Andy Ross could have slapped himself across the face. When the vicar, of all people, albeit one with a military background, put it like that, it almost became obvious. Two killers, or at the very least one killer and a helper, would have been able to haul the current victim up and fastened him to the statue of the angel with far greater ease than a single perpetrator.
“Vicar, you're a bloody genius,” Ross said, oblivious to his language, which only served to make Blake smile. “Why the heck didn't we think of that, Izzie?”
Blake answered before Izzie could reply.
“Don't beat yourself up, Inspector. I could be wrong anyway, and from what I hear, yesterday's attack could have been the work of one man, or woman, God forbid, and you've only just got here and your mind hasn't had a chance to process all the information yet.”
“Maybe not, but you have, Simon.”
“Only because I've been thinking about it since I first saw the body, over an hour before you did, and because my time with the military taught me to look at things a little differently, that's all. I may have only been a padre, but I learned a lot about the ways of the world, Inspector.”
“Even so, we may owe you one, for this theory. It's worthy of serious consideration, wouldn't you agree, Sergeant?”
“It certainly is, sir,” Drake replied, knowing her boss well enough to know he'd never reject positive or practical suggestions regarding a case, no matter what the source.
After asking a few more routine questions, similar to those they'd directed at Father Donovan the previous day, they ascertained that regular services took place at St. Mark's twice on Sundays, and just once during the week, on Wednesday mornings. Weddings, funerals and baptisms were different of course and could be arranged to suit individual requirements. A final check that Blake had never seen the victim before and with a promise that they may be back to show a photo of the dead man to Cilla Blake to see if she recognised him from anywhere, which didn't seem to faze her at all, and the two detectives said their farewells to the couple for the time being and rejoined those still working the scene in the graveyard.
* * *
Miles Booker's team was hard at work by the time Ross and Drake returned to the scene of human carnage in the graveyard. The victim's body had been slowly and very carefully removed from its position adorning the angel, and was now being respectfully placed in a black body bag, almost ready for transport to the morgue. William Nugent had completed his initial examination of the remains to the best of his ability, considering it still had yards of barbed wire wrapped round it, and was packing up his own instruments as he and Lees prepared to follow the ambulance back to the mortuary where they could commence a full and proper examination. Even Fat Willy was aware how urgent this matter had now become. Two gruesome murders in two days were enough to move this case to the top of everyone's priority list.
“The reverend gentleman should have been a detective, sir. That was a quick piece of incisive thinking back there, don't you think?” said Izzie Drake as they walked towards Derek McLennan, who looked pale, but brighter than when they'd last seen him.
“I have to agree, Izzie. Wish I'd thought of it first though.”
“You would have done soon enough, sir. We'd only been here a few minutes, and first thing we did really was go talk to the vicar. He's very sharp though, thinking of that the way he did.”
“It opens up a whole new ball game though, Izzie. Yesterday we thought we were looking for a lone killer, and today it looks like we may possibly be seeking a pair working together.”
“What about the footprints, sir?”
“Eh?”
“There were footprints behind the angel, where it looks like someone hauled the dead man up but shouldn't there be footprints in front too if there were two of them?”
“Bloody hell, you're right. Let's go have that talk with Booker.”
“You okay now, Derek?” Drake asked as they drew level with D.C. McLennan.
Derek McLennan looked shamefacedly at the inspector and sergeant as he replied.
“I think so, thanks, Sarge. Sorry, sir. Did it again, didn't I? Can't believe it, two days running.”
“Not your fault, Derek. I felt like throwing up myself to be truthful,” Ross answered with a sympathetic look towards the young detective.
“Really sir?”
“Really, Derek, I'm only human too you know. Now come with us. We need a word with the SOCO.”
Miles Booker, the Scene of Crimes Officer waved as he saw them approaching, then held a hand up to prevent them approaching any closer to the blood soaked grave and its accompanying angelic statuary.
“Stay there, would you, please Andy? We might have something here.”
“It wouldn't by any chance be a set of footprints would it, Miles?”
“Fucking hell, Andy, you turned psychic all of a sudden? How did you know we were going to find them?”
“To be honest, I didn't until the vicar suggested the possibility.”
“The vicar suggested it? What is he, a modern day Brother Cadfael or something?”
“No, but he's ex-Army, a padre in the Royal Engineers and understands the business of heavy lifting better than most. He thought it unlikely anyone would be able to haul the body up single-handedly from the rear as we thought at first.”
“Clever man, eh? Well, you'd better come and take a look. Just walk carefully and follow my footsteps, keeping to this side of the gravestone.”
“They're small,” Izzie Drake observed as Miles Booker indicated the indentations in the blood pools that had gathered at the base of the statue. Almost like…”
“A woman's,” said Ross.
“I concur,” Booker agreed. “We didn't see the prints right away because they'd been partially filled in by the blood that had pooled around the base of the statue and on the stone itself, and with this side of the churchyard being in deep shade until the sun rose fully, it was almost impossible to make them out. As the blood settled and began to dry and the sun rose higher and the shadows lifted, well, there they were.”
“So, it is a pair,” Drake exclaimed.
“Looks like it, “said Ross. “That means our job just got a damn sight more difficult, and do not tell me to mind my bloody language. I'm well aware we're in a churchyard, but doubt that the inhabitants are likely to complain, are they?”
“Sir?” Derek McLennan spoke up from his position behind Ross and Drake.
“Yes, Derek, what is it?”
“Just a thought, sir. If the second perpetrator is a woman, do you think it means this victim could also be a sex offender and that we are looking for someone seeking revenge? I know we decided that Remington's murder wasn't about Claire Morris, but what if we have a pair of vigilantes at work, targeting known sex offenders who've been released from prison. Maybe they think the rapists or whatever they are haven't been punished enough by the courts.”
“You could be on to something, Derek, well done lad. We're going to have our work cut out with this case if you're correct though. Where the bloody hell are we going to start looking, and who the heck is this second guy? We need to I.D. him, and fast.”
As the ambulance carrying victim number two rolled away, taking the bloody corpse towards its appointment with the scalpels and bone saws of Doctor William Nugent, Ross left McLennan to co-ordinate the police presence at the scene until the others returned from their house to house inquiries, with instructions to bring everyone back to headquarters as soon as they reassembled at the churchyard. Miles Booker's forensic team would complete the examination of the death scene and report back to him as soon as they had something to tell.
The inspector and Izzie Drake meanwhile, motored as fast as they could to headquarters, where Ross wanted Paul Ferris to begin setting up the murder room to include this latest victim, start the identification process and to report to D.C.I Porteous on the latest developments. Ross felt he might need more help on this case, and Porteous was the only one who cou
ld authorise the additional officers and resources he felt the case deserved.
Chapter 12
Mispers
“I want to know who he is, and fast”
D.C.I. Porteous rarely raised his voice when speaking to his own officers, but the frustration caused by the team's inability to identify the second victim with two days having passed since the discovery of the bloodied corpse in the churchyard of St. Mark's was clearly evident as his voice now reached hitherto unheard of decibel levels, causing those in the murder team's conference room to visibly wince, as he addressed their morning briefing.
“We're doing all we can to i.d. the victim sir,” Ross replied in an attempt to placate his boss.”
“Then all you're doing just isn't good enough, Detective Inspector. We've had two killings in two days, and so far you and your team don't appear to have made any progress whatsoever.”
Allowing his voice to descend an octave or two, Porteous now opted for a less aggressive tone.
“Andy, you're the best we have in this kind of investigation. Please tell me you have something, anything, that I can report to the Chief Superintendent, who, I can tell you, is getting his ears burned by some very senior officers, not to mention the fact that the press are sniffing around, sensing a real sensationalist story. Word has somehow reached the Echo that the second victim was even more horribly mutilated than Remington. Only the fact that the editor is a good friend of the Chief Super is keeping them quiet for the moment, but they aren't going to fall for any weak and non-committal press release from George Thompson this time. They can sense blood, like sharks round a shipwreck. Now, talk to me, for God's sake.”
Andy Ross knew things were bad when his boss adopted such a stance as this. Admittedly, they had made little progress since the discovery of the second body, but he knew also that no case could ever be as simple as the top brass might like. He took a deep breath before responding to Porteous, as his team waited with baited breath, wondering just what he could say to placate the boss.
“Sir, we're doing all we can to identify victim number two. So far, D.C. Ferris has been able to ascertain that the man's fingerprints do not show up in any relation to any criminal activity. That leads me to assume he either has no criminal record, or, if he has, he's never been apprehended for any of his crimes. Even if he'd been fingerprinted in relation to any investigation and later eliminated, as you well know, those prints would have been destroyed thanks to current legislation regarding storing such prints. I've asked all police stations in our own force and all neighbouring forces to inform us instantly if they receive any mispers reports of anyone fitting our victim's general description, but you know as well as I do, sir, that missing persons reports will generally only be accepted once someone has been gone for forty-eight hours. If our man was taken immediately prior to his murder, any such report may not even have been accepted by one of the smaller police stations in the area. They have enough to deal with in terms of everyday policing, as we all know. However, I have sent a flyer out to all stations that any report of anyone remotely resembling the victim must be reported to me, whether an official report has been filed or not. In other words, if anyone walks into any Merseyside Police station to try to report a missing person from now on, if it's a male and fits our victim's description, we're going to know about it.”
“What about releasing a photograph?” Porteous asked.
Before Ross could answer, Izzie Drake, a horrified look on her face, took it upon herself to interject.
“Sir, you've seen what the victim looked like after the killer finished with him. D.C. Ferris has sent facial close-ups to the other forces and circulated them to other stations in the area, but I'm sure you'll agree it wouldn't be a good idea to allow the press access to such a gruesome sight. Can you imagine how that poor man's wife or family would feel if they saw that picture in the Echo or in a national daily? Bad enough for any family to know their loved one is missing, but I'd hate to think they found out about his death by seeing such a bloody gruesome picture plastered across a front page.”
Porteous seemed to come down from his high horse in reaction to Izzie's words.
“Ah, yes, you're right of course, Sergeant Drake. Look, D.I. Ross, I'm not telling you how to run your investigation, but the pressure from on high is already building and it's going to get a damn sight worse before we solve this bloody case. You said the wife of the vicar at St. Mark's saw a van lurking around outside the church. Any chance of a lead arising from the sighting?”
“Yes, she did, sir, but you know what it's like, people see something briefly but they never quite see the whole picture. It's possible she might have noticed something but not been able to recall it yet.”
“Hmm,” Porteous mused. “I'm not interfering here, but I want to call in a spot of specialist help for you, Andy.”
“What sort of help, sir” Ross wondered what was coming next.
“I've been instructed by the brass on high to bring in a profiler, and she's arriving later today.”
“A profiler? What do we need a profiler for, sir?” Ross asked, having always been sceptical about the modern trend of using psychological aids to criminal detection.
“Because the Chief Super says so, and I say so, which gives you two powerful reasons to co-operate with her when she arrives.”
“She?” Ross asked.
“Yes, 'she', unless you have some objections to bringing in a female to assist you.”
“Not at all, sir. It's just that I didn't think we had any female profilers, or male ones come to that, employed on Merseyside.”
“Quite correct,” Porteous agreed. “We don't. Christine Bland is employed by the Home Office as a sort of roving profiler, going where she's needed, when she's needed. The Chief assures me she's one of the best there is and she may just be able to help us by pointing us in the right direction towards the type of people our killers might be, if indeed there are two of them operating together, and what their motives might be, and therefore where we might begin looking for them. Any objections, D.I. Ross?”
Faced with the inevitable, Ross shook his head.
“None at all, sir. If she can help us pinpoint what to look for it can only be helpful, I suppose.”
“Good,” said Porteous, forcefully. “In the meantime, I'll leave you to it. For crying out loud, try to find out at least who the second victim is before she arrives, and that means all of you.”
Before anyone could reply, the D.C.I. performed a smart, almost military about-turn, and marched out of the room, leaving Ross and the team almost speechless. Andy Ross gathered his wits quickly, turned to the assembled team and said,
“Right you lot, you heard the boss, let's get to it!”
Chapter 13
Brief Encounter
Lime Street Station, Liverpool, is a main line terminus station, originally opened to the general public in 1836. In keeping with the grand designs being applied to their station buildings by the early railway companies, the station was fronted by a magnificent reproduction of a French Château, formerly the North Western Hotel and now serving as accommodation for students at Liverpool's John Moores University. The whole station edifice stands as a magnificent testament to the ingenuity and design of the Victorian age, with its vast iron and glass roofs sweeping in a graceful arch over the station's nine platforms.
Two days after the murders however, the Burger King on the station concourse found itself playing host to a couple with no thoughts whatsoever for the beauty of the architectural history that surrounded them. Sitting opposite each other at a table near a window looking out onto the main concourse of the station, slowly sipping coffee from Styrofoam mugs, the man and woman hunched over the table, selected by the man as being the most isolated from the numerous travellers seeking refreshment before during or after their journeys. Keeping their voices low, but not too afraid of being overheard against the general hubbub of the comings and goings around them, their conversation continued as
another train thundered into the station with a squeal of brakes as it slowed to a halt against the buffers at the end of the platform, easily heard from where they sat.
“We have to wait a few days before the next one. The police aren't entirely stupid and we need to pull back, let them run around chasing their tails for a while before we carry on,” the man said, glancing around at regular intervals surreptitiously in an effort to remain anonymous. His nondescript olive green padded waterproof jacket, dark blue faded jeans and cheap chain store trainers, topped off with a Liverpool F.C. baseball cap already made him appear as nondescript as any typical walker heading up to the Lake District for a weekend in the hills and lakes. His partner, a few years younger and similarly dressed, with a black cotton tracksuit under her hiking jacket, and a red woollen cap on her head, with her shoulder length hair tucked up underneath, almost exuding a masculine appearance. At her feet, sat a weather-worn rucksack, a recent purchase from a charity shop, blending perfectly with her weekend hiker image, but which in fact contained a single change of clothes and her make-up bag.
“But we planned to hit them fast, get it done and fade away into the background again,” she replied. “Why stop now?”
“Because I say so, for one thing, and secondly, number three is away on holiday in Greece until next week.”
“Oh, well, we don't have much choice do we?”
“No, we don't. Did you get rid of the clothes from this morning like I told you to?”
“Yes, I burned everything, including my trainers, like you said. Bloody shame that was. They cost me a lot of money.”
“Sod the money. The bizzies aren't stupid you know. They're bound to have found mine and your footprints around the grave, and too many people have been caught over the years through stupidly hanging on to things like shoes and clothes that the cops can use to link them to whatever offence they're investigating.”
All Saints- Murder on the Mersey Page 12