by L M Krier
'Can I just say that if you are going to throw up, and there's no shame if you do in a case like this, the bathroom is just there and we've already finished in there, so try to hang on. If you can't, at least puke into an evidence bag,' Bizzie Nelson instructed them heartily.
The first thing they saw was that the victim was wearing only a bathrobe, which had fallen open, revealing a mass of stab and slash wounds to the torso. Then their gazes travelled upwards to the face. Or what was left of it. The whole head seemed to have been pounded into mush, the features beyond recognition, the skull battered and deformed. Ted had a horrible feeling that the jelly-like substance which he could see was leaked brain matter. He sucked hard on his lozenge and willed his stomach contents to stay where they were.
Mike Hallam was not quite so fortunate. He spun round and lunged frantically for the bathroom, from where they heard him hurl up whatever was inside him, continuing to dry heave for some time afterwards.
'What the hell was done to him to produce injuries like that?' Ted asked, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from the horror.
'His head has quite simply been kicked and jumped on until it exploded like a watermelon,' the Professor told him, in her usual direct way. 'This is one of the most frenzied attacks I can ever remember seeing. There are multiple stab wounds, for a start. A very savage attack, which would have killed the victim. But it then looks as if the killer has completely lost control and just jumped up and down repeatedly on him in a real eruption of anger.'
Mike Hallam reappeared at that point, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief and looking ashamed of himself.
'Sorry, boss, sorry Professor,' he excused himself. 'That has to be the worst one I've ever seen.'
Ted switched immediately into senior officer mode, taking control, glad of the opportunity to do something other than to stare in horror at the battered remains of the victim.
'Right, Mike, call in some of the team, whoever is free. Rob, definitely, and whoever else you think. Ask for some more officers from Uniform, too. There might be quite a lot of guests in a hotel this size and you'll need help to get contact details for all of them plus the staff. You go down to reception to meet them. Find out all you can about who our victim is from the booking records. I want this entire floor cleared of guests. Is there a dining room here?'
Mike nodded, and Ted continued, 'Good, get them all assembled in there and ask the management to give them coffee. Then you and the team need to take statements from everyone, including the staff on duty. Especially whoever was first on the scene. A chambermaid, perhaps? And take young Ian with you, he's not looking too clever. Make sure you and he get a hot drink.
'I'll see what I can find out from here, then come down and join you. Leave Stuart on the door for now, to stop anyone coming to have a nosy round. Get the whole area taped off and post uniformed officers to keep it clear. And make sure all the staff know not to talk about this to anyone, especially the press, if they get wind of it. Try to convince the guests of that too, if you can.'
Mike gave him a grateful look, relieved not to have to stay in the room any longer than he needed to. He went back out into the corridor, already taking out his mobile phone to call reinforcements.
Ted turned back to the Professor. 'Right, what can you tell me so far? Do you have an approximate time of death, please?'
'I would say between midnight and two in the morning, but I'll be able to be more accurate after the post-mortem. It's clear from the state of the bedding that someone had recently had sex, and there are short dark hairs from our victim, as well as several long blonde hairs, on the pillows.'
A look of intensified horror spread over Ted's face as he realised the implications of what she was telling him.
'You're surely not telling me that the killer could be a woman? Would a woman be capable of inflicting injuries like those?'
'Physically? Yes, I see no reason why not. The good news there is that there are footprints on what remains of the head and face which might give you some valuable information, when we've had time to examine them more thoroughly. Emotionally, could a woman do it? Sadly, such violence is not quite as rare as one might prefer to think with the so-called fairer sex.
'I can also tell you that the victim had been in the shower just before he was killed. There are still traces of shower gel and shampoo on him, so he hadn't had time to rinse himself. But he may have washed himself enough to remove any useful DNA traces of his sexual partner.'
Ted was looking slowly around the room, letting his eyes take in the slightest indication of what had happened.
'So, the initial knife attack took place by the door, but was it someone trying to get out, or someone the victim had let in?' he mused aloud, then, to the Professor, 'What about the weapon? Anything you can tell me about that?'
'Again, I'll know more after the post-mortem, but my initial thoughts are that it could be a standard kitchen knife. You're the detective, of course, but I suggest you have a look at the door handle and see what that tells you.'
Ted followed her advice, turned and walked to the door, pushing it to so that he could examine the handle on the inside. He studied it carefully, then self-consciously took out his reading glasses to bring it more into focus. He was still not comfortable being seen wearing them, so he put them back in his pocket before he turned again to face the Professor.
'I take it that the residue is shampoo, or shower gel? So, our man was in the shower, something or someone took him over to the door, which he either opened or tried to prevent someone else from doing so, at which point he was stabbed.'
The Professor nodded agreement. 'The force of the first stab wound knocked him backwards. His attacker continued to stab him as he staggered back. Then when he either fell or, I suspect, probably tripped against the foot of the bed, they leapt on him and gave him a final, mortal, stab wound to the throat which severed the jugular vein. Then the kicking began. It was certainly prolonged, to have inflicted so much damage.'
'Any ID anywhere?'
'His wallet is on the desk or dressing table or whatever you would call it, over there under the window. We haven't touched any personal effects, until you or someone from your team got here. From what I've seen of what remains of him, I'd put him somewhere between mid-forties and mid-fifties, but his documents should give you more detail.'
Ted picked his way carefully to the other side of the room, avoiding the blood and vomit as best he could. He was gloved up, so he carefully picked up the wallet and slid out the driving licence inside.
'Duncan Waters,' he read aloud. 'Lives in Southampton. Aged forty-six, so you were spot on. I wonder what he was doing up here?'
'Perhaps he was whatever the politically correct word is now for a travelling salesman?' Bizzie Nelson speculated.
'I'll take the wallet with me, get our young Steve to run his details through PNC and anywhere else that might give us a lead. I'll just bag it up, then I'll get out of your way and let you carry on. Can you let me know when you'll be doing the post-mortem and I'll come myself. I don't think it's fair to inflict it on Mike. He's already suffered enough.'
Ted was relieved to get out of the room with his stomach contents intact. He paused to have a few words with the PC still on the door and promised to find someone to bring him up a cup of tea.
As he made his way towards the stairs, he got on his phone to young Steve with the details he had so far of the victim, asking him to run whatever checks he could. He also told him he might have another small job for him when he got back to the office. Next, he called the Ice Queen to give her the initial details he had so far on the case.
'Although this is on our patch and the new team is not fully up and running yet, this is exactly the sort of case which will come under its remit. Please give DSU Baker a call and fill him in on the details, at least, as a courtesy.'
Jim Baker listened in silence while Ted gave him all the information he had so far on their current case.
'Christ
, Ted, that sounds like a bad one,' he growled. 'I don't envy you, being there for that. Let's hope it's just a one-off. Bad enough if it is, but if it's just some violent crime of passion and you wrap it up with your usual speed and efficiency, that'll be something. Keep me posted, and let me know when you've got your new team members. I'd like to come over to say hello, and perhaps you and I can have a quick drink together to celebrate your promotion. Congratulations on that, Ted, it was well overdue.'
Ted and the team spent their time taking statements from everyone they could find, and checking details. No one in the neighbouring rooms was admitting to having heard anything. But the manager was keen to tell them that one of the features of the hotel was its soundproofing, so guests could get a good night's sleep, without hearing everything which happened in the next room. Ted had already asked for CCTV footage covering the times the Professor had given him, with an hour's margin of error either side.
The management kept the team well topped up with coffee, and a plate of sandwiches appeared at one point. Neither Ted nor Mike could so much as look at them, after what they'd seen.
Once they'd broken the back of the early enquiries, Ted and Mike went back to the office, leaving Rob in charge. It was a good opportunity for the team's newly appointed Acting Detective Sergeant to step up to the mark.
Steve had already found out a lot of information by the time Ted got back to his office. He'd put together the beginnings of an impressive folder. But Ted had something else he wanted to do before he really got stuck into the current case. He decided it was worth an hour out of the office to check up on the flat in Sabden House, where the alcoholic man had been found dead. He wanted to take Steve with him to see how he acquitted himself in the field, as he tended to be such a computer geek, who always preferred to be in the office.
Ted had picked up the keys for the flat where Stan Marshall had died. On the short drive to the address, he explained to Steve that Professor Nelson had raised a few doubts about the cause of death.
'I just want to check it out for myself, see what I think, and I thought it would be an opportunity for you to use your powers of observation, which I know are good. I want you to tell me your first impressions, let me know if you see anything which doesn't look right to you. Then we can compare notes.'
Steve went pink, as usual, but was clearly pleased to be out on a job with the boss. As Ted opened the door, they both stepped into the small, untidy flat, first putting on gloves and shoe covers, in case it did turn out to be a crime scene. Ted turned on the light so they could see better. The PCs had been right about one thing. It did smell bad in there.
Steve stood perfectly still just inside the door, letting his eyes travel slowly around the chaos and squalor. Ted was doing the same, wondering if the young man would pick up on what he had seen for himself, probably because he had an idea in his mind of what he was looking for.
Finally, the young man spoke.
'Sir, I don't know a lot about whisky, but I've never seen a fancy wooden box like that one over there on any bottle I've ever seen on a supermarket shelf. So just looking round this flat, which I think is a council tenancy, my first thought is how would someone living like this afford to buy something like that? And if they didn't, who gave it to them and why?'
Ted smiled slowly. 'Steve, you have just proved why it was fair to drop the Trainee from your title. You've got just the right sort of enquiring mind for this type of work. Well done, that's good work. Right, now we need to bag up that box and the bottle, if we can find it, then get it checked for prints and anything else it might tell us.
'Now, there's just another quick call I want to make before we go back to the nick.'
Chapter Four
Ted led the way back down the stairs from the first floor, where Marshall's flat was situated, then along a corridor, looking at the numbers on doors, before stopping in front of the one at the end. He made no comment to Steve as to their reasons for the second visit. Instead, he knocked firmly on the door and stood back to wait.
After what seemed like a considerable time, Steve said, 'Nobody at home, sir?'
Ted shook his head. 'He's there, it just takes him a bit of time to get to the door.'
Eventually, they heard the sound of slow, shuffling footsteps and heavy breathing. Then someone was undoing a series of locks and the door swung open just enough to allow a man's full moon face to peer warily at them.
'DI Darling, John. Remember me? And this is DC Ellis. Can we come in please? I want to ask you a few questions.'
Steve was surprised by the look of absolute delight which split the man's face into a beaming smile as he opened the door wider and moved awkwardly back into an open doorway to allow them to enter. It was not the usual reaction to an unannounced visit from the police.
'Come in, Inspector Darling, please come through to the sitting room.'
The man was quite tall but his extreme obesity made him look gigantic in the dark, narrow hallway which ran the length of the poky flat. It was some time since Ted had last seen him, not since his move to this accommodation from the old tower block where he used to live. He was shocked at how much his size had increased since their last encounter. He now moved painfully slowly and with obvious difficulty, his breath wheezing with every step, and when he reached the door to the living room, Ted noticed he had to position himself at a careful angle to be able to fit through the opening.
He led them into a surprisingly neat and tidy room. A table held all the medication and equipment necessary to manage serious diabetes. There was also an open book, which Steve noticed was in Russian.
'Would you like to sit there on the sofa? It's a bit low for me so I tend to sit here,' the man explained, slowly and carefully lowering his immense bulk on to a specially-made sturdy wooden chair at the table.
'John, we're here about a murder. Can I ask your whereabouts from between about ten o'clock last night and around four this morning?'
The big man sighed. 'I knew you'd get me, Inspector. And you have. Yes, I did it, honest, it was me.'
'Can you just confirm your shoe size for me, John?' Ted asked him. 'And have you got the pair you were wearing last night, please?'
The man looked taken aback. He was wearing shapeless felt slippers, their sides cut open to allow access for his badly swollen feet.
'Er, yes, I take a size ten and a half. They're out in the hallway. Just one pair, my everyday ones.'
Ted nodded to Steve who went out of the room and returned shortly with a smart pair of brogues, impeccably clean and highly polished. Both men could see immediately that there was no way they would have fitted on to John's feet in their current state.
Ted took the shoes and made a solemn show of turning them over and carefully examining the soles. Then he handed them back to Steve to return to the hallway.
In a softer, less formal tone, Ted said, 'Are you all right, John? How are you doing? Is the new flat suiting you? I see you've got the curtains closed. Is there a reason for that?'
Steve stayed tactfully in the hallway while the boss was talking to Honest John. He knew the man was their local confessor. It was his way of getting the attention he craved, confessing to every crime he heard about on the patch. He wasn't quite sure of the reason behind the boss's pre-emptive strike in visiting, before the latest sudden death had been made public, but he knew it would be a sound one.
'It's not so good here, Mr Darling,' John said quietly, a wistful note in his voice. 'They thought they were helping me, putting me on the ground floor. But the local kids come and peer at me through the window and shout things at me. Horrible things. So I keep the curtains closed.'
Ted took out one of his cards and handed it to him. 'Here's my card, in case you haven't got one. Let me know if ever I can do anything to help you, John. And I'm glad to say that, based on my examination of your shoes, we can eliminate you from our current enquiries. Don't worry, we'll see ourselves out. You take care, now.'
They'd come
in Ted's own car, a small Renault Scenic. He hadn't yet taken possession of the pool car he'd been allocated for his new role. On the drive back to the station, he asked Steve for his thoughts on his first encounter with Honest John.
'Sir, was there a reason you didn't tell him you're now a DCI?' he asked to begin with.
When Ted laughed and admitted, 'I keep forgetting,' Steve gave his initial impressions.
'Well, sir, I was surprised at how clean and tidy everywhere was. And how well kept his shoes are, when he's clearly not able to wear them now. I saw that he has one of those grabber things for picking them up to clean but he clearly never puts them on. I rather thought, with his problems, he'd live in the same sort of state as the other man.'
'You're not the first to think that. Honest John's a great example of why we should never pre-judge anyone, especially in this job. He can hardly get about, but he's always cleaning and tidying up, as best he can. Did you see the book? He speaks fluent Russian, used to have his own import/export business. Quite a high flyer.
'Then his only son died of leukaemia, very young. John went completely off the rails. His wife was of Russian origin and she went back there. John started to comfort eat, and you can see the result. Remember, there's usually a story like that behind every human tragedy. But despite all he's been through, he keeps himself and his home as clean as he can, within his physical limitations. The reason he keeps calling us to confess is that he craves attention, and company. I like to keep in touch with him, make sure he's as all right as he can be.
'How's Maurice doing now, by the way? When does he hope to be back?'