by OMJ Ryan
Jones pulled the car up at a red light on the edge of Moss Side, preparing to cross the Princes Parkway towards the MRI. A moment later, they moved on.
‘I know he’s a bit of an idiot, but maybe you could learn something from him, Guv?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like how to get yourself back to DCI sooner rather than later. You should be running this squad, not Brown. But that’s not going to happen if you keep fighting with him.’
Phillips stared out of the window. Jones was right, of course, but following his advice would be easier said than done. ‘So how do I play the game then, Jonesy?’
‘I’m not suggesting you pretend to be best mates. Just try and hide the fact you hate him every time you set eyes on him. It’s written all over your face.’
‘It’s that obvious?’
‘To a blind man, Guv, and it’s bloody awkward to be around.’
Phillips raised her hands in mock defeat. ‘All right, all right. I’ll try and get along with him. For the good of the team. But I’m not making any promises. There’s something about him that makes me want to punch him in the mouth every time I see him.’
The hospital came into view up ahead. Jones smiled. ‘We all feel like that, Guv. He has a very punch-able face. The trick is not to let it show.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
9
Like most British hospitals, the mortuary at Manchester Royal Infirmary is in the lower basement. Phillips and Jones took the stairs to avoid the early morning rush of outpatients. After being buzzed through the heavy locked door, the familiar, overpowering stench of chemicals hit them. No matter how many times they visited, it never got any easier.
Dr Tanvi Chakrabortty waited for them inside, dressed in perfectly pressed blue scrubs, her long brown hair tied back against her head and the slightest hint of make-up accentuating her classic features. On the table next to her was Gillespie’s body, eyes closed, torso and genitals covered by a green sheet.
‘Morning Jane, Craig,’ she said as they walked in. She was surprisingly tall up close, and moved with an elegance that seemed perfectly deferent to the lifeless bodies that required her patient, methodical inspection each day.
‘Morning, Tan. What have we got?’ Phillips asked.
‘Considering the frenzied nature of her last moments, it’s quite unusual that we found no sign of a struggle. Nothing under the fingernails, and her feet have no abrasions or lacerations. We did find bruising on her wrists and ankles from the cable ties, but nothing excessive; the killer didn’t break the skin, for example. But the bruising does mean she was alive when she was tied to the chair, so it’s highly likely she died in the position in which you found her.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘Asphyxiation. The plastic bag wasn’t a prop; it’s your murder weapon. I estimate she was killed between seven and nine on Tuesday evening. Her stomach was full of undigested mashed potato, pork chops and green beans, so she was killed not long after her evening meal.’
‘Was she sexually assaulted?’
‘No.’
‘Any prints or DNA?’ asked Jones
‘Plenty of DNA from the victim’s urine, which was all over her legs and clothes. But none from the killer. Whoever did this was extremely careful. No prints or fluids on the body or anywhere else in the house. We did find traces of latex, the kind used in medical gloves, which explains why nothing showed up. As well as large quantities of benzalkonium chloride on the bag and her cardigan, around the neck and shoulders.’
Jones looked confused. ‘Benzal-what?’
‘Benzalkonium chloride. It's commonly found in anti-bacterial agents, like wipes and cleaning sprays.’
‘So, our boy was thorough?’ said Phillips.
‘Very, and I’m afraid it’s impossible to tell whether the killer was a man or woman. The fact Gillespie was almost certainly suffocated in the chair gives us no indication of the killer’s height or potential build.’
‘So, we’re no further then?’
‘Not necessarily. I can explain why she doesn’t appear to have fought off the killer and there’s no signs of a struggle.’
‘Go on.’
‘We found large quantities of benzodiazepines, methoxyflurane and chloroform in her blood and on her face, with a particular concentration around her airways. It’s a potent mix that can be delivered in liquid form. As there were no signs of bruising around her nose or mouth, it would suggest she inhaled it; probably through some kind of spray.’
‘And what’s the mix commonly used for?’ said Jones.
‘That’s just it. It’s not. It’s probably home-made. Which means your killer likely has some knowledge of chemical compounds.’
Phillips eyed Gillespie’s cold, grey face a moment. ‘What level are we talking, Tan? Novice, expert?’
‘Most of the basic information needed to create such a concoction is available online, but the fact that each component was well balanced in the final mix would indicate they have some knowledge that goes beyond your average man-on-the-street. Having said that, you wouldn’t need a medical or chemistry degree to make it.’
Phillips summarised her thoughts. ‘So, what we’re saying is that Susan Gillespie had her dinner before being knocked out with a potentially home-made sedative. She was then tied to a chair and suffocated with a plastic bag between seven and nine on Tuesday evening?’
‘That’s about the size of it, yes.’
Jones scribbled a note in his pad before looking at Chakrabortty ‘Anything else we need to know, Tan?’
‘Just that she was a virgin. When I checked for signs of sexual assault, her hymen was still intact.’
‘Jesus. She was the original forty-year-old virgin.’
Chakrabortty flashed a smile. ‘Forty-three, to be precise.’
10
Back at Ashton House the team gathered in the incident room as they waited for Brown to emerge from his office for the debriefing. Jones and Bov chatted amongst themselves while Entwistle kept his eyes fixed on the array of screens in front of him.
Phillips allowed herself a smile of satisfaction as she watched Brown pace around the glass box, nodding subserviently into his iPhone. She guessed the Chief Super was on the other end of the call and wasn’t happy. It was just a matter of time before Brown passed whatever grief he was getting straight onto her and the team.
A few minutes later, Brown ended his call and emerged from his office.
‘Here we go,’ Phillips muttered under her breath as Brown stomped towards them, his face almost puce.
‘Right. Which one of you silly bastards has spoken to the press about this case? I’ve just got off a call with the Chief Super. Turns out some fucker has leaked details of the crime scene to that hack Don Townsend, who’s gone and splashed it across one of the red-tops.’
Jones flashed a glance at Phillips, who did her best to hide the smile creeping into the corners of her mouth.
Brown continued. ‘Not only is this murder the talk of Manchester; it’s now making national headlines. Meaning we have to be seen to be giving it every possible resource – and that will royally fuck our budget. So, who was it?’
Each of the team looked at each other and then back to Brown, shaking their heads in turn.
‘Who’s Don Townsend?’ asked Entwistle.
Brown glared at his protege, saying nothing before casting his eyes around the room, ‘If I find out one of you is behind this leak, I’ll have you back in uniform quicker than shit through a goose. Do you understand me?’
A unison of nodding heads was followed by a chorus of ‘sir’s.
Brown pulled up a chair and straddled it back to front a la David Brent from The Office. ‘So, what have you got? I need something to placate her.’
Jones pulled out his notepad. ‘Well sir, there was no sign of forced entry, so we’re pretty sure Susan Gillespie either knew her killer or was comfortable enough to let them into her home at night.’
Jones paused a moment before continuing. ‘The post mortem indicates she was suffocated with the plastic bag after being tied to the chair—’
‘We could have guessed that when we found the body.’
Phillips jumped in. ‘Correct, sir. At that point it was just a guess. Jones is now confirming our suspicions.’
Brown shot her a look. She held his gaze until he looked away. ‘Carry on, Jones,’ he said impatiently.
‘The post mortem also confirmed she was drugged using a powerful, potentially home-made, sedative, which explains why there was no sign of a struggle. The killer wore latex gloves similar to those used by medical professionals.’
‘So, we can assume the killer has medical knowledge?’
‘Chakrabortty suggests not necessarily. Perhaps just some experience in handling chemicals. You can buy latex gloves in any pharmacy,’ said Jones.
Brown waved his hand like a Roman emperor. ‘Continue.’
‘Based on the bruising patterns on her wrists and ankles, she was still alive when she was tied to the chair, which would suggest she was suffocated in the position we found her. And finally, before they left the house, the killer used an anti-bacterial agent to clean the outside of the bag as well as a host of surfaces, including all the downstairs door handles, to cover their tracks.’
‘So no prints or DNA at all?’
‘Other than Gillespie’s, no, sir. Seems she was something of a loner and a clean freak.’
‘And what about the sex-game-gone-wrong angle?’
‘Unlikely, as she was a virgin,’ said Phillips. ‘Her hymen was still intact.’
Brown flinched at talk of the female anatomy. ‘So, that’s it? That’s the sum total of our investigation into one of the most sadistic murders in the GMP’s history? She was drugged by someone she opened the door to, then suffocated with a plastic bag after being sedated. How the fuck am I going to sell that upstairs?’
Phillips ignored Brown. ‘Entwistle, what did you come up with when you tracked her mobile?’
The rookie, clearly not expecting the question, appeared flustered as he tried to gather the data sheets from his desk before passing copies round to each of the team.
Phillips ran her eyes over the pages in her hand. ‘What are we looking at?’
‘Well, these are maps of her mobile phone’s movements. I was able to track it through the GPS data her service provider shared with me this morning. Each point represents a different location and is time-stamped. As you can see, on the day of the murder she left home at 7.30 a.m. and arrived at the family business at 7.50 a.m. She remained there until 2 p.m., and we pick her up next at the post office in Cheadle at 2.20 p.m. The dry cleaners appears at 2.30 p.m., the Co-op on Cheadle High Street at 2.40 p.m., back home for 3.10 p.m. and then St Patrick’s Catholic Church at 3.45 p.m., where assume she stayed – or at least, her phone did – until 6.05 p.m., returning home at 6.10 p.m. The phone remained switched on within the house until 4.02 a.m., when we lost the signal. Digital Forensics confirmed the phone was recovered and had run out of power. They’re currently going through the data on the device for anything that might help identify the killer.’
Phillips studied the map closely as the rest of the team looked through their own copies in silence.
Brown stood, pushing his chair away dramatically. ‘See? That’s modern policing from a modern copper.’ He slapped the pages in his hand. ‘We know where our victim was from the moment she got up to the moment she was killed.’
‘Well, we know where her phone was, at least,’ said Phillips, before catching Jones’s icy stare. She knew she was supposed to be playing the game, but Brown made it so hard with his wild assumptions and desperation to please the top brass.
Brown responded sharply. ‘I think it’s safe to say we’re not dealing with a career criminal deliberately trying to set a digital trail, Inspector. Susan Gillespie was a law-abiding spinster whose technical knowledge was more than likely limited to switching the bloody phone on and off. We’re probably safe to assume her movements match her phone’s.’
Phillips avoided looking at Jones. She couldn’t sit quietly when Brown’s sloppy policing threatened their chances of finding the killer. ‘With respect, sir, it feels a bit early for assumptions. All we know for sure is what we’ve got back from Chakrabortty. Everything else needs further investigation.’
Brown turned to face Phillips square on. ‘I couldn’t agree more, Inspector. But so far – aside from Entwistle – you and your team have delivered nothing new in two days. Get me more evidence and I’ll gladly listen to your theories. Until then, I’ll be forced to listen to my own instincts and superior experience.’
Phillips opened her mouth to speak but thought better of it.
‘Entwistle, good work, son,’ Brown continued. ‘The rest of you, it’s time to raise your bloody game.’ With that, he headed back to his office.
When the door was securely shut, Phillips turned to Jones and Bovalino. ‘That was fun. Right you two, I need you to retrace Gillespie’s movements at the post office, the dry cleaners and the Co-op. See if anyone remembers seeing her or anyone who may have been with her.’
‘On it,’ said Jones.
Bovalino nodded.
‘As for you, Golden Boy—’ Phillips pointed at Entwistle. ‘—you’re coming with me to church.’
11
Phillips drove with Entwistle in the passenger seat. The journey from Ashton House to Cheadle would take twenty minutes and she wanted to use the time to think. Sadly, the new boy had other ideas.
‘It’s really great to be on your team, Guv,’ he said enthusiastically as Phillips pulled the car onto the M60, heading south on Manchester’s outer ring-road. ‘You’re a bit of a legend in the Force.’
‘Not really,’ Phillips replied in a disinterested tone, trying her best to kill the conversation.
‘I mean, what you must have gone through in that house with Michaels. Not many people could survive that.’
Phillips remained silent, but he wasn’t giving up.
‘What was it like, Guv?’
‘What was what like?
‘Getting shot. What did it feel like?’
She pulled into the outside lane and accelerated rapidly, pushing her right foot down on the peddle to help stem the rush of anxiety suddenly consuming her. ‘It bloody hurt.’
A long moment of silence ensued, before Entwistle pushed on. ‘Did you think you were going to die?’
Phillips glanced at the speedo and realised she was pushing 95 mph. Releasing her foot, the car slowed to a more reasonable 75 mph. ‘Look, Entwistle, I’d prefer it if what happened in that house stays there. People died, and I was almost killed.’
‘Yeah, and you still got a result.’
‘We might have got a result, but at what cost? I know the media made it out to be some kind of heroic deed, but let me tell you this: it was the single most idiotic thing I’ve ever done. Coppers are supposed to uphold the law, not break it; going into a murder suspect’s house without backup was unthinkable. Lunacy, plain and simple. I’m lucky to be alive.’
Entwistle appeared unsure of what to say next, and they drove in silence a few minutes. As they passed the Stockport Pyramid, he shifted in his seat. ‘Guv, can I ask you something else?’
‘As long as it’s nothing to do with the Michaels case.’
‘It’s not. It’s about the team.’
‘Go on.’
‘Well, I get the impression Jones and Bovalino think I’m Brown’s boy and might not trust me.’
‘Quite the detective, Entwistle.’
‘So, it’s true, then?’
Phillips glanced at him before turning her attention back to the road as she took the exit for Cheadle. ‘Look. We go back a long way, and as a team we’ve been through a lot. We’ve got one of the best conviction rates in the Force and we know how to get results together. Anyone coming in is going t
o find it hard to break into that.’
‘And it doesn’t help that Brown brought me in?’
‘No, it doesn’t.’
‘And because I’m black they think it’s a box-ticking exercise?’
Phillips shook her head. ‘The colour of your skin has nothing to do with this. You’ve just joined the team at a difficult time. When Brown took my job, he took over my team and it’s been a tough adjustment. You have to remember, I ran the squad for five years. Brown has totally different methods to mine and none of us are finding it easy. You coming in without warning, hand-picked by him – that’s going to make it hard for the guys to accept and trust you straight off the bat.’
‘What about you, Guv? Do you trust me?’
‘Entwistle, trust has to be earned. You’ve been here a couple of days and I have no background on you. No recommendation from anyone that I know. Brown brought you in without so much as a word to the rest of us. If you prefer to follow his lead as SIO, that’s up to you, but I won’t change my approach and nor will Jones and Bovalino. If you want to be part of the team, you don’t have to be like us or do it how we do, but you’d better not pass anything on to Brown that he could use against us.’
‘Funnily enough, Bovalino said something very similar yesterday.’
‘Like I said, we’ve been together a long time. We look out for each other on this team. Always.’
Entwistle nodded but remained silent, the only sound the noise of the tyres bumping up and down on the weather-beaten road.
Phillips began to reduce speed. ‘What’s the name of the street we’re looking for?’
Entwistle checked the directions he had keyed into Google Maps on his phone. ‘Fraser Road. It’s at the end of here and then left.’
12
Father Maguire was brushing leaves away from the front door of St Patrick’s when Phillips and Entwistle arrived. After the initial introductions, he led them down the side of the sixties-built building and into the attached house. They followed him through to a small kitchen-diner, where he removed his hat, gloves and scarf, appearing to lose ten pounds and fifteen years of age in the process. Phillips placed him in his early fifties and noted his sporty physique, looking slightly incongruous covered in the black garb and white collar.