‘I’ll just say that sticks and stones may break my bones. But nothing will stop me from finding this killer.’
‘Nice one, you should put that on a bumper sticker,’ said Crane.
‘Now, I’m sure you’ll all be aware of what happened with Nils Åkerman, but we have to move on. We can’t dwell on the betrayal of a former colleague. It won’t stop us doing our jobs to the best of our abilities. Each and every one of you are valuable to this investigation.’
There was silence in the incident room as everyone nodded, sombre expressions on their faces.
‘Okay, I’ll bring you up to speed with what we have,’ she said, scratching at the edges of her plaster cast. ‘This morning the body of 28-year-old Daniel de Souza was found chopped up and dumped in a suitcase outside Covent Garden tube station…’ She indicated a photo from the crime scene next to a photo taken of Daniel on a beach holiday; he was smiling into the camera with blue sky and sand behind him. ‘A note was left with the body. In it the killers state they killed Thomas Hoffman and Charlene Selby, Daniel de Souza and two others.’
‘Was he a model? He’s a handsome lad,’ asked McGorry, peering at the photo of Daniel. McGorry had been called in from a walk in the park with his girlfriend, and was still wearing his Sunday clothes, jeans and a Chelsea football top.
‘Fancy him, do you?’ said Crane.
‘No. It’s a statement.’
Crane pulled a face.
‘Alright, alright. It’s a valid point,’ said Erika. ‘Everything is up for grabs, but no, he wasn’t a model, he worked for a hedge fund in the City.’
‘Didn’t I say early on that I thought this was two people working together?’ said DC Temple in his soft Scots accent.
‘Yes, and that was duly noted, well done, but we need to do more than guess correctly,’ said Erika. She moved to another image on the whiteboard. ‘We’ve had this through from a security camera on the entrance to Daniel de Souza’s apartment. The image shows Daniel in front, and behind him are two other people. The woman’s face is slightly blurred, but I think she’s a young woman. The man behind her has his head down, wearing a baseball cap, so his face is obscured. The timestamp on this image is just after ten p.m. yesterday evening…’ Erika pointed at an image next to it. ‘Then almost six hours later, at 3.47 a.m., you can see the man and woman leaving, pulling a black suitcase. John, can you kill the lights?’
McGorry went to the door and turned off the lights. Erika nodded to Sergeant Crane, who turned on the projector. A black-and-white CCTV video feed showing Covent Garden appeared on the whiteboard.
‘This is taken fourteen minutes later, 4.01 a.m. Here we have the two figures with the suitcase, making their way up to Covent Garden tube station. Daniel de Souza’s flat is just a few minutes’ walk from this location.’
The angle changed to a view of the tube station, and Erika pointed at the video the moment that they left the suitcase by the row of sleeping homeless people and carried on walking out of shot. The video on the whiteboard went blank and was replaced by the footage taken from the CCTV camera at Selby Autos.
‘Now, if we revisit the CCTV footage from the 12th September, when Charlene Selby dropped off the Jaguar at her parents’ car dealership, again we have these two unidentified people. The male with long blond hair, and a similar build to the male seen at Daniel de Souza’s, and the same with the female.’
‘They’ve gone to vast lengths to conceal their identities from us,’ said Moss. ‘But now they’ve left the victim’s ID in the suitcase, along with a note.’
Erika went to the light switches and flicked them on; the team winced as the fluorescent lights came back on.
‘Okay. I want a full profile of our victim, Daniel de Souza. And we need to find out the identity of these two people. I’m going to get hold of the Cyber Team and see if we can enhance this blurred image of the woman taken in the entrance to Daniel de Souza’s flat. I also want that Jaguar from Selby Autos tested for DNA from top to bottom. Cariad Hemsworth is our new contact over at forensics; let’s make it our mission to get her fully invested in this case. Now let’s get to work.’
The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of activity, and Erika was surprised at how quickly she had slipped back into work mode. Just before five o’clock, Moss came over to Erika’s desk with a case file.
‘Got a moment?’
‘What?’
‘I’ve been inputting case file details into Holmes, and something came up. There was an unusual case of a body found ten days ago, in a drainage ditch on farmland a few miles from Oxford off the M40.’
‘Why is it unusual?’ asked Erika.
‘It was the body of a male in his late fifties, and he was partially mummified.’
‘What does being mummified have to do with our case?’
‘It’s the manner in which the body was killed which flagged as a match with our other victims. His face had been smashed in with a rock. Now, apart from the suitcase, this is the one thing which links Thomas Hoffman, Charlene Selby, and now Daniel de Souza. The killer smashed in their faces, obliterating their identity. This body found in the drainage pipe still hasn’t been identified, but the police managed to recover several large bloodstained rocks from the drainage pipe, and some hair samples on the victim’s clothes. The forensic pathologist in Oxford is an old colleague of mine. I can get in contact with her.’
Erika took the file from Moss and scanned the paperwork.
‘This could be our missing fourth victim,’ she said. ‘Yes, give her a call.’
Chapter Forty-Six
Erika returned home late from work, and details of the case were whirling around her head. It was one of those grotty November evenings, dark and damp. She was unlocking her front door when she ran into her neighbour, Alison, a large blowsy woman with a mass of dark curly hair. She wore a long army print coat and with her was her huge grey Great Dane on a lead.
‘Alright, love, I thought I heard you were back,’ she said. She had a soft Welsh accent.
‘I just got back…’ said Erika, putting her key in the lock.
‘Was it Slovenia?’
‘Slovakia.’
‘Oh right, is that different?’
‘Yeah, Slovenia is a different country…’
Erika opened the door, but Alison went on. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel, but Daisy’s getting on now, and I can’t be arsed with all the faffing to get a pet passport.’ The Great Dane looked up at Erika with a mournful face and lay down on the carpet with a sigh.
‘Okay, well, have a nice eve—’ started Erika, going to move through the door.
‘I haven’t seen your feller around for a while, Erika. The one who looks a bit like Idris Elba. Such a dish, he is.’
Erika tried to come up with an excuse which didn’t too much information away; she also didn’t know how Peterson was doing. It had been several weeks since they’d spoken.
‘He’s been, erm, ill. Off sick from work.’
‘Oh, that’s terrible. What was it? My late husband used to have terrible kidney stones. I’m telling you, kidney stones can knock you right back, and he had such a terrible time when he went for a piss. He kept passing them into the toilet. Poor bugger. One was so big it cracked the lavatory pan.’
‘It wasn’t kidney stones…’
‘Oh, that’s good. And how about you? I see you’ve buggered up your wrist. How did you do that? Do you play tennis?’
‘No. The cast should be coming off soon.’ There was a microsecond lull in the conversation, and Erika tried to dart indoors, but Alison went on again.
‘We had a right problem when you were gone. Fiona, the landlady, needed to get access to your place to have the gutters cleaned. But we didn’t have a key. Have you met Fiona?’
‘No.’
‘She’s a hard-faced cow, I tell you. And she looks worse now she’s lost weight. Did you know they hypnotised her to think she had a gastric band?’
‘Did
they?’
‘Yeah. They tricked her subconscious into thinking that she had one, even though she knew she didn’t. She lost six stone. I’m thinking about doing it myself. I’ve been back on the Ryvita for a fortnight and not lost a pound.’
‘Alison, I’ve got to go,’ snapped Erika.
‘Oh, OK,’ she said, blinking in surprise at Erika’s tone. ‘I’d better be off myself, I’m late for my pole dancing class.’ Erika looked between Alison in her winter coat and the Great Dane lying on the floor. ‘I do the class where we can bring our pets. It gets me out of the house. I don’t have anyone who can look after her. I’m all alone in the world…’ The perpetual smile which had been on Alison’s lips during the conversation fell for a moment. ‘I’ll see you, Erika, ta ra.’ And she went off with Daisy loping behind her.
Erika went inside and closed the door behind her. She rubbed her face and went through to the living room. The two shot glasses from that morning were still on the coffee table. It seemed like days ago that Marsh had been over. She thought of what had happened between them and cringed, and then she thought of what Alison had so freely admitted. That she was all alone in the world. It made Erika feel uncomfortable. She thought about herself, and how good it felt to be back at work. Work was an addiction, something she couldn’t do without, but she had a little voice at the back of her head, asking what she would do in ten years’ time, when she’d be under pressure to retire.
She took off her coat and poured herself a drink. When sat down on the sofa, she pulled out her phone and went to call Peterson. She stared at his number for a long time, then put her phone down, opened her computer and carried on working on the case.
Chapter Forty-Seven
The next morning Erika’s buzzer rang shortly after seven and she went out into the car park. It was still dark and the potholes were filled with icy puddles. Moss was waiting outside in her car, and Erika hurried over and climbed in, savouring the warm air.
‘I hate early mornings this time of year,’ said Erika as they pulled away into the empty dark street. ‘It feels like the middle of the night.’ She scratched at the edges of the plaster cast.
‘When’s it coming off?’ asked Moss.
‘It was meant to be today, but I cancelled my appointment. It’s so itchy,’
‘You should use a knitting needle to get at the itch.’
‘Do I look like someone who owns a knitting needle?’ said Erika.
‘You make sure you go to see the doctor.’
‘I re-booked it. One day won’t hurt.’
Moss shrugged.
‘Health should come first.’
Erika shot her a look, and changed the subject.
‘How do you know this forensic pathologist, what’s her name?’
‘Patty Kaminsky. We dated for a time when I was training and she was in medical school,’ said Moss.
‘Did it end amicably?’
‘Kind of. I ended it, but it’s all water under the bridge. I’ve arranged for us to go to the crime scene first.’
‘So the perfect location to meet an ex,’ said Erika. Moss grinned and rolled her eyes. ‘Talking of exes. Have you heard much from Peterson?’
‘No. Not since before I went away.’
There was something in the way Moss was avoiding eye contact which made Erika think there was something else.
‘Have you seen him?’
‘Yeah. Is that okay?’
‘Why wouldn’t it be?’
‘You’re my mate, he’s my mate. I just want us all to be mates, or for me to be mates with you both.’
‘It’s fine. I’m not one of those people who’ll ask you to choose,’ said Erika.
‘Good.’ She grinned, looking relieved.
‘Do you know when he’s coming back to work?’
‘Could be soon, he’s going in to talk to the superintendent this week. He’s put on lots of weight, he looks good. Well, I mean healthy-good… Do you fancy the radio on?’
‘Yeah.’
Moss leaned forward and switched it on. The Today programme blared out, and they spent the rest of the journey listening to the news.
It took them a few hours to drive up to Oxford. It was just getting light as they came off the motorway and started to weave their way through the surrounding villages. So many of the cottages already had Christmas lights in the windows, and there were nativity scenes dotted around the ancient churches. It always struck Erika how England changed when you escaped the boundaries of the M25 motorway. It was a world away from the hustle and bustle of London.
‘I think it’s just coming up here,’ said Moss, looking at the GPS on the dashboard. ‘Yes, here’s the church she mentioned.’
They pulled off the road into a small car park by an ancient stone church with a round tower. A small red Porsche sat in the corner, and it flashed its lights. Moss’s phone rang on the hands-free and she answered.
‘Good to see you’re on time!’ came a plummy voice. ‘Don’t get out of the car, it’s fucking freezing. I’ll take us in convoy.’ Then she rang off.
The Porsche’s engine roared to life and it pulled out past them. Behind the wheel, Erika could see a woman with a chalk-white face and scarlet lipstick. She lifted a finger from her steering wheel.
‘She sounds posh,’ said Erika.
‘She comes from old money,’ said Moss.
‘I hate that expression, old money and new money. So a person who works their arse off and becomes rich is vulgar, but someone who is bone idle but inherits wealth from a distant aunt is thought of as superior?’
‘Sounds about right.’
‘This bloody country,’ said Erika, shaking her head.
Moss found it hard to keep up with the red Porsche which roared off along the road. They passed fields and a couple of derelict outbuildings. The road then banked down, and when they turned a corner the fields spread out around them in several shades of brown and black in the winter sun.
The Porsche was parked up by a ditch next to an old-fashioned white road sign, and Moss pulled in behind. When she turned off the engine, they felt the wind buffet the car.
Patty was a tiny woman, with jet black hair scraped back and kept in place by a dark green velvet headband. She wore black leggings and welly boots and a huge brown fur coat and gloves.
Erika towered over her, and had to shout above the noise of the wind roaring across the fields. Moss and Erika put on wellington boots, and they followed Patty as she climbed down the bank of the grass and into a deep ditch, hidden from view up on the road. It was very dry and there were deep leaves underfoot. It was also very quiet as the wind stopped screaming, the walls of the ditch sheltering them.
‘A couple of road workers found the body,’ said Patty, leading, with Moss behind her, and Erika brought up the rear. She pulled out a torch and flicked it on as they approached the lip of a huge concrete pipe. Inside, it had a dry peaty smell, and underfoot there was a layer of leaves and the soil was cracked.
‘I wanted to show you the inside of the pipe,’ said Patty, playing the torch over the curved walls. ‘It was built to take the run-off from the surrounding fields, but another pipe was built over the field for a bypass, which means all the rainwater gets re-directed away and it’s extremely dry down here. When they discovered the body, it was almost covered in leaves. It had lain down here for several months, but the low moisture content, added to the amount of nitrogen produced by the slowly rotting leaves, meant that the rate of decay dramatically slowed.’
‘He was mummified?’ asked Erika.
‘No, there was purification, but the body had also dried out. It’s quite remarkable how the rate of decay can slow in the right conditions. You can see that there is very little in the way of insects in here.’
‘Did the police find any evidence of a murder weapon?’
‘They spent a long time down here sifting the leaves away and they found several large stones and rocks around the body which they took away.’
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Erika walked further into the pipe which extended away for fifty feet. The light dimmed, and Moss and Patty’s voices receded. There was a strange atmosphere, as if the air was pressing down on her, and it was so dry. She swallowed a couple of times, and there was a metallic taste on her tongue. She took out her phone and switched on the torch, playing the light over the dry peaty soil. She spied something on the earth next to the pipe, and knelt down, directing the light on her phone towards it. A small twist of brown thread was tightly bundled around something. Erika pulled on a latex glove and carefully pulled it from the soil. It was a lock of dark hair, around four inches in length and it had been fastened with the thread at the end. Erika placed it in a small plastic evidence bag, and sealed it up.
Their next stop was the morgue, where Patty showed them the remains of the man who had been found in the pipe. She pulled out the steel drawer and unzipped the black body bag. His skin was a strange leathery brown colour, almost like beef jerky.
‘He’s Caucasian,’ said Patty, seeing Erika’s face. ‘Internal organs were fairly mushy, but I could see he has internal injuries, and he has a broken leg and ribs, a cracked pelvis. If you note, the right humerus bone in the leg is protruding from the skin. These are injuries consistent with him being hit by a vehicle, and his close proximity to the roadside would support this theory. However, if you see the face, he has been hit repeatedly with a rock or stone. I found fragments of rock in the skin. The cheekbones, nose, jaw and skull are all broken in several places. The cartilage in the nose had been forced up into the brain.’
‘And that’s not consistent with a car or vehicle impact?’ asked Erika.
‘No. The force of the impact is centred on his ribs and leg, which would mean he was standing in the road when the vehicle hit him. He could have suffered some injuries to the face if he was thrown into the road, but there is no one impact point on his face. The kind of injuries he has are from being repeatedly smashed with a hard, blunt object.’
Cold Blood: A gripping serial killer thriller that will take your breath away Page 19