tell your daughter, and how to talk to her about it. And we can put you in touch with specialist counsellors too.’ He thought about Kiara and Sharna, and shuddered as he tried to imagine what Aroona would tell them if he was killed. ‘I do have to warn you, though. It is going to be on the national news, and your daughter’s mates will see it even if she doesn’t.’
‘They’re both at school. Alan and I have a daughter too. I’ll have to tell them, won’t I?’
He nodded gently. ‘When you’re ready.’
She dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue and rested her head on the back of the sofa. ‘Amanda’s just started her GCSE subjects. It’s going to disrupt her education all over again.’
‘You don’t need to explain.’
‘I don’t want you to think I’m not upset about Patrick. I am. But . . . ’ She stared at the ceiling as though she was searching for the words to express what she wanted to say. ‘. . . what I feel for my ex-husband is . . . ’ She broke off again. Looked around the room and seemed to gather muster. ‘Our relationship got very complicated and so did my feelings for him. It’s been hard not to be angry. I am angry. I’m bloody angry.’ The words came out in a splutter.