“His eyes. They’re not wide and glassy. Also, his head was tilted to one side.”
“Meaning?” Yvonne pushed back her hair, resisting the urge to shout, ‘Spit it out, man.’
“He didn’t die in the water. Not in this water. He died somewhere else, on land. I believe he was placed in the water after death.”
“You sure?” The DI frowned.
“We took photographs. They’ll go to the coroner. This one will get a full post-mortem. I’ve a feeling Hanson will be confirming this as a murder enquiry.” Carwyn pulled back his wet-suit hood, rubbing at the indented ring it had left around his face.
Yvonne blew out a large puff of air. At last, something concrete, but she was too upset to feel vindicated. Another death was not how she would have chosen to have her suspicions confirmed. However, now she might have enough to get the DCI to throw some resources her way. Perhaps this would enable her to bring on board her best friend. If Carwyn’s suspicions were confirmed by Hanson, the investigation could begin in earnest.
“Any obvious injuries?”
Carwyn shook his head. “None that I could see. Perhaps, when his clothes are removed…”
“Thank you.” Yvonne grabbed Carwyn by the shoulder.
“You’re welcome.” Carwyn nodded. “You been waiting for this?”
“I’ve had my suspicions. So many bodies-“
“I agree. We’ve never seen the like. Perhaps very rarely we’ve pulled out two or three bodies in the summer but, all the same demographic? Never. This is unprecedented.”
“How old was this one?”
“Around twenty? Twenty two? Something like that. Very similar age to the others we’ve brought out. Like I say, same demographic. Something’s definitely amiss.”
Dewi joined them, having just had an earnest phone call. “I’ve got Jones and Clayton checking out possible identities. Hope to have suggestions in the next half hour.”
Yvonne nodded. “That’s great, Dewi. Let’s get a picture of where and when this lad disappeared.”
12
William
His name’s William Henkel.” DC Clayton wrote the name on the whiteboard, the rest of the team making notes. “He was here on a white-water rafting holiday, with friends. He’s from the Birmingham area. His family have been located and informed.”
“How long had he been missing?” Dewi scratched his head.
“About three weeks.” Clayton folded his arms and leaned back on a desk. “His friends didn’t report him missing straight away. It wasn’t unusual, apparently, for him to meet a lady and go home with her. He’d had occasions, where he’d disappeared for a few nights, partying. His friends didn’t become really concerned until the second week.”
“I find it strange that his friends didn’t worry about him for a whole week.” Yvonne pursed her lip. “I get what you’re saying about him having spent a night or two with a female before, but a week is a long time. Especially, when you’re supposed to be white-water rafting with friends.”
“I think they had begun to worry, ma’am, but were reluctant to report it to us. I get the impression that at least one of them had gone partying himself, and used hard drugs.”
Yvonne sighed. “I’m going to the autopsy later today. If there’s any sign of foul-play, I hope we find it. The divers seemed to think there’s a chance he was dead before he went into the river. We need to go back to the night when his friends say they last saw him.”
“Ma’am.”
“What condition was he in? Was he drunk? Any drug use? I know toxicology will tell us what was found in the body, but water in the tissues will likely have watered it down.”
“Well,” Callum Jones took over the telling, walking up to the front. “That’s where it all gets a little odd. According to one of his friends, he wasn’t all that drunk. The other states that he was almost falling over.”
“That’s a helluva discrepancy. Why the difference?” Dewi folded his arms.
“Not sure, but independent witnesses described William as being fine when he left the Sportsman but, by the time he arrived at the Castle Vaults, some five minutes later, bouncers were, and I quote, ‘unsure whether to let him in’.”
“So, they thought he’d had a few too many.”
“Right.”
“Spiked?”
“Had to have been.”
“Okay.” It was Yvonne’s turn to move to the front. “Dewi, we’re going to the post-mortem this afternoon. If we get what I think we will, I’ll go to the DCI with a view to getting a full task force set up. I believe we have a serial killer on our hands. I hope I’m wrong.”
Hanson had commenced the postmortem, as Yvonne and Dewi, suitably covered, entered the mortuary. The sanitised smell of this clinical room would soon be replaced by the odour of death. The DI steeled herself for it.
“Of note,” Hanson spoke loudly for the detectives and the tape, “is the lack of any obvious injury to the muscles of the chest, shoulders or neck, bruising might have been expected, if the subject had been fighting for a prolonged time, to stay afloat.”
Yvonne’s eyes strayed to those of the dead man. “Roger, can I ask you what you make of his eyes? Are they what you would expect for a drowning in a body of water?”
“Not exactly.” Hanson shook his head. “I would have expected them to be more rounded and shiny. That being said, the body has been out of the water now for some twenty-four hours and this may have impacted on the eyes.”
Hanson continued to talk for the tape, as he took samples, and excised organs for weighing.
Yvonne pulled her mask a little tighter, as the odour hit her hard.
“The stomach has some water present, but not as much as I would have expected, and there’s no evidence of vomiting. I’m seeing only a relatively small amount of water in the lungs.”
Yvonne frowned. “So, he couldn’t have drowned in the river?”
“Well, I’m not saying that, at this point. But, it’s suggestive of that possibility. A person can dry-drown, however. A spasm can block the lungs, resulting in choking for air, just like drowning. Being submerged in water can result in glottal spasm. But I was expecting more water in the stomach.”
“I see.”
“The other thing I’d say, is that there’s an absence of anything in the hands of the victim. During accidental drowning, the victim will grab for anything they can to try and get a hold and pull themselves out. Sometimes, that’s floating debris - twigs, grass…leaves. There’s an absence of that, here.”
Yvonne made notes.
“What I can say, is that blood pooling was not in the way I would have expected, if the victim had died in the water. Blood had congregated more in the back and buttocks region. The body of a person drowning in a river or pool of water, would generally be in a foetal position. The blood would pool in the areas underneath the corpse, pretty much keeping the body in that position. That did not happen in this case.”
“On balance, Roger, would you say this man was dead before he went into the water?”
“I’d say so, Yvonne. But, I believe he did drown. I think he dry drowned somewhere else, in a bath, for example, and was then placed in the river. I’ll have toxicology results tomorrow. I’ll be able to tell you, then, how intoxicated he was.”
“That’s great.” Yvonne was grateful of the chance to step back away from the table. But, she felt for the young man laid out there. Felt for his family. “I forgot to ask you.” She paused and turned back to the pathologist. “Any sign of sexual activity?”
Roger shook his head. “None that I could detect.”
13
The Pusher
DCI Llewellyn strode into the office and cleared his throat to get their attention. Unusually for him, he was in uniform.
“Everything all right?” Yvonne looked at him, wide-eyed.
“Has anyone here been talking to the press, ahead of the scheduled press conference?”
Yvonne shook her head wit
h a frown. “No, of course not. At least, not that I am aware of.”
“Then, what’s this?” He tossed copies of the County Times and Shropshire Star onto her desk.
Yvonne quickly scanned the headlines. “Oh, no.”
“Yeah. This is probably something we could do without.”
Both papers had run with the same main story. Front page news. ‘Has The Pusher come to Mid-Wales?’
Yvonne put both hands to her face. “Perhaps the family or friends have been talking to others. I mean, we’re not going to be able to hide it, if we’ve got a killer on our hands.”
“Yvonne.” The DCI put his hands in his trouser pockets. “We have one unexplained death, which we can speculate may be a murder. We have verdicts of accidental deaths on three others. That does not mean we have a serial killer in our midst.”
“I wanted to talk to you about that, sir. I think we very well may have a serial killer here in Mid-Wales. But I haven’t spoken to the press, and I certainly am not suggesting it is an urban legend serial killer from the Manchester canals.”
“Yvonne.” He sighed. “I respect your opinion. You’re one of my best officers but, really, this is a rural community. We don’t have a serial killer hiding behind every corner. Although, I have to admit, you’re pretty good at catching them when we do.”
“Then trust me on this, sir. Let me set up a task force to look into these deaths, properly. Fully resourced. Let me make extended enquiries of family and friends, and let me set up structured surveillance.”
“And what if you’re wrong? It’s going to cost, and it’ll be my skin on the line.”
“Some of these boys had arguments the night they disappeared. I’ve only just begun to look into that. If you like, I’ll come with you to see the superintendent. I just won’t be able to forgive myself if even one more young man dies in our rivers, this year. And I know,” Yvonne nodded towards the papers, “they won’t either.”
LLewellyn ran a hand through his hair, his face drawn. “All right. Get a file with everything you know so far on my desk by the end of play today, and I’ll speak with the super tomorrow morning. See what resources I can get for you. We’ll have to put a time limit on it, though. There’s no bottomless pit. At some point, you might want to liaise with Manchester. They’ve obviously been dealing with this type of speculation for some time. Might help us deal with it better.”
“I’ll do what I can, sir.”
“Thanks.”
“Oh, and sir?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
“Google is like having an extra copper on your team.” Dewi grinned at her. “Look at this. Page after page dedicated to The Pusher. Where do you want to start?”
“Wikipedia,” Yvonne asserted. “It’s good for a general low-down on a subject.”
“Righty-oh.” Dewi typed into his laptop. “Oh, okay. Apparently it’s a rock song written by Hoyt Axton. Oh no, it’s not. It’s a Swedish music group.”
“Ha ha, very funny. And don’t even mention drugs, or I’ll wrap that bloody laptop round your neck.”
Dewi laughed out loud. “Okay. Okay. The Pusher is a proposed serial killer responsible for a number of the eighty-plus deaths, around the Manchester canals, since 2004.”
“Yes, well, we know that, Dewi. Get more specific.”
“Right you are, ma’am. There’s a psychologist-writer, a Thomas Sheridan, proposing that The Pusher is targeting homosexuals or men who look like they might be homosexual, as a means to control his own homosexual feelings.”
They read through various articles, including some on other sites and it was clear that some of the victims had been subject to foul play or had open-verdicts on cause of death. It was also clear that some of the men were missing for days, weeks or even months, before their bodies were discovered. Rumours of abductions abounded.
“You don’t really believe that a serial killer from Manchester is down here picking off our boys, do you?”
“No. I don’t. I think we may have our very own version. However, any hints and tips from that case and views of Manchester police would be useful, when looking at our own case.”
“Except we’re not sure we have a serial killer-“
“Neither are they, Dewi. And water deaths are some of the hardest to determine cause. But there are enough open verdicts and suspicious deaths to warrant serious attention. We know of actual serial killers who have disposed of bodies in water, in the belief that trace evidence will be washed away. It’s not impossible that we have a killer looking to do the same. But, perhaps, ours enjoys drowning as some sort of psycho-sexual thrill. And, the homosexual angle, I hadn’t considered that, but that’s also a possibility.”
“I guess we need to get on with interviewing witnesses and suspects?”
“Yes, we do, Dewi. Yes, we do.”
14
Altercations
Come on then, Dewi. I think it’s about time we made our way to Clive Jones’ farm.”
“Ma’am?” Dewi looked up in surprise.
“Well, we know foul-play was almost certainly involved in the death of William Henkel. We should go over all recent river deaths with a fine-toothed comb. Hannah told us that Clive Jones is the farmer who had an argument with her brother Lloyd, the night he disappeared. If nothing else, talking to Clive should give us a fuller picture of Lloyd’s state of mind. And it could help us picture the events leading up to his disappearance and death.”
“I’m with you.” Dewi nodded. “That’s if he’ll talk to us.”
“There’s only one way to find out.” Yvonne grabbed her bag and headed out.
Dewi shrugged at DC Clayton, grabbed his jacket, and ran out after her.
Yvonne took her wellingtons out of the boot. The ground wasn’t that soft, but the track was littered with sheep droppings and cow pats and she didn’t fancy it on her shoes, or in the footwell of her car. She looked down at Dewi’s footwear.
He grinned and shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. I can always wipe them on the grass if I step in anything.”
She grinned. “Make sure you do, then.”
A motorbike came tearing down the track, stopping with a skid a few feet away.
Yvonne held a hand to her chest, her breath caught in her throat.
“What the…” Dewi glowered at the rider, who was still wearing his helmet. “What d’you think you’re doing?” he shouted, striding towards the intruder.
“Who are you? What are you doing on my land?” The voice was deep and cracked. The rider coughed.
Yvonne stepped forward. “We’re police officers from CID, Newtown police station. I’m DI Giles and this is DS Hughes. Are you Clive Jones?”
He stared at her through the gap in his helmet, his eyes narrowed. “I might be. Why you asking?”
“We’re investigating the death of Lloyd Jones. We believe you may have known him.”
“What? Lloyd who fell in the river? Why you investigating that? He was drunk. We all seen it. He could barely keep himself upright by the time he left everyone. I’m not surprised he ended up in the river. Couldn’t hold his drink.”
Quite apart from the callous way he had referred to Lloyd’s death, Yvonne felt a strong dislike developing in her gut, for reasons she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“You don’t seem that concerned.” She placed one hand on her hip, controlling her wayward hair with the other.
“Why would I be? I hardly knew him. Sure, when I heard, I felt a bit sorry for him. We all did. But, honestly? Why go and hang around by the water when you’ve had that much to drink?”
“So, in your opinion, he was drunk enough to fall in?”
“I saw him wobbling around, yeah.”
“You were witnessed having an argument with him. What was that all about?” Dewi took a couple of steps closer to the rider. “And could you take your helmet off for a minute?”
“Am I under arrest?”
“Is there a reason to
arrest you?” Yvonne returned his stare, as he removed his helmet.
“No. You’re asking a lot of questions.” His hair had a significant amount of grey and appeared as though he hadn’t had it cut in a while. His nose and cheeks had a ruddy hue. His skin was cracked and dry. His overalls were splashed with the muck expected from working on a farm.
“We’re just trying to piece together his last movements. Trying to get an idea of his state of mind. So, tell us about the argument.”
“It was nothing. Banter. You know. When us men have had a few drinks, we get a bit loud. There can be a bit of roughing about.”
“Was there roughing about with Lloyd?”
“Not really.”
“What did you say to him?”
“I asked him where his girlfriend was.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep. Pretty much.”
“And what did he say?”
“I don’t remember, exactly, but it was basically telling me it was none of my business.”
Yvonne made a few notes in her pocketbook. “He was upset. He and Wendy had fallen out, earlier in the day.”
“Yeah, well, she’d been cool with him for a while.”
“Did he tell you that?”
“No. We could see it, when they were out together.”
“Did you see them out together often?”
“Yeah.”
“How well did you know Wendy?”
“She used to come and baby-sit, up at the farm.”
“Your children?”
“Yes. They’re in their late teens, now. Wendy used to look after them on a Friday night, if me and the missus went out together.”
“How old was Wendy, when she baby-sat for you?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Sixteen when she started coming, and eighteen when she stopped.”
“Did you stop needing her?”
“Lloyd didn’t like her coming. She stopped when they got together.”
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