by M J Lee
He was joined by Trent and Caruso.
‘No sign of the car any—’
Before DCI Caruso could finish her sentence a huge explosion erupted down in the valley, sending an orange-and-blue fireball up to the grey skies.
Chapter Fifty
He saw the blue flashing lights up on top of the bluff overlooking the valley, standing out against the louring sky.
How did they find us so quickly? Had he screwed up?
No matter. He was nearly done. Just one more to go and he would be finished for ever. The plan over, the job done. He would be at peace.
He glanced up at the blue lights reflecting off the hotel windows. They were still at the top, not moving down yet.
Mulkeen sat with his head resting on the steering wheel as if he were dozing after a long drive.
It was a good place for him to die. A beautiful place. Perhaps too good for a man who had brought such misery to so many children’s lives.
So it goes.
He flicked the top of the cheap plastic lighter, seeing the flame dancing in the wind and the rain. He sheltered it with his free hand and lit the rag leading into the petrol tank. The cloth caught fire and began to burn upwards towards the petrol tank.
He ran back ten yards, taking shelter behind the hire car.
For a second nothing happened.
Then there was an audible swoosh as the burning rag reached the petrol cap and was swallowed by the car. An enormous bang exploded into the sky, followed by a fireball that grew and expanded as it rose heavenwards. The car lifted off the ground for a second before returning back to earth, black smoke pouring out of the open window.
Despite being behind the hire car, he felt a wave of hot air blast over his face and the roar of the flames inside the car reached his ears.
He stood up. The dark shape of Mulkeen’s body was still sitting in place in the driving seat, unmoving as the flames consumed it.
The smells were wonderful. A combination of burning plastic, meths and roasting meat.
He checked the blue lights at the top of the hill. They were moving now, coming down towards him.
Time to get going.
He picked up the bag and threw it into the boot of the hire car. He put the car in gear and reversed out of the car park, taking one last look at Mulkeen’s burning Vauxhall, flames and dense black smoke consuming it.
Then there was another almighty roar. The car almost jumped up from the road and another fireball of black smoke, orange and blue flames rose elegantly into the air.
The man pulled the hood over his head. The cops were sure to check the traffic cam footage for the area. But they were running out of time now.
He had nearly finished. Just one more to go.
This would be the best one yet.
Chapter Fifty-One
Ridpath and Claire Trent raced back to the car. Alan Hardisty had already beaten them to it. A Derbyshire squad car was blocking their way. ‘Get that bloody thing out of here,’ shouted Alan.
A nervous constable ran back and jumped in, trying to find reverse gear to go backwards.
‘Get a move on,’ shouted Alan again.
The car jerked once and then sped backwards out of their way.
They raced down the hill, sliding around the narrow, tree-lined corners. Luckily nothing was coming the other way. At the bottom of the dale, the road levelled out. In the distance a large plume of black-and-white smoke rose above some buildings.
Alan gunned the car towards it.
They drove past the buildings and there it was. A Corsa burning brightly against the grey clouds and dull green of the trees.
They skidded to a halt. Trent and Ridpath jumped out and ran towards the car. In the front seat Ridpath could see the prone body of a man leaning over the dashboard.
Trent grabbed his arm. ‘Stay back, Ridpath, this could go up again.’
Ridpath covered his face to protect it from the heat coming from the car, inching forward as he did. The smell was so powerful: the acrid tang of plastic mixed with the sweet aroma of burning flesh.
Alan appeared on his left carrying a small fire extinguisher. He banged the top and began spraying the white powder towards the Corsa. But it was like putting out a forest blaze with a water pistol; the flames just burned brighter.
Other coppers arrived also carrying red fire extinguishers. The Corsa was bathed in a cloud of white smoke, but still the blue flames leapt up towards the sky.
‘Pull back to safety,’ Trent ordered. She pointed to one of the Derbyshire officers. ‘Get on your radio, I want roadblocks on all the exits leading out of here.’
‘But… but we don’t have the manpower. It’ll have to come from Derby.’
‘I don’t care, just do it.’
He ran back to his squad car.
‘And you,’ she pointed to a uniformed constable, ‘set up a perimeter down here and another at the top of the bluff near the hotel.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
They all stood and watched as the flames continued to consume the car. Less bright now, less ferocious, but still glowing strongly, the heat intense.
The car itself was just blackened metal; all the windows had been burnt or blown out, the boot had popped open and the paint had been burnt away. Only the number plate remained, hanging from one screw, its letters clear and bright: WU64 XHE.
‘It’s Mulkeen’s car,’ said Trent.
In the driving seat, a dark shape lay huddled over the steering wheel, looking almost subhuman in its form. But the smell it gave off was unmistakeable.
Roast meat.
Roast human meat.
Chapter Fifty-Two
They stayed at the scene for another hour as the fire gradually died down and the Scene of Crime team from Derbyshire Police took over. Ridpath and Claire Trent stood around, leaving the investigation to the local boys.
The car was a burnt-out shell, with twisted pieces of metal, springs from the seats, blackened metal doors and four rims all that remained. Everything that could burn was cremated, including the human body in the front seat.
The local head of Derbyshire CID turned up. A stocky man with a florid face, looking more like a prosperous squire than a copper. ‘Remind me never to come to one of your barbecues, Claire.’
‘Hello, John, you took your time.’
‘I was on a stabbing in Worksop. Knife crime’s spread out from the streets of London to our green and pleasant land. Who’s the burnt sausage in the car?’
‘We think it’s David Mulkeen.’
‘And who’s he when he’s at home?’
‘Possible paedophile. Interviewed during a child sexual abuse investigation, but not charged yet.’
‘Bloody CPS. It never moves quickly enough.’
‘We wanted to question him regarding some other crimes in Manchester.’
‘Looks like you were too late.’
A man dressed in white Tyvek moved away from the car and walked over to the detectives, pulling down his hood. ‘I’ve pronounced him dead at 1:35 p.m.’
‘We’ll send you through the DNA results for David Mulkeen as a comparison for your lab.’
‘Thanks, we’ll rush the analysis for you. We’ve asked a fire investigator to take a look but even I can smell the accelerant in the car.’
‘Was it a suicide, Doctor?’ Ridpath spoke for the first time.
‘I don’t think so. Not unless he hit himself over the head first. Most of the rear side of his skull has been caved in, plus we found the remains of a ball peen hammer on the back seat.’
‘So you think he was murdered?’ asked Trent.
‘That’s my first guess. But I’ll know more and confirm my initial finding as soon as I can perform the post-mortem, which I’ll do this evening. You should have the report tomorrow morning.’
‘Any fingerprints?’
‘In that?’ He pointed to the burnt-out remains of the car. ‘You must be joking.’
Ridpath looked around
. ‘If it was a murder, how did the killer get away? This place is pretty remote.’
‘He must have had a car waiting for him. Nobody passed us, so he used either of those two roads.’ Claire pointed behind her before turning to the detective from Derbyshire. ‘Where do they go to?’
‘Both lead back onto the A623 eventually. Manchester is to the west and Sheffield or Chesterfield to the east.’
‘Did the roadblocks stop anybody?’
‘What roadblocks?’
‘The ones I ordered to be set up.’
‘I doubt it. There weren’t any when I drove here.’
Trent looked around for the constable she had given the orders to, but couldn’t see him. ‘Can we at least get the traffic footage for both directions?’
‘No problem.’
‘Plus any ANPR footage of this Corsa. You have ANPR, don’t you?’
‘We’re not quite in the Stone Age of policing out in the country. Nearly, but not quite. I’ll check the number out and see what we’ve got.’
‘And can we interview those hikers?’ She pointed to a few of the wet, bedraggled people dressed in colourful gear who had clustered around the top of the hill, watching the entertainment below. ‘See if they saw anything or anybody.’
‘I’ll get a team on it.’
‘Thanks. We should head back, Ridpath.’
‘What are we dealing with here, Detective Superintendent?’
Trent took a deep breath. ‘We think it’s a serial killer. And the bad news is, we think this is the second murder in your district, John.’
Chapter Fifty-Three
Back at Manchester HQ, the MIT office was a scene of frenetic activity. Ridpath and Trent were met at the door by Chrissy Wright. ‘We’ve taken over the incident room for Operation Douter, boss. Let me show you what we’ve done.’
Lorraine Caruso and her team were already in the incident room, having left Monsal Dale as the pathologist arrived. Chrissy had been busy in their absence.
The walls were neatly divided into sections with dates printed clearly above each section, a picture of the victim and the details of each crime beneath. In the centre of the wall, the picture of the five-a-side team had been blown up with names placed beneath each player.
‘Which photo is this?’
‘The one given to us by Sam Sykes’s parents. The other from Joseph Brennan’s home is posted beneath,’ answered Chrissy.
‘What’s N-A-B-G-C F…’ asked Ridpath, pointing to the banner behind the heads of the boys.
Chrissy shrugged her shoulders.
‘Find out,’ barked Trent.
On the right-hand side, a detective constable was standing next to a whiteboard with ‘Lines of Enquiry’ printed across the top. He quickly wrote ‘NAGBC?’ on the top line.
Chrissy led Trent and Ridpath to the first section. It had a large question mark with the words ‘John Doe’ printed at the top.
‘From the preliminary pathologist reports, we think the man on the moors was killed first, guv’nor. We can’t be certain, but the pathologist has estimated the death as occurring on the 21st or 22nd of April.’
‘We still don’t know who it is?’
‘Not yet, guv’nor.’
‘Hassle the Yorkshire pathologist. It’s critical we get the post-mortem report and know who this man is. Until then, we can’t create a proper timeline of the deaths.’
Chrissy made a note in her book as she moved to the next panel. It was dated April 22 at the top. ‘This is the latest shot we have of Thomas Larkin, taken three years ago when he was arrested for DUI in 2016. He was found on the roof of a registry office, burnt to death. The initial incident report put it down as a suicide, but we’ve now asked Derbyshire to reopen the case. Luckily the body hasn’t been buried yet. The Derbyshire pathologist will perform the post-mortem this evening.’
‘Make sure he shares his report with Dr Schofield,’ said Ridpath. ‘There may be a link between the murders we haven’t found yet.’
‘Do we know anything about him?’
‘Not a lot, boss. Seems to be the quiet type, kept himself to himself. A loader in a warehouse. No girlfriend as far as we can make out, or next of kin. Derbyshire are checking for us.’
‘Don’t wait for them. Check him out yourself. Anything on the PNC? Where was he born? Did he grow up in Manchester? The usual stuff.’
Chrissy nodded and moved on to the next panel. ‘This is where we start with Ridpath’s involvement.’ The picture from the flat had been blown up. ‘Joseph Brennan, aged thirty-eight. We’ve put a question mark next to the face because we still don’t have DNA confirmation. But Mr Brennan has not been seen since before the fire and the body matches his height and weight.’
‘Dr Schofield told me they were going to check dental records?’ said Ridpath.
‘We haven’t heard anything back from him. I’ll follow up. We already have the medical records from your office. Somebody called Sophia Rahman sent them over by courier.’
Thank God she was so efficient, thought Ridpath.
Trent spoke. ‘Let’s assume it’s him for the moment. Has DI Wharton been informed we are taking over the case?’
‘Yes, guv’nor, and delighted he was too.’
‘Why am I not surprised?’ muttered Lorraine Caruso.
‘Joseph Brennan was one of our own, boss. Well, sort of. Until three years ago he worked for one of the testing labs, Liscat Scientific. We put quite a lot of stuff their way, usually materials analysis, some DNA work and blood testing.’
‘What did he do for them?’
‘He was a lab technician as far as we know. Lost his job three years ago for unknown reasons.’
‘Find out why,’ barked Trent.
‘What does the DWP say?’
‘I don’t know, Ridpath. They haven’t returned my calls.’
‘Bloody typical,’ muttered Harry Makepeace.
Chrissy moved on to the next section. ‘Victim number four. Samuel Sykes aka Soapy Sam. A long-term addict, street sleeper and one of the best-known homeless people in the city centre. I’ve asked Central to send us everything they have on his death.’
Next to the picture somebody had pasted up a shot of the message ‘PLAY THE GAME’ plus two blurry printouts of the CCTV images: the homeless man who was a possible witness and the man who attacked Ridpath.
‘These are the best shots we have. The lads upstairs are working their magic to give us a better image. But they told me it’s not going to get much better as the hard disk was knackered.’
‘Is that the technical term?’ Trent leant over to peer at the picture. ‘Is this the man who attacked you, Ridpath?’
‘I think so, but it all happened so fast and I didn’t see his face.’
‘You were lucky,’ said Caruso.
‘I don’t think so. He knocked me out cold and could have killed me easily, but he didn’t. Why?’
‘I’ve heard they call you Catman, Ridpath – more lives than a bloody moggie.’ Caruso looked around and all the other detectives laughed. Ridpath could see she didn’t join in but stared at him, threateningly.
‘We have reassigned this case as murder too,’ said Chrissy. ‘The SIO has been informed and is quite happy for us to take over.’
‘I bet he is…’ whispered Caruso.
Ridpath stepped forward and tapped the picture of the homeless man. ‘Anybody recognise him? He may have seen the killer at the building site.’
The detectives all shook their heads.
‘Can we ask the PCSOs who work in central Manchester? Perhaps they’ll recognise him?’
‘Harry, can you co-ordinate that?’
‘Yes, boss.’
Chrissy Wright moved on to the final section. The picture area was blank with a large red question mark in a frame. ‘Today’s victim. We don’t have a picture of David Mulkeen yet, but a mugshot is coming from the files. It should be here in an hour or so. He was a football coach, aged sixty-three. As we know, he wa
s interviewed as part of the Operation Hydrant child sexual abuse investigation. I’ve asked the Child Protection unit for all the files. As I said, he worked with kids’ football teams from 1983 to 1995, specialising in the under-fourteens.’
‘Jesus. Nobody worked out what he was up to?’ said Harry Makepeace.
Chrissy shook her head. ‘None of the kids came forward, or, if they did, nobody believed them. It’s only in the last couple of years that it’s come to light, when some of the young men had the bravery to speak up. You have to remember what it was like then. These coaches, well, they wielded real power in these clubs. Places like City, Crewe, Newcastle, Chelsea, Southampton and Peterborough have all had allegations made against them…’ She stopped speaking.
‘You sound like you know about it, Chrissy,’ said Ridpath.
‘My son, he was on the books at City when Barry Bennell was there. Nothing happened, but I…’
‘We need to know more, Chrissy. Can you do the research?’
‘Even better, I know the man in charge of the investigation. I’ll ask him to brief us.’
‘Great, well done, Chrissy.’
‘There’s a couple more things I need to show you.’ She moved to another section which was headed ‘Consistencies in the Murders’. ‘Now, obviously we haven’t got the complete information from the post-mortems or the incidents yet, but we have been able to find some of this killer’s MO.’
Ridpath stared at the list.
All victims burnt to death, but killed first. (John Doe/Thomas Larkin ??)
Presence of accelerants. Methylated spirits ??
All victims knew each other. (John Doe ??)
All victims played on same team in 1994.
Orange spray paint can found at each scene ??
Most victims struck with a blunt object possibly ball peen hammer (except Sam Sykes)
All victims near the message ‘PLAY THE GAME’ ??
‘I’ve put question marks where the information hasn’t been confirmed yet.’