by Toni Parks
The sudden bloodletting strike did not completely unnerve all the prostitutes operating under the Hunter-Bell umbrella, nor did it scare the remaining pimps into submission but it certainly marked the intent of the Lucisano organisation. Who themselves now had to be extremely vigilant with their man, Joey, having been turned, and who no doubt had revealed sensitive information. Harmful at best but possibly also very destructive to the running of their businesses going forward. Francesco now expected further retribution and so intended to be extremely circumspect whilst pursuing total destruction of his major rival.
The murders were reported two hours after the event. Unknown witnesses had spotted the bodies but tended to skirt around the immediate vicinity as if it was nothing more serious than a ladder, which could not be walked under. So before and after the police moved in, it became a ‘no go’ area for the foreseeable future. The two girls happily moved on and renegotiated a patch belonging to the Lucisano family. As far as pimps went, their new ones were more generous, fairer and even kind, if that’s possible in their line of work. The person who came upon the bodies and finally had the balls to notify the police was a man of the ‘new’ cloth. A born again Christian who had no other use for his balls as he was on a mission to save and convert his fellow man and more particularly his fellow fallen woman. Anyway, that’s what he said and who are we to doubt his calling.
CHAPTER TEN Rather than being taken back to her cell, Jessica was directed to an interview room, one of several running at a tangent to the visitors’ room, but smaller. Amy was already sat patiently waiting with a worried countenance thus giving the impression of being more the interviewee rather than interviewer. Her inevitable ring binder was open and various papers spilled out in front of her. As the door opened she looked up, studied her client and greeted her with, “Hi, hope you are coping? I understand that you might be feeling a bit disorientated. It happens a lot when clients become incarcerated and it starts hitting home that this could become their life for the foreseeable future. That’s why it’s so important to get all the facts straight and to build as strong a case as possible to get you out of here. And if I’m being brutally honest I need you to fill in some gaps because the case against you is beginning to stack up. Do you want a coffee or a soft drink, before we proceed? It’s all provided, when you’re being given legal advice.”
Jessica shook her head by way of a negative and also to shake out the ‘sweetie’ reference that was still pinging around it and so not enabling her to proceed any further with concentrating on what was being said.
“OK, we’ll continue right on. After your DNA match with the handkerchief of John Silwith, the police obtained a warrant to look into files that you had been working on in your previous job at The Borders Agency. Unfortunately for you, they have found not just one link to the deceased but a further two links to another two murder victims. And all embracing the umbrella of the Borders serial murders. This firmly places you as being the prime suspect, either working alone or in tandem with others, in the deaths of at least three people and possibly more.” Amy said the last sentence in a manner of disbelief. She was staring at a waiflike young lady, not much older than herself, and trying to picture what could have possessed her to carry out such heinous crimes. “Is there anything you want to say? It will obviously remain confidential but I need to know so that the defence case can be built around the most appropriate plea.”
But even that plea fell on deaf ears. Jessica had known that eventually her past would catch up with her and now it was approaching she felt nothing but serenity. Perhaps other stages would kick in as she comprehended the enormity of her actions but she was desperately trying to suppress those, if only to save her sanity. But then again, who needed sanity when you were going to spend the rest of your waking days locked away from the real world. Amy, recognising that she was making no headway with the case, changed tack by pulling out the two documents which required Jessica’s signature, moving her Boyzone pencil case, a throwback from her tweenie years, to one side of the table to make room. Jessica glanced across the table, then studied the copy of Jeremy’s Will and smiled at the cash amount plus the house that Emma would now inherit. She reached for the proffered pen but mistimed her grasp and it clumsily clattered to the floor. Amy’s athletic reflexes had her bending to retrieve it before Jessica had even moved, but Jessica had moved and achieved her aim as well. Again, she attempted to take hold of the pen and this time successfully. She signed the Will willingly in the designated place and made a mental note to gift the full amount to Emma on her next visit. She couldn’t see a way out of the hole she was backed into and wanted at least one of them to have a happy life, certainly a happier one for Emma than she had experienced to date. The other document was more vague. It was basically a release form for a document. Fortunately for Jessica, Amy was able to explain what it meant. Her signature, along with her sister’s were all that was required to release a document which was being held by a solicitor on behalf of a client. Jessica signed with compliance and handed both documents back to Amy, expecting that neither would feature in her future life. Amy checked her watch and for the last time tried to coax a response from Jessica as to the direction her plea should follow. But Jessica met her with silence, deciding to stick with the security of her own counsel.
*
DC Blister held court as he reiterated the story of his second meeting at The Borders Agency. He had been paired with Jim Marshall, one of the key IT specialists, who went along to work his magic on the Agency’s computer network. The DC had more confidence second time around and intended giving Tess Danvers short shrift if she became antsy. “So I walked straight up to reception, introduced myself to the bored looking girl sitting there and informed her that we needed to see the manager immediately. A couple of phone calls later and Tess Danvers came out looking like thunder, saying, ‘There better be a good reason for barging in and interrupting my meeting’. Now this Tess Danvers, well she’s old enough to be my mother but still carries herself with a certain amount of panache, and she’s very business-like but quite acerbic at the same time. Anyway, I suppose both our personalities didn’t hit it off, especially with me being young enough to be her son; oh I’ve inferred that, haven’t I, and also with having had a dust up with her before.
“So I put my flat hand up towards her face so as to make her stop talking and waved the warrant at her from the other hand. ‘This is a warrant to search your computerised and manual files in respect of a murder case, which we are investigating. Hindrance in whatever form could be construed as a criminal offence,’ I pronounced. Well that really got her goat and with a great effort she held her tongue, turned on her heels, all four inches, and stormed off in the direction from whence she’d come. That left Jim and me stood around, one like a lemon and the other a spare prick at a wedding. Anyway, the phone rang and the receptionist Judy, a bit tasty actually, went ‘Mmm, No, Yes, Right away’; flicked a few switches on the board and said, ‘Ms Danvers needs you to come to reception, there are two detectives wanting to look at some of our files.’ Sophie came and introduced herself and guided us through the building and into what appeared to be the basement. Down there, there were rows of head height shelving with box files filling every available shelf. Jim advised Sophie that he’d rather sit at a terminal and let the computer do the work than sift though box after box and file after file.
“It was all over in five minutes. He’d entered Jessica Lambert’s name and rather than wait for her passwords he’d ...,” and here the DC coughed to disguise the word he was going to say, “... hacked into the active files and typed in names of the victims from the Borders serial murder cases. And guess what? Nothing came up. But rather than admit defeat Jim went straight through to the backup master and hey presto; three came up trumps. As well as John Silwith, she had also been working with Mairie Dawson and Peter Faulk. So we got all three for the price of one, just like that. Presumably it was her who had managed to erase the three files fro
m the ‘live’ on-going work and the hard copies in the box files but she couldn’t remove anything that had already been backed up to the master. What did you say Jim? ‘To do that she would have needed to develop a Trojan which would have ultimately destroyed the whole system.’ That’s right, isn’t it Jim?” Jim nodded so as not to steal any of DC Blister’s thunder. “So what took us five minutes, could have taken T/DC Murray five minutes or even me on my first visit there, if Tess Danvers had played ball. Anyway, she must have wound up her meeting pretty sharpish as there she was barring our exit in a quite a humourless, threatening pose. Jim and I just smiled and I said, ‘All done. Thank you so much for your cooperation,’ and then we both set off forwards as if to go straight through her, so she had to step aside. Formidable woman but too full of her own self-importance,” finished the lowly DC, whose eyes themselves were set on greater heights.
*
The present solicitor and the former prostitute met up outside the entrance to the Family Hub. Emma had been waiting anxiously for 30 minutes and was impressed by her own willpower. She had been desperate for a cigarette and saw the very act being carried out by four other people of like mind. But now her mind was full of protective thoughts to what might be growing inside her and she was amazed at the strength that this gave her to control the urge. Amy’s demeanour had not changed for the better as she was worried about her client’s case and indeed her mental health. With the weather being pleasant Emma casually walked towards a bench some distance from the plumes of smoke signalling that cravings were being satisfied. They sat and Amy opened her trolley bag and handed over the two, signed documents. She put her signature to them both, thus acting as witness. “That’s for free,” she said, “don’t tell everybody,” and made a little chuckle, which Emma felt brightened up her face no end.
‘Perhaps she should change jobs and try something where she could enjoy herself more? It might give her a totally different perspective on life,’ thought Emma. But then considered that she had no right to question anyone’s choice of career, particularly after her own life choice decisions.
Amy broke into her thoughts before she had given herself too hard a time. “Did you find anything out from your sister?”
Emma contemplated the question and knew the major surprise she had found out was staying within her confidence, for the present. “No, not really. She seems resigned to her fate, but we did have a good chat about general things. But when it was time to leave I’m sure she was really frightened. It began to hit home, in a bad way.”
“Well, she is in a bad way. Although she has not admitted the murders, the evidence is certainly beginning to mount up. It’s imperative that she denies or confesses to the allegations. Once the advocate knows the full facts then he can work out the best plea option. Do you think she killed them?”
“I don’t know if you should be asking me that and I don’t think I’m going to answer it either. I know enough about courts to understand that it would be classed as hearsay but I’m certainly not going to testify against Jess, no matter what.”
“Well Emma, someone’s got to shock her into talking or she’ll just sleepwalk through the court case and either end up in prison or a mental institution, possibly for life. So if there’s anyway you can help her, now’s the time to do so.”
Both felt that these were the last words, so both automatically stood and began walking towards Amy’s car. The journey back to Edinburgh would not have been out of place in a convent and both only broke their vow of silence with, “Thanks very much,” from Emma and, “I’ll be in touch,” from Amy.
The number 51 journey home to St Boswells was equally as reverential with no turning on of the iPod. Rather instead, Emma contemplated lovingly on the life she might be gaining but with sadness comparative to that love, on the one that might be lost. She also considered how her life could have compared with the likes of Amy, the solicitor, and concluded that by just changing a few letters on the end of the profession she was almost doing that job. Fortunately her daydreaming had lasted much longer than she anticipated, her time was up and she almost missed her stop. Returning to the empty flat of her sister, she flopped into the sofa; a sofa made for two, and burst into tears. As much a reaction from the body changes taking place as for her sister’s plight.
CHAPTER ELEVEN News broke unexpectedly on Bill Duncan’s death just as the man of God telephoned with his own version of the end of the world, true in the case of the three former pimps anyway. A student observer, present at the unsuccessful autopsy had tipped off the Press and Journal and even been able to supply a clear mobile image of the victim. It was now approaching midnight and the on-duty detectives were still busy trying to make headway with the video death and the grotesque found in the warehouse. They were not prepared for the paper’s call or to comment on the story but in the event of being helpful stated that a media conference was already planned for the next day and any information appertaining to this matter would be released then. That deliberation was sufficient to confirm the story’s validity and the paper would be the first with the scoop, even without a victim’s name. This in itself would knock the dunking man episode off the front page and lead the people of Aberdeen to question what had initiated two bizarre murders in and amongst them.
The local police were the first to arrive at the scene of the three murders, securing the immediate area and awaiting the arrival of DI Barbour, DC Grant and DC Boyd. The DI had anticipated a quiet night at home, knowing that their video murder was now becoming old news, in the press, on TV and on-line. And if she was being honest, there were only so many repeats anyone could stomach, were there not? TV had been the last thing on her mind, she needed sleep and plenty of it but unusual murders had turned up to pester her tired brain and prevent it from relaxing and so drifting off. And now, to add insult to injury, she was advised that the grotesque was to be plastered all over the press and on top of that, three bodies were lying in wait in the red-light district. ‘Great publicity for tourism,’ she thought, surprised at her own irony.
Expecting the three amigos to have killed each other she was shocked to discover a neat symmetry to the murder scene. Three bodies lay in various positions but each with the same pattern of two blood pools, which had oozed from what could be clearly discerned as knife wounds. The DI leaned as far over the tape without falling, and surmised, “They’ve been killed professionally and by others. There is no way that all three would have tried to murder each other like this and anyway how could the third one end up dead in the same way. Unless they’d all been to the same school of suicide and been taught the moves.” But supposition it remained whilst the three detectives waited for forensics and the path lab.
They duly arrived and forensics set up temporary lights, erected a tent and then made short shrift of analysing the surrounding scene. Their urgency compounded by the worry that the media could have been tipped off and may come crawling all over the area before demarcation limits were in place. They took photos of the bodies from all angles and rooted through pockets for identification before allowing the pathologists to bag and seal the bodies to prevent evidence being lost in transportation. Training for multiple murders had been undertaken but it never compared exactly to the real deal. They usually imagined vehicle pile-ups or gun crimes but never deaths as clean cut as this, almost surgically precise. A wait ensued whilst a second vehicle arrived to convey the third body to the mortuary in Queen Street. Forensics had further to travel as their new science laboratory was now based at West Virginia Docks in Dundee. But before departure they did advise DI Barbour that the bodies had been picked clean: no ID, no cash, no weapons and no drugs of any description. All the DI could do was nod her thanks and made a mental note to contact the Procurator Fiscal’s office at first light to instigate autopsies and so confirm their presumption that they were looking at professional killers rather than just a gangland fight gone wrong.
“We’re being left in the dark on purpose. Whoever is responsible
for these deaths knows exactly what they are doing. They have an agenda. Can you believe that no one has witnessed this crime? I mean how many girls would have been working this patch tonight? DC Boyd I want you to start putting some names together. It won’t be easy and I’m sure you’ll meet a lot of resistance. These girls may be paid to be friendly but, most probably not to be communicative. And don’t be expecting to find any of the girls on CCTV. They’re too streetwise to be waving at any camera they might happen to pass.”
Five murders in less than three days and not a link between them, excepting their totally bizarre natures. The DI’s sleep pattern was not going to right itself any time soon. And being short staffed with this additional workload it was left to one of the PC’s who had first secured the scene to remain on guard for the remainder of the night; thus ensuring sleep would not be an early visitor to him either. Meanwhile the DI, rather than heading home, headed for the station on Queens Street. She had seven hours before the media conference, seven hours to formulate her thoughts and then be able to exude some semblance of confidence and give an impression that she was on top of the situation. Looking in the mirror she was neither; not a chance of looking confident nor of making an impression other than that of a tired woman reaching her physical limits. Still, she considered, seven hours was the equivalent of a working day and a lot could happen in that time. And, as DI her authority dictated that those beneath her should help shoulder the burden, so she wielded the proverbial stick and within thirty minutes another four yawning heads were sat around the incident room glancing at the blank whiteboard.