by Toni Parks
Emma had been left at home and closing the door she burst into tears and rushed into the bathroom to throw up. Dabbing her mouth she took control of the situation; being busted for prostitution amongst other things had its benefits, particularly when dealing with the police and ultimately moving through the miasma that normal people recognise as law and order. ‘First a solicitor. Well that’s what they always do on TV, anyway,’ she thought.
Subliminally thinking about the TV prompted her to switch it on; a poor-relation replacement for the companionship she had just lost. Finding a suitable news channel she also hit on the thought, ‘It’s a shame about poor Jeremy being murdered, or I’m sure he would have helped.’ And before she knew it she was frantically searching for her mobile so she could have at least the comfort of trying his number, perhaps he still had his answerphone message. Usually her mobile was located in a dangerous position: on the edge of the sink so it would get knocked into the water; on the coffee table so that it would get a cup of coffee spilt over it or even just on the sofa so that either of them could have plonked themselves on top of it. So the quest took longer than usual and before succeeding her eye was distracted by the image of a near-frozen body moving ever so slowly down the TV screen.
Text was running along the bottom saying, ‘CAUTION – CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE’. Her jaw dropped as the head of the body hit the water, where it rested for what seemed like hours. A small graphic clock in the top left corner clicked off 20 seconds and the movement reversed itself. The body began to move slowly upwards, lastly revealing the head as it resurfaced with an audible gasp and a greedy gulp for air, the eyes staring madly as water cascaded down the sodden face to pool at the bottom of the screen. Here was a small snippet of real life reality TV playing out before its own finale. Even Emma could see the power of these images and wondered how her sister’s arrest and crimes could ever compare to such an atrocity. This brought her back full circle to her sister and as if on cue, she cried again.
Jessica re-entered the Lothian & Borders Police Station with trepidation. The building itself still held a familiarity for her as she had spent several weeks there, working with the team on the Borders serial killer case. Ironic really, when it turned out to be her after all. Gone was her confident gait of previous visits to be replaced by a resignation of her fate and it came as somewhat of a relief to be inwardly preparing to own up to her devastating actions, even though she was struggling to remember what force had triggered her impetus to carry them out in the first place. She was hopeful that these clever detectives would wheedle out her raison d'être for such heinous crimes and then she could rest and disappear completely from public view. But first it would be the inevitable circus, no doubt. The grandees would be wheeled in to question her and furnish media reports to the world; it would be a few bumper days for the Public Relations’ office. She half expected old colleagues and acquaintances to be lining the corridors as DC Blister led her to a private consultation room. Here he introduced her to a colleague, WPC Hill, who was responsible for fingerprinting and photographing suspects and would also be taking a swab of saliva from Jessica’s mouth to ascertain her DNA profile. New techniques meant that by mixing her sample with certain chemicals, heating slightly and placing drops of the solution on a computer chip, forensic technicians would be able to copy and analyse against other samples and achieve a result within several hours.
Her job completed, the WPC bagged the swab and vacated the room. Even as Jessica sat patiently she could not imagine who had finally come up with the Eureka moment. To her it had always been obvious and so only a matter of time; but boy were they slow. She reminisced with sadness about the previous hard working detectives and the fact that the harder they had worked the further away from the truth they had travelled.
That was until T/DC Murray began to see the light and brought the investigation a little too close for comfort. And after her disappearance it was only a matter of time before DI ‘Lazarus’ Barnham, as she now thought of him, had to be despatched too. She had warned Emma not to mess with him as he had trouble self-written all over, but she had not listened. And when push came to jab, Emma had put the needle in but had not transferred the contents, well not all of it. Her, of all people, where a syringe was second nature in her everyday drug dependent life. Perhaps it was his lucky leather trousers and her bungling allowed fate to offer him a second chance, which Jessica herself could and should have quashed when she rolled him off the cliff. She might have to choose a cat’s name for him now, to match his nine lives. But he was not the same man: he had lost his edge, his bounce, his cockiness and, most importantly his memory. Whether forever or just for a few weeks, she did not care as time now meant nothing. Her life as she had known it was ending and going to be replaced by an unknown black hole of depression, self loathing and loneliness. But a small price to pay for five murders, she figured.
DI Gregor entered the room and brought her back to the present. He advised Jessica that certain allegations against her had already been disclosed to the duty solicitor, who would be acting on Jessica’s behalf; and that a formal interrogation would take place as soon as the DNA results were available. A knock on the door preceded the entrance of Amy Pryce, and the departure of the DI. She introduced herself to a resigned looking Jessica as she sat down opposite. “I have been nominated to offer my professional services in the forthcoming interview that will take place at some point today. As you are aware the paperwork for your DNA sample has been processed in order to allow for a police analysis, where they are hopeful of a positive match tying you to the murdered John Silwith.” Jessica instructed her mind not to acknowledge the name by any physical sign. As the solicitor continued to speak, she presumed that she was successful. “That alone would not be sufficient for a prosecution so they are searching for a link that takes it out of the realm of coincidence. So I must ask you straight out are they going to succeed? Did you make the acquaintance of a John Silwith? Am I defending an innocent person who may have crossed paths with the unfortunate victim or am I looking at a possibly guilty client in considerable trouble?”
Jessica looked fleetingly at Ms Pryce but uttered not a word. She dropped her gaze and slumped her shoulders into the back of the chair. No matter what the degree of cajoling by the solicitor she would not participate in any conversation whatsoever. After a few more words of caution, but very little concern over the possibility that Jessica may become impetuous under examination and say something rash to prejudice her case, Amy concluded the session and Jessica was escorted back to a holding cell.
DC Blister and everyone else involved in the case clockwatched for the next three hours. As it turned out, an additional three hours given over to further highlighting the infamy of the ‘dunking man’ video, fuelled by a national mass media frenzy that had descended on Aberdeen. Thus, inadvertently, allowing a potentially, even bigger scoop to slip under their radar.
*
Forensics came up trumps with the results of both Jessica Lambert’s swab and the lipstick hankie confirming that the DNA was a conclusive match. Lipstick from Jessica Lambert’s lips had indeed smeared a handkerchief found on John Silwith’s person. He: being the first murder victim in the Borders serial killing spree. This alone was not enough for a conviction as it could have innocently found its way there at any point in time. So now it was imperative for the detectives to prove a link between the deceased and one or more of the other murdered victims, and Jessica Lambert. The DI was banking on DC Blister’s conviction that Jessica’s former workplace held the solution and a Data Protection busting search warrant would be just the answer. The DI and a jubilant DC entered Interview Room 2, to which Jessica had already been escorted. Amy Pryce sat waiting with her client looking very much the archetypal solicitor in her sombre monochrome outfit as she juggled files with both hands.
DI Gregor flicked a switch and introduced the suspect, the duty solicitor, the DC and himself by name, as well as dating and timing the point at which
the interview commenced. He greeted Jessica with, “Jessica Lambert, can I call you Jessica or would you prefer Miss Lambert?”
“Jessica’s fine.” Still using his warm and friendly voice the DI continued, “OK, Jessica. We have now had the results of your DNA test, which I have to admit doesn’t bode well for you.” At this point he let the sentence hang for any unexpected response. None forthcoming, he proceeded with, “You do understand that this confirms that you knew the victim, John Silwith. You met him, whether accidentally or by design, and during that encounter, however long or brief, lipstick containing your DNA was transferred to a handkerchief and secreted on his person. As we know this much already, do you wish to comment?”
Jessica was still able to hold her counsel but her furtive eyes and imperceptible uncontrolled movement showed a contradiction. This dichotomy was not lost on the DI and at this stage in the proceedings he looked from the suspect to her solicitor and back and began cautioning Jessica with, “Jessica Lambert, you have the right to remain silent, but whatever you say can be used against you in a criminal case. Anything, which you don’t mention now but which you mention later may be questioned by the court. Do you understand?”
Jessica glanced at her solicitor and nodded. The solicitor confirmed verbally that her client understood.
“So I ask again, do you have a comment as to why your DNA was found on John Silwith?”
“No comment.”
“OK. I propose we terminate this interview and we will pursue our investigation with your employer, The Borders Agency. Perhaps that’s where we’ll find the missing link.”
Again the DI looked pointedly at Jessica but he still received, “No comment,” in return for his efforts.
*
DI Barbour was expecting far more answers from those she was placing under the spotlight and she was not to be disappointed. The path lab had produced a comprehensive report into the death of Joey Donaldson. Forensics had concluded their initial search of the scaffolding, particularly the contraption on which the victim had been placed and where he had subsequently died. But the news from the IT Techies was neither revealing nor promising as they were still smarting after the verbal lashing they had received from the DCI at the initial meeting. And now the general public had beaten them at their own game. They were none the wiser as to the source of the video link but like the rest of the world they now knew the allegedly innocent starring performer.
Various callers had rung in stating that the ‘dunking man’ was Joey Donaldson and by way of confirmation his mother had subsequently identified her dead son too, and become a media sensation in her own right. So the path lab report was circulated, accepting that a mother knows her son, and so enabled its readers to absorb and understand the most likely facts and feel the suffering and loss of a man’s life as it had ebbed away.
With the benefit of the video link professional conjectures had also been sought and given. The consensus was that the victim had died between 11pm and midnight. Supposition dictated that he had shown signs of drowning as observed by his glassy eyes, autonomic reactions, lack of focus and his constant gasping for air. But then the fact that his head was under water for no more than twenty seconds put this into doubt. However, others said that in time, tiredness had set in along with his continuous need to hold his breath even for that short length of time. Both actions had resulted in a reduced level of oxygen in his bloodstream with a corresponding increase in carbon dioxide.
The path lab confirmed that those previous views alone had not killed him; it was not until the unexpected cold snap set in when the process of freezing to death began. This would have brought on mild hypothermia, characterised by numbness of the limbs and shivering. Somewhat quicker than usual due to the fact that he was strapped down and so only allowed very limited visual movement, as opposed to more vigourous reactions one would anticipate from an unfettered person when subjected to such cold. According to the time code at 23.28 he had lost consciousness, which indicated that his core temperature must have fallen below 28 degrees centigrade. And at that point his heart rate would more than likely have slowed and the blood flow begun to reduce its travel to his extremities as an increased allowance became necessary for the vital organs, including his brain, and as well to slow the collapsing of the lungs. The continuing drop in temperature plus the high wind speed brought on the onslaught of frostbite to both his nose and cheeks due to lack of blood. Then at 20 degrees Centigrade his heart most probably gave out, which was estimated as having occurred at around 23.45. This being the most likely outcome it was ventured by way of consolation that he would havebeen deceased well before his head became frozen into the water. The video had then continued to play out for another three hours, time totally inconsequential to his death.
Forensics took the air out of the seemingly soaring pathology balloon and brought the detectives back down to earth. Their update offering was incomparable to what had just been divulged.
The pulley lift used primarily for hoisting bricks up to the correct level of the building was positioned on the same level as the victim, so they did a sweep of the area but it was clean and even though the scaffolding bars were freezing they confirmed that gloves had been worn and no prints were pulled. This was the same for the structure, which held the body, the only difference being that the calibre of scaffolding piping was inferior and of a different bore. There were footprints on the walk boards but they were now multiplied innumerably by the number of officers who had reviewed the scene and it appeared unlikely that the killer would have been walking about on frosty boards at the time the victim had been initially left hanging out to die. However, they did retrieve a discharged car battery, which had formed part of the moving mechanism plus the wiring and Bluetooth microphone, still threaded through the underside of his coat. Their hypothesis was that the battery had passed a current via a transformer and thus powered the motor, which in turn cranked the cogs to create the specific movement required. And all controlled via a microprocessor wired into a single board computer and connected to a digital clock. As for the video camera there was no sign but its neat housing although still intact, appeared a little rough around the edges. This inferred that it had been coarsely pulled out after final transmission. Their initial entry location, presumably at the base of the building, had not yet been found so this became a priority as clues could have been left in that locality. This alone ensured that the building structure and grounds would be out of bounds to anyone but police for some days to come.
Hearing how the victim met his death unnerved DI Barbour to such a degree that she struggled to catch her own breath in sympathy. Further compounded by a negative frame of mind at the loss of air from forensics’ deflating balloon she turned to the IT Techies and requested their update so far.
David began his piece, “Still not much to report ma’am, sorry. We too have neither any idea of where the Bluetooth microphone transmission was going to nor the provenance of the video feed. We’re also still being bounced around the World following the copious links. The only positive is that we have used the services of Action on Hearing Loss and with their lip reading skills they have offered us a variety of information plus two full names, which had been blanked out by the audio. One was Jenny or possibly Jonnie Turnbull and the other Caleb Clooney. The other blanked out details would have directed us to the Hunter-Bell new build on Guild Street, but that’s too much like ‘after the horse has bolted’. The only other half a clue was the initial ‘L’ from the start of another name but that could be anyone.”
“Well, you’ve given me more than I expected. Anyone recognise these two names? Have they crossed your paths before? If not, let’s get the word out, as they could very well be the next victims to face the game of perpetual motion. Take what you’ve heard from this meeting and go find who did this. The DCI is being pressured already to solve this murder and he doesn’t want us to come across as amateur, particularly with what seems like the whole world watching. Last thoughts
to go away with; did the killer intend his victim to die a slow death by drowning or did the weight of the water combined with the cold snap frost mean that the mechanism had not the power to bring the head back out of the reservoir? Or was the cold weather not calculated as part of the plan? Or indeed, had the killer programmed the structure to end its final cycle with the victim’s head submerged? Whatever the answers, we have a gruesome murder on our hands and we owe it to the victim and his family to get a result. Go to it!” Happy with her final more positive thoughts and directions DI Barbour returned to her desk and set about the task of immersing herself in the events as they had unfolded so as to glean any possible insight into the murderer’s psyche.
Even if the DI had been clairvoyant she would never have dreamt up the retribution that was at hand and which she would soon meet face-to-face, to add to her burgeoning workload. In the same way that Bill Duncan would never contain his beer intake either. Brody, looking like a cross between the Ku Klux Klan and a bank robber had put the fear of God through him and Bill knew his instinctive reaction had not just been because of a verbal threat. Two of the Hummer passengers, now similarly attired in paper overalls, grabbed Bill’s arms as they gagged on the odour emanating from the man. Brody, forever the professional rose above the stench and began the prearranged ritual. As expected the victim was not cooperating so brute strength was applied. A gum shield was being forcibly pushed into his grimacing mouth and as he tried to clench his teeth a blow to his expansive flabby but now less beer filled stomach, which brought a groan plus a greedy gasp for air to replace that which he had lost, helped to complete the task. Two plugs were placed into Bill’s nostrils, thus forcing him to breathe solely through a small 10mm diameter hole, which had been drilled in the mouth guard. He panicked at the fact that enough air to satisfy a man of his size could not be sucked into his lungs but even that became insignificant as a nozzle was placed in position to snugly block off his only air supply. That alone would have been sufficient to kill Bill but it was too tame a message, one with no shock value or panache. So Brody attached the pièce de résistance, a caulking gun, to the nozzle and began squeezing the trigger slowly to release the quick-setting expanding foam so allowing it to greedily search out its destinations. Bill’s body twitched and jerked as the alien material coursed through his trachea on its way to his lungs.