Comply or Die

by Tony Hutchinson

  His reciprocal was nothing to do with a surveillance target; he’d caught the bubble.

  His finger jabbed the screen of his phone.

  ‘Sam, it’s me. Meet me back on the tow path. I want to check something out whilst SOCO are still there.’

  ‘What is it?’ Sam said, hurrying towards him.

  Ed was standing next to the same oak tree.

  ‘A young lad ran across the road, dodging puddles but still smoking,’ he told her. ‘Smokers smoke whatever the weather.’

  ‘Okay, let’s skip the lecture,’ Sam said, more sharply than she intended.

  Ed held out his hands. ‘I’m not having a go. We stood under this tree for shelter. What if somebody stood under here to conceal themselves?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘If they were waiting, they’d be tense,’ Ed continued. ‘They might chew gum, maybe smoke. I looked at the ground when you were on the phone but it didn’t register. They’ve gone now but there was six cigarettes butts on the ground. I had SOCO photograph and recover them. It’s been raining but they haven’t been there long. They can’t have been. The brown filters were still intact. They weren’t like soggy cotton wool.’

  ‘So maybe the killer was waiting?’ Sam said, letting Ed’s theory play out.

  Ed’s eyes were alive, shining.

  ‘And if you were chewing gum and about to attack someone, would you spit it out, risk making a noise or would you quietly take it out of your mouth and stick it on the bark?’

  ‘Tell me there was chewing gum on this tree?’ Sam almost held her breath.

  ‘Just there.’ Ed pointed at the bark. ‘Also photographed and recovered.’

  If Ed was right, the hidden killer must have known Jones was going to be on the path.

  ‘What are we, a hundred metres from the body, 120 from the weapon deposition site?’ Sam said now. ‘If he was killed where he fell, why let him get 100 metres in front? Why let him get that far away?’

  She walked away, lit a cigarette and inhaled.

  ‘Did the killer carry that rock 100 metres?’ she went on. ‘Can’t see it. Did it just happen to be there on the path? It doesn’t fit. Wait to intercept him, but not have a weapon to hand.’

  ‘What if it was put there beforehand?’ Ed asked.

  ‘I suppose, but why?’ Sam looked up, the grey sky a reflection of the investigation. ‘Clear as bloody mud.’

  They decided to eat before the post mortem – Sam reasoning if she was going to have a shit day it may as well be with on full stomach – and Ed suggested the Ocean View, a long-established spot by the promenade.

  ‘It won’t be open, will it?’ Sam said.

  Ed smirked and spread out his arms, palms turned up.

  ‘Samantha.’ He paused to add to the sarcasm. ‘When I first joined back in 1978, I was told even when it was pouring with rain a good copper never gets wet. Why? Because he’s always got a tea spot to visit. It’s 6.45. Of course it’s not open, but Richie, the chef, will be there. We go way back. He’ll knock something up.’

  Sam smiled and shook her head. Was there anyone Ed didn’t know in this town?

  Within an hour they were in Ed’s car heading to the mortuary, Sam’s Audi left in the Ocean View car park.

  ‘Feel better for that?’ Ed asked.

  ‘Just what the doctor ordered,’ Sam told him, thinking... it would have tasted even better if I wasn’t waiting for that bloody editorial.

  It was a myth that dead bodies affected the appetites of the investigators; they still needed to function. Ed recalled a post-mortem years ago in the early hours where the pathologist suggested a break halfway through for bacon sandwiches.

  Ed turned into the hospital grounds, drove to the mortuary, and pulled alongside the SOCO van. They were still in the car when Coolio’s ‘Gangsters in Paradise’ started in his pocket.

  Sam made a face and Ed gave her a ‘what? I like it!’ look in return

  ‘Alright Paul,’ he said into the mobile. ‘Hang on. Sam’s here. I’ll put you on speaker.’

  ‘The blood on the hammer is Jack Goddard’s, and there’s DNA on the handle,’ Paul told them. ‘No hits on the database but it’s a full profile.’

  Chapter Forty

  The concrete floor of the large examination room was soaking wet, steam still rising, the smell of disinfectant so strong Sam had to rub her eyes. Glen Jones, naked, was on the metal table unaffected by the ammonia, his Chucky-like eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, sink hole between his ankles. A SOCO stood on top of a pair of wooden stepladders photographing him from above.

  ‘Ready to begin?’ Jim Melia said, standing in a green gown and white Wellington boots, his clothing a much better fit than the white paper suits and overshoes the police were wearing.

  Sam looked around: SOCOs and the female mortuary attendant, poised, sprinters under starter’s orders, watching her and Jim, waiting for the signal to start. What a place. No dignity in death. She shuddered. I hope I die from a diagnosed illness. I don’t want to end up here, naked, cold, surrounded by strangers and disinfectant.

  ‘Yeah, let’s make a start,’ she said.

  Jim began his external examination, beginning with the head. The first incision would wait.

  Two hours later they were out of the paper suits and back in Ed’s car. Jim’s findings were as his scene observations – one crushing blow with a smooth object, but an object with a wide surface area. The rock found in the long grass would fit.

  ‘I’ll sort the Press out,’ Sam said. ‘You prioritise the rock. I need to know if that’s the weapon and let’s see if it’s Glen’s blood. Authorise the premium service. I want to know ASAP.’

  Ed nodded. ‘No problem.’

  ‘We need to give some thought to the Persons of Interest in this investigation,’ Sam went on. ‘Tracey, Charlotte, Alex, Amber, and Elliott. None of them have any previous so they’re not on the DNA database. We need to get samples from them.’

  ‘How do you want to do that?’ Ed asked her.

  ‘Let me think about it,’ Sam’s mind was in investigation overdrive. ‘And get the cigarettes and the gum fast-tracked.’

  Sam did the maths. Six cigarettes, one piece of gum, one rock. Eight items, each to be fast-tracked. Bang goes the budget.

  Coolio’s voice filled the car.

  ‘Hi Ranjit.’ Ed answered the call. ‘I’m on hands-free. The boss is in the car with me.’

  ‘I just wanted to touch base before I went to bed,’ Ranjit’s voice sounded thin and tinny through the speaker. ‘All the tapes are logged and there’s written summaries of what’s been said. But my overall feeling, which I haven’t put down on paper, is that she’s dead. No bounty hunters involved. Why aren’t they looking for her?’

  Ed agreed but they all knew gut feeling wasn’t enough.

  ‘They say anything interesting?’ he asked.

  ‘They all got up about four and there was a conversation about how we wouldn’t find her but nothing that’ll take us very far at the minute,’ Ranjit told them. ‘The father spoke about going back to see old man Singh. Then at breakfast time there was a bit of a domestic. Daughter can’t find her suitcase. Accused the brother of stealing it. I hope you don’t think I’m speaking out of turn.’

  Sam jumped in. ‘Ranjit, absolutely not. We welcome your input. Now do yourself a favour, go to bed and get some sleep. And thanks for the call.’

  ‘He’s right about the bounty hunters,’ Ed said after Ranjit had gone.

  Sam gazed out of the side window. April, and people were still hunched under grey skies and drizzle, collars upturned, umbrellas held aloft.

  I need a holiday. Somewhere warm.

  ‘Let’s see how we get on this week with the monitoring,’ she said after a pause. ‘If there’s nothing, we may have to think of a way to spark a reaction in that household.’

  Ed pulled into the Ocean View car park.

  Sam jumped out. ‘See you later.’

  Before E
d had time to reply, she was opening her car door.

  Sam saw the waiting Press pack as she approached HQ.

  ‘Bloody marvellous,’ she muttered to herself. It never ceased to amaze her how quickly the media mobilised, the satellite vans already in the lay-by. They were all there – BBC, ITV, Sky, reporters sipping hot drinks, milling around, swapping gossip.

  The first person she saw inside the building was Assistant Chief Constable Monica Teal. Teal was walking towards her, deep in conversation with the Police and Crime Commissioner. As she neared Sam, she spoke without altering her stride.

  ‘Looks like your audience awaits, Sam. Anything you need, let me know.’

  She was past Sam when she raised her voice. ‘You have our full support as always. Pop into my office today, give me a full update.’

  Following the ACC was Inspector Mick ‘Never’ Wright. He slowed noticeably. ‘Be careful, though.’ Wright was gloating. ‘Don’t want them writing your obituary.’

  Peter Hunt, the Press Officer, was waiting for her.

  ‘We’ve been bombarded this morning,’ he said in greeting. ‘Everyone wants to know if we’ve got a serial killer, whether we’re linking some or all the attacks. Nothing you can’t handle.’

  Sam looked up at the clock. 10.50am.

  ‘How about noon?’ she suggested. ‘It can go out on the lunchtime news.’

  Peter Hunt thought that would be perfect.

  ‘Give me an idea what you want to say and I’ll write up your statement,’ he said. ‘Then we can go through the likely questions.’

  It took Sam less than five minutes to give him the information he needed.

  The two officers in the LP – the Listening Post – were still unsure of the identification of the third man. Two voices clearly belonged to Bhandal and Baljit but the third was unknown. They referred to him as ‘male 3’ in their log.

  The plan to identify him, like all the best plans, was simple. Ed went to the house. Sam was preparing for the press conference so he had an hour.

  He pulled up outside, called the officers in the LP to confirm ‘male 3’ was still inside, and knocked on the door.

  Baljit appeared. ‘What the fuck do you want?’

  ‘A word with your father.’ Ed pushed past.

  ‘Here, you can’t just go barging in, not unless you got a warrant.’

  Ed spun around, bent down and whispered in his ear. It was becoming a theme of their meetings.

  ‘Listen, little boy, you want to come and play in the big boys’ playground, you let me know, until then…’

  Ed spun back around and walked into what he presumed was the sitting room. The room was empty.

  ‘CID!’ Baljit shouted.

  Ed stepped into the adjoining room and saw Davinder Bhandal standing next to the fireplace, the brother-in-law, Gurmej, stretched out in an armchair.

  ‘Mr Whelan,’ Bhandal said. ‘Come in.’

  Baljit followed, closing what had once been a white door, but was now off-yellow, behind him.

  Gurmej pushed himself out of the chair and spoke quickly in Punjabi. ‘What does this piece of shit want?’

  ‘This piece of shit wants a word,’ Ed said.

  The three Asians, standing by the fireplace, were wide-eyed and open-mouthed.

  Ed began speaking in Punjabi.

  ‘This piece of shit, as you so politely put it,’ he pointed at Gurmej, ‘wants to know if any of the family…’

  He reverted to English and put his hands in his trouser pockets. ‘Tell you what, we’ll leave it. Maybe speak again in the not too distant future at the police station.’

  He walked out, leaving silence behind him.

  Back in the car, he called the LP. ‘It’s Gurmej, the wife’s brother.’

  ‘We heard every word,’ said the Punjabi speaking officer. ‘Quality, you switching to Punjabi. You’ve started a shit storm in there.’

  ‘Good,’ Ed grinned.

  ‘Yeah, they’re trying to remember what they said in Punjabi when you could hear,’ the officer was telling him. ‘The wife’s joined in, remembers the husband asking her... hang on, let me read it verbatim... When they said I was arrested, you asked me if I still had the card. She sounded scared shitless.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Ed asked.

  ‘No, but they’re not sure what’s going on,’ the cop told him. ‘Can’t work out what you and the boss are playing at.’

  ‘Anything from the brother-in-law?’ Ed wanted to know. ‘Looks a nasty piece of work. He’s got bully written all over him.’

  ‘He’s not said much really.’

  ‘Okay, keep at it,’ Ed finished. ‘Cheers lads.’

  The buzz at the press conference reflected the interest the tow path deaths had stirred. Sam found herself sitting in front of TV cameras streaming live feeds to their respective news channels, a phenomenon her predecessors of not so long ago had been spared. Going out live was not the time for slip-ups, not the time for careless answers that would come back to bite you.

  Bright white lights exploded in her face as she made her witness appeal, photographers moving around for the best shot.

  Then came the questions, the cat-and-mouse dance. Sam needed to be foot perfect.

  ‘Two murders on the same tow path in just over a week. Are they linked?’ The guy from Sky went straight to it.

  ‘The two investigations are being run side by side, and while there are similarities, there are also differences,’ Sam answered smoothly. ‘The victims are both single, both young men at university, and the location is the same. The times are also similar in that both attacks happened after the young men had been on a night out.’

  The woman from ITV raised an arm. ‘Were they both drunk?’

  ‘We are awaiting the results of toxicology reports,’ Sam dead-batted. ‘They had both been drinking but that’s not to say they were drunk.’

  The BBC was up next, Sam recognising the face of the middle-aged hack from national broadcasts.

  ‘The first four who died on this tow path in the last six months were believed to have fallen in drunk. Is that early conclusion now under review?’

  The reporters were bouncing off each other.

  Sam blinked as another white flash lit up her face.

  ‘There was nothing to suggest those earlier deaths were anything other than tragic accidents,’ she said cautiously. ‘But it is only right and proper that we revisit those conclusions. Everything is under review.’

  ‘Including the possibility that a serial killer is stalking the town’s students?’ Sky man was back.

  Sam felt the ice beneath her get thinner.

  ‘While everything is under review, there is no necessity to jump to unsubstantiated conclusions and theories. It is important that we follow the evidence.’

  ‘But will more people die while you review everything?’ The Daily Mirror was now in play, the media knife beginning to twist. ‘What steps are you taking to prevent more deaths? Have you put extra police officers along the tow path at night?’

  Sam looked directly at the reporter. There was a potential trap here. She knew him, knew his reputation: a dog with a bone. She had to answer on the premise that he knew there had been extra patrols but they’d ceased on the Sunday.

  ‘Extra patrols often provide public reassurance but more often than not they actually fail to catch the offender or offenders,’ Sam held his gaze. ‘While we will endeavour to have officers on the tow path, you will all know that it runs for two miles on either side of the river and we only have a finite amount of resources.’

  She paused, all eyes still on her.

  ‘I would urge people not to walk along the path alone, to consider other routes home, perhaps to use taxis.’

  ‘Isn’t that admitting defeat?’ the Daily Mirror demanded.

  Sam let her face register surprise.

  ‘Two people have been murdered on the path in little over a week,’ she answered. ‘Suggesting people consider how they go s
afely home is not an admission of defeat. It’s common sense.’

  ‘Do you have a message for the killer?’ someone shouted from the back.

  Even the hacks at the front turned towards the voice.

  Sam couldn’t have come up with a better question if she had rigged the whole thing.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered with careful conviction. ‘We will find you. Walk up our path before we walk up yours.’

  Press conference over, Sam did one-to-ones with the TVs and radio. She could feel her phone, in vibrate mode, dancing around in her pocket. Interviews finished, she checked the screen. Four missed calls from Ed.

  She walked into a secure area in HQ.

  ‘It’s me,’ she said into her mobile.

  ‘Another spanner,’ Ed told her. ‘Someone’s just switched on Aisha’s phone.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  ‘They’re panicking here,’ Sam said. ‘Where’s the phone?’

  ‘Geo locator put it in Battersea,’ Ed answered. ‘Then nothing.’

  South London, Sam was thinking. Not Plymouth. Probably at the bottom of the Thames by now.

  ‘They’re well and truly spooked,’ she said. ‘We’re barking up the right tree here. I’ll meet you in the canteen for a cuppa and a catch-up.’

  Ed’s rant was a five-star full burner.

  ‘Don’t bother,’ he grumbled. ‘It’s full of civvies eating nut cutlets and quinoa salad. No wonder there’s never any cops in there... overpriced shite that wouldn’t keep a gerbil going.’

  ‘Do you want to try and breathe,’ Sam interrupted, but Ed was in full flow.

  ‘Sorry, but how the hell did it ever get to this? My old sergeants would be spinning. There’s even some woman with a make-up stall in the corridor! Supposed to be a bloody police headquarters, not some hippie commune hosting a make-up convention. I’ll meet you in the car park. We’ll go and get some proper food and I’ll bring you up to speed. I need to get out of here.’