‘Can it wait? I’ve got to do this briefing on the boy that died last night,’ Ruth explained, trying her best to sound light and breezy.
‘Yeah, of course. No problem,’ Sian said awkwardly.
‘Sorry, Sian. We’ll talk later?’ Ruth said, with all the horrible emotional baggage that came with that statement.
‘Fine. Honest,’ Sian said as she turned and went.
Oh God. This is so bloody hard.
Taking a deep breath, Ruth grabbed her files and headed out into the CID main office to address the team.
‘Morning everyone,’ she said as she got into her familiar DI mode. ‘Anything on the boy who was killed on the A5 last night?’
DC Dan French sat forward on his chair and looked over at her. ‘Boss. The University Hospital sent over the victim’s fingerprints first thing this morning. I ran them through the system and we got a hit.’
‘Great. Who was he?’ Ruth asked.
‘Callum Roper. Aged sixteen. Last known address was in Crossley Park,’ French said.
Ruth nodded – Crossley Park was the most deprived area in Llancastell and was rife with addiction and crime. ‘Next of kin?’
French looked down at the printout. ‘Mother. Sam McEwan.’
‘And we’ve got a full address for her in Crossley Park?’ Ruth asked. Someone had to go and break it to her that her son was dead.
‘Yes boss. Then I ran his details through the PNC,’ French continued. The PNC was the Police National Computer and carried details of any prior convictions.
‘Anything?’ Ruth asked, sensing from French’s tone that he’d found something. French had just finished his time as a probationer and had secured a permanent DC position in Llancastell CID. It was good news because Ruth rated French as a young detective. Not only was he hard working and dedicated, but his instinct for police work was excellent.
‘Suspended sentences for petty theft, arson, ABH and drug dealing,’ French said.
It wasn’t an unusual CV for some of the wayward teens in Crossley Park.
‘I spoke to the EWO for Crossley Park,’ Sian said looking over. The EWO was the Education Welfare Officer who would be aware of pupils’ truancy and attendance at the local schools.
Ruth and Sian’s eyes met for a second. It was both familiar and uncomfortable.
‘Was Callum on her records?’ Ruth asked.
‘Yes. She told me he had been taken into care when he was fourteen as his mother could no longer look after him. His attendance dropped off by the time he was fifteen. Then he just vanished,’ Sian explained.
‘Vanished? What did she mean by that?’ Ruth asked.
‘She had no record of him ever going to school again. She spoke to Social Services who told her to contact the care home. Staff there said that Callum had run away to go and live with his Uncle but they were trying to get him back. She didn’t hear anything after that,’ Sian said.
‘Sounds like everyone passed the buck and he slipped through the net somewhere along the line,’ Ruth said sadly. It didn’t sound like Callum had had much of a life and, even though it was a familiar tale, it made her feel uneasy.
‘What did we get on the prescriptions?’ Ruth asked Nick.
‘They were due to be issued by Covey’s Pharmacy in Ffestiniog. I gave them a ring so they’re expecting someone,’ Nick said.
‘Sian, Dan, can you take the prescriptions we found on Callum and go to Ffestiniog? Let’s find out why they were happy to hand over that many prescription drugs to a sixteen-year-old boy. See if we can get an address for him on their system,’ Ruth said.
‘Boss,’ Dan said. ‘Without him giving them an address, they’re not legally allowed to hand him any medication.’
‘Unless there’s something dodgy going on,’ Sian pointed out.
Ruth looked at Nick. ‘We’ll go and talk to the mother.’
‘Boss,’ Nick said.
Ruth stood up from the table that she had been perched on. ‘What are we thinking? Callum picks up prescription drugs with a load of fake prescriptions. He sells them on to a dealer or deals them himself.’
‘If he cut the dealer out, or was stepping on someone else’s patch, that might explain why he was running and got shot. He definitely looked like he was being chased,’ Nick said.
‘Yeah. He was scared enough to risk running across a main road and it cost him his life.’ Ruth looked at them all and for a second remembered the tragic image of Callum’s young face as he lay dying on the road. ‘Let’s remember, Callum was just a sixteen-year-old boy. By the sounds of it, he’d had a pretty tough life. We have to do our best work for him. He deserves that. So I want us to find out why he died and if anyone was responsible ... Thanks everyone. Let’s get to work.’
Grabbing the files, Ruth headed back to her office. She wondered if she had time for a coffee before she and Nick went out to speak to Sam McEwan. She sat down and took a breath.
Someone knocked at the door. It was Sian again.
Does she want that chat now?
‘Boss, Professor Amis called from the mortuary. He’s done a preliminary examination of the victim and he wants you to go and see him.’
Ruth was glad. She wanted more information about the gunshot wound.
‘Thanks, Sian ...’ Ruth said as she saw Sian hesitate by the door before starting to leave.
‘Okay, see you later,’ Sian said.
‘You wanted to have a chat about something?’ Ruth asked.
Sian turned. Ruth could see from the expression on her face that it wasn’t going to be good news.
‘Erm, yeah. Is now okay?’ Sian asked tentatively.
‘Yes,’ Ruth said nervously.
‘Sure?’
Ruth gestured to the chair opposite her. ‘Of course, come and sit down.’
This feels weird. And a bit scary.
‘No easy way of saying this.’
‘Right.’
‘So ... I’m just going to say it ...’ Sian said.
Oh God, what’s all this about ... She’s going to leave.
‘I’ve got a new position in Swansea CID. I’ve been through it with DCI Drake and I’ve signed all the paperwork so it’s now official. I go next week,’ Sian explained.
Ruth felt like she had just been hit by a train. She swallowed to stop herself from reacting or even crying. ‘Right ... Okay.’
‘Sorry, I ...’
‘It’s fine ...’
‘I really am sorry ...’
‘Thanks for telling me,’ Ruth said without making eye contact with Sian. It was too painful.
Sian got up. She looked upset. ‘I couldn’t do this ... whatever this is ... anymore.’
Ruth watched as Sian turned and walked away.
CHAPTER 6
Ruth and Nick walked along the deserted corridor in the basement of Llancastell University Hospital. Ruth knew she had said virtually nothing on their second journey to the hospital that day.
‘Yabba, yabba,’ Nick said, miming talking with his hands. ‘Will you stop your incessant chatter. You’re giving me a headache.’
Sarcastic twat!
‘Very subtle, Nicholas,’ Ruth said rolling her eyes. ‘Sorry, I’m just miles away. Sian came to see me earlier, that’s all.’
Nick’s expression and tone completely changed. ‘Oh ... right.’
‘You know?’ Ruth asked. Nick hadn’t hidden that he understood the significance of her statement.
‘I’m not sure if I’m meant to say anything, but there’s a rumour that Sian’s leaving CID for another job,’ Nick confessed.
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Ruth growled.
‘Sorry. I was waiting for the right time,’ Nick said sheepishly.
‘She’s going next week. I can’t quite believe it,’ Ruth admitted.
‘Yeah. I’m sorry it didn’t work out for you two,’ Nick said.
‘Well there’s only one person to blame for that isn’t there?’ Ruth groaned, full of self-p
ity.
‘Come on. It’s complicated. Don’t beat yourself up over it, eh?’
Ruth swelled with sadness and loss. Something about Nick saying it out loud meant that it was actually true.
‘It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’m being stupid. Come on, let’s not keep Dr Death waiting,’ Ruth said as she reached out and pushed open the dark blue doors to the mortuary.
‘Bloody hell, it must be bad. I’ve never seen you in a rush to get into the mortuary before,’ Nick quipped as they went in.
Ruth immediately spotted Amis sitting by his computer eating a pot noodle.
Jesus! How does he do that?
Nick indicated the pot noodle and said under his breath, ‘Boss, I’m not joking but the flavour he’s eating is called sticky rib.’
Ruth shook her head and whispered, ‘Jesus, that man is seriously warped.’
Amis gave them a cheery wave and got up. Ruth could see Callum’s body laid out on the metal gurney at the far side of the room.
‘Here they are. Llancastell’s answer to Mulder and Scully,’ Amis quipped.
‘Mulder and Scully? Showing your age, Tony,’ Ruth laughed.
‘That’s X-Files, right?’ Nick said uncertainly.
‘Spot on. What I would have done for a quick turn around the floor with Gillian Anderson,’ Amis said wistfully.
Come on. As much as we’d love to hear about your strange fantasies ...
‘Something you wanted to show us, Tony?’ Ruth asked, trying not to sound impatient.
‘Yes, sorry. Getting carried away. Come over here,’ Amis said putting down his pot noodle.
Ruth and Nick turned and followed Amis to look at Callum’s body that now seemed devoid of any colour under the harsh post-mortem lights.
‘There are a couple of things that don’t really sit right with me at the moment,’ Amis explained.
‘Cause of death?’ Ruth asked, wondering what Amis meant.
‘No, no. He definitely died from the accident. Internal bleeding and damage to his skull and brain,’ Amis explained.
Ruth peered closely and saw that there were bruises around Callum’s neck. From experience, she knew they were signs of strangulation.
Nick pointed to the bruises. ‘Looks like someone had tried to throttle him’.
‘Yes. Someone had definitely choked him with their hands,’ Amis agreed.
‘And that fits into our theory that there had been some kind of altercation with a gang,’ Nick said.
‘Any clues?’ Ruth asked, wondering if the pattern of the bruising could tell them anything.
‘Small bruises from the fingers. My guess is that they were a woman’s hands,’ Amis suggested.
Ruth and Nick exchanged a look – not quite what they had expected.
‘Then we have this partial bullet wound to the shoulder. Not much more than a graze,’ he continued.
‘Female paramedic said she thought it was from a high-powered rifle. She was ex-army,’ Ruth said.
Amis nodded. ‘I agree. Definitely not a shotgun pellet or even a handgun. So yes, high-powered rifle sounds about right.’
Ruth nodded. A rifle didn’t really fit with the idea that Callum had been involved in some kind of drug gang.
‘Although we haven’t had the toxicology report back yet, there was nothing in his stomach that suggests your victim had consumed any alcohol prior to the accident,’ Amis explained.
‘What about drugs?’ Ruth asked.
‘Hard to tell yet.’
It struck Ruth that Amis could have relayed all this information to her over the phone and not wasted her bloody time. She was about to say something.
Amis turned over Callum’s right hand. ‘What I wanted you to see was this ...’
Ruth could see a circular scar about the size of a ten pence piece in the middle of his palm.
Okay. He has a strange scar. So what?
‘He has this on both the palms of his hands,’ Amis said as he reached over and turned over Callum’s left hand.
‘That’s weird. Do you know what caused them?’ Nick asked.
‘I’m not sure. They look like burn marks,’ Amis said, deep in thought. He went over to the right hand side of Callum’s body which Ruth and Nick couldn’t see clearly from where they were standing. ‘Now if that wasn’t interesting enough ... take a look at this.’
Ruth and Nick moved around the steel gurney. Amis was pointing to a thick scar that ran about five inches vertically up Callum’s side. ‘We also have this scar here. On your victim’s right hand side.’
Ruth looked at Nick and shrugged. For a moment, she was none the wiser. Then the penny dropped.
‘Stigmata?’ Ruth asked. From what she remembered, stigmata was the unexplained appearance of the crucifixion wounds of Christ on someone’s body. She remembered reading an article years ago about Saint Francis of Assisi who had the first recorded incident of stigmata.
Nick nodded. ‘Nail wounds in the palms. A wound on the right hand side from the spear of a Roman soldier?’
‘Correct, my biblically knowledgeable friends. A blind Roman centurion called Longinus. Some believe that he was trying to save Jesus from the misery of the long drawn-out death of crucifixion. But this isn’t stigmata,’ Amis explained.
‘Why not?’ Ruth asked. Surely that’s what they were looking at.
‘Stigmata is the unexplained appearance of Christ’s wounds. These are real scars that have been deliberately made to replicate those injuries.’
‘Ever seen anything like this before?’ Nick asked.
‘No, never. It gave me the shivers when I realised what it was,’ Amis admitted.
Bloody hell! And this is a man who will happily eat his sticky rib pot noodle next to a corpse!
‘What does it tell us?’ Ruth asked.
‘Whatever your victim was involved in, there is a very strong, zealous religious element to it.’
That was not what Ruth was expecting to hear when she first walked into the mortuary.
NICK AND RUTH MADE their way back through the middle of Llancastell, slowing at a small roundabout at the back of the main shopping centre. However, rather than turning right towards the police station, Nick turned left into a series of side roads. He had an idea.
‘Nick, I know you’re sleep deprived but ...’ Ruth said.
‘What?’ Nick said with a knowing raise of his eyebrow. He knew what she was getting at.
‘We’re going the wrong way, you plank,’ Ruth said.
‘Quick detour,’ Nick said, gesturing to the side roads. ‘Micky Finch.’
Micky Finch was a low-level drug dealer and general scumbag that Nick had been ‘grooming’ as a snout for the past six months. So far, Finch hadn’t come up with anything viable in terms of intel. Ruth had allowed him to continue the relationship, even though it should have been officially registered.
‘Jesus, Nick. We’ve had more intel from that girl that works behind the counter in Greggs than Micky Finch,’ Ruth groaned.
‘Trust me, Finch will come good. He’s gonna make a good snout,’ Nick said as he pulled the car over. His instinct was that Finch was going to be very beneficial long-term.
‘Snout? Don’t you mean ‘covert human intelligence source’?’ Ruth said dryly.
Nick knew this was the current police terminology for what they called an informant, snout, grass, or more recently, a nark.
‘We should have registered Finch with the FIB months ago,’ Ruth said.
FIB stood for the Force Intelligence Branch, and it was procedure to register any informant with them so the lines between paying for intel and corruption didn’t get blurred.
‘I know, boss. Be patient.’
‘Christ, it’s not like the old days in the Met. I used to watch the more experienced detectives as we cruised the old boozers of South London where we knew members of the criminal fraternity congregated. Then we’d take a snout down a side alley and hand him a tenner or even a slap round the head for info
rmation.’
‘Even in the 90s?’ Nick snorted.
‘You’d be surprised. It was still part of the ‘investigative process’ then,’ Ruth said. ‘These days, you’d lose your job for that kind of thing.’
‘You can slap him if you want?’ Nick laughed.
‘Not my style. Now a good kick in the bollocks ...’
‘We can register him when I’ve got him up and running properly,’ Nick said.
‘And remind me - why are we spending our precious time, and taxpayer’s money, looking for Finch?’ Ruth said sardonically.
‘He knows everyone. If Callum Roper was dealing prescription drugs on the black market, Finch is likely to know. He might have heard if Callum had fallen out with anyone - gangs or dealers.’
Nick stopped the car, turned off the ignition and they got out.
The winter sunshine was gone and the temperature had dropped. The trees that lined the road were leafless and skeletal. Nick recognised the smell of something sweet. Doughnuts. It must be the van in the shopping centre.
Nick watched as Ruth took out a ciggie and lit it, cupping her hands around the lighter. She took a deep drag. ‘You think that Callum was mixed up in dealing and gangs?’
‘Yeah, don’t you?’ Nick asked as they headed for the side streets.
‘The scars on Callum were very strange. They’re religiously significant or whatever Amis said. Thirty years of being a police officer and I’ve never seen anything like that before.’
‘Maybe it’s a gang thing? Or he was tortured?’ Nick suggested.
‘I can’t imagine a North Wales drug gang using the wounds of Christ’s crucifixion to torture a rival dealer, can you?’
Nick shook his head. ‘No. Far too elaborate ... Let’s see what Finch has to say and go from there, boss.’
‘And I have to come with you, do I?’ Ruth said with a grin.
‘As my DI, it might be useful,’ Nick replied sarcastically as they wandered towards where Micky Finch, and some of the other low level dealers, would be operating. They had tried to crack down on the drug trade in recent months, but fines and suspended sentences weren’t much of a deterrent. And most of the dealers only carried small amounts so they could try and convince a judge that it was ‘for personal use’.
The Solace Farm Killings: A Snowdonia Murder Mystery (A DI Ruth Hunter Crime Thriller Book 7) Page 4