Dead & Buried

by Adam Croft

  ‘I think it cycles every month or so. It saves onto a box in the loft. I don’t know how to get it off, mind. I’d need to call the company who installed it.’

  ‘I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Culverhouse said. ‘Our officers have used most types of CCTV system, so I’m sure they’ll manage if you’re happy to let them try.’

  ‘Yes. Of course.’

  He could see from Gwen’s face that she was only just beginning to process the fact that someone might have, only hours ago, parked a vehicle virtually outside her house and offloaded a dead body. He tried to think of something to say to put her mind a little more at ease, but was interrupted by an officer knocking on the door of the living room and gesturing for Culverhouse to step outside.

  ‘Sir, the SOCOs have found something you might be interested in,’ the nervous young constable said. ‘It’s not a dead body that’s buried in the undergrowth. It’s two.’

  7

  There was always an odd atmosphere at the first team briefing on a murder case. There was undoubted excitement — big cases like this were the reason most of the officers were in the job. But amongst the fervour was an anxiety. When you reduced it down to its barest bones, the fact was that there was a killer loose in the local area.

  Jack Culverhouse watched as the team assembled. Although he would have to lean heavily on forensics experts, profilers and, quite likely, computer technicians, the core of his team consisted of four detectives who he’d worked with closely on a number of cases over the past few years.

  His longest-standing colleagues were Detective Sergeants Frank Vine and Steve Wing, two men who were very much of the same old-school style of policing as Jack. Frank had been talking about retirement for as long as Jack could remember, although he had to admit his levels of effort tended to resemble retirement at the best of times. Steve was often more enthusiastic, but lacked tact, subtlety and basic hygiene.

  The team’s stalwart Detective Constable, Debbie Weston, was still taking time off from work after temporarily moving to the south coast to look after her sick mother.

  The team had been joined fairly recently by Detective Constable Ryan Mackenzie, who had tested Culverhouse’s inbuilt prejudices from a number of angles. She had proven herself a very bright and able addition to the team, and Wendy in particular had spotted her talents from early on.

  Wendy was considered by just about everyone to be Culverhouse’s second in command. Even he knew that, but would certainly never admit it. For now, though, she was still on restricted duties after an incident a few months earlier which left her hospitalised and with a painful recovery process.

  The unconventional structure of Mildenheath CID meant that things were done differently. County police headquarters had threatened Mildenheath CID with closure on a number of occasions, but it remained as the last satellite CID unit in the county — if not the region — entirely because of Mildenheath’s ongoing struggles with major and violent crime and the Chief Constable’s ongoing support for Culverhouse’s unit. Charles Hawes wouldn’t be around forever, though, and it was generally accepted that the team were living on borrowed time.

  Jack feared what would happen if the unit was subsumed into county headquarters at Milton House. The site was impressive, but it was miles away from Mildenheath and any of the county’s crime hotspots. There were already pockets of minor and petty crime creeping into certain towns and villages where the police presence had been lost due to swingeing government cuts. Taking the CID unit out of one of the country’s murder hotspots would be catastrophic.

  So, Mildenheath CID had been grudgingly allowed to continue its operations, but the elected Police and Crime Commissioner had made it clear that there was no margin for error. If cases weren’t solved swiftly and if the crime rate continued to rise or hold steady, it would be curtains for Culverhouse and his unit. They’d be shifted up to Milton House to work under the auspices of DCI Malcolm Pope, a man many at Mildenheath CID despised.

  Pope was a supercilious bastard, and that was putting it lightly. He was a career officer with his eyes on the top prize, and he didn’t care who he trampled on during his journey there. He was smug, arrogant and self-aggrandising, and he wouldn’t hesitate to take complete credit for someone else’s work. Fortunately for Culverhouse and his team, Pope was kept at arm’s length, nestled away quietly in his office at Milton House, in the north of the county.

  ‘Right,’ Culverhouse started. ‘This is the first team briefing on Operation Counterflow. Another fine choice of name by the computer.’

  Each case was assigned a name by the police computer, based on dictionary entries. The senior investigating officer had the power to overrule the computer and assign a different name if the initial suggestion was deemed to be in any way inappropriate, although this was rare. The last occasion had been the assignment of the name Operation Scuba to a case investigating the suspicious death of a woman found dead in her bathtub — a name which was very quickly changed to Operation Nightingale.

  ‘This is the investigation into the deaths of two as yet unnamed males, referred to for the time being as Male One and Male Two,’ Culverhouse continued. ‘Found buried below undergrowth on Hollybush Lane, near Middlebrook. The bodies were discovered by a dog walker, believe it or not, called Gwen O’Connell, who lives almost opposite the spot where they were buried. Handily for us, she’s got CCTV on the front of her house which covers the road, so we should be able to get something from that. The only way to the site by vehicle is past Mrs O’Connell’s house. We should hear back on that very soon, actually.

  ‘The bodies are being recovered as we speak. If there’s still no identifying factors they’ll be DNA tested to see if there’s a match on the computer. If not, we’ll have to go to a public appeal. As you can understand, that’s something I’d rather avoid, so fingers crossed something comes back positive.’

  Culverhouse’s desk phone rang. He stopped the meeting for a moment to answer it, noting down what the caller said before coming back to address the rest of the room.

  ‘Right. Perfect timing. CCTV footage is in. They’ve got a white van shown parking up near the layby just before 1.30am. It’s mostly out of shot and only side-on, but you can see the van slowing down to park and just about see the bleed from the brake lights at the edge for a few seconds after, apparently. Looks like this is our van. They’re sending the footage over as we speak. Ryan, Steve, can you find out what other cameras were active in the area around that time. See if there’s a similar vehicle shown entering or leaving the vicinity. Hopefully we can get a number plate from that and trace it back.’

  Once again, Culverhouse was interrupted by the ringing of his desk phone. This time, the familiar voice of Dr Janet Grey, the pathologist, was on the other end of the line. He listened intently as she spoke, raising his eyebrows every now and again as she told him her preliminary findings.

  ‘Post-mortem’s still going on, but Dr Grey has a few things she wanted to relay to us which might help us make a start,’ he told the room when the call was over. ‘There are puncture marks on both victims’ necks, consistent with having been injected. The full toxicology results will confirm that for definite, but for now we need to assume that was the cause of death. There are no signs of blunt trauma.

  ‘One of the victims has a tattoo on his left ankle, in Cyrillic script. Using the ultra hi-tech Google Translate, she managed to work out that it was a bizarre Serbian phrase that probably roughly translates as “Fortune favours the brave”. The phrase might not mean anything, but the fact it’s in Serbian probably does. We need to see if we can find any Serbs living locally who might be persons of interest, Frank. See who we’ve already got on the system. The other thing she found interesting — her words, not mine — were signs of anal trauma on both men. Not recent or severe enough to have caused their deaths, but, and I quote: “commensurate with homosexual activity”. In other words, they were fudge packers.’

  ‘Could it be a hate crime?’ W
endy asked, ignoring Culverhouse’s last comment. ‘Perhaps someone who took exception to them being gay.’

  ‘A lot of those Eastern Europeans don’t like the gays,’ Frank Vine said, in his usual carefully considered style. ‘If they were involved with gangsters or something and word got back that they were bum b—’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Frank,’ Culverhouse interrupted, keen not to be outdone in the crudeness stakes. ‘Let’s just stick to the facts for now. Dr Grey’s going to call us when she knows more, but that should be plenty for us to go on for now. Either way, time is of the essence so let’s get moving.’

  Not only were the first hours of a murder investigation absolutely crucial to the outcome, but Culverhouse knew he needed to wrap up Operation Counterflow as quickly as possible for his own sake.

  As if fate knew what he was thinking, the phone rang again — this time it was his mobile.

  ‘Yes?’ Jack barked, not recognising the number on the screen.

  ‘Jack? It’s Martin Cummings,’ said the voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘How the fuck did you get my mobile number?’ Jack asked. Martin Cummings was the county’s Police and Crime Commissioner — a position invented and created for each police force in the country, and which was decided by public vote. Many police officers — Jack included — hated the idea of politicians getting involved in local policing, but there was very little they could do about it.

  ‘It’s listed on the intranet directory. Listen, I’d like to meet with you, if that’s alright. I’ve got something I want to speak to you about. Are you free this morning?’

  ‘Not really, no. I’m in the middle of a mu— uh, investigation.’

  ‘It’ll only take a few minutes. And you won’t need to go anywhere. I’m coming down to Mildenheath anyway.’

  Oh joy, Jack thought to himself. ‘If it can possibly wait, it would be much appreciated. I’m waiting on some very important—’

  ‘Will eleven o’clock suit? I won’t take up much of your time.’

  ‘Even if it could just wait until tomorrow, that would really h—’

  ‘I’ll give you a call when I get there. See you soon.’

  Jack stood and stared into space, before pulling the phone away from his ear and seeing that the call had been disconnected. Shaking his head, he muttered one solitary word.

  ‘Cunt.’

  8

  Martin Cummings unwittingly wound Culverhouse up even further by texting him to let him know he’d arrived, rather than calling him.

  Here. See you in CC’s office.

  The message seemed unbelievably curt, even for Jack, who had a reputation for getting his point across as directly as possible.

  The county’s Chief Constable, Charles Hawes, chose to keep an office at Mildenheath Police Station for a number of reasons, not least that he preferred to avoid contact with the office-dwellers at Milton House as much as possible.

  When Jack arrived to knock on the door, Cummings was already seated in front of the Chief Constable’s desk, with Hawes sitting behind it, also seemingly unaware of what was going on.

  ‘Sir,’ Jack said to Hawes, ignoring Cummings completely, before taking a seat.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Jack,’ Cummings said. ‘I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to speak with you both. You know how supportive I am of the work you do.’

  Culverhouse and Hawes shared a look which, thankfully, Cummings did not notice.

  ‘You’ll be aware my term is coming to an end soon, and I’ll be running for election again. I just wanted to see if you might be willing to endorse my candidacy.’

  Hawes shuffled uncomfortably. ‘Sir, we really must remain apolitical. We can’t be seen to—’

  ‘No, I know, I know. I’m not asking you to come out publicly. I just thought maybe you could put the word about to your colleagues, or perhaps speak favourably about the work we’ve done and the progress we’ve made as a team.’

  ‘Team?’ Culverhouse asked. He knew damn well that Cummings had very much not been a part of any team he was involved with.

  ‘The rise in the local crime rate has been slowing, whereas neighbouring forces are having a lot of trouble. All projections are that we might even see a reduction in violent crime next year. That’s down to the efforts of the whole force, not just me.’

  Culverhouse looked open-mouthed at the side of Cummings’s head. Hawes was trying his hardest not to laugh.

  ‘Of course, the alternative is that the Andrews woman gets in. I don’t think that’s in anyone’s best interests. She’s only ever going to toe the party line when it comes to slashing budgets and putting more pressure on our local officers. She doesn’t even have any experience of policing.’

  ‘With respect, sir, she’s in much the same position as you were when you stood for election,’ Hawes said.

  ‘The difference is, I’ve now had a term as PCC. I understand the job and what it entails. She doesn’t have a clue. She lost two general election campaigns in the arse end of nowhere, and now she’s muscling in on my job because she sees it as a safe bet. Her party’s much stronger here than it is in bloody Newcastle or wherever it is she came from.’

  ‘She’s from Sussex,’ Culverhouse said.

  ‘The seats she tried to win were up north somewhere. The point is, she’s not local. She’s not a police officer. She’s not got a clue. Do we really want someone like that trying to pinch my job?’

  Hawes shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. ‘It is an elected position, sir. With all due respect, it’s not technically anybody’s job.’

  Cummings sat back in his seat and exhaled. ‘What do you need?’ he said, finally.

  ‘Need?’

  ‘Yes. What about you, Jack? Your unit. What does it need?’

  ‘It needs to be left alone,’ Culverhouse replied. ‘We don’t have time for bollocks like this. With all due respect.’

  Cummings raised his eyebrows. ‘The budget’s not unlimited. You know that. I’m being leant on from all angles. I’m well aware that some areas of the police force need more funding and focus than others. There’s a lot of waste that can be cut. Some people might say there are too many levels of management. Others might say we have to work together more closely with neighbouring counties and share resources. There are many who might even say we should centralise all the services in the county before anything else. This is prime land, right here. The amount a housing developer would pay for this site would put another ten officers on the beat.’

  Cummings’s threats were more than clear to Hawes and Culverhouse, neither of whom said anything, but both could see the other was just as stunned and angry as himself.

  ‘Now, you know I don’t want to do that. In many ways it makes sense to keep a CID unit at Mildenheath. But cuts need to be made somewhere, and I’ve got to make big savings before the end of my tenure. If the job’s going to go to Andrews and her lot, I need to make sure I leave the county in the best possible shape so her decimation of the police force is as painless as possible.’

  Jack tried to keep a lid on his rising temper, but he was struggling against the overwhelming temptation to call Cummings out on his blatant blackmail. Fortunately for him, Hawes spoke first.

  ‘What are you asking us to do, exactly, sir?’

  ‘Whatever it takes. Speak with pride about the progress we’ve been making locally. Spread a message of positivity. Ensure I’m returned to office after the ballot. I think you’ll agree it’s in everyone’s best interests.’

  ‘Or what?’ Culverhouse said, unable to keep quiet any longer. ‘You’ll close down Mildenheath and move us all up to Milton House?’

  ‘Savings have to be made somewhere, Detective Chief Inspector Culverhouse. Like I said, I have a few options available to me. As to which option I’ll go for, I’ve not yet decided. Perhaps I’ll have to see how my mood takes me at the time.’

  ‘You do realise you’re trying to blackmail two senior police officers, don’
t you?’

  ‘I’m not blackmailing anyone,’ Cummings replied, throwing his hands up in mock surrender. ‘I’m simply pointing out that savings have to be made, and letting you know what some of my options are. Of course, if I’m re-elected there’ll be far less pressure on the police budgets because I’ll be fighting the cuts every step of the way. I’m on your side here, chaps.’

  Hawes and Culverhouse looked at each other again.

  ‘Anyway, it’s been lovely catching up again but I really must dash. I’ve got an interview for the local news at one, so I’ll have to love you and leave you. Give it some thought, yes?’

  Cummings gave Hawes and Culverhouse his finest shit-eating grin and left the room.

  9

  Culverhouse’s head was pounding when he got back to the major incident room. He could hear the blood throbbing in his eardrums as he tried to stem the flow of thoughts that involved him kicking Martin Cummings’s head in.

  ‘Sir, I’ve just been checking the CCTV around the Middlebrook area,’ Ryan said. ‘The only thing we’ve been able to find is on the southbound entry sliproad at the motorway junction. Have a look.’

  Culverhouse walked over to Ryan’s desk and squinted at the grainy footage on the screen in front of her.

  ‘Here’s the image from the sliproad. And… here’s the one from outside Gwen O’Connell’s house. Notice anything?’

  ‘Two white vans,’ Culverhouse said.

  ‘Yes and no. Look at the offside rear wheel. The hubcap’s missing. There’s a good chance this is the same van.’

  ‘What’s the make and model?’

  ‘Peugeot Expert. The index number seems to back that up, too.’

  ‘Great. Can we trace it?’

  ‘Already done. It’s registered to a Peter Bellamy, in Dumfries.’

  ‘Dumfries? That’s in Scotland.’

  ‘Yep. I put a call in to our colleagues north of the border. They’re going to go and speak to Mr Bellamy and bring him in if necessary.’