The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  ***

  By one o’clock Craig was pulling into a broad sea-gulled wasteland between the silver Titanic Belfast Centre and the river at Queen’s Quay. A runway of flashing blue lights led the way to the crime scene. He dumped his car to one side, and forced his way swiftly through the police line. Liam was standing beside a derelict storage shed, and he left the constable he was chatting with to greet him.

  “Who found him and when, Liam?”

  “A rigger for some new funfair, at about eight this morning. Uniform didn’t connect things until an hour ago. He had no I.D., so they named him through the number on his medical tag. Penicillin allergy. That’ll not be bothering him anymore.”

  He caught Craig’s disapproving frown. There was a time for dark humour and this wasn’t it.

  “Sorry, boss. Anyway, the rigger was putting some equipment up and he nipped into the shed for a quiet fag out of the rain. He literally stood on the body. It was spread-out just inside the door.”

  “They wanted him found. You’re sure it’s him?”

  “Pretty sure. We need the formal I.D., but height, build and appendix scar match the description the wife gave. He was buck naked. Do you want to have a look at him? It’s real biblical stuff.”

  “Go ahead.”

  Craig followed him into the echoing steel shed where the white-suited C.S.I.s were already busy.

  “Don’t worry lads, we’re not going to mess up your scene. We’ll stand over here. Could one of you just pull back the sheet and let the boss see his face?”

  The thin sheet slipped back to uncover a man’s grazed and blood-stained face. There were fine white particles spread all over his chin. Even from a distance, Craig recognised the man he’d interviewed the week before.

  “Yes, there’s no doubt it’s Murdock. But get the usual I.D. please. Have you called John?”

  “Yes. Hello Marc.” A warm baritone turned them towards the lean figure of John Winter, already suited-up to approach the scene.

  “Sorry to rush you, John, but we need a quick idea of how and when. Just a first impression.”

  “Right - let me see him then.”

  Putting on his glasses Winter headed over to their victim, walking on the C.S.I.’s metal pathway. He hunkered down for several minutes, studying Murdock’s head, arms and torso closely. And finally his back and legs. Then he walked back to Craig, ready to give them a steer. John wasn’t precious about educated guesses. He knew that giving one now might save another life.

  “Well, this is interesting. Almost biblical.”

  “That’s exactly the word Liam used. Why?”

  “The whole scene, it feels deliberately barren. Right, well - he’s been dead for several hours. The resolving Rigor indicates more than twelve. The Lividity is all on the front so he was on his stomach for at least the first six. There’s no secondary Lividity on his heels or back at all, so he wasn’t moved for at least six hours after death.

  The primary surface wasn’t firm enough to leave marks, so no clues there I’m afraid. But this definitely isn’t the murder site; there’s nothing like enough blood. I’d say that he’d been dead for at least six hours when he was moved, possibly longer. Then he was brought here to be laid out on his back. This was a deliberate display - probably to humiliate him.”

  Craig rubbed his forehead as he listened, leaving a deep red mark. He nodded John on.

  “He’s heavily bruised all over, consistent with being handled roughly prior to death. The bruises are about one to two days old. And there are restraint marks above both wrists and ankles - deeper on the wrists, so his socks probably saved his ankles. He was a big man, so I should think he was drugged. He would have fought back otherwise, and there are no defensive wounds that I can see. Whatever they used to bind him was probably cut off soon after death - the Lividity indicates that.” He paused and glanced back at the body, shaking his head. After a long pause he restarted, heavily.

  “His face was superficially grazed before death, so that might give you some clues as to the surface he died on. Mainly small scratches, and there’s what looks like a small piece of gravel embedded in his nose. The white powder on his chin could be Cocaine, or it could just be staged with something. I can’t be sure until I get him back to the lab. There are bruises to the face and a contusion on the back of his skull - we’ll probably find a depressed fracture there, consistent with a heavy blow. It was caused by something about the diameter of a two pound coin, maybe a hammer. But there’s too much swelling to tell for sure without an X-ray. Des can tell this better than me, but those medical alert tags look platinum, and they’re still there. So theft probably wasn’t a feature.”

  A sudden look of disgust flashed across his face and Craig held his breath. He instantly knew what was coming next.

  “What he does have is a transverse incision across his lower abdomen, right down to the abdominal cavity. It’s an accurate Pfannenstiel - that’s the incision used for Caesareans.”

  Yes! Craig mentally punched the air and Liam gasped loudly. That was a new one, even for him. John was the first to break the silence.

  “It was done while he was alive, Marc. I’d say that he was bound, incised, left on his stomach to bleed out, and then stripped and arranged here later on his back. It’s tempting to say that he bled to death, but I need to rule out other things first. This isn’t the primary scene, there just isn’t enough blood. This scene was purely about display. Maybe they knew the area would be busy with the funfair, so it wouldn’t be long until he was found?”

  “Which could mean that he wouldn’t have been found at the primary site, John. Or at least that a quick audience wouldn’t have been guaranteed there.”

  “Indeed. There’s one other thing which is a bit strange. I think you’ll find that Mr Murdock operated left-handed.”

  “Why do you say that, Doc?”

  “They amputated his left hand above the wrist. While he was alive.”

  “God - this is really grim, John. It feels almost depraved.”

  “Yes, it does. And I think they took the hand as a trophy. The C.S.I.’s haven’t found it. Anyway, there’s obviously no doubt that this is murder. And there’s no question in my mind that we’ll find the Pethidine and Insulin mix in his blood as well. I’m sure this is linked with the deaths of our three women, Marc.”

  “I didn’t like the man, but what a way to go. Someone must have really hated him. And they have to be insane. This isn’t the work of anyone normal.” He paused for a moment, thinking. “You and Liam both used the word ‘Biblical’ - presumably you mean the gruesomeness?”

  “Not really, no. I meant wrath. Don’t you feel that’s what this was, rather than the usual robbery, rape or random? It’s like one of those ‘vengeance’ scenarios from the Old Testament. I’m just waiting for Charlton Heston to appear.” He stared out at the Lagan, as if waiting for it to part.

  “Aye, it is, boss. It’s like one of those bible stories teachers used to scare the hell out of us with, when we were kids. Being struck by God’s lightning-bolt if you were caught stealing a biscuit, and that sort of stuff. You know.”

  “God Liam, where did you go to school?” They all laughed, lightening the mood.

  A sudden flash outside the shed caught Craig’s eye. He turned sharply, expecting to see the C.S.I. photographer. Instead he was greeted by the sight of a young woman in jeans, clicking a camera straight at them. Journalist.

  Liam had already seen her and he loped over quickly. He mentally replayed his ‘dealing with the media’ course to stop him ripping the camera from her hand, and boomed loudly in her face. “Which paper are you from?”

  “The C...Chronicle.” What a surprise. “Ray Mercer asked me to take some shots for him.” She stammered and stared up at Liam in confusion. He was so much taller than her that she teetered backwards and he grabbed her to stop her fall.

  At the mention of Mercer’s name he shook his head, knowing that she’d been duped by an old hand. “Tha
t’s because he knows better than to come near a crime-scene himself. You’ve been had, love. I’ll need to take that memory card - you’ll get a receipt for it. And tell Mr Mercer that if we see reports on this before we release an official statement, your editor will be speaking to us as well. You’re compromising an on-going investigation.”

  She was about twenty years old and absolutely terrified - Mercer was a real shit. But Liam still took her details. Craig and John walked over to join them angrily. When Craig saw how frightened the girl was he replaced his anger with coolness.

  “How did you find out about this scene, Madam?” The girl stared down at her muddy boots, suddenly ashamed.

  “Mr Mercer pays for information. From the Police.”

  Police leaks - totally out of order, but hard to control. There’d been respect between the press and the police for a while, but Mercer was a law onto himself. He’d got someone around the force feeding him tidbits.

  “Where is he?”

  An involuntary flick of her eye indicated a slip road to the left of the shed, where Craig could see a solitary parked car. He called two uniforms over, indicating the occupant. He was in the mood to rattle Mercer’s cage - mostly because he’d sent a youngster to do his job. Although the lunchtime press conference hadn’t helped.

  “Liam, ask uniform to take this lady home please. And bring Mr Mercer back to High Street for a word. I need to talk to Tommy again too. He didn’t do this - it’s too complex a kill for him. But he may have seen something when he was tailing Murdock. And he better talk to me this time or I will charge him with Murdock’s murder.”

  “Made the call ten minutes ago, boss. He’ll be calling his brief as we speak.”

  “Great. John - just give us anything you can please, as quickly as possible.” John nodded, already removing his white-suit for Nigel Murdock’s trip back to the lab.

  “I’ll need to speak to Harrison and Charles McAllister again, Liam. So if you get to High Street before me, go ahead and start. I’ll see you there.”

  “Aye well, before you speak to McAllister, I’d better just update you.” He gave Craig a quick summary of his morning’s meetings.

  “Well done. OK, I won’t speak to him now then. Check his alibi, then notify him that Murdock’s been found and watch his reaction. Don’t give him any more detail than that. Greenwood and McAllister have to be high on our suspect list now, so let’s get their D.N.A.s please. Give Mercer some grief and then let him go - I’ll call his editor on my way back.”

  Liam’s face lit up at the thought of giving Mercer and Tommy Hill a hard time. This was his sort of day. Just as they reached the cordon a short man with a builder’s tan and a cigarette in his mouth approached them.

  “Here, when’ll you lot be finished? We’ve a fairground to set up and it has to be ready for testin’ tomara. None of them kids will come near us on Friday if you lot are here. An’ the funfair pays us for the year.”

  Liam loomed over him, disdain flitting across his face. Then he said, as quietly as he ever could. “Well, here’s the thing, mate. It’ll take as long as it takes. And if you think the cops will put people off, a corpse will do it even quicker.”

  Instead of the shock he was aiming for, the rigger just shrugged and sucked on his cigarette, all sarcasm wasted on him. Not my problem mate.

  ***

  Tommy was his usual charming self, no-commenting his way through every question. So after ten minutes Liam gave up, deciding to leave him to Craig. He’d have a go at Mercer instead.

  Ray Mercer shifted on the hard interview-room chair, trying to get comfortable. He yawned loudly, knowing that someone was watching on the other side of the wall and drew his middle finger pointedly up his face.

  He was thin, dark and angular, with a nose that his mother called Roman and others called hooked. He didn’t mind what they called it. The severity of his look served him well, putting the fear of God into interviewees and editors alike.

  He didn’t care if people loved him as long as they paid him. And as long as he could write what he wanted 24/7. He was good at what he did and it wasn’t a popularity contest. He tapped his finger pointedly against his watch mouthing ‘time is money’ to the wall. Following it with another middle finger in the air, and ‘charge me or let me go.’

  Liam stood on the other side of the mirror with his arms folded, watching. He hated journalists, except for Davy’s wee lassie Maggie; she was all right. The concept that you had to ask them not to print things that could prejudice an investigation was completely beyond him. But most of them responded to a gentle warning and a raised eyebrow, scuttling off back to their offices to play nice. Not Mercer. He was the lowest form of scum and endowed with giant cojones. Even his best menace didn’t work on him.

  After five minutes watching Liam pushed open the interview-room door. He grabbed the chair nearest it, turning it around and leaning abruptly across its back. He was a good foot taller than Mercer and that, combined with his megaphone diplomacy, normally did the trick on everyone. He thought it was worth a try, not holding out much hope.

  When he’d finished shouting, Mercer smirked, as if to say ’is that all you have?’ And Liam could feel his fist curling under the desk. Five minutes alone with no witnesses was all he needed. Then Mercer would be writing cookery tips for beginners. But he knew it would never happen, so he bit his tongue and re-started the warning in his coldest, deepest tone.

  “Mr Mercer. You know why you’re here.”

  Mercer yawned open-mouthed and then sat staring at Liam in silence. After a moment he shrugged. “You want me to say that I’m a bad little journalist? OK then, I’m a bad little journalist. You want me to say that I buy information? OK, I buy information. You want me to tell you who I buy it from? There I draw the line.”

  He smirked so arrogantly that Liam wanted to reach over and smack him one. Then he restarted in a faux–noble tone that implied integrity. He probably thought integrity was a country in South America.

  “A journalist never reveals his sources, Inspector, but there are plenty of them in the force. They don’t pay you guys enough, so earning a bit on the side appeals to plenty of your colleagues. And I pay well.” He smiled provocatively “You’ve a new baby, haven’t you? Maybe you’d like to earn a bit more sometime?”

  That was Liam’s limit. Not the offer, but the mention of his family. How the hell did Mercer know about them? Before he could stop himself he was across the room, looming over Mercer with his fist clenched. The unflinching look on the hack’s face dared him to cross the line.

  At that moment the door opened and Craig walked in. He said nothing, just stared at the journalist as if he was something he’d stepped in. Liam glanced at Craig, then at Mercer, and backed off. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

  Mercer stared coolly at Craig. “You’re my witness, D.C.I. Craig. That was police brutality.”

  Craig half-smiled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr Mercer. I just came in to say you’re free to go.”

  “Come off it Craig! You saw it. I want you to charge him.”

  Craig shook his head gently. “It will be a cold day in hell before that ever happens. Now get out. And you’re on a warning, Mr Mercer. If I see you at a crime scene you’ll be lifted. I’ve already given your editor the message.”

  He shot Liam a warning look and then they left the room together, leaving Ray Mercer to find his own way out. On clear notice not to mess with the thin blue line.

  ***

  4pm.

  Craig walked into the briefing to find everyone already assembled, the buzz in the room telling him that they’d heard about the body.

  “Right. You’ll all have heard about today’s events. We’ll come back to those in a moment, but let’s do a general update first. Annette, can you start us off please.”

  “OK, the death records. Since Mr Murdock joined the Unit in 2006 they’ve had a lot of complaints about too many Caesareans and his rudeness. Bu
t there was nothing much else. There are only two other deaths that could possibly fit our case. The first was in 2007. The lady was a known diabetic and she made a complaint about Murdock’s bad manners weeks before she died. But Beth wasn’t the midwife on her case. She wasn’t even working in the Trust then.”

  “Did the patient have a Caesarean at any point? Before or after death?”

  “No.”

  “Then let’s rule her out for now.”

  Annette was about to ask something, but Craig gently motioned her on.

  “The second case happened in March 2008. It was a young woman who had an emergency Caesarean. She bled to death on the operating table.”

  “What happened to the baby?”

  “It survived, sir.”

  “Was Murdock the consultant?”

  “Yes, and Beth was the midwife.”

  Craig sat forward urgently. “Was the baby a girl? And was the mother a known diabetic?”

  “Yes, the baby was a little girl. But no sir, she wasn’t a diabetic. Although there’s a vague note referring to some Insulin two days before her death. The case-file is pretty vague overall, and the drug charts were being stored in the pharmacy for some reason.”

  “What was her name, Annette?”

  “Melissa Pullman.”

  “Right. Annette and Martin - gather everything you can find on Ms Pullman. Get the drug charts and operation notes and start digging into her background. Anything you can find. Where she was born, parents, was she married, what did she do for a living? And the baby. Where is it now? And very importantly, who’s the father? Get her post-mortem and ward notes, and any complaints against hospital staff. Anything and everything. Copy it all to Dr Winter and me urgently. And speak to the Trust Medical Director to see what help he can give you.” He paused briefly. “But don’t involve Charles McAllister please.”

  Annette shot Craig a questioning look, but he was pre-occupied, thinking. This was their link to the killer, he was sure of it.

  The rest of the briefing was spent on the interviews with Tommy’s men. Then Liam read out the report John had sent through, on the D.N.A. patch from Evie’s forehead. “No match with Brian Murray. He’s in Scotland, but he was happy to give a sample to the local cops. And no match on the Reverend Kerr either. We’ll get it tested against Tommy’s crew next - we already know that Tommy’s in the clear.”