One of the ceiling strip lights flickered eerily and popped.
In partial light, with the sound of his heartbeat thrashing in his ears, he agonised. ‘How am I going to get out of here?’
Looking round the piss stinking magnolia box, he remembered the window at the opposite end of the room; a small, white, double-glazed unit, which opened sideways. It looked about two feet high, just tall enough to climb through. He dashed towards it, grabbed the handle and yanked it up, thanking his lucky stars that some careless cleaner had left it unlocked.
He clambered through, hands first and dropped four feet onto the concrete below. Up on his feet he spun around but stumbled into a pile of black refuge sacks. Scanning around he realised he was looking onto Old Lane, a courtyard at the back of several premises in the city centre. He slipped his hood up and exited stealthily. This was messy, very messy. He should have bladed him straight away: no questions asked. That vile bastard Gibson had been a dead man walking, but now it looked like an accident, a fight; maybe that would work to his advantage.
CHAPTER 14
An hour went by and the dance floor at the Slipware Tankard had filled up with revellers.
‘Shit, what time is it?’ Kat said, pointing to her wrist.
‘Twenty to eleven.’
‘Bollocks, bloody forgot we were supposed to call that bloke around ten.’
‘You can try, but you won’t get a signal in here.’
‘Let’s go back out to the courtyard? It’s much quieter out there.’
‘OK, I could do with some fresh air.’
They swiped the full glasses from the table, leaving the empty bottle behind and made their way through the busy bar, wine sloshing onto their shoes.
Exiting the bar area, they experienced sensory overload as their eyes and ears adjusted from the darker, louder atmosphere to the courtyard, which was now packed.
‘Soon filled up out here. How long we been dancing for? I’ve lost track of time,’ she said with heavily dilated pupils. Luna checked her mobile.
‘God, that’s gone quick. We’ve been in there over an hour.’
They inched through the throng of people, trying not to spill too much wine. Surprisingly, there was still one sofa available next to the bottle kilns. Perching their bums on the edge of the cushion, Kat pulled out the card Ibrahim had given her earlier from her purse.
‘Lend me your phone, please, Lune? Mine’s out of credit,’ she said, sounding apologetic. She was always skint after losing her job as an accountant’s secretary months earlier. Carl slipped her the odd tenner here and there but he was a real selfish bastard and didn’t give her an allowance. Her Jobseeker’s money rarely went further than a new outfit and the odd night out.
Luna could tell by Kat’s sullen expression she hated not having her own money. ‘What are you like?’ she said, passing her phone over.
Kat tapped in the number, fidgeting with her skirt whilst waiting for an answer. The phone seemed to ring for ages. She was about to hang up when Ibrahim answered.
‘Hello, who’s that?’
‘It’s Katrina from earlier, you said to call later.’
‘Oh, hi. You okay?’
‘Yes, thanks. Can we meet up? ‘Do you know where the Genting Casino is?’
‘Yes, it’s down from your bar.’
‘Great, come to the main entrance in forty-five minutes? I’ll meet you both there.’
‘Okay, bye.’
‘See you,’ she said, intrigued.
CHAPTER 15
The White Horse was still heaving when a punter reported to Dave Millburn, one of the bouncers, that the gents was inaccessible because the door was jammed. After taking a brief look he went to fetch the other doorman, but couldn’t find him. Must have nipped out for a fag, he thought. He pushed, shoved and kicked the door but it refused to budge. He stood staring at the boot scrunched remains of a Northern Soul All-nighter poster hanging from the door.
Heading over to the bar he scanned for the landlord. ‘Where’s Darryl?’ he shouted to Tabatha, the barmaid; attempting to be heard over the landlord’s soul compilation cd.
‘Don’t know. He was serving before going to the loo.’
‘If you see him, tell him the gents’ door is blocked. God knows how.’
A few minutes later, a sweaty Nathan Dukes joined him.’ What’s up, Dave?’
‘Gents’ bog door is jammed.’
‘Jammed?’
‘Yeah, completely stuck. Won’t bastard budge. I’ve been kicking it.’
‘Let’s have a gander. Shit, it’s well stuck.’
After a few minutes of taking it in turns kicking, the door squeezed open a couple of feet. Cautiously Dave Millburn squeezed his head through the gap. He scanned around the gents, weighing up the situation. ‘Oh shit! There’s blood all over the floor, Nath!’
‘You’re kidding me!’ Dukes sounded worried.
‘Take a look?’
‘Shit!’ he said, retracting. ‘That looks serious, man.’
‘Where the bloody hell is Darryl?’ he moaned gawping at the terrazzo tiles they’d unwittingly cracked.
A few tense moments passed before the fifty one year old landlord joined his bouncers. He looked flustered and out of breath. ‘What’s this about the gents’ door being jammed?’
‘Looks like there’s been a fight to me. There’s blood all over the floor. I reckon some nob has blocked the door and climbed out of the window. Just about sums up the mentality of this lot,’ Dukes said, offering his opinion.
With a look of dread on his face, Connor squeezed his head through the gap. ‘Shit! That’s a lot of blood.’ His eyes followed the damp red trail, which snaked across the floor and disappeared under the first cubicle. ‘You pair stay here and don’t let anyone in.’ He slithered his burly torso sideways through the gap and stepped carefully over into the corner. He dropped to his knees, turned his head and glanced straight under the cubicles. ‘My god!’ There’s someone still in there. There’s a pool of blood around the toilet. Shitting hell, it’s not looking good. Dave, get an ambulance and the cops on your radio now! Nathan, keep all the punters in.’ The colour drained from his face as he considered the disturbing possibility of a dead body on his premises.
With the radio noticeably shaking in his hand, Millburn said, ‘Three-two-nine White Horse requesting urgent police assistance, major incident in the pub, potential fatal wounding in the toilets. Send an ambulance.’
Dukes entered the pub and covertly locked both exit doors and made the announcement. ‘Listen up, everybody? We need you all to remain calmly in the pub until the police arrive.’
A group of lads moving towards the exit at the end of the bar became rowdy.
‘You can’t do that; we’re meeting someone in a minute.’
Connor approached them for a quiet word. ‘I’m really sorry about this but there’s been a major incident in the pub and the police have told us not to let anyone leave until they arrive.’
‘What pissing incident? Look around you, mate, there’s no bother in here.’ said one of the lads.
‘It’s in the toilets. That’s all I can say at the minute.
Others in the crowd became restless.
‘Open the doors or you’ll have a riot on your hands!’ a tall, bearded bloke at the back shouted insightfully.
Another chipped in. ‘Yeah, this ain’t right. We want free beer if we can’t leave.’
Dukes knew the situation was likely to get out of hand quickly if the cops didn’t arrive soon.
Within minutes sirens could be heard, gradually getting louder until the blue flashing lights of the emergency services reflected off the windows of the White Horse.
CHAPTER 16
A team of uniformed officers cordoned off the area, setting out a manned entry and exit corridor to the White Horse crime scene. Several CID officers entered the pub followed by Tom Blake. To calm the situation the Detective Inspector delegated DS Murphy to address the punter
s, while he made his way apprehensively to the gents.
‘I can appreciate not being able to leave the pub is inconvenient, but if you could just bear with us while we take statements, I will let you all know when you can leave. Please remain calmly in your seats? Thank you for your cooperation. Are you the landlord?’ Murphy said, addressing Darryl Connor who was standing next to him with a look of horror on his face.
‘Yeah.’
‘We received a call about a fatal wounding in the toilets. What time did you discover this?’
‘Around twenty minutes ago. One of our regulars reported the gents’ door was jammed. My door staff forced it open and took a quick look inside. There’s tons of blood across the floor and someone locked inside one of the cubicles. It’s deadly silent in there.’
‘Have you been here all evening?’
‘Yeah.’
‘And, you’ve not left the pub at any stage?’
‘No, apart from standing on the steps to have a smoke.’
‘How about you pair?’ Murphy said addressing the doormen.
‘Been here all night,’ said Nathan Dukes, speaking for both of them.
‘OK, thanks,’ Murphy said. ‘Take a seat for us over there. It’s imperative we establish if the victim is still alive. The boss will have called the Divisional Surgeon by now.’ Murphy slipped on a protection suit, silicone gloves, and joined his DI. Inside the gents a SOCO officer was passing the last foot-plate to Blake, through the gap in the doorway. The common approach path towards the victim staggered either side of the sinister looking blood trail. A shiver ran through him as he stepped closer towards the cubicle.
‘What do you reckon, Tom? Looks real nasty.’
‘Very.’ Blake said sliding the cubicle door catch. Slowly he edged it open, knowing the chances of the victim being alive were slim: he’d lost too much blood.
He stood in front of the body, which was that of a tattooed white male he’d estimate to be late forties. The distribution of blood down the wall tiles and pooling around the toilet suggested his injuries came from a major trauma to the back of the skull. Leaning close to the victim he placed his fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. There was nothing. He could see no rise and fall in the upper chest. In his opinion he was dead.
Five minutes later the Divisional Surgeon declared life extinct, making it a potential murder enquiry. Blake glanced around the room, but saw only one other exit apart from the door; a window at the far end. He moved closer and noticed the handle left in the open position, meaning it had been shut from the outside.
Pointing to the frame, Blake offered his opinion to the doctor. ‘Whoever did this legged it through the window. He jammed the door to delay anyone discovering the body, buying himself enough time to get away. My gut instinct tells me this is an alcohol-fuelled dispute that escalated into a fight. If so, chances are the victim’s death was accidental. Any idea of the time of death?’
‘Judging by his temperature and slight rigor mortis in the eyelids, neck and jaw, my best guess, based on what we have so far is he died within the last hour or so. His body’s cooled to the ambient room temperature. Algor mortis, Inspector. It’s normally two degrees in the first hour. The blood trail shows the body’s been moved in a crude attempt to hide it.’
‘Cause of death?’
‘We’ll know more after the PM, but there’s massive blood loss. The fatal wound that caused this is at the back of the skull, where there appears to be a nasty fracture. The initial blow to the head would have rendered him unconscious. He’s bled out sitting there unceremoniously on the throne.’
Blake was accustomed to the doctor’s gallows humour. They both exited the toilets and Blake briefed the crime scene photographer.
CHAPTER 17
Fifteen minutes later, a three-man SOCO team entered the gents, whilst uniformed officers interviewed the pub clientele. After an hour it became clear that the crime scene had been exposed to tons of contamination since lots of blokes had used the gents, making the gathering of elimination prints difficult.
To get a feel for the atmosphere Tom Blake joined one of his officers who was interviewing three lads in their early twenties. He flashed his warrant card.
‘Lads, I’m Detective Inspector Blake. I’ll be taking over from PC Haynes. What time did you enter the pub?’
‘About eight,’ said a fair-haired lad wearing a checked shirt.
‘Have any of you used the gents?’
They looked at each other hesitantly, worried they might be implicated if admitting to taking a pee.
‘Don’t worry, we’re just trying to establish people’s movements between the time they arrived and when the incident was called in?’
‘Yeah. Three of us went earlier.’
‘And you saw nothing suspicious?’
‘Like what?’
‘A fight, or someone injured?’
‘Not really.’
‘You either did, or you didn’t?’ Blake stressed.
‘There was a bloke stumbling talking to himself, but he came out before us and went back to the bar,’ said the tallest of the three.
‘What did he look like?’ asked Blake.
‘Shaved head, loads of tats on his arms. Like a mad skinhead.’
‘How old do you reckon he was?’
‘Dunno, about forty-five or older.’
‘And you definitely saw him leave the toilets and make his way back to the bar?’
‘Yeah. I remember ’cause me and Nick were laughing at the red laces in his doc boots, weren’t we?’
His mate agreed.
‘Did you see him in the pub later?’ Blake continued.
‘Can’t remember… we were all talking, so didn’t notice.’
‘Has something happened to this bloke?’ the lad in the checked shirt asked.
‘I’m afraid I can’t give you details. All I can say is there’s been a suspicious death. That’s why it’s so important you guys remember as much as you can. Anything, even the slightest little detail could be significant?’
‘Bloody hell! That’s bad.’ The dark-haired lad gazed mournfully at his mates who looked numb with shock.
‘When can we go?’ the fair-haired lad mumbled nervously.
‘Yeah, I’m bursting for a piss.’
‘I need one as well.’
‘I’m afraid you’ll have to go somewhere else. We shouldn’t be too long now. One of the forensic team will come to you in the next ten minutes with his laptop and take witness elimination prints. We need to get fingerprints from everyone here tonight.’
‘Prints! What for, we’ve done nothing?’ the fair-haired lad said anxiously.
‘Once your prints are eliminated from the enquiry, they’ll be destroyed.’ Blake thanked them for their cooperation and left the three lads sitting pale-faced. He stepped outside where his uniformed officers were managing the cordoned-off area.
‘Everything OK out here, PC Evans?’
‘Under control, sir. Apart from shifting the odd drunk from under the tapes.’
‘OK. It’s going to be a long night. The SOCO team are in there now. Make sure no one enters Old Lane. We could do without questioning more drunks, considering we’re still processing that lot.’
Blake went back into the pub. The worried-looking landlord approached him with a large brandy noticeably shaking in his right hand. ‘How long will it be before you remove the body? It’s giving me the bloody creeps. Me and the missus live upstairs; I doubt we’ll get any sleep tonight.’
‘Do you have family or friends you can stay with?’
‘We could probably stay at my wife’s daughter’s.’
‘Good.’ You won’t get your pub back until tomorrow. Although I need a statement from you and your door staff, so take a seat and I’ll be over in a minute.’
After a quick word with his sergeant about the witness statements, DI Blake joined the shaken landlord and his two doormen, and opened his notepad. ‘We’ve got a preliminary ID
of the victim from his driving licence. A Mr Barry Gibson. Do you know the name? Is he a regular?’
Connor paused for a moment before answering. ‘No, doesn’t sound familiar.
‘Perhaps you’d recognise the victim?’
The colour drained from his face. Clearly the thought of identifying the body put the fear of God into him. ‘What, you mean see the body?’
‘No, just a forensics photo. It’s unpleasant, but would help us to build a better picture of the victim if you recognise him.’
‘Can’t you describe him?’
Blake could see he was fragile, so decided against exposing him to the pictures of the bludgeoned skinhead’s corpse.
‘OK. White male, forty-nine years old, with a shaved head, both arms covered in tattoos. Dressed like a skinhead, red Doc Martin boots with red laces. Does this description fit any of your regulars?’
‘No, but I’ve seen him in the pub before. He’s been in a few times in the last couple of weeks. Normally talks to one or two of our regulars.’
‘That’s very helpful.’ Blake looked at Nathan Dukes and asked, ‘Do you know the victim?’
‘Seen him a few times around town. Can’t miss him, if you know what I mean?’
‘How long have you worked the doors?’
‘About four years.’
Looking at the ID strapped to his arm, Blake asked him. ‘What’s the company you work for?’
‘M8 Security.’
‘Is this your regular gig?’
‘Sometimes do the Burton Stores and the Auctioneers, but usually I’m on here Fridays.’
‘In your capacity as a doorman have you ever had to deal with Mr Gibson?’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure? One of the regulars told us Mr Gibson could be violent when he was pissed and the Burton Stores was his local haunt. Think carefully, Mr Dukes? We’ll be contacting M8 to check company records. We keep accurate records of incidents in town. If I find out you’re lying to us, you’ll lose your registration with the Security Industry Authority.’
The Killer Shadow Thieves (DI Tom Blake, #1) Page 6