Annie raised her eyebrows, and pulled a face at Wilkie. ‘What I’d give for an afternoon snooze,’ she said on the end of a long sigh.
Wilkie indicated for her to knock on the door of No.15, and he knocked at No.16, but there was no response at either.
* * *
Returning to the Incident Room, the two detectives were just in time for the afternoon briefing, and therefore able to update the team on their unsuccessful attempt at locating Russell Peters at his home address. However, they learnt that after further investigation, Russell Peters’ name did not appear on any other police databases, other than the nuisance incident they were already aware of, where he had been advised accordingly.
Charley quickly moved the discussion forwards. ‘I’m mindful that we are focusing all our attention on locating Russell Peters, and although we need to find him, we also need further evidence to either be able to connect him with, or eliminate him from the enquiry when we do. I suggest we make further enquiries at his workplace. For example, we need to know when he gets paid, and how, and if possible obtain his bank account details, and his mobile phone number. If we have that then we can make enquiries with his mobile provider, and track his movements past and present via his bank account. We can also find out the names of his contacts, and these can be checked out to see if they know of his whereabouts. If we have his bank details we can check where his bank card was last used. All this information is going to help find out who Russell Peters is, and hopefully where he is. For now he is still a priority, and when we get his DNA that will put him either in, or out of the enquiry for us. What I don’t like is the fact that no one has seen him since Cath Crowther was attacked. He’s not been to work, or spoken to his employers, which we have been told is apparently out of character. He has managed to avoid giving his DNA because he hasn’t been at work, and yet he was aware before he went missing that his team were asked to give samples, and finally, everything we know about Russell Peters makes him our prime suspect at this moment in time, so we urgently need to trace him.’
Charley turned to Wilkie and Annie. ‘Are you absolutely certain that he wasn’t at his flat?’
Chapter 24
The moment Annie mentioned to Charley the putrid smell emanating from Russell Peters’ flat, and the blowflies, describing their bloated bodies, huge eyes and wide head, the SIO knew immediately what this could signify.
‘No ifs or buts, I want to get inside that flat today,’ the SIO stated firmly. ‘If it has to be done covertly, then so be it. But if you speak to the caretaker, she should have a key we can use. Entry in this case should be simple. Now, let’s get this done pronto!’
* * *
Once the flat door was opened, Charley stood for a moment in the hallway, in silence. The first thing she was alerted to, apart from the smell, the flies and the heat, was a mutilated body, lying face down in the corner of the lounge, in a pool of blood and vomit. Hurriedly, as she felt under attack from the flying metallic blue and green insects, she pulled at the drawstrings of her suit, tightening it around her face. Her bodysuit provided cover for her clothing, and prevented any contamination of the crime scene. Her immediate task was to open the first window that she came to, to allow the swirl of flies to escape.
There was an underlying muted atmosphere of only one thing – death.
Charley squared her shoulders, and taking care not to touch anything, she prowled across the room to where the body lay. Automatically, the experienced SIO registered the broader, immediate details as well. The lounge in the flat was small with an attached toilet, its door wide open. As well as a door to the balcony, there was a window at shoulder height, both facing the town centre, a wooden floor with scatter rugs, and doormats placed at strategic points. There were blood stains splatted over the walls, windows, and spreading over the floor in places. A coat lay neatly arranged close by.
Stooping low, so that she could see his face which was turned just slightly to the side, Charley hunched down, and studied it further. There was blackish-coloured fluid oozing out through his nostrils, and a few attendant flies that were not discouraged by her being up-close. Charley pointed this out. ‘This blood from his nostril could be an early sign of infection, but it may also be a sign that an infection is clearing,’ she spoke her thoughts out loud.
As she studied the face of the victim, it appeared that it constantly changed shape as the blowflies eagerly fought for space to deposit their eggs and, although it was horrible to witness, Charley knew that their deposits would aid Forensic in determining a time of death. Her eyes moved from his head to his body, where blood stains were present on parts of his clothing. Finally she forced herself back to her feet.
Wilkie Connor remained relatively motionless beside her, except to imitate a car’s windscreen wiper blades set to maximum speed to bat the remaining flies away. Charley was hardly conscious of his being in the room, until his voice broke in on her thoughts.
‘What’re you thinking, boss?’ he said after a few minutes.
‘I’m thinking that there’s no doubt he’s dead,’ she said. ‘Get paramedics here for confirmation, and CSI pronto, and get the entrance taped off. It needs treating as a crime scene.’
Annie joined them from the toilet. ‘There are a few stains of blood over the floor, walls and near the tap in the basin,’ she said. ‘Plus a bottle of cheap toilet cleaner with a craft knife deposited in the sink.’
Instinctively Charley looked towards Neal, and then back to Annie. ‘When it’s been photographed in situ, get them both in an evidence bag,’ she instructed Annie.
‘Has he topped himself, boss?’
‘We’ll find out soon enough Wilkie,’ Charley replied.
When the body was turned on to its back, clean-cut wounds approximately 6.5 cm x 2.5 cm x tendon-deep, could be seen over the anterior aspect of both wrists.
At the arrival of CSI Neal Rylatt, with the tools of his profession, the occupants of Flat 17 were at their doorway, unbelieving, watching every move. One look from Neal, booted and suited, made them retreat into their hallway.
Charley instructed Annie to ask them to stay inside, and to tell uniform to stop anyone else coming onto the landing.
Inside, Neil Rylatt was now otherwise engaged in taking photographs of the scene and the body. Despite his being so animated, Charley knew he was being conscientious, diligent, and also cautious not to step in the blood.
‘It wasn’t a half-hearted attempt then,’ said Charley to Neal as she nodded towards the deep cuts.
The frown between Neal’s eyebrows deepened. ‘From my experience I’d say if it is suicide then it’s complex. He didn’t plan to fail,’ added Neal. ‘Is it Peters?’ he asked.
‘It’s his flat,’ said Charley, bending down on one knee beside Neal, to look closer at the victim’s bloody face. ‘Russell Peters is not on our system, so there’s no rush to take his fingerprints here, we might as well wait until they take them at the mortuary, when he’s cleaned up, and then they’ll check them as a matter of procedure.’
Mike entered the room and Charley turned to acknowledge him. She looked puzzled.
‘I know that look. What’s up?’ he asked her.
‘He’s taken a hell of a beating. He couldn’t have done that himself, could he?’
‘Guess not, but that isn’t to say that the beating isn’t a factor in his taking his own life,’ Mike replied.
‘True,’ she acknowledged.
Neal prepared to check the pockets of the corpse’s clothing. Rigor mortis had set in. He tugged at the grimy denim jeans. ‘How lucky are we boss, one ID card. The photo’s terribly scratched but the name is clearly legible, Russell Peters,’ he said, as he passed it to Annie who was holding an evidence bag open for him to pop it in.
Wilkie Connor gave Neal Rylatt a cursory glance. ‘I don’t suppose there’s a suicide note too?’
‘Sorry, not this time,’ said Neal with a smile.
Mike shook his head. ‘The Divisional
Commander is going to love another body on his patch, isn’t he?’
‘Never assume,’ came the chorus from Wilkie and Annie.
Charley smiled under her mask. ‘Find me his wallet, mobile phone, his bike, and…’ She stopped in her tracks. ‘Where’s the door key that should be in that door if it was locked from the inside?’ The SIO nodded her head in the direction of the front door through which they had come. The response was a collective shrug of shoulders.
Annie bent down to take a closer look at the victim. ‘He doesn’t fit the description of the man we have been given to believe is the attacker, does he?’
‘How’d you come to that conclusion? Even his own bloody mother couldn’t recognise him, he’s so battered and bruised,’ said Wilkie.
‘Where are the broad shoulders the witnesses mention? Even when this guy was alive, I doubt that anyone would describe him as having a good physique.’
‘Trust you,’ said Wilkie.
Mike, ignoring the two of them, was looking studious.
‘What’re you thinking Mike?’ asked Charley.
‘I’m thinking, wouldn’t you want to be more comfy, in a bed, or in the bath, if you were going to slit your wrists? Not on a floor… not like this…’
Annie’s eyes were wide. ‘Exactly, and tell me how did that knife get into the sink in the toilet?’ said Annie, nodding her head in the direction of the attached toilet.
‘Swab him for his DNA Neal, and when you’re finished let’s get the body to the mortuary, and then we can have a good look around to see what else we can find here that’ll maybe help us further with our enquiries,’ Charley said.
Notification came from uniformed officers at ground level to say that the private ambulance had arrived to take the corpse to the mortuary.
Wilkie Connor appeared to be sizing up the corpse. Annie wondered what he could possibly find to smile about, and looked at him quizzically.
‘I was just wondering if they’re going to use the lift, because owing to rigor mortis setting in, he might not actually fit.’
The look on Annie’s face told him that she too doubted they would manage it, and together they moved out of the way and into the kitchen. ‘Rather them than us,’ she whispered to her colleague.
Easily visible in the kitchen, they found a map of the university campus. The shifting of the body bag against the walls of the hallway told them that the body had been removed, and after collecting possible evidence, the team were preparing to leave with their finds safely bagged and tagged in sealed evidence bags, of which there were many of all shapes and sizes.
Charley looked pale. ‘The stench is getting right up my nose. Let’s get out of here, and I’ll instruct that a uniformed officer remains on the door until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.’
‘I’ll arrange with officers from the Incident Room to come and speak to the occupants of the other flats on the landing, to ascertain when they last saw Russell Peters, and take statements from them,’ said Mike.
‘Seize the internal and external CCTV in the public areas of the flats,’ instructed Charley.
Wilkie looked questioningly at her.
‘If there’s nothing untoward, the Coroner’s officer can deal with the matter as a sudden death, and as you’ve been in attendance you’ll all need to give the Coroner’s officer a statement. However, if it is suspicious we can at least have his DNA checked against our killer’s, and either way it will convict or eliminate him.’
Mike pulled a face. ‘The last thing we need is another suspicious death to deal with.’
Charley took a deep breath. ‘It’s still not sitting comfortably with me,’ she said. ‘His body position, it was staged, a bit like Cordelia’s was staged. I know it’s a tenuous connection… but, are they connected?’
‘Look on the bright side,’ said Mike. ‘If it turns out he’s our man, think of the money he’ll have saved the public by not having a trial.’
Charley scowled. ‘He’d also have escaped justice. Let’s get the samples off as a priority Neal, and get some answers.’
When she got back to the office, Tattie informed her that a post-mortem had been arranged for the next morning, so Charley wouldn’t have long to wait for the pathologist’s findings.
‘Boss,’ Mike said, ‘once our deceased is cleaned up, and if we don’t find any relatives, do you think that Mr Robinson seems like the kind of person who would be up for ID’ing him for us?’
Charley nodded. ‘Yes, I think he might be,’ she said. ‘Ask him.’
Chapter 25
The post-mortem began, with DS Mike Blake and DC Wilkie Connor the officers in attendance, whilst Charley took the morning briefing. Delegation was not one of Charley’s strongest qualities, but as frustrating as it was for her not to be able to be at the post-mortem, she knew that even she couldn’t physically be in two places at one time. The SIO was comforted by the fact that she could rely on her deputy, Mike Blake, to contact her immediately should any issues arise. Every so often, however, as she sat in the quiet of her office, working on her daily tasks that didn’t simply disappear when another investigation was stacked on top of her already high caseload, her mind wandered to what she knew – from personal experience of attending many post-mortems over the years – was taking place at this moment in time.
She recalled visits to the mortuary, a putrid odour drifted under her nose, and travelled up her nostrils, forming the familiar taste in her mouth. The one she knew surrounded the dead. Rummaging in her coat pocket, she found a half-eaten packet of Polo mints that she carried for the horses, on those few occasions she got to ride these days. She popped one in her mouth, instantly flinching at the thought of plucking hair samples from the corpse, and cringed at the sound that the skull cap made when it was flipped open for the pathologist to get to the brain; the crack could only be likened to taking off the top of a boiled egg, something she hadn’t eaten since her first PM.
She was impatient to hear from the detectives, but knew that the speed of a post-mortem depended solely on the time taken by the pathologist and, of course, what he found. Once in the theatre, time became irrelevant, it had to be done properly, and with respect.
Charley traversed the larger of the two offices to the kitchen, to make a drink. Annie Glover was already there, filling the kettle. She looked bleary-eyed but her face broke out into a smile to see Charley. ‘Any news?’ she asked, as she opened the cupboard to retrieve several mugs off the shelf. ‘Drink?’ she asked, turning to face the SIO.
Charley nodded. Annie’s hand hovered over the coffee jar.
‘Make mine a strong one will ya.’
‘That bad,’ Annie said, pouring the milk into several mugs.
Charley slid into a chair at the small kitchen table, put her elbows on the top, and her chin in the palm of her hand. Her eyes went up to the clock. Annie slid Charley’s mug of coffee towards her, and she took a gulp.
‘You okay?’ Annie said.
‘I’m fine. Don’t ask me why, but I’ve just got this overwhelming feeling that there is going to be a twist coming our way, and it’s not going to be a good turn of events.’
Annie scowled. ‘That’s not like you. I always remember that on my first day, you told me that I should always look for a positive, no matter how hard it may be to find, and I want you to know that, whatever happens, we’re all behind you. We’re a team aren’t we?’ Annie said supportively.
‘That’s very nice of you to say so. Yes, you’re quite right,’ Charley said, sliding her chair away from the table, and picking up her mug. ‘Ignore me, I’m just tired. Let’s get this briefing done, and look at what we’ve achieved so far.’
* * *
Briefing over, Charley sat in her office gathering her thoughts. The content had been mainly regarding administrative matters and budgets, as there was little news on the investigation front to share.
The telephone rang. The swab that had been taken by Neal Rylatt, from the body found in Russ
ell Peters’ flat, had been checked by Forensic, and it was not a DNA match for that recovered at the Cordelia Le Beau murder scene, nor was it a match to the attempted murder of Cath Crowther. Although Charley had had high hopes for a match, it wasn’t meant to be.
‘Now what, boss?’ said Annie, when she told her the news.
Charley gave Annie a forced smile through tight lips. ‘I’m going to give Mike a ring to update him, and see how things are going at the post-mortem,’ she said.
Mr Butterworth, the pathologist, had been running late, but Mike informed Charley that they were just about to leave the mortuary. ‘What was interesting, was that he found a torn strip of towelling pushed down the victim’s throat. We need to go back to No. 14 to see if we can find some of the same material at the scene.’
‘A piece of towelling stuffed down his throat? Does Butterworth say how he died?’
‘He suggests it wasn’t the beating that killed him, he believes that he was alive when the wounds and bruises were inflicted upon him. There is no doubt in his mind that he died from asphyxiation, certainly not suicide, and a twist, his murderer was making sure that he didn’t recover. Butterworth suggests we check the label on the toilet cleaner that we found discarded in the toilet. He wagers a bet that it contains sulphuric acid as one of the ingredients that was put on the victim’s wounds.’
‘The evil bastard,’ said Charley.
Annie Glover was hovering at Charley’s door, something she always did if the SIO was otherwise engaged, and she wanted to speak to her. Annie saw the SIO scowl, then put her hand to her head.
‘That’s all we need right now, another murder,’ she said loudly, before putting the phone down.
‘It appears that the suicide theory has been turned on its head then?’ Annie asked.
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