The Trophy Taker

by Sarah Flint

  ‘Bloody doctors. Unless it’s life or death, they shouldn’t be allowed to dictate when and how we use handcuffs. They’re our prisoners and our responsibility, even when in hospital. Now because they insisted his handcuffs be removed, Miller’s disappeared and worse still, he’s got another victim to his name.’ She squinted at the name of the WPC on the report. ‘How is Annie?’

  Bet shuffled stiffly across to the kettle, holding the base of her back. After slipping on the stairs recently she’d bruised her coccyx and the ensuing inactivity had resulted in a little weight gain. She was starting to feel all of her fifty-plus years and with Halloween fast approaching she’d commented recently that her usual apple-shaped figure had expanded more to the size of a pumpkin.

  ‘Poor girl, she’s got a broken cheekbone and badly bruised right eye, but she’ll live. She’s cursing herself for not having reacted quickly enough when she had a gut feeling he was going to try something. ‘But… Annie’s not the only victim by the sound of things. About an hour ago, uniform were called out to a robbery, not too far from Kings College Hospital. Black female victim slashed across the face with a broken bottle, racially abused and had her handbag stolen. It fits the description and M.O. of Miller to a T. She’s at K.C.H. now.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’ Charlie stood up abruptly. ‘And there’ll be more. He won’t care because now he’s been charged he knows he’s going back to prison anyway. He’s got nothing to lose.’ She felt a small bead of sweat trickle down the back of her neck and wiped it away angrily. ‘I’m going to jump in the shower while it’s still early Bet, then I’ll phone Moses and update him that Miller’s on the loose. Hopefully we’ll have more idea about the recent attack too. If Hunter’s interested, I’ll see if he wants me to pop to the hospital and see the latest victim.’

  She took the mug of tea that Bet was holding out, almost like a peace offering and smiled grimly.

  ‘Nothing like hitting the ground running on a Monday morning.’

  *

  Fifteen minutes later Charlie was back, with wet hair dripping down the collar of a hastily thrown on tailored black shirt. It fitted a little more snugly these days than she would have liked; testament to the dual motherly influences of Bet and her own mother Meg. She logged on to her computer and read the details of the most recent attack. It certainly had all the hallmarks of another vicious Cornell Miller robbery.

  She then typed Miller’s name into the search engine of the Police National Computer. His name came up immediately. There weren’t too many Cornell Millers thankfully; either in the list or, in her opinion, on the streets. He wasn’t, as yet, shown as wanted. She would have to get that done straight away, in case he was stopped further afield. She hoped that by now all the officers in Lambeth would be on the lookout for him; after all, he’d assaulted one of their own, never mind what he’d done to Moses and the latest victim.

  Miller’s record was long. At the age of thirty-eight, he’d notched up nearly thirty years of arrests and convictions, having started prior to even the ten-year age of responsibility. She didn’t bother looking through all his convictions. She already knew them off by heart, having listed them when doing the paperwork for his charge. It had totally depressed her then, and now there were several further violent offences. It was hard to see how the justice system could have dealt so leniently with him. He needed locking up, for everybody’s safety.

  Scrolling through the record, she printed out the list of previous addresses and associates. Most were probably historic, but they should at least give her a good idea of the areas he might now head towards and was likely to know well, along with old friends and neighbours where he might find refuge. Next, she searched the latest intelligence, noting down the more recent places he’d been seen, stopped or arrested, as well as any mention of dealers or other users whose addresses he might be holed up in. It was doubtful he’d be signing on, knowing that DSS offices would be one of the first places police would look, but if receiving benefits direct to his bank account it was possible he’d use cash dispensers close to where he was staying. She’d contact the DSS later and find out his bank details. If he had any sense though, he would look to his past; just as she was now.

  She was still collating the information when Naz and Paul came in together. Charlie turned towards them and couldn’t help smiling as Paul held the door wide, giving a flamboyant bow and arm gesture to welcome Naz into the room. Naz walked through, almost regally.

  ‘Now, don’t be getting the wrong idea!’ Paul said immediately, grinning towards Charlie. ‘We’re just good friends. Aren’t we, Naz?’

  Naz raised her eyebrows towards him. ‘Well yes, unless you’ve finally realised that women really are the most physically perfect, emotionally sensitive and highly intelligent gender?’ She pulled her jacket off, inadvertently revealing slightly more of her cleavage than usual before laughing and readjusting her top.

  Paul made a show of looking horrified and turned away. ‘No thanks, I think I’ll stick to men.’ He walked over to the kettle and touched it, pulling his fingers away quickly at the heat. ‘Much hotter.’

  They all laughed. Sabira, the last member of the team, came through the door and joined in the laughter even though there was no way she would have known what the rest of them had found so amusing.

  Bet pushed Paul away and flicked the switch on the kettle again to make them all a fresh cuppa. Charlie felt some of the irritation from her earlier news slipping away. It was Monday morning. She hated Mondays; Mondays and Wednesdays – but at least they had the whole week ahead of them to get Miller back inside. Everyone would do what they could to help. They were a good team, smaller and more tightly knit than ever these days; the recent revulsion and betrayal they’d all experienced during the course of the previous case, having cemented an even closer bond between them. Naz, in particular had found it hard to re-adjust, having been deceived so totally but they had all pulled together and were now moving on. If Charlie ever felt the need to let off steam about the horrors or frustrations of what they dealt with on a day-to-day basis, it would be to them, not a job shrink.

  Charlie beckoned Naz over. She would be the perfect person to take to the hospital to visit Miller’s latest victim, having experienced racial abuse herself in the past. Naz was black, feisty and proud; both of her origins as a second-generation immigrant and how she had risen above them. Her mother and grandmother were her heroines, not only for taking on the racist culture that first pervaded London on their arrival in England, but also for teaching her the importance of work and family. Her two boys were her life, although sometimes the need to get out and socialise eclipsed the monotony of motherhood. That’s where her mother and grandmother came in. She wore her heart on her sleeve and was not afraid to stand up and be counted, especially if there was even a hint of racism.

  Charlie admired her strength and tenacity greatly, although it seemed incredible to her that this sort of discrimination still occurred. Over the years, even with the influx of migrants of all nationalities into Lambeth, the statistics for racist crimes had remained steady, but since Charlie had joined the unit she had watched as the numbers had increased. Where previously people had lived in harmony, the rise of UKIP and the vote for Brexit had fuelled a surge in racist rhetoric, anger and resentment, which in turn had led to a steep rise in the number of reported offences. Goodness knows how many more went unreported. They were all sure it was the tip of the iceberg.

  ‘Cornell Miller escaped from hospital last night a few hours after he was charged with the GBH and robbery on Moses.’

  Naz went to open her mouth. Everybody knew how hard Charlie had worked on that particular case.

  Charlie raised her hands to stop her speaking and continued. ‘I know. You don’t have to say anything. Fucking unbelievable. He assaulted Annie Mitchell, the girl on B shift, in the process, and it seems that he has almost certainly robbed and GBH’d a middle-aged, black woman called Marcia on her way to work this morning. She�
��s still in Kings College Hospital having her face stitched up after the suspect, who matches the description of Miller, slashed her with a broken bottle. The number of stitches she will require is likely to run into dozens apparently. She’ll be scarred for life. ‘I was going to pop down to the hospital to see her when she’s been sewn up and I was hoping that you’d come with me.’

  As she spoke the door was flung open and Hunter strode in. ‘Sorry, Charlie, I’ve just heard what happened with Miller and I know you’ll be wanting to follow up the latest attack, but Naz and Sabira will have to go to the hospital for you. I’ve been called out to a body found and I want you with me. The Murder Investigation Team will be in soon, but they’ve asked me to get down there straight away to start things off. Hopefully, then we’ll be able to assist in their investigation.’

  Charlie was immediately curious. Although she desperately wanted to follow up the robbery allegation, who could turn down the chance of dealing with a suspicious death and all the intrigue it entailed? Her investigation was in safe hands with Naz and Sabira. She would catch up with the manhunt on Miller as soon as she was back.

  ‘You’ve got five minutes to get your stuff together and then we need to get going. The body was found by an early morning jogger. Uniform are with it now and are setting up a crime scene as we speak, but I want to get there and monitor the investigation properly from the start.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Not too bad for a change Charlie, though your hair is still soaked.’

  ‘I’ll be fine.’ She was used to his comments about her appearance. Today’s was better than usual. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was still damp and lifeless.

  She waited for Hunter to disappear into his office before checking the weather outside the window. It still looked chilly. Quickly, she selected a large, grey woolly hat from a selection of multicoloured hats and caps in the cupboard next to her desk. She pulled it down over her wet hair so that it covered her whole head, grabbed some car keys from the cabinet and threw her work rucksack, containing crime scene equipment, pens and notepads, over her shoulder.

  Naz and Sabira were already getting to work on the Miller case. She explained to Naz what she’d already found out, before apologising profusely for leaving her with all her work. Naz didn’t mind. None of her team did. It was happily accepted that Charlie was young, single, unattached and enthusiastic and Hunter favoured her to join him. Paul and Sabira had hectic social lives and the others had family commitments outside the job. Given the choice, all except Charlie preferred to do their set hours, unless of course something important came up. Hunter would never change. He was job-pissed and Charlie was definitely following in his footsteps. They were all glad to let her.

  Bet took one look at the woolly covering and shook her head. ‘Not sure the boss will still think you look OK with that thing on, but hopefully he won’t have time to object.’

  Charlie shrugged and cocked her head, grinning. ‘Oh well, at least he won’t have to worry about me catching a chill.’

  Chapter 5

  Hunter briefed Charlie as they drove.

  ‘The body is a middle-aged, white female, about five foot three, slim to medium build, with shoulder-length, blonde hair. We don’t have a positive ID on her but there is correspondence in her bag which relates to a female by the name of Susan Barton. There are officers going to her address now. The body is in quite a state by the sound of it. She’s been mutilated and left out in the open. It’s too early to say whether she was killed at the venue or how long she’s been there, but it’s fairly safe to say that it would have been some time during the night. Given it was Sunday yesterday, the cemetery would have been busy with visitors, probably until it got dark.’

  ‘I thought West Norwood cemetery was closed to the public at night?’

  ‘I thought the same, but apparently the gates have been broken for some time, since a lorry reversed into them. There’s twenty-four-hour access at the moment for cars and pedestrians.’

  ‘So do we think the killer drove or brought her there on foot? It would be handy if he drove, because there’s CCTV all the way up Norwood Road. We might be able to get a registration number.’ Charlie was immediately optimistic. Although it was still only just gone 8 a.m. on a cold, damp October morning, the disappointment of her earlier news was fast becoming eclipsed by her thoughts of how she would solve this next case. Having said that she was still scanning the profiles of pedestrians she passed in case she saw Miller. She had a knack of seeing a face in a crowd, even if driving past them at high speed.

  They were nearly there now, the blue lights and two-tone sirens assisting their passage through the rush-hour traffic. She navigated the one-way system at Tulse Hill, watching as a train trundled slowly over the low bridge ahead of her, before veering off to the right and up the final half mile of shops and restaurants in Norwood Road. The area of West Norwood was mainly residential; pockets of council estates nestled behind streets crammed with private houses whose value had soared towards the million pound mark. It had several railway stations in close proximity, providing links straight into Central London, and as such, was the choice of many aspiring city workers. Charlie drove straight up through the main shopping street towards the cemetery, glancing up at the numerous cameras positioned all along the route. Hopefully one of these would provide details of whoever had lured their victim to her grave.

  The cemetery was set back to the left, where the road split, a large church taking up the central position at the junction. Charlie took the left fork and slowed down as she saw a police van positioned across the entrance. She pulled over towards the huge stone arch and immediately noticed the black metal gate to its right, hanging askew on its hinges. The other gate was open wide. Switching the sirens off, she left the blue light flashing and waved towards the uniformed officers. They waved back and reversed the van to allow access to the outer perimeter of the crime scene.

  Slowly, she drove through the arch into the cemetery, any conversation stunted by what they were about to witness. The area the cemetery covered was vast, with small roads spanning the circumference and criss-crossing through the different sections. Half a dozen police vehicles were parked up towards the back of the site, near a small hill at the very rear. Charlie made her way there and parked alongside. Now they were actually there, she was nervous. Although she’d seen blood and gore many times before, she never got used to it; and was determined never to allow the sight to become routine. Every crime generated a host of victims, each of whom was affected in different ways and would have the shock of the crime imprinted in their memories for the rest of their lives. She would never allow herself to forget this truth. She took a deep breath and opened the car door.

  The stillness of the site was the first thing that hit her. The winds of the previous few hours had died down completely and the trees stood silent, their night-time battering only apparent in the number of fallen leaves blown into untidy piles. Even in the daylight, the whole area felt eerie. Although surrounded by busy streets, somehow it felt far removed from reality, like going back in time to the age of horse and trap. All was quiet, the nearby traffic a distant and indistinct hum.

  Hunter slammed his door and the silence was broken. Charlie felt a slight sense of relief wash over her. She got her rucksack and joined Hunter and together they walked towards a small group of officers standing by the blue and white tape of the inner cordon.

  ‘Morning gents,’ Hunter addressed the group.

  The uniform Duty Officer stepped forward. ‘Morning. Thanks for coming so quick. We have Scenes of Crime on way, but I’ll show you the body first. I’ll tell you what we’ve got so far as we go.’

  They donned overshoes and gloves, gave their details to be added to the crime scene log and stepped forward across the tape. A path led them up a hill, then through some thick hedges into a smaller, more secluded area. Only about nine graves were here, positioned side-by-side in three rows. In the centre of the graves, laid out across the
central stone, was the body of a woman. Her chest had been torn open, her ribs prised apart and a huge, bloody cavity took the place of where her heart should be.

  As if voicing their thoughts, the Duty officer spoke in hushed tones. ‘It appears that her heart has been removed.’

  Charlie stared at the hole, mesmerised by the awfulness of the sight. Even after nine years service she still wondered how one human being could do this to another. Hunter too seemed transfixed momentarily. She eventually dragged her eyes away from the cavity and looked over the rest of the scene. The woman’s body had been arranged carefully so that it fitted the stone on which it was laid perfectly, her head at the top of the slab, her feet at the base. Her hair fell neatly on to her shoulders, her eyes closed, as if in sleep and her arms were positioned by her sides. She wore casual outdoor clothing which was intact across the whole of her body except for her torso, where it looked to have been sliced apart in several places with a sharp implement, revealing the remains of her chest.

  ‘We think her name is Susan Barton. There’s a driving licence in her bag.’ The Duty officer pointed to a small, black leather handbag laid down at the side of the body. ‘I’ve just heard from the officers I sent to the address shown on the licence and there’s no one there to confirm her details.’

  ‘Any sign of a break-in?’ Charlie lifted her eyes away from the body.

  ‘No. They’ve forced entry and there’s no one in the house. They’ve had a cursory look around though and there are plenty of family photos, showing what appears to be a couple with two teenage children, one boy and one girl. The description of the female in the photos fits our victim here. The officers are staying there for the time being. It’s quite nearby, if you want to join them after leaving here.’