by Jay Nadal
His morning had started on a bad note. Losing a victim was one thing, but Abby was about to heap more trouble on his shoulders, as she hastily knocked on his door before entering.
“Guv, Gashi has been sprung from the remand van taking him from the magistrate’s court to Lewes prison.”
Scott sat upright, his eyes fixed wide open. He shook his head in disbelief. “What details have we got?”
“Gashi appeared in front of the magistrates this morning. He was denied bail and carted off in a Geo van. They got as far as the junction of Lewis Road and Coldean Lane. A motorcycle and a car pulled up alongside them, three men jumped out, armed with a sawn-off shotgun, baseball bat, and a pickaxe. They smashed the driver’s window, threatening to shoot the driver. He was forced out, made to open the van and release Gashi under duress. They got him and sped off towards Lewes.”
“That’s bloodied terrific!” Scott fumed. “What about the others?”
“Can you believe it, Renshaw and Wright had bail denied, but they weren’t sprung,” Abby said shaking her head.
“That would explain why Wright said he’d be out soon. He knew or thought he knew that he’d be sprung … unfortunately for him, it didn’t work out that way. How’s the driver?”
Abby was leaning against the doorframe. “He’s shaken up, but both of the guards are okay. We’ve got armed officers on scene and they are making their way towards Lewes, with uniformed officers taking witness statements.”
“Someone has obviously been feeding information on Gashi’s movements, the most likely suspect is his solicitor who would have been present at court today. Track him down, and give him a hard time, see how much he knows. They must’ve had bodies close by ready to go if the opportunity arose.”
Abby nodded in reflective mood.
“I’m about to interview the driver of the Ducato van with Mike, so keep me updated and I’ll catch up with you afterwards.”
***
Scott was making his way down to the interview suite when a familiar voice called out for him from the other end the corridor. He turned on his heel to see Matt Allen, the senior SOCO officer, pacing towards him at speed waving a thin brown file above his head. He was puffing hard by the time he caught up with Scott.
“I see your exercise regime is paying off,” Scott teased. “At this rate you will be able to jog ten yards without getting out of breath.”
“If I were you, I wouldn’t give up the day job because your jokes suck.”
“You’re probably right. Anyway how can I help, I’m about to go and interview a suspect, the one with the Ducato van that your team has been pouring over.”
“Good timing then,” he said holding up the brown file again. “We’ve been able to identify a match on the blood that we found on the chair leg … It’s Libby Stephens. The blunt instrument used to inflict her injuries was more than likely the chair leg.” Matt grimaced.
Even though it was great news, Scott felt a tinge of sadness as more details about her death became known.
Without a response from Scott, Matt continued, “The towels and blankets had traces of human blood on them. They match those of Libby as well, so I suspect she was wrapped in them, before being disposed of. But we found more than one blood type.”
Scott was all ears now. A seemingly routine stop on a van was revealing the final pieces of this case.
“The chair leg had a second trace of blood on it. When we ran it through the system, it was a match for Christine Newland. I think you’ve found the murder weapon, and possibly the assailant as well. Prints we found on the leg came back as a match for someone on the system already, Robert Shaw.”
This news began to perplex Scott as it dawned on him that the two cases were connected. From the forensics evidence, it suggested that both Libby and Christina were killed with the same weapon; the question running through Scott’s mind was how else were they connected.
Armed with that new evidence, Scott made his way to the interview room, to find the owner of the vehicle, Robert Shaw, sitting on one side of the desk, with Mike sitting opposite him. A mental health worker was present beside the suspect.
Robert Shaw had waived his right to legal representation and was talking nonsensically to himself when brought in. The unusual behaviour had led to a request for the police doctor. The doctor had concluded that Shaw did indeed have a mild case of borderline personality disorder that became problematic under stress, but was controlled through medication.
“Mr Shaw. So much for That’s all in the past now. I’ve done my time. What’s your current occupation?” Scott asked.
Shaw didn’t reply, but nervously looked around the room. He looked to his right, in the direction of the mental health worker, an afro-Caribbean women in her mid 30s, and nodded enthusiastically. Scott couldn’t quite figure why.
Mr Shaw, for the tape, what is your occupation? Scott asked again.
This time Shaw turned back towards him, smiling with a shrug, “I’m an odd job man,” he replied in a monotone voice.
“Robert, we would like to talk to you about the contents of your van, in particular a chair leg that was found in the rear compartment of your van. Is it yours?”
Shaw remained silent from moment, “No I found it and picked it up. I thought it might be useful.”
“In what way would it be useful?” Scott enquired.
Shaw shrugged, unable to find an answer to begin with, “I don’t know, but I do lots of handyman work … Maybe I’ll have a job that needs a chair leg.”
“Robert, there were blood stains found on the chair leg, and on the towels and blankets in the rear of your van, could you explain how they came to have blood on them?” Mike asked.
The man shrugged again either unwilling or unable to provide a suitable explanation as to how they came to be in his possession. “It was dark when I found the chair leg, maybe it already had blood on it and that’s how it came to be on everything else.”
“And where did you find the chair leg?” Scott asked, knowing what the response would be.
“I don’t know, I just found it somewhere around town.”
“For the time being, we’re going to be keeping you here in custody, whilst we arrange to search your house, do you understand?”
Shaw had suddenly become very quiet, nodding once in agreement, perhaps realising the enormity of what they’d find there.
***
After concluding the interview, Scott and Mike made their way back to the CID office. Mike was grabbing a coffee from the drinks machine en route, Scott taking his own advice, opted for a bottle of still water on this occasion. “What did you make him of Guv, he didn’t seem all there?”
“Bit of a waste of time if I’m honest. He clearly does have some mental health issues, which may have contributed to him being unhelpful. But he was clearly giving us the run-around in relation to how the chair leg came into his possession and what it was used for. That’s why I terminated the interview early. It makes more sense for us to search his place and see what we find. Then we can re-interview again.”
Scott stopped by Abby’s desk, pinching her arm as he approached.
“Oi that hurt, that’s assault you know,” she said rubbing her arm.
“Any update on Gashi?”
“Officers traced the car to Kingston just south of Lewes, the car was abandoned there, no further update on where they went from there.”
“And his solicitor?”
“Claims he didn’t know anything about it. Reckons he’s just as horrified as we are that he’s absconded.”
Scott looked around the office, “Where are the others?”
“Freshfield Way. Raj is over there at the moment on observation. Sian can take over a little later, she just gone home for a change of clothes.”
“Okay, I’ll be in my office if you need me; I need to arrange a search warrant for this Shaw’s place ASAP.”
Chapter 21
Scott’s arrival at Shaw’s property seem
ed to stir up a lot more interest than on his earlier visit. The arrival of a marked patrol car no doubt contributed to that. In this part of town, the presence of the police car suggested one of two things: either a crime had been committed, or someone was about to be arrested, which was a common occurrence.
On this occasion, the door didn’t need forcing in. As part of Shaw’s arrest, his car keys also contained the keys to his front door. Scott’s nostrils were hit by a damp, musty smell, no doubt from a lack of ventilation. All the officers put on latex gloves. Scott instructed uniformed officers to start looking upstairs. Top of their search list were laptops, computers, mobile phones, photos, or anything that would help link Shaw to the murders of Libby Stephens and Christine Newland.
The ground floor of the property consisted of a small lounge come diner, which Scott estimated to be no longer than fifteen feet. To the rear of the property was a small, cramped galley kitchen. Shaw lived off convenience food judging by the mess that lay strewn across the kitchen work surface. The man’s staple diet appeared to be baked beans, half a loaf of bread, which had the first signs of blue mould creeping in from the edges, together with walkers crisps packets.
The electric hob looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned in years, stained brown, with crusty dried on spills. The floor was grey and dirty; pushing with the tip of his shoe, he rubbed away the dirt on one floor tile to reveal what was once white square lino tiles with the black speckle. Scott rummaged through the kitchen drawers. Kitchen utensils were mixed in with shopping receipts dating back more than six months. Scott flicked through a bunch of expired food saving coupons that commonly littered the drawers of many kitchens households, up and down the country.
As he wandered back into the lounge, Abby was crouching down flicking through several porn magazines.
“It’s a bit early in the morning for you to be flicking through porn.”
Abby turned her nose up. “This is a disgusting job!” as she noticed that some of the pages in the magazines were stuck together. “I think I’m going to be sick,” she heaved.
“Looks like Shaw’s been busy,” Scott replied.
“It’s not so much that he’s been busy, it’s what he’s been using that’s more the issue,” Abby replied holding up several copies of teens untamed. “He seems to enjoy getting off over younger girls, which fits his MO,” she continued, holding them with the tips of two fingers and placing them in large clear plastic evidence bags. A look of disgust on her face as if she’d just picked up something contagious.
The upstairs of the property didn’t fare much better, the threadbare dirty carpets continuing the theme that started downstairs. The small landing had three doors coming off it. To the front, a main bedroom, to the rear, a second bedroom, which in reality was nothing more than a six-foot square, box room, and a small pokey bathroom. Scott never understood how estate agents got away with calling a box room a bedroom when you could barely fit in a bed and nothing else.
“Anything of interest?” Scott asked one of the officers who was sifting through boxes haphazardly stacked on top of one another in the box room. There was an assortment of clothing scattered around the floor, and judging by the lack of accessibility in this room, Scott assumed it was a room that was rarely used.
“Nothing of interest sir, most of the boxes,” he said pointing in the corner of the room, “Have got books in them, clothes that been stuffed in, and some household knick-knacks. The bathroom’s clean too … well not clean in that sense, but nothing worth bagging up.”
“Okay keep looking, there’s more here, I’m sure of it.” Scott ventured into the front bedroom. He was amazed at how some people lived. Judging by the stained and ingrained dirt, the bedding hadn’t been washed in months. It was loosely falling off the end of his bed, with more clothes scattered around the floor. He could see small particles of dust caught in the sunlight floating in the air that were now starting to irritate his nostrils. There was a sense of untidiness and filth in all directions.
He found the other officer lent over a small bedside cabinet, picking through the contents of the top drawer. “Sir, there’s a laptop just under the bed here, and I found a piece of paper resting on it,” handing the evidence bag over to Scott.
On it was scribbled Newhaven 3pm.
Scott’s mind was whirring, was this the time and location of a potential swap? Or a drop? It’s also the ferry terminal, was this the time of a sailing?
“There’s some other stuff pushed under the bed sir,” the officer continued, pulling out three more porn magazines. Each of the covers had young models dressed up to look like teenagers in saucy school uniforms, posing in erotic positions.
“Don’t tell me, some of the pages are stuck together?”
“I’m afraid so sir, there’s also what appears to be female underwear, namely several pairs of knickers with little cherries and daisies on them. They appear to be crunched up and a little crusty if you know I mean.”
Scott was beginning to build a deeper understanding of Robert Shaw as he pulled together the evidence… filthy place, filthy mind, a loner; he likes to be in the company of children, which is why he’s been found lurking outside school gates and youth clubs. He gains sexual gratification from looking at images of teens. No coincidence that he lives a short distance from child’s playground and is going to some length to conceal his depravity.
The more Scott thought about this, the stronger he felt about Shaw’s implication in the whole ring. He had done his best to put them off his tracks by pleading his innocence when they first visited him. However, as he stood in Shaw’s lair, the tide was turning against him. A holler from the officer in the small box room drag Scott away from his thoughts.
He noticed the ashen look on the officer’s face as he stepped back from a box he’d been examining on the floor. Pushing back the flaps on the box for Scott, it was a small white coffee jar. It wasn’t the jar itself that alarmed him, but what appeared to be blood stained prints on the outside. Carefully holding the jar from the base to avoid disturbing the prints, he slowly prised off the Cork lid. What he found inside took him a moment to process.
Cotton wool had been stuffed into the bottom half of the jar. Resting on top was what appeared to be dark brown rubbery objects. With the help of the officer who shone his torch into the jar, the full horror of the discovery soon hit home. Scott was looking at what appeared to be a tongue, and some small round circular pieces of flesh, which Scott thought resembled the look and shape of nipples.
“Found these, too,” the officer said reaching into the box once again and pulling out a watch and phone that were stuffed in amongst the clothes. They were no ordinary watch or phone that he handed over. They were vital pieces of evidence that sealed Shaw’s fate and sent lightning bolts of revulsion and horror through him.
***
Back in the office, word soon spread about the crucial evidence discovered in Shaw’s property. Scott was certain that Shaw was complicit in two murders; he had little room to wriggle out.
Having reviewed, videoed, bagged and documented the evidence at Shaw’s house, both Scott and Abby were still reeling by what they’d discovered there. At one point Abby had had to leave to get some fresh air outdoors or risk throwing up. As police officers, they were used to seeing the aftermath of horrendous crimes, dead bodies and body parts, but the evidence surfacing in this investigation was affecting their emotional and moral core. It was all too easy to be told to put their emotions to one side as they had a job to do. But they were human beings nevertheless, affected by circumstances that hit everyone like grief, tragedy and the desperate plight of the vulnerable.
Several large bags of evidence were dispatched to Matt’s team in forensics, with an urgent request to process them whilst they had Shaw in custody for 24 hours. His laptop had been sent to the high tech unit for analysis. Scott was hoping there would be incriminating evidence linking him to other key members in the ring, in particular Johnny Wright and Ardit Gas
hi.
Chapter 22
Shaw was back in the interview room, this time looking decidedly more uncomfortable as he shot nervous glances between Scott and Abby, who sat with their arms crossed in deliberate silence. Scott was determined to put Shaw under significant strain. He desperately needed Shaw to crack, the man needed to be sweating from every pore. As far as Scott was concerned, this would be the last day Shaw walked a free man. The evidence he’d found at Shaw’s property left no doubt in Scott’s view as to his sick and depraved mind, nor his involvement in two deaths.
The criminal justice system was there for a reason, to bring to justice those who had committed the most heinous of crimes. Crimes against underage children ranked there at the top, in Scott’s opinion. A lengthy custodial sentence seemed too good for Shaw.
“Robert, could you explain how you came to have in your possession a small coffee jar with what appears to be human remains in it?” Scott asked holding up a picture the jar in question.
“Dunno.”
“For the purposes of the tape, I’m showing Mr Shaw a picture of a Dior watch with the inscription love Alan on the back. How did this come to be in your possession?”
Shaw shrugged, “Won it in a Christmas cracker,” he smiled.
“Do you enjoy looking at magazines of naked teenage girls, does it turn you on?”
Abby remained silent during this exchange, choosing wisely to make notes as Scott worked on Shaw from the edges taking him closer and closer to the centre.
“You see here’s my theory; I believe that you are somehow involved in the murders of Libby Stephens and Christine Newland, am I correct?”
“So what if I was?” He said in a monotone grunt, “There’s plenty more like them.”