The Jigsaw Man

by Nadine Matheson

‘No, it isn’t.’ Henley closed her notebook. ‘So, what are our next steps? What other evidence have we got?’

  ‘CCTV from the area where Zoe was found and also CCTV from Greenwich Council but no actual footage of the riverbank.’

  ‘What don’t we have?’

  ‘Eye-witnesses and an actual complete body for Daniel Kennedy. We’re missing his right arm,’ Ramouter said with a grimace.

  Henley looked at her watch. ‘It’s late. You should go home. I’ll be here first thing. Ezra told me that you were trying to access the original case files.’

  ‘I wasn’t snooping or anything like that,’ Ramouter said quickly. ‘I just thought it wouldn’t hurt to take a look.’

  ‘To see if we missed something?’

  Henley put her hand to her chest, as though she was offended.

  ‘What? No. Of course not… I just…’

  ‘Calm down. I’m only joking. You’re a fresh pair of eyes. See if there’s anything about the original investigation that jumps out at you.’

  As Henley watched Ramouter pack up, she couldn’t get rid of the one thought that was running through her mind. What if Ramouter discovered that she had missed something?

  Ramouter sat on his living-room floor wearing a pair of shorts and his ancient number 8 West Bromwich Albion football shirt. He had opened all the windows but the overpriced fan was doing nothing but pushing around hot air. He picked up the last spring roll and dipped it in sriracha chilli sauce. He was ashamed of his current diet. The contents of his fridge hadn’t expanded beyond the two pints of milk, half a loaf of bread, eggs and sausage rolls that he’d bought on Sunday night.

  He had printed out the investigation file from the memory stick. The papers were fanned across the floor, held down by the remote control, mobile phone and a 12kg kettlebell. He picked up Olivier’s arrest photo. He had smiled for the camera, his face all sharp angles, but there was a handsome ruggedness to him, a magnetism. Ramouter could feel himself being drawn in when he met him. In the photo he had a cut lip and dried blood on his nose. His left eye was swollen and bloodshot. According to the report, Olivier had been apprehended by Pellacia and resisted arrest. From the look of Olivier, Ramouter was pretty confident that Pellacia had done more than taser him after he’d stabbed Henley.

  Over the course of eight weeks Olivier had murdered seven people and dumped their bodies in various locations across south-east London. Ramouter picked up another photograph, smudging sauce on the bottom of the page. The last victim. Unidentified and to date they had never recovered his head. Ramouter’s laptop pinged with the arrival of an email. The email was from the visitor’s department at Belmarsh prison. Olivier had no family or friends to speak of but in the past three months forty-three people had applied to visit him. Olivier had only agreed to see one person.

  ‘Who the fuck is Chance Blaine?’ Ramouter asked the empty room.

  Chapter 20

  Henley and Ramouter had been in the SCU for less than an hour on Thursday morning when Joanna received a call from an officer at Deptford police station. A body had been found, in pieces, in the churchyard of St Nicholas church. The actual church was partially obscured by a wall that separated it from the surrounding council estate and a gated private development.

  ‘Not very welcoming, is it? For a church, it’s kind of grim,’ said Ramouter as he stopped at the open gates. On either side of the gates, a skull and crossbones sat on top of the posts. The empty black eye bored into them as if daring them to enter. In Henley’s mind’s eye, the skulls were replaced with Zoe’s head. She shuddered.

  ‘When we were younger, they used to say that this was a pirate’s church.’ Henley almost smiled at the memory. ‘They told us that the skull and crossbones on the gates were the inspiration for the Jolly Roger.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Ramouter looked up before following Henley along the concrete path that headed towards the church building.

  ‘Yep, but really it was meant to remind parishioners of their own mortality and the fact that there’s an afterlife.’

  ‘You grew up around here? I remember that senior CSI guy, Anthony, said that you knew the river well.’

  ‘I did,’ said Henley. ‘On the other side of the park.’

  ‘Local girl made good.’

  ‘Depends on who you’re talking to. Right, let’s get—’

  The sound of Ramouter’s mobile phone cut Henley off. She held her tongue as Ramouter looked at her apologetically before turning his back to answer the phone, then walked away. A few minutes later, Ramouter walked sheepishly around a white transit van and a police officer rolling out the blue-and-white police tape.

  ‘Finished, have you?’ Henley asked sarcastically when Ramouter came back.

  ‘Sorry about that. It was… Never mind. Sorry.’

  Henley thought about asking him more about the phone call but changed her mind. The last thing she needed was to start getting close to him.

  ‘Come on,’ said Henley, checking her pockets for gloves. She stepped off the path and walked through the overgrown grass, gravestones and tombs where the names of the dead had long been eroded. All of the activity was at the back of the church where the medieval tower stood. Anthony and his team of forensic investigators were already at work, while a young man, with the familiar black-and-white dog collar, his shirt sleeves rolled up, stood talking to a couple of uniformed officers.

  ‘There are three entrances to the churchyard.’ Henley waved over a policewoman who was standing next to a petite white woman holding tightly to a dog lead. The Staffordshire Bull Terrier lay quietly on the ground. ‘We’ll have to speak to the reverend. The woman who was standing with you. I take it that’s the witness, Janine Mullins?’ Henley asked the policewoman who looked down at Henley’s warrant card.

  ‘Yes, ma’am. I’ve got her statement here.’ The officer reached into her back pocket and took out her notebook and handed it to Henley. ‘You will have to excuse my handwriting.’

  ‘That’s OK.’ Henley flicked through the pages before handing the blue book over to Ramouter.

  Ramouter handed the book back with a grimace. ‘She saw the foxes eating an arm.’

  The foxes had discarded the arm a few feet away from the memorial plaque for Christopher Marlowe. The rest of the body was a jumbled mess at the bottom of the stairs that led down to the door of the tower.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ said Henley, making her descent. She stopped three steps from the bottom and gagged. Among the broken beer bottles, weathered crisp packets and greasy chicken boxes lay a man, broken, cut in pieces, and decomposing.

  ‘How long do you reckon he’s been down there?’ Ramouter peered into what looked like a shadowy exposed grave.

  The flesh on the back of the man’s neck, where the head had been detached, was crawling with bloated white maggots. The limbs were wrapped in a clear plastic sheet that was shredded in the parts where the foxes had been clawing at it. The once white skin on the torso had taken on a mottled green tone and was taut like an overcooked sausage. Henley backed up the stairs.

  ‘If the foxes have only just found him then someone must have put him here in the early hours of this morning, but how long he’s been dead for?’ Henley said. ‘No idea. Where’s the reverend?’

  ‘He went back into the church,’ said Ramouter. ‘What I don’t understand is why here?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Henley admitted. ‘But it’s someone who knows the area. It’s no coincidence that Kennedy and Zoe were found just up the road and—’

  ‘Do you think that it’s another one of his?’ Ramouter asked.

  Henley nodded. She didn’t need to see the symbols cut into this man’s skin to know that this was the copycat’s third victim and that they were now looking for a serial killer.

  ‘This isn’t normal, is it? Three bodies in four days.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’ The shrill ringtone from Henley’s phone interrupted them. NO CALLER ID flashed across the screen.

  �
��Hello. Yes. This is DI Henley… Right. Where did you pick it up?… How long ago? Was it found in the water or on the riverbank? OK… Let me know as soon as it does. Thanks.’

  ‘Who was that?’ asked Ramouter.

  ‘Sergeant Caballero from the River Police. They found an arm in the water near the Woolwich Ferry.’

  ‘It could belong to Kennedy.’

  ‘Maybe, but this river has a habit of spewing up all sorts. Could belong to anyone. They’re waiting for CSI and then they’ll send it on to Greenwich mortuary. Come on, let’s go talk to Janine Mullins.’

  Chapter 21

  The teacup rattled on the saucer that Janine Mullins was holding in her hands. Henley was giving it two minutes before the cream china cup with a scattering of delicate pink roses around it ended up in pieces on the floor in the reverend’s office. It took less than one.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father. I’m so sorry.’ Janine stared at the broken pieces on the floor.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Mrs Mullins. I’ll go and get a dustpan and brush. Perhaps I can find you something a little bit stronger in the kitchen.’ Reverend Undrill gently touched her arm as he walked out.

  Janine rubbed at the creased, blue-veined skin on her hands and twisted the gold band on her ring finger.

  ‘We walk in the churchyard all the time but I’ve never been in the actual church,’ she said as her dog lapped up the brown liquid running along the tiles. ‘Then again, I’m Catholic and this is Church of England. Brian’s mum would have a fit.’

  The reverend came back in and quickly swept up the broken cup and saucer and wiped up the spilt tea.

  ‘Do you go to church?’ Henley asked.

  Janine nodded. ‘Our Lady. Up the high street. Do you know it?’

  ‘I was christened there. Had my first holy communion and my confirmation there.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s a small world.’

  The door opened and Ramouter entered holding a fresh cup of tea. ‘The caretaker is here so I’m going to have a word with him. Linh has just pulled up too.’

  ‘He seems nice,’ Janine said. ‘They make them so young these days. Even you look too young to be an inspector.’

  ‘Don’t let the face fool you. There are some days where I feel ancient,’ said Henley.

  ‘I’ve never seen a dead body before.’ Janine clutched her tea tightly. ‘Never. Not even my dad’s when he passed.’

  ‘It’s OK.’ Henley placed her hand gently on Janine’s’ wrist. ‘Just tell me what you saw.’

  ‘It’s like I told that other officer out there. There were a couple of vans having a stand-off around the corner. They’re always cutting around the back to avoid the traffic. There was a couple jogging, but they jogged past the church, they didn’t come in. I came in, sat on the bench and I hadn’t even taken a sip of my tea when I started to hear rustling behind me and then I noticed the smell. I turned around and that’s when I saw the… The—’

  Janine convulsed with sobs.

  A small crowd of parents, dropping their children off at the nursery across the road, had gathered on the corner by the crime scene. Their gossip simmered to a hum when the transit van bearing the words PRIVATE AMBULANCE passed through the church entrance.

  The air was heavy with the scent of death. It was almost suffocating. Henley grew irritable and restless.

  ‘I took a look around and had a good chat with Reverend Undrill,’ Ramouter said as they headed to Henley’s car. ‘They usually close the doors to the church at 8 p.m., but the hall next door doesn’t close until 10. It depends on whether they have events or meetings. The reverend doesn’t live on the premises. Apparently, there isn’t enough money to fund a residence.’

  ‘Get to the point,’ Henley said impatiently.

  ‘OK. There’s a caretaker that closes all three gates at 10.30 p.m. and they’re not opened again until 6 a.m. There’s only two sets of keys. The caretaker has one set and the reverend has the other. So, last night the caretaker does the same thing that he does every night. Checks the churchyard, throws out any drunks, and locks up. When he went to open the gates this morning, he discovers that the back gate next to the flats has been forced open.’

  ‘CCTV?’

  Ramouter shook his head. ‘All of the cameras were damaged a couple of days ago. The caretaker thought it was kids, but I’m not so sure.’

  ‘But Janine found the body. How come the caretaker didn’t see anything?’ Henley spotted Linh talking to Anthony while another forensic investigator took photographs.

  ‘He says he didn’t see it, and to be fair, sunrise wasn’t until 6.32 a.m. so it would still have been dark.’

  Henley sucked her teeth in frustration as they walked towards Linh. ‘Do you realise that in four days we’ve had three dead bodies that have been dumped in public places, but we haven’t got one independent witness.’

  ‘Whoever it is, they’re clever,’ Ramouter said as he pulled a packet of Polo mints from his pocket. ‘Literally knows how to move like a ghost.’

  ‘I will never, ever get used to maggots. They make my skin crawl.’ Linh turned her arms over to check that she was insect-free. ‘I’ve been up since 3 a.m. 15-year-old boy hanged himself in his bedroom in Kidbrooke. He’s the third one this week and then when I’m two minutes away from my house I get a call to go to Nunhead and do you know what I find?’

  ‘Go on, tell me.’

  ‘A skeleton. A bona fide skeleton. Not a strip of flesh on it. Just sitting in an armchair. Fucking mad. Anyway, back to your guy down there. White male. Mid-thirties to early forties. Like your other two bodies, he’s been dismembered. All six pieces are there. Ligature marks on the wrists and ankles. Stab wound to his right thigh.’

  ‘How long do you reckon that he’s been dead for?’ asked Ramouter.

  ‘Well, as you could clearly see, the body is covered with maggots. The blowflies, especially in this weather, will arrive within twenty-four hours of death.’ Linh pulled a face. ‘I’m not an expert, but I do know that flies can lay up to 150 eggs in a batch. Another day for the larvae to hatch, three to five days before they pupate into flies… If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that this guy has been dead at least four days. I’m going to have to send some of those nasty little maggots to an entomologist, but there’s another thing.’ Linh stepped closer to Henley and Ramouter. ‘Left thigh. Three inches above his knee. It looks like a double cross has been cut into his leg.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Henley asked.

  ‘I need to get him on the table before I can be one hundred per cent sure, but there is something else. His ears have been cut off.’

  ‘Excuse me – his what?’

  ‘Ears. Both of them. Cut off. I know. I haven’t seen anything like it before. I’m going to go. I’ll give you a bell later.’

  ‘Let’s make a move,’ Henley said to Ramouter.

  ‘I think that you may want to take a look at this first.’ Ramouter handed Henley his phone which was opened on the front page of the Evening Standard.

  LADYWELL FIELDS: POLICE LAUNCH A SERIAL KILLER INVESTIGATION AFTER A SECOND BODY IS FOUND IN SOUTH-EAST LONDON

  Callum O’Brien

  Murder detectives from the Serial Crime Unit are investigating after a woman’s body was discovered in a park in south-east London. Police were called to Ladywell Fields shortly before 10 a.m. on Tuesday after members of the public made the gruesome discovery. Three days ago, the remains of Daniel Kennedy, 36, from Camden, north-west London were found on the riverbank in Deptford, south-east London.

  Scotland Yard refused to confirm if the woman’s body, found in bushes, had been dismembered, but did confirm that her next of kin had been informed. A Met Police spokesman said: ‘Enquiries are ongoing and we are investigating whether the person responsible for the murder of Daniel Kennedy is also responsible for the tragic death of this young woman.’

  ‘Shit, shit, shit!’ Henley handed Ramouter his phone as her own began to ring.
‘It’s Pellacia.’

  ‘Have you seen it?’ Pellacia asked.

  ‘I’m looking at it now. I thought that we were going to wait a bit before we started talking to the press about any possible links? Who’s the spokesman?’

  ‘Someone from the Commissioner’s office.’

  ‘I’m not happy about this.’

  ‘I’m not exactly jumping up and down about it either.’

  ‘This is a load of—’

  ‘Anj, the Chief Superintendent wants to see us now.’

  ‘What do you mean now? I’m in the middle of a—’

  ‘I know what you’re in the middle of, but I need you to be at the yard this afternoon at 12 p.m. Anjelica, did you hear me?’

  ‘I heard you. I’ll see you at 12 p.m.’

  Chapter 22

  Standstill traffic on the Old Kent Road meant that it had taken forty minutes longer to get to the Victoria Embankment. Henley had almost been tempted to turn on the sirens.

  The tourists were out in force. Henley wondered how many of them would get their phones and wallets nicked as they stood in front of the ‘magicians’ and three-card hustlers on the bridge. The air was thick with exhaust as the traffic continued to build up.

  She carried out a quick rescue job with her compact powder and nude lipstick. There wasn’t much that she could do about her hair.

  Henley made sure that her police credentials were prominently displayed around her neck. She had lost count of how many times she walked through the doors of New Scotland Yard, only to be stopped by some overzealous officer.

  She checked the rear-view mirror and spotted Pellacia, hands deep in his pockets, making his way towards her. As Henley left the cool refuge of the air-conditioned car, she could feel the heavy air cling to her skin like an oil slick. She thought back to the last time she’d visited the Yard. Three weeks after she had been discharged from hospital, her stitches still tight and the wounds seeping, she had been forced to explain her actions and how she had allowed Olivier to stab her. All eyes were on her that day. Blaming her, her sex and race, for the mistake she’d apparently made.