Jack-Knifed

by Wonny Lea

  On his way back he collected the usual two cups of coffee and this time balanced on top of one cup was a paper plate holding two extra-large, sugar-coated doughnuts.

  ‘Thought you might like a sugar rush,’ said Matt, putting one of the offerings in front of his boss. ‘I managed to grab some semblance of sleep last night and chose an extra half hour this morning at the expense of anything to eat and I just realised I am starving.’

  Martin grinned – his DS was always starving, and it was well-known that food, rugby, and women were his three main loves, and that his indulgence in all three was well above average. ‘Thanks. I grabbed a couple of bananas before leaving the cottage, but a sticky jam doughnut will fill the gap nicely and we can get something more substantial from the staff canteen before the first team brief. Hopefully that should start between one and half past and with the results of the PM and the SOC conclusions we should be able to get some idea of what we are looking at.’

  ‘That stuff we got from Paula about Mark’s real family was something else – what a family! Obviously rows and beatings were commonplace, but to have your sister killed as a result of a domestic, and then years later for your father, just released from jail, to fatally injure your mother and kill her lover. It’s more like something out of a crime novel than real life.’ Matt hesitated. ‘I presume the father is still inside?’

  Having finished his snack, Martin licked his sticky fingers, got up and walked to the door. ‘We need to check it out, it’s been twenty-odd years but I suspect he’s in for most of his life, and anyway I can’t put the father at the centre of this killing – sounds as if his victims were as the result of an uncontrolled temper in someone who has come to accept violence as a means to an end. This killer is ruthless, but totally in control, and we didn’t see a sign of random rage, nor the aftermath of someone who had hit out at everything with his fists, as was the M.O. for Mark’s father.

  ‘Anyway, Matt, you can organise the check-ups on the witness statements and dig up whatever you can on Mark’s generic family background. Also, get the latest on any progress regarding the search for the murder weapons and house to house enquiries. We need all that by one o’clock – any problems I’ll be in my office trying to plan out the initial meeting before I get the inevitable call to go to the PM rooms to witness the macabre wonders of Prof. Moore’s handiwork.’

  Checking his watch, Martin saw that it was already 11.40. Matt left, closing the office door behind him, and Martin pulled out a large sheet of paper from his drawer and began scribbling down names and facts as they occurred to him. This was his own particular way of brainstorming, and experience had taught him to avoid any kind of order but just to write down anything that popped into his head. Within minutes the sheet was filled with ad hoc details of the case, and he marvelled at how much was already known, but how little sense could be made of the facts.

  He then took out a second sheet of paper and drew three vertical columns. He gave each of the columns a heading and in the first one labelled “Absolute facts” he wrote down the details such as date, place, name of victim, and anything that was beyond dispute. He trawled his scribble page for every known detail and hoped that this column would have grown considerably by the end of the day. Then he would be able to concentrate on his second column, “Facts to be checked”, and finally his favourite, entitled “What if”

  His desk phone rang and Martin immediately recognised the voice of one of the PM technicians, Mrs Williams, a middle-aged motherly sort of woman whom most people would have identified as, perhaps, a primary school teacher, or even a woman vicar. Few would have envisaged that she spent most of her working life handling body parts and clearing up the mess left behind after post-mortem examinations on bodies that were often the result of horrific criminal activity.

  She was always respectful of status, and addressed Martin as Detective Chief Inspector Phelps when she gave him the message, which was that Professor Moore was at the point where he would like to demonstrate some of his findings. ‘Thank you, Mrs Williams,’ said Martin. ‘I will come straight up.’ As he put the phone down, he realised that he didn’t even know her first name, and had never heard anyone call her anything other than “Mrs Williams”.

  Martin climbed the stairs to the fourth floor and was greeted by the distinctive smell that he always associated with the laboratories and post mortem rooms. It was not unpleasant exactly but it always had the same effect of turning his stomach over a bit, with that slightly sick feeling you got when going into an exam or an interview.

  He walked along the main corridor, passing lab rooms where technicians were working flat out on what had already been delivered to them by Mrs Williams, finally getting to the room that served as a changing area for the two adjacent post-mortem rooms. The routine was familiar to Martin, and he put on a disposable gown and hat and covered his own shoes with plastic over-shoes before pushing open the door to PM Room 2, the one favoured by Prof. Moore.

  On hearing the door open, the professor looked up from the table and indicated to Martin to come over to where he was working.

  ‘It’s just as I thought last night, but now there is no doubt – each of the limbs has been severed with a different tool, so we are definitely looking for four weapons. The right arm was, to put it crudely, chopped off, with something like a hatchet – the sort of thing you would use for chopping relatively small pieces of wood, say for a domestic wood burner.’

  ‘The killer didn’t quite detach the arm with the first swipe, as you will see from the fact that there are two slightly different angles involved and with what I have ascertained from blood coagulation this was the first limb to be severed.’

  ‘For some God-forsaken reason, the killer then chose a machete-type knife for the left arm and must have taken a powerful swing to bring the blade down, as apart from some bone splinters the knife has virtually gone through everything like it was butter. It would also indicate to me that the killer was quite tall, and very strong, not to mention a complete psychopath.’

  Professor Moore waited for Martin to look at some of the areas he had indicated, expecting the usual barrage of questions, but Martin just said ‘And the legs?’ and so Prof. Moore continued.

  ‘To have the sort of weapons readily available to complete this savage carnage suggests considerable planning, and I think when you can come up with a motive for the killing you will be very near to the killer.

  ‘The left leg was amputated using a blade with a curved edge something like a garden scythe used to cut the grass, not that anyone does that any more. Because of the curve and the fact that the leg was on a flat surface the tip of the blade at the first stroke struck the surface of the work top. The SOC team took some pictures of that.

  ‘I can’t really figure out what happened next as the same blade was not used to finish the job, it’s almost as if the weapon was turned over and the outer arch used, but I have never seen a curved blade sharpened on both sides – have you?’

  Martin shook his head but still said nothing while his brain took in the sheer brutality and complexity of the crime he was faced with and expected to solve. One thing he knew for certain was that the Professor’s thoughts about motive mirrored his own and gave him some hope as it was looking more and more likely that Mark had known his killer.

  ‘The order I have taken you through with the limbs is in my view and backed by initial analysis the order in which the killer worked and the right leg was the final limb to be attacked. I am at a loss to give you an exact picture of any weapon that could have been used other than to say it had a serrated edge and could have been a small saw but that doesn’t fit into the method used for removing the other limbs.

  ‘A saw means you have to look at what you are doing and it takes some time to saw through bone whereas the other leg and the arms were removed by very sharp blades and using extreme brute force. Having said that, this was no run-of-the-mill saw and I would put it somewhere between a saw and blade, so it’s po
ssible the teeth were very sharp and very close together.’

  ‘What about the torso?’ Martin asked. ‘Has that been mutilated in any way?’

  ‘Not a mark on it.’

  ‘Was he drugged?’

  ‘Can’t say yet, but all sorts of tests have been requested so in the next couple of days we will know more about Mark Wilson than he ever knew about himself.’

  ‘What about restraint marks? Anything on the arms and legs to suggest he was tied up?’

  ‘Nothing at all, this is one of the most perfect bodies I have ever had on this table, and before this happened he was in very good shape – obviously not a smoker or a heavy drinker. And he looked after himself. We know he was gay, although there are no signs of recent sexual activity, but that’s not to rule out any sexual or even homophobic motive for his killing, and I’m pleased to say that’s for you, not me, to consider.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Martin. ‘I would really appreciate your input at our meeting, and if you could push some photographs through to the computer staff, we could use them to compare with the ones SOC have provided.’

  ‘Mrs Williams has already taken a flash drive downstairs and yes of course I will be at the meeting – wouldn’t miss the opportunity of showing off the skills of the Pathology Department.’

  Martin managed a smile as he left the room and discarded his protective clothing. He washed his hands before heading to the food his stomach was calling for. A few years ago he wouldn’t have eaten for days after a visit to the PM rooms but he had learned to separate his own needs from the sights and sounds of the job and this had led to a much more comfortable relationship with his stomach.

  Matt Pryor was already tucking into sausage, mash, and baked beans, and Alex Griffiths had obviously recently joined him and chosen bacon, eggs, and toast, treating this middle of the day meal as his second breakfast, having just woken up.

  Martin picked up a plate of lasagne with salad and a chunk of garlic bread, but then changed the bread for a non-garlic version as a mark of respect for the company he would be keeping later. A message had come through that Sandy and Norman Harding would like to see Mark’s body. Martin would make himself available for that viewing if required.

  He joined his two colleagues and, unusually for them, nothing was said until they had finished eating and Alex had got them all cups of coffee.

  ‘Ready for the first briefing, guv?’ asked Matt. ‘Brains has a mass of information to bring from his team, and as you requested a press conference has been arranged. It’s starting at 3 o’clock. The PR lot upstairs want to put a stop to the rumours that are already being printed.’

  ‘Well, the press won’t get much from me at this stage’ said Martin. ‘Heaven knows we’re going to need to keep them on board with this one, so I’ll just make it short, but certainly not sweet. Let’s get the show on the road – with the team we have I know we can bring this evil bastard – or bastards – to justice.’

  Chapter Seven

  Facing the press

  Incident Room One was the largest of the purpose-built rooms, and at ten past one on this particular Sunday afternoon was full of technical staff, uniformed officers, and members of the CID team. There was a high level of noise as groups around the room speculated and argued about who could have done this and why. Martin welcomed this scenario as it was often the throwaway remarks at these sessions that led to new lines of enquiry and he was in the business of listening to any ideas and clues – however cryptic!

  It would be wrong to suggest that an immediate hush fell over the room when DCI Phelps entered – no one has that level of respect for authority in this day and age – but a definite sense of purpose arrived and the disparate groups moved to sit with members of their own particular discipline.

  As agreed, Sergeant Evans and PC Cook-Watts sat at a front table with the other two officers who had been the first to arrive on the scene, and Alex went over to join a group of nine SOCOs at the adjoining table.

  At that point Professor Moore arrived and he and DS Pryor sat on the two chairs at the front of the room facing the rows of about thirty uniformed staff. No one had put out a seat for Martin – he was a natural pacer and would spend the next hour or so on his feet and moving between the material that was on display and the large whiteboard that would soon mirror the sheet of paper he had in his desk drawer but he hoped it would also have lots of new information.

  One of the IT staff came to the front to adjust the screen alongside the whiteboard, and indicated to Martin that they were all set up to show whatever detail was needed from the SOC investigation, and from Prof. Moore’s examination.

  ‘This murder is the stuff of our worst nightmares, and I am duty bound to remind all of you that the force has in place expert counselling and support services to help any of us, including me, if there are issues we find difficult to cope with. There is no shame in seeking help, so please remember that.’ Martin looked around the room as he spoke these words, and took in the huge range of ages of the men and women present – he was reminded of the old adage that one must be getting old when policemen look so young – and in his not-that-old eyes some of these looked young enough to still be in school.

  ‘I plan to go through everything as it happened and to encourage everyone to put forward any ideas, no matter whether they seem insignificant, and basically if a question of any sort pops into your mind then ask it, OK?’

  Sergeant Evans responded to a nod from DCI Phelps and got to his feet. He gave out the details of the time the call first came through and the order in which the two squad cars signalled their acceptance to attend the 999 call.

  Martin had already headed the whiteboard with the date of the crime and now entered the documented time of the 999 call and the times that each squad car arrived at the house. As Sergeant Evans continued Martin was able to add the names of the people who were at the house, and to note some details such as the damage to the front door.

  The room fell deathly quiet as Sergeant Evans went on to describe the scene inside the house, and in particular the bloodbath in the kitchen. Most eyes in the room looked towards the images on the first board set up by SOCO.

  Holding up his hand Martin stopped Sergeant Evans and asked if there were any questions or points to be raised.

  ‘Were the three women and the man together when you arrived?’ A PC directed her question at Sergeant Evans.

  He responded. ‘More or less, but to be exact the first person we saw was Anne Davies who was standing at the gate but she said nothing and just pointed to Paula and Mark’s neighbour, Mr Nicanor, who were standing in the porch. The other woman, Suzanne, was actually standing in the garden and had a few flowers in her hand – she had already picked some and placed them in the porch.’

  There was a general discussion about the rationale behind picking flowers under these circumstances, but the agreement was that people sometimes did strange things and no one could think of any sinister reason for this action.

  ‘Why did you ask the question?’ prompted Martin.

  ‘Just wondering about the relationship between these people, nothing more and probably not relevant,’ replied PC Mullen. ‘Also wondered if the four people have got alibis for the hours before the murder?’

  Matt answered that question, as it had been on the list of tasks Martin had asked him to complete prior to the meeting. ‘They have all provided us with alibis and we are in the process of checking them out – not all the people required to verify the alibis have been contacted yet but we are working on that.’

  ‘Was there any sign of blood on any of them?’ asked another PC, and in response Sergeant Evans explained that the only blood had been on one of the shoes of the Turkish neighbour, and that could be explained as he had already been inside the kitchen.

  Sergeant Evans went on to describe the actions of himself and the other three officers prior to the arrival of the SOC team, Professor Moore, and DCI Phelps.

  The top half of Martin�
��s whiteboard was now covered in black pen, and he once again asked for questions or comments and for a few moments it seemed the whole room was having difficulty in unscrambling the information. But then a series of randomly ordered thoughts and questions flooded towards DCI Phelps.

  ‘The sofa thing is bizarre, isn’t it?’

  ‘Why is there no evidence of a fight or even a struggle – not even a broken ornament?’

  ‘I think the killer must have known the victim and Mark must have let him in.’

  ‘If the killer wanted the documents in the fireplace, why not just take them with him?’

  ‘I don’t get the bit about the body lying on top of that island thing in the kitchen. How did he get there? He wasn’t a lightweight, and lifting him up there would have been difficult – but surely to God he wouldn’t have agreed to lie there and be massacred?’

  The room was now getting noisy as Martin allowed everyone to prod one another into question after question, and that was leading to some pretty big what ifs.

  He listened carefully and added a few comments to his board, before drawing a horizontal line across the board and dividing the bottom half into the three columns he now hoped to fill. As before, he wrote out the headings ‘Absolute facts’, ‘Facts to be checked’, and ‘What ifs’.

  Martin called the meeting to order and invited Alex to give the findings of his team. Instantly, all eyes were fixed on the screen, where images were now being shown of the damage to Mark’s front door.

  ‘I will take you through everything in much the same way that Sergeant Evans has already done, but with the benefit of the coordinating skills of our IT colleagues, who have basically made it possible for us to view the pictures we took from every conceivable angle. This first shot shows how entry was gained to the house by Mr Nicanor, who used a lump hammer to break the lock, and as you can see the force that was used was considerable, splitting the door frame and completely destroying the latch and chain.’

  ‘When we examined all the locking mechanisms of the door it became obvious that the victim was more security-conscious than most of us, as apart from a state-of-the-art lock there was a security chain and a bolt on the inside, and the lock was wired up to a fairly sophisticated alarm system. The security chain was intact – we can assume that it wasn’t fastened as if it had been Mr Nicanor would have broken it. We are checking for prints, hoping that Mark would have secured the chain automatically when he let his killer in, and that the killer had to release it on the way out.’