‘Good morning, Erika,’ he said, opening the door. ‘How is your investigation going with the dead man in the suitcase? We now have a woman in a suitcase too.’
‘Yes. And that’s why I’m here. I figured a visit in person is always better than an email,’ she said.
‘Of course. Let’s go to my office,’ he said.
She followed him along the corridor, past windows into laboratories where CSIs worked, and smaller offices where support staff sat at computers. Police incident rooms were noisy, stressful places whirling with the stale smell of sweat and takeout food; this was the polar opposite. The atmosphere in forensics was quiet and studious, and there was a delicious minty smell of disinfectant.
Nils’s office was clean and smart, with a desk, a large bookshelf, and a tall fridge. Under a window, looking out over the river, were two elegant armchairs in dark purple and a small marble-topped coffee table. In the centre of the table was a small orange-and-black speckled Murano glass paperweight.
‘Would you like a coffee? And a piece of cake, perhaps?’ He went to the fridge and took out a large moist carrot cake, turning to her with a grin. The snow white icing had been shaped into glistening peaks. Erika felt torn between the need to press on with the investigation and her belly kicking off at the heavenly sweet smell of the icing.
‘I haven’t eaten all day,’ he said.
‘Nor have I.’ She grinned.
‘That’s settled then. It’s harder to work on an empty stomach.’
He placed the cake on the coffee table, cut two pieces and placed them on plates, and put the cake back in the fridge.
‘Espresso? Macchiato? Cappuccino? Al Pacino?’ he deadpanned, moving to a coffee machine on his desk.
‘Cappuccino. Thank you,’ she said.
He fussed about with a couple of china cups he pulled from a drawer, and Erika went to the small window, which was open a little and letting in a cold breeze. A large boat was travelling upriver, fighting against the current. Nils finished their coffees and they sat down. She watched him tackle his cake, sawing off a huge hunk and shoving it in his mouth. His skin was a little sallow against his blue hair, and his nose was running. He pulled out a tissue to blow his nose.
‘Sorry, allergies,’ he said, through a mouthful of cake. ‘Even this late in the year.’
‘My sister has a terrible time with them,’ said Erika. She went on to quickly outline the case, and finished by saying that the large piece of concrete found in the suitcase with the female victim could be the murder weapon used on one or both victims.
‘I know you’ll be running the victims’ DNA through the national crime database,’ she said.
‘Yes, we have samples that are due to be processed shortly.’
‘I came here to ask if there is anything you can do with the piece of concrete? I’ve heard in some cases fingerprints have been lifted from concrete?’
‘Yes, it’s difficult, but possible,’ said Nils, swallowing the last big piece of cake. ‘There’s a process called superglue fingerprint fuming. Whenever we touch a surface, we leave fingerprints,’ he said indicating his fork before licking off the icing. ‘A fingerprint consists of various chemicals; moisture, water, amino acids, fatty acids, and proteins. On a flat surface it’s easy to dust for prints, but with an uneven or porous surface it’s more difficult to get a print, so we use superglue fuming, in particular using the chemical cyanoacrylate which is found in most superglues. We place the object, in this case the piece of concrete, in a sealed container along with a small well of superglue. It’s then heated, the vapours react with the chemicals that are found in fingerprints. This reaction leaves behind a white film that can be photographed, or copied onto tape strips, and the chemical cyanoacrylate in the superglue reacts with the acids left by the fingerprint on the object, leaving a visible, sticky white material that forms along the ridges of the print. We can then photograph this or enhance it to get a print.’
‘Would it hold up in court?’ asked Erika, suddenly feeling hopeful.
‘It’s a reliable method. The issue we have here is that the object has been in moving water for several days.’
‘But with forensics you can work with the tiniest amounts of DNA and evidence?’
‘Yes,’ he said, taking a sip of his coffee. ‘We will endeavour to try; I can promise that.’
‘Thank you. There is another thing. The male victim was found with cocaine wraps in his stomach.’
Nils suddenly looked very interested. ‘He was a drug mule?’
‘That’s what it looks like. There were around fifty of these capsules. I’d like to know if we can lift any kind of evidence from these.’
‘Prints?’
‘I doubt that whoever packed these capsules would have left prints, but there could be some DNA trapped within the layers of wrapping.’
‘That would take some work.’
‘As I said, Nils, that’s why I came in person. I’m looking at a potential double murder. I need to prove a link, find a suspect, and there is also a dealer out there who is searching for his thirty grand worth of gear. It’s a complex case which could yield more than one arrest.’
‘OK. I can start conducting the superglue fuming tests in the next day or so.’ He rose and went to the computer at his desk. ‘I would need to schedule in the work on the cocaine capsules… Friday at the earliest?’ he said, turning to her.
‘Thank you. I can imagine how busy you are here.’
‘Well, take your imagination and triple it,’ he said.
‘And thanks for the coffee and cake.’
‘Coffee and cake in Sweden is like religion. You’ve now helped me worship at the altar!’ He grinned, and his nose was running again. He pulled out a tissue to wipe it.
‘You should keep the window shut, if it’s allergies,’ said Erika, and she left his office and made her way back down to the car, hoping Nils would deliver her a breakthrough in the case.
Chapter Eight
Late afternoon Erika met with her small team in one of the conference rooms in the basement of Lewisham Row Station. It was dingy, with a large square table and a grubby whiteboard on a stand. Moss was the first to arrive, still dressed in her smart suit for court. She took off her long coat and slung it over one of the plastic chairs.
‘How did it go?’ asked Erika.
‘Depressing. He had a good lawyer and got off on a technicality. I’m glad there’s something else to move on to. Another chance to get the bad guy.’
‘This could be plural. Bad guys.’
McGorry then entered carrying a tray of Starbucks, and with him was a woman in her early fifties with huge glasses and shoulder-length grey hair. She was very slim, and wore a bright red shirt dress, rolled up at the sleeves.
‘I heard you lost your lunch in the morgue,’ said Moss to McGorry.
‘Ha ha, it was my breakfast, actually,’ he said, his cheeks flushing. He handed Erika and Moss each a coffee and offered one to the woman.
‘Oh, thank you, I was going to use the machine,’ she said, taking it with a smile.
Erika introduced herself, Moss, and McGorry.
‘I’m Marta Chapman,’ said the woman, sitting beside McGorry and taking a legal pad and pen from the large bag slung over her shoulder. ‘I’m still quite new to the civilian support team here at Lewisham Row.’
‘Glad to have you on the team,’ said Erika. She and Moss sat opposite, and Moss gave Marta a smile and a nod. ‘Okay, our number one priority is to identify the male and female victims,’ she said, opening a file and placing it in the centre of the table. ‘Nils Åkerman will shortly be running their DNA through the national database, but this is dependent on either of the victims having been arrested previously.’
‘I’ve now got all the Greater London missing person reports from the past month,’ said Marta. ‘It’s a very broad swathe of data, but I can focus in on white males and females in the twenties to thirties age group.’
‘I’
ve got a contact on the Marine Unit,’ started McGorry. ‘The bodies were thrown in the Thames two, two and a half weeks ago. I could ask if they can do something with tidal patterns; they might be able to pinpoint exactly where the suitcases were thrown in.’
‘Just put out some feelers with the Marine Unit. At this stage we have a limited budget and I need to concentrate on identifying the victims. I’ve already requested forensics fast track a range of tests which will no doubt be expensive, and I’ll get it in the neck for blowing budgets,’ said Erika.
‘My big question is why didn’t whoever killed him cut out the drugs at the same time as chopping him up?’ asked Moss.
‘Exactly. This makes me think there’s someone out there looking for him, the same as we are,’ said Erika. ‘Let’s not forget dental records; shit, I forgot to mention it to Nils.’
‘I can follow that up,’ said Marta.
‘No, I’ll do it. You concentrate on the missing persons.’
Marta shifted awkwardly. ‘I wanted to ask about overtime? I’m happy to put in the hours on this, but there’s a freeze on overtime for civilian support staff.’
‘After this meeting I’m going up to talk to the superintendent about it all; I’ll get it okayed.’ Erika checked her watch. ‘Let’s push through for another couple of hours, and then we’ll reconvene tomorrow at nine. Thanks.’
They all got up and gathered their things. Marta and McGorry left, but Moss hung back and waited for Erika as she collected up the case files.
‘Boss. I haven’t heard from Peterson, he said he’d call. Are you two…?’
‘Are we what?’ asked Erika, hefting the pile of case files under her arm.
‘I mean, is he okay?’
‘I don’t know... No, not really,’ said Erika. ‘He’s still taking a lot of meds, not sleeping much. I’ve tried to keep up regular visits.’
‘Me too,’ said Moss.
‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘A week, ten days ago. I’ve been busy,’ she said guiltily. ‘I thought by now he’d be back; at least doing a few hours of desk-based work. It’s been over six months since the accident.’
‘The doctor says he needs to gain eight pounds before he can come back to work. He’s finding it hard with the surgery he had on his stomach, and he had the post-operative infections which screwed things up even more. It’s the psychological stuff which takes longer to heal, and it doesn’t help that he’s stuck at home all day with the four walls closing in on him…’ Erika bit her lip and put her head down. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes and as a distraction she started to check through the case files. There was an awkward silence.
‘I wish I could help him. I can gain eight pounds on an average Sunday lunch,’ said Moss. ‘Okay, well, I’ll be in my office. On the end of the phone and email if you need me.’
‘Thanks,’ said Erika. She waited until Moss had gone before she looked up from the pile of files. She moved to the door and closed it, flicking off the lights. Only then, in the darkness, did she allow herself to cry.
Chapter Nine
August 2016
Nina started to see Max regularly after that first kiss in her car, but he didn’t want to come to her house, and he never invited her over to his place. He would only ever meet her in the evenings, or after work, and it was always in her car.
She knew she was making headway after a few weeks when he let her pick him up outside his flat. He lived in a small block next to a housing estate in a dodgy area of Crouch End, and he was already waiting for her outside when she drove up. So she never got the opportunity to see inside.
Their dates were always the same. First, she would drive him to a pub or club where he would vanish inside for twenty minutes and do some business. She never asked what he had been doing inside, although she suspected it wasn’t anything good. After this they would stop at an off-licence or a Chinese, then drive up to Hampstead Heath and sit staring out at the setting sun.
Then they would have sex. It was mind-blowing, uninhibited sex, and Nina had never experienced passion like it before. Max had a remarkable body and knew exactly what he was doing. Amongst all of the uncertainty in her life, these nights with Max were the only thing that kept her going and made her feel excited.
One evening, at the end of August, they were parked up under a low bank of trees on the edge of the heath, and had just had sex when Max asked her if she wanted to go away. The question took Nina by surprise.
‘Away? You mean on a holiday? Together?’ They were lying naked on the back seat of the car. Nina was resting her head on his chest.
‘Yeah, where else do you go away?’ he said.
‘I don’t know. I’ve heard of people going away to the convent,’ she said, tracing her fingers over his chest.
‘No, you get sent away to the convent,’ he laughed. ‘And that certainly wouldn’t be you.’
‘You cheeky bugger! People go away to prison all the time. Do you know anything about that?’
There was a nasty silence. He pushed her hand away from his chest and sat up.
‘Max, I was joking!’
‘It wasn’t fucking funny,’ he growled, grabbing his T-shirt and yanking it over his head.
‘Sorry. I didn’t think you’d been to…’ she started.
He leaned into her face. A dim orange glow was coming from a streetlight further down, but his eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.
‘What do you think I am? You think I’m some fucking low life?’
Nina crossed her arms over her naked breasts and shrank away from him.
‘No! No! I think you’re gorgeous… you’re the best thing in my life right now, and I would never think that of you! It was just a joke!’
Max stared at her for a long moment. All the warmth had left his eyes, and it made goosebumps stand up on her arms. ‘Max. I’m really sorry, it was honestly just a joke.’
He raised his arm, and she flinched, but he leaned across and retrieved her T-shirt from the footwell.
‘Sit up,’ he said. She sat up, not taking her eyes off him. ‘Lift up your arms.’ As she did the shadows played across the inside of the car, and Nina felt a shift in the atmosphere. Max shook the T-shirt out and placed it over her head. ‘When I was fifteen, I got caught up in some shit,’ he said. She lifted up her arms, and let him hook them through the sleeves. He smoothed the material, running his hands over her breasts, breathing heavily, squeezing them through the fabric.
‘It’s okay, Max. It’s all okay…’ She felt afraid, but didn’t want him to know this. She kept eye contact as he kneaded her breasts through the material. He went on, his voice low and even.
‘I was working in Camden Market, selling T-shirts on a stall, and this guy asked if I could give him and his mates a hand loading up some boxes in the back of a van. It was early on a Saturday and quiet, so I did. There were about twenty-five boxes. They weren’t heavy; I think they had clothes inside. Just as we finished, the police showed up and arrested all the guys and me. Turns out they were stolen goods from a nearby warehouse.’
‘Did they let you go? Obviously you didn’t know?’ asked Nina in a small voice.
‘No. They booked me and banged me up in a cell. I’d been nicked a couple of times before, stupid stuff, shoplifting, breaking windows at a youth club but all I ever got was a caution. I got a solicitor for the police interview and I told them the truth: I didn’t know, I was just helping out. Turns out it wasn’t the first time stuff had been nicked from this warehouse in Camden, and it went to trial. As I’d told the truth in my interview I was told that I should plead guilty and I’d just get a few hours’ community service.’
‘Max, you’re hurting me,’ said Nina quietly as his hands were now gripping her breasts tight through the material.
‘Sorry,’ he said, lifting them off her. He sat back on the seat and stared out of the window. Nina relaxed a little, feeling his attention had shifted.
‘What happened?
’ she asked.
‘I got two years in Feltham Young Offenders. Fucking brutal it was. Locked up for 23 hours a day; there’s fucking gangs. There were young lads there, like me, who got the shit kicked out of them. One bloke was in for nicking a phone from a little kid in the park. He got a year. Is that justice? And I was left to rot for what I thought was doing some lads a favour… I tell you, the people in charge in this country think they’ve got it sussed, they think justice works, they think they’re in control. But I want to make it my mission to bring them down. They threw me in Feltham to make an example of me. But I want them to know they created a monster…’
He was quiet for a long time. Nina sat very still. She was now shivering in just her T-shirt. The seat underneath felt cold against her bare skin.
‘Thank you for telling me,’ she said. ‘I love you.’
He looked up at her, and she could only see his profile in the dark.
‘You do?’
‘Yes.’
‘I think I love you too,’ he said. He put out his arm and she snuggled under it, glad of the warmth coming from his chest.
‘It’s me and you, Nina. Me and you.’
‘Yeah, me and you,’ she said. She had been scared by his outburst, but understood what he had been through. And in her naivety, she thought she could be the one to help him. To change him.
Chapter Ten
Cold Blood: A gripping serial killer thriller that will take your breath away (Detective Erika Foster Book 5) Page 4