The Lies They Told

by Jay Nadal

  Lizard pulled back his shoulders, attempting to regain some of his dignity as he straightened his jacket. “Message understood. I’ll drop you a text once it’s done.”

  Skelton shook his head. “Don’t text or call me. Just do it. I’ll hear about it in the morning.”

  And with that, Skelton checked that the coast was clear before he stepped out the doorway, and made his way back towards the Tube station.

  25

  Jade reversed her car into the only available parking spot at the mortuary. For this time of the afternoon, the mortuary was still busy. Most scheduled post-mortems took place in the morning, allowing the pathologist to complete his reports in the afternoon.

  They hovered by the front door, waiting to be buzzed in. Jade shuffled nervously from one foot to the other. There was nothing about a post-mortem that bothered her, they needed to be done. Many were straightforward, but she hated ones involving decomposed bodies. Thankfully, there weren’t many of those, but the ones that she had attended had bordered on something from a horror movie. Maggots spewing from body cavities like some apocalyptic nightmare and liquefied brain matter pouring out of openings in the skull.

  Wainwright was examining his tray of tools as Karen and Jade came through to the main examination room. He glanced up and greeted both with a smile. “Good afternoon, ladies. The last one of the day, so let’s get this wrapped up. I would say join me for dinner afterwards, but I doubt either of you will have the appetite after we’ve delved deep into this fine specimen we have in front of us. A sumptuous banquet fit for a bunch of cannibals.”

  Karen and Jade exchanged a glance of amusement.

  “Shall we begin?”

  Karen nodded, as Wainwright began his procedure.

  They watched for the next ninety minutes as Wainwright skilfully went through his predetermined stages. He went from a visual inspection and commentary of the body, to opening the body and removing everything inside the cavity. He took nail scrapings for completeness.

  As Wainwright had suspected, his investigations identified the cause of death as a gunshot wound, the bullet piercing the heart. He retrieved the bullet and placed it in a small metal dish which he passed to his assistant.

  Karen turned away a few times as the sound of organs plopping and splashing into metal specimen trays broke the silence.

  Karen and Jade gathered towards the top end of the body as Wainwright and his assistant performed neat incisions to expose Macholl’s skull. Having cut through and removed the top portion, Wainwright had taken his time to remove the brain in its entirety. He noted for the record that the organ exhibited some small deterioration to the quality of the brain mass. A possible cause, the early indicators for dementia.

  Much to Karen’s disappointment, Wainwright identified nothing else that would further her case.

  Karen sat in Wainwright’s office cradling a cup of coffee. She had sent Jade home after Wainwright had offered to drop her off later. Even though she had been to the mortuary many times, she’d rarely ventured as far as Wainwright’s office. And just like his approach, she found his office clean and orderly. There were very few personal effects other than a couple of nondescript paintings on the wall to soften the atmosphere. But it still maintained the clinical feel that seemed to be a common theme throughout the building.

  Wainwright had opted to join Karen by taking the spare chair beside her rather than sit on the other side of his desk.

  “These are for you…” he said, holding out a plate of chocolate digestive biscuits.

  Karen smirked. “I didn’t think you’d remember. It’s almost romantic.”

  His lips tugged upward. “I stick to my promises.”

  With the smell of death and disinfectant still clinging to her, her stomach flipped over in protest, but she took a biscuit from the plate to avoid upsetting him. Taking small bites, she stared down at her coffee, reluctant to face Wainwright.

  They enjoyed a comfortable silence as they sipped coffee and relaxed. She knew Wainwright was biding his time, and just as she had expected, he put his cup down, and leant forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

  “Karen, I’m worried about you. You haven’t seemed yourself lately.”

  “I’m fine.” Karen shrugged, reverting to the standard reply she always offered when she didn’t want to talk about something.

  “You and I both know that’s not the case. What you went through would be hard for anyone to process. Death is an unfortunate eventuality that none of us want to witness. And you watched it happen right before your eyes, powerless to stop it.”

  Karen pulled her arms into her body. “What can I say, shit happens. Two officers lost their lives on my watch. I screwed up, and I’ll carry that guilt for the rest of my life.” Her jaws clenched tight, and a temple throbbed. She didn’t know whether she would cry or scream.

  Wainwright maintained his professional boundaries even though he wanted to reach out and place a reassuring hand on her knee to comfort and support her.

  “Karen, you didn’t screw up. I’m sure you or any other officer in that situation couldn’t have predicted the outcome.”

  Karen thumped her thigh with a tight fist. “But I fucked up. I didn’t do a proper risk assessment. I could have protected the witness. I could have had armed officers accompany us. I could have requested that the witness produce her statement in court via video link. I could have…”

  Wainwright held out a hand, his palm facing her. “I could have is a statement from the past. There’s nothing you can do to change the past. But you’re allowing the past to control your present. It means you haven’t moved on. It’s affecting your mood, your judgement, and your sanity.”

  Karen placed her mug on the table and dropped her face into her hands. She drew her fingers across her face as she raised her eyes to meet his. “How can I move on? I’ve got the blood of those officers on my hands,” she fumed, extending her palms out towards him. “People hate me at work. I bet most of them think it should be me lying face down on the pavement… dead. My every move is being watched. And to be honest, I don’t even know who the hell is watching me. I go home every night and try to get off my face just to blot out the shit that’s swimming around inside it.”

  Impulsively, Wainwright reached for her hand, cupping it inside both of his. “Listen, you will make yourself ill if you carry on like this. No one is blaming you. The harshest critic is you. You and I both know that. You hate failure. And you see this as a failure. A blot on your career. But you are a superb officer. And trust me, I’ve met many in my career. And I wouldn’t spend the time with the majority, sitting here, like I am with you now. It will pass, and you need to get back to doing what you’re good at doing, protecting the public and solving crimes.”

  Feelings of self-degredation overwhelmed her, plaguing her, staying static in her body. Their presence caused her to reject any reasonable form of solace. Karen wanted to pull her hand away but was reluctant to for fear of offending Wainwright. With his touch, a small part of her cracked open and welcomed the connection. Wanted it. Wanted to deserve it.

  “Why?” she whispered.

  Wainwright looked perplexed as he narrowed his eyes. Uncertain of her question.

  Sensing it, Karen continued, “Why are you spending time talking to me? I know we’ve known each other for a while, professionally of course, and even though you annoy the hell out of me sometimes, we get on. But why?”

  Wainwright smiled. “Despite what you might think, I’m not cold or insensitive. Just because I do what I do here,” Wainwright nodded back in the direction of the examination room, “it doesn’t mean I don’t care. Yes, we are friends. And when friends are troubled, they support each other. I guess what I’m trying to say is that when you’re feeling shit, and as you so politely said, trying to get off your fucking face, I’m always here if you need a friendly face to talk to or a shoulder to lean on.”

  Karen sighed and pursed her lips into a smile. She pulled her
hand away and rubbed the back of one of his hands. “Thank you.”

  “For what?”

  “The chocolate digestive biscuits.” She burst out laughing.

  Wainwright joined her as he let out a belly laugh. “Go on, bugger off.”

  Karen placed a finger to her chin and looked up towards the ceiling. “Um, just one problem with that. You promised to give me a lift home.”

  Wainwright stood and raised his arms above his head to stretch. “Digestive biscuits, and now a lift home. What’s next? Doing your ironing and making you breakfast?”

  Karen raised a brow as Wainwright’s face flushed blood red after he realised the implications of what he’d said. Neither of them said a word after that as Wainwright locked up and followed her out to the car.

  26

  During the drive home with Wainwright, they had shared jovial banter, choosing to circumnavigate anything to do with work which had been refreshing to say the least. They had both discussed their plans for the evening, and Wainwright had surprised Karen by explaining that he attended dance classes several times a week. He didn’t confess to being an exquisite, passionate Latin ballroom dancer, but said he enjoyed the social aspect due to the solitary nature of his job. He’d explained that both young and old attended, and they welcomed him with open arms.

  Karen had turned down his invitation to come along for a laugh. Even though the idea appealed to her, the thought of tripping over someone’s feet, and making a complete fool of herself, pulled her back from doing anything adventurous. She had settled for a Marks & Spencer’s microwave meal she had picked up from the high street. Taking a cue from Wainwright, the thought had crossed her mind about grabbing a meal in the George and Dragon on Epping High Street. Perhaps being surrounded by people in a social atmosphere was better than being camped on her sofa, but the introvert in her painted a picture of her sitting in one corner of the pub like Billy No-Mates, looking stupid.

  Jolted back to the present, she tapped a pen on her desk as her eyes flicked through the latest update from forensics. Her hunch had proved right. The fingerprints lifted from one wineglass and the letters came back as a positive match for Diane Murphy. To further confirm Diane was at the scene, the long brown strand of hair recovered from one of the pillows and bodily fluids recovered from the bedsheets matched her DNA.

  Was Diane having an affair with Macholl behind Taylor’s back? But that still doesn’t explain why she would gun him down in cold blood.

  Despite her racing thoughts, she would have to wait for the ballistics report on the bullet recovered from Macholl. But ballistics had confirmed that the firearm used on Taylor had been used previously, including a firearms incident at a fried chicken shop some months back. At the time it was suspected that the firearm was discharged during a feud between rival gangs. The suspicion grew as the same gang was targeted again just a week later, and a seventeen-year-old youth died from gunshot wounds. The killing had sparked a postcode war as rival gangs fought running street battles with machetes and zombie knives. The police met a wall of silence as fear and intimidation robbed the locals of their voices.

  A shiver of surprise moved through her as she considered the latest evidence. Ballistics confirmed that the ammunition and markings on the bullet were linked to the Whitechapel unsolved case that Jade had highlighted from a few years back.

  Someone’s been concealing this firearm for a few years.

  The thought crossed Karen’s mind that perhaps rival gangs were competing for the drugs trade, and they were sending out a very clear message when they took out Taylor. That still didn’t explain Macholl’s murder.

  This has to go back further than that.

  “Morning, boss,” Jade said as she poked her head around the door and stepped into Karen’s office holding two mugs of coffee. The aroma quickly filled the room as Jade placed one mug down for Karen.

  “Aw bless. Thanks, Jade. I’m in desperate need of my caffeine hit. I’ve got far too much to do, and not enough time. I’ve got several twenty-one-day review alerts that have popped up on my screen this morning, and I honestly haven’t got a whole day to sit and go through them. Anything new to report?”

  “I’m not sure, boss. I’ve only just got in myself. Whilst my computer was warming up, I made us both a cuppa. Flippin’ typical, I wanted to get in early but got stuck talking to Chrissie in the car park. She was just coming off a night shift. Apparently, it was full on last night, and uniform had a nightmare.”

  Karen gave Jade a questioning look as she narrowed her eyes.

  Jade’s eyes widened in excitement as she continued, “Yes, shots were fired at the window of an off-licence in Hackney Road. Then a car was set alight about a mile away, which from eyewitness reports suggest it was the same vehicle involved in the firearms incident. And then near to there, residents reported hearing gunfire. So, you can imagine our response. We had ARVs flooding the area, carriers full of TSG, and NPAS providing aerial support.”

  “Busy night then. Any arrests?”

  Jade shook her head as she took another sip from her coffee. “Wild goose chase, I think. I’ll give you an update on the cases when I’ve logged on,” she said, standing up and strolling out.

  The use of firearms was an ever-increasing threat and added a new dimension to many of the cases that MIT dealt with. Gang members could pick up handguns for just a few hundred pounds. She had heard that some underworld armourers were loaning out weapons for shootings at two hundred and fifty pounds for a non-fatal wounding and five hundred pounds for an assassination. It horrified her that firearms were loaned out in the same way that you would rent a movie online, or a book from the library, only returning it once the crime had been completed. That made it even harder for the police to track down the firearms.

  The phrase “needle in a haystack” sprung to mind as Karen ran a hand through her hair, and headed for the video room.

  Now that Karen could place Diane at Macholl’s apartment, it was a fair assumption that Diane may have been the last person to see Macholl alive. She grabbed the nearest terminal, and punched in the details for Columbia Road pulling up all the intelligence and video footage gathered so far. They had retrieved further footage from the off-licence and the pub close by. Karen hoped they would be able to identify Diane’s car either travelling to or from Macholl’s apartment during the night.

  Knowing that a resident had placed the call to the emergency services at two seventeen a.m., Karen checked the tapes from eleven p.m. through to three a.m. She was looking for a Mercedes or one of the two BMWs she had seen parked outside Taylor’s residence when they had first attended. It was a long shot, but if she could identify Diane in the vicinity at the time that the shots were reported, it would give her a reason to bring the woman in.

  Her eyes narrowed as she studied the footage. She had set the speed at twice the normal rate, so everything she saw on screen was moving faster than normal, allowing her to go through the footage quicker. She jolted as a door behind opened.

  “Karen, I’ve been looking for you. How’s the case progressing?” Skelton asked.

  Skelton hovered just a few inches over her shoulder, his presence unnerving Karen. She could smell the faint whiff of tobacco wafting in her direction. Karen always felt uncomfortable when he invaded her personal space. He seemed to disregard etiquette and common decency as he inched closer, his thigh brushing against her arm. Karen shifted in her seat, leaning her body away from him.

  “We are making good inroads, sir. Diane Murphy is a person of interest to us in Macholl’s case. Forensics have confirmed her presence in the hours leading up to his death. I’m just scanning through CCTV footage to see if I can place her at the scene,” she replied, pointing towards a monitor.

  Skelton crossed his arms. “Is she a suspect for Taylor’s murder?”

  “Not yet, sir. But she’s still a person of interest.”

  Skelton cleared his throat. “The HOLMES2 activity log says you’re still doing searches
on the Connells. How does that link into our current case?”

  “I’m not sure yet, sir. It’s just a line of enquiry. I’ve got to make sure I cover every single avenue. I can’t afford any fuck ups. There was a firearms incident some time back in Whitechapel. The shooter was never identified, but the victim was possibly linked to the Connells. Because it was on our patch, and it was a firearms incident, I’m just checking for any links, especially now that ballistics confirmed that it was the same firearm used in the Whitechapel murder.”

  Skelton shook his head. “You’re wasting your time, Karen. I think you’re looking in the wrong direction. It’s like you’ve got a chip on your shoulder about the Connells. In all honesty, they are way too big for this. If it was anything to do with them, I’m certain they would have covered their tracks. They are more slippery than an eel in a bush tucker trial.”

  “Yes, sir, but…”

  “There’s no but there, Karen. Stop wasting your time. It’s an unhealthy obsession. We need results. And we need them quickly. If you need leads, go to the Copthorne. There’s plenty of snivelling little shits there who would happily inflate their own egos by giving some inside information. Look there first.”

  Karen didn’t turn around whilst he spoke, instead choosing to stare at the monitor. She watched his reflection as he turned and headed out of the door. Her gaze fixed on the closed door a few moments. Her mind was telling her one thing, her heart was telling her something else.

  27

  “Unhealthy obsession… My arse.” Skelton’s flippant words returned to her, and Karen fumed. Every time she tried to make progress, her boss appeared to sink her plans. “There’s no unhealthy obsession about it. I’m following leads and links, even if they’re bloody tenuous,” she muttered.