by Bill Kitson
‘Jack Binns got us to call in at the station and collect it en route,’ one of them told her.
‘Where is he?’
‘Playing at boy scouts.’
The traffic officer pointed towards a van where she could just make out Binns and another officer wrestling to erect the tent needed to protect the bodies. Would they need two? Did they have two? She couldn’t remember. It would be galling to have to borrow one from another force. She heard the sound of approaching vehicles, before a trio of lights swooped in to the car park. These contained the pathologist, the CSI team, and DC Pearce.
She was surprised to see Viv. ‘I thought Lisa was on call tonight?’
‘She was, but we swapped. It’s some sort of anniversary, and you know what that means.’ Pearce made a vulgar gesture with one hand across the other forearm.
‘Lucky for some,’ Clara muttered.
‘What’s the score?’
‘Two – nil, I think.’
‘What do you make of it? Are they walkers? Have they been mugged?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Clara illuminated the body with her torch. ‘Look at the way he was dressed. Suit, tie, leather shoes. Not exactly hiking gear, is it?’
‘He might have driven here.’
‘What in?’ She gestured to the car park. ‘Ours are the only vehicles.’
She turned to the pathologist, mentally bracing herself. Ramirez could be acerbic at the best of times. Being called out late at night was likely to cause his temper to be shorter than usual. ‘Good evening, Professor.’
Ramirez turned. ‘It was, until my phone rang. I was enjoying a film at the time.’
Clara couldn’t resist it. ‘What was it? Invasion of the Body Snatchers?’
The pathologist glared at her. ‘No. Now, let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?’
Ramirez conducted his preliminary inspection, allowing the photographer to conclude, before signalling one of the forensic team to help him lift the body from the picnic table. Their struggles met with no success. They repositioned themselves and began to manhandle the body again, which proved no easy task.
‘The feet have been jammed under the stretcher of the table,’ Pearce pointed out.
‘I can see that now,’ Ramirez snapped. ‘Presumably it was done to prevent the body falling over.’
After several more minutes and a succession of swear words, mostly in Spanish, they managed to wrestle the body clear of the furniture, and laid it on a plastic sheet. At first sight, the body presented an absurd picture, with legs, back and arms frozen in a bent position, like a giant upturned crab, Clara thought. It was only when they saw the man’s face that every vestige of humour vanished.
‘Good God, what has happened to him?’ Pearce exclaimed.
If any of them had harboured the slightest lingering doubt regarding how the man died, that too vanished. The face was a shapeless mass of bruises, a swollen, soggy, and discoloured mess. They could just make out that several teeth were missing, whether knocked or pulled out they couldn’t be sure. Any attempt at recognition would be futile, that was beyond certainty.
Ramirez looked up and beckoned the detectives closer. ‘There’s no sign of any ID on him. But what do you make of this?’ He pointed towards the man’s body. Ramirez parted the shirt, which Clara noticed was unbuttoned for the most part, they could see further bruising lower down the torso. The bruises covered all the area that was visible to them.
‘Beaten the same way all over?’ Mironova guessed.
‘I think so.’ He signalled the photographer over to continue. ‘I’m beginning to get an idea what happened to him, but I’ll wait until after I’ve examined the other body and conducted the post-mortem to confirm that, one way or another. Have you noticed his clothing? The shirt was like this when we found him, and the trousers were unzipped.’
‘He was naked when he died, and the killer dressed him?’
‘That’s the way it looks to me. I’ll be holding the post-mortems in the morning. I think you should be the one to attend.’
‘I’ll be there,’ she told him grimly. ‘Now, do you want to finish with this one first, or have a quick look at the other one?’
‘I’ll look at the other one, briefly. I see no reason for both of us to miss out on our beauty sleep. Not that you need it,’ he told her gallantly.
Binns was standing close to the incident tape, in conversation with Jackie Fleming. Clara hurried over to join them. She reported what she’d seen of the first victim. ‘We’re about to look at the other body, if you want to join us?’
‘No, the fewer people trampling around the scene, the better. I’ll see them when we go to the mortuary. When’s he doing the PMs?’
‘Tomorrow morning. With the university having broken up for the summer, he’s no lectures to conflict with his work for us.’
‘OK, get away from here as soon as you can. And let me know when you arrive in Netherdale in the morning. We need to start planning for a major murder inquiry.’
Clara voiced both their thoughts. ‘I wish Mike was here, instead of swanning off.’
Jackie shrugged. ‘Nothing we can do about that and I can’t see there’s much more we can do here until daylight. CSI will want a fingertip search of the area, which will mean getting uniforms organized.’ Jackie turned to Binns. ‘Can you sort out a team, Jack? We’ll be at Netherdale General in the morning, so you can liaise with Viv and Lisa Andrews. Instruct one of the patrol cars to stay here. Make sure nobody disturbs the scene. We don’t want any amorous couples loitering within tent.’
They all groaned at the pun.
The mortuary at Netherdale General had been modernized the previous year, with the creation of a separate viewing area behind glass. This enabled official viewers to be able to see the occupants of the tables without having to endure the sound or smell associated with the grisly process. It didn’t protect them from the horrendous sight of victims as badly mistreated as the men Ramirez and was examining.
Both men’s torsos were almost covered in a rainbow of bruising, with black, blue, and yellow replacing the natural skin tone in all but the smallest segments.
Fleming spoke into the two-way microphone installed with the glass screen. ‘It looks like a punishment beating.’
‘I don’t think punishment was the objective, at least not the principal one,’ Ramirez replied, his voice muffled by the mask he was wearing. ‘But I’ll be able to confirm that once I’ve finished.’
As they watched the pathologist and his team at work, Clara wondered about the identity of the dead men, and why they had been killed in such a brutal fashion. And was the beating the cause of death, or were other factors involved? She was startled out of her daydream when Ramirez spoke again. ‘I’ve almost finished. If you care to go through into my office, I’ll join you. My assistant can tidy up here. There’s nothing further you need to see.’
I didn’t need to see any of it, Mironova thought, as they turned for the door and walked through into the drab chamber the pathologist called his office. It was as cold and cheerless as the rest of the mortuary. Clara wondered again how anyone could work in such uncomfortable and depressing surroundings. They were joined almost immediately by Ramirez, who was carrying a clipboard.
‘Ok, let’s start with cause of death, which was a massive heart attack in both cases. I guess they were triggered by the extreme pain inflicted.’ Ramirez paused. ‘There comes a point when the level of pain becomes intolerable, and the overreaction to that causes system shutdown.’
‘That would still class as murder though, wouldn’t it?’
‘Undoubtedly,’ the pathologist’s voice was as grim as his expression, ‘especially so, given what was done to them.’
‘Have you any idea what was used to beat them with? Not fists, surely?’
‘No, you should be looking for our old friend, the blunt instrument. Something with a smooth surface, like a baseball bat.’
‘You seemed to indicate the
re was something different about this beating than the normal working over?’
‘Indeed there is. It was far from normal, if there is such a thing. I had my suspicions last night, although it is something I’ve never encountered before. I have read accounts of such cases, but it’s not the sort of thing one expects to see in this country.’
Ramirez saw the puzzled expression on both detectives’ faces, and hastened to explain. ‘As I suspected, the men weren’t killed at the picnic site. They were transported there. The lividity in the corpses confirms that. You should be looking for men who have been missing for at least a week, or thereabouts. During that time, they were imprisoned, bound and gagged, as the ligature marks and some of the minor bruising about the mouths indicate, and beaten, not once, but twice or three times, possibly even more. The gagging would be necessary, particularly for the repeat beatings, these took place over a period of approximately four days.’
The pathologist paused, obviously waiting to see if there was any reaction from his listeners. When he saw none, he continued, ‘You don’t know what I’m referring to. Do you?’
Clara and Fleming looked at one another. ‘No, Professor,’ Jackie replied.
‘There is a system of torture used in certain countries where civil liberties are unknown, and for all I know it might also have been used by special forces elsewhere to extract information from prisoners. Someone discovered that if you inflict heavy bruising on a prisoner, leave the bruises to set and then return several days later and attack him or her once more, the second beating on top of the effects of the first one, causes pain that is beyond human endurance. It is, I believe, extraordinarily effective. I venture to suggest you should look for someone with Special Forces experience. Although, to be fair, I suppose these days they could have got the information through the internet. There seems to be very little that isn’t available online.’
‘That is sick,’ Clara muttered. She could feel the nausea, merely from the impact of what Ramirez had told them.
‘That’s no exaggeration,’ the pathologist agreed. ‘Do you have any missing persons who fit the description? Identifying them could point you to the reason someone wanted information from them, or even, with luck, the murderer’s identity.’
‘I’m afraid at this point, we’ve no idea who they are,’ Fleming told him. ‘I’ve checked all the MISPER cases reported nationally within the last month and there’s nobody matching the descriptions.’
‘Then all I can do is circulate their dental records and see if we can get a match.’
When Fleming and Mironova reached the Netherdale headquarters, Tom Pratt was waiting for them. ‘One of the victims found at the picnic site had been identified via his fingerprints,’ he told them. ‘I don’t understand why you didn’t use a fingerprint reader last night.’
‘That’s all very well in theory, Tom, but you can’t even get a mobile phone signal out there, so any device stands no chance.’
‘I see, anyway, forensics tried to get you at the mortuary, but you’d already left.’ He handed Fleming a folder. ‘The man has three convictions for drug related crimes, plus one for possession with intent to supply. Maybe what you found last night was the aftermath of a transaction that went wrong.’
‘I don’t think so. I can’t imagine even the keenest drugs dealer walking fourteen miles into the depths of the countryside to meet a punter. Nor can I imagine a punter being that desperate to score.’
Clara saw Pratt’s puzzled expression and explained Jackie’s statement. ‘There were no vehicles at the picnic site. Both victims had obviously been transported there, by what Mexican Pete said, probably after they were killed.’
‘So you think it was a dump site?’
‘Yes. And given the way they died, we think they must have been held prisoner and tortured non-stop before they were killed.’
‘It sounds almost as if you could have a turf war on your hands.’
Fleming sighed. ‘I’m very much afraid you might be right, Tom. And that’s the last thing we need at the moment.’
‘Anyway, I won’t keep you any longer. The chief wants to see you both. She wants to hear what you have to say on this case, and to bring her up to date on any other outstanding business.’ Pratt smiled. ‘By the sound of it, perhaps I should order your lunch now?’
‘Never mind lunch; by the time we’re finished it might be dinner.’
Chapter eight
The meeting with the chief constable concentrated on the double murder. O’Donnell listened to the reports of both detectives, paying particularly close attention to the possibility of a drugs connection outlined by Jackie Fleming.
‘Have you any leads?’ she asked.
Fleming was about to shake her head when Clara said, ‘There is one thing that might give us a clue; the phone call.’
‘Sorry, I’m not with you.’
‘Whoever found the bodies phoned the emergency services from the Cobblers Arms pub in Helmsdale. Now it may well be that the caller was a perfectly innocent citizen, or on the other hand it might have been the killer wanting to draw attention to his handiwork. That could be what happened if, as we believe, the men were killed as part of a turf war between rival drug runners. Either way, what they didn’t take into account is that the Cobblers Arms has CCTV covering the car park. I’ve asked Lisa to check the footage. We might get lucky.’
‘That sounds promising.’ O’Donnell smiled. ‘Good work, Clara. Off the cuff, I can’t think of an innocent reason for someone to be stopping at a picnic site miles from anywhere at that time of night.’
‘Oh, I can think of one, ma’am, but whether you’d class it as innocent or not is a different matter.’
O’Donnell laughed. ‘Right: now onto other business.’
The next item on the agenda was the murder of PC Riley, but here, neither detective was able to report any progress. ‘Clara’s got Tom checking out all the cattle wagons in the area, as we discussed previously,’ Jackie said, ‘but given the nature of this district it’s a mammoth task.’
The chief constable then asked about the other unsolved crimes and between them, Fleming and Mironova had to give account of the series of burglaries, muggings, shoplifting and other offences they had on their workload. Clara had just finished reporting on the duplicate trolley shoplifting scam when Jackie leaned forward and cleared her throat to speak.
O’Donnell stopped her with a raised finger. ‘Before you go, I’d like you both to have a look at something you should be aware of. This report arrived by e-mail this morning.’
She passed them both a thin sheaf of papers, the heading to which, Clara saw, was National Drugs Intelligence Unit. Both women started to read.
“There are two major sources of supply for Class A drugs, principally heroin and cocaine, operating in the north of England. We have no idea as to the identity of the suppliers. That includes both the end dealers and the wholesalers, for want of a better word. The availability of hard drugs in large quantities throughout the region has increased dramatically during the last twelve months.
Although intelligence is severely limited, to the best of our knowledge the increase is believed to be purely down to the activities of one existing and one new player. The newcomer is well funded, ruthless and has more or less swept all opposition aside in certain areas.
Attempts to penetrate this network have been completely unsuccessful. We have tried various methods, including an attempt to infiltrate them via an undercover officer, but failed. Normally, with organizations like this whose activities cover such a wide geographic area, it has proved possible to identify and suborn a weak link, but in this case, such attempts have proved fruitless. The difference appears to be in the way the networks are put together. Although this is only a theory with nothing in the way of hard evidence to back it up, we believe that they operate on a cellular basis, much the same as certain terrorist organizations.
Our second major problem has been identification of the supply rou
te. The scale of their deliveries suggests they are able to smuggle drugs into this country undetected. Not only do we have no clue as to the method by which the drugs are brought in, but we have no evidence as to how they are brought from the point(s) of entry to the local distributors and dealers. In previous cases, this part of the operation has been a fruitful way of tracing both ends of the supply chain, but all our efforts in this respect have met with a completely negative feedback.
Given the extreme gravity of the problem, we are taking the unusual step of issuing this briefing bulletin to all senior detectives in the region.”
After she had completed her perusal of the contents, Jackie looked across at the chief. ‘This lends even more urgency to the request I was about to make. I believe we ought to ask Mike Nash to return from leave immediately. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not decrying Clara, far from it, she’s a first-class detective, as good as we could hope for. But the way things have deteriorated since Mike went away, she and the rest of the team are in danger of being snowed under. The deterioration and Mike’s absence are unconnected, merely coincidental. But there is no doubt in my mind that an extra pair of hands, particularly those of an experienced detective, would help us no end in what I have to say is close to being a crisis.’
The chief constable looked at Clara, then at Fleming, and shook her head. ‘No,’ she told them, ‘I’m sorry, but that is something I’m not prepared to do, or even consider. I insisted Mike take this leave, he needs the break. He has been through some harrowing times recently. Not only by the news about my goddaughter, but also earlier events that were equally distressing. I took the trouble to check the rotas for the past twelve months. Mike has hardly taken any time off, in spite of the fact that as a single parent he should have been spending at least a part of any school holidays with his son. May I mention in passing, and this is no criticism of either of you, that you both took leave during those holidays and you are not parents. So I will not even consider asking Mike to come back, even though I know he would say yes.’