Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2)

by Will Patching

  ‘Maddox! That fucking two-faced shite! He promised…’

  It was just a spark, a fraction of hesitation in Harding’s assertion, but Jack noted it and wondered, Is he lying? He had to ask.

  ‘Promised what?’

  ‘Nuffin.’

  The denial did not feel right to Jack, as if Harding was toying with them both, having fun despite the outward show of umbrage.

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘He said he’d help me, get me released if I helped him!’ Harding’s apparent reluctance to tell them did not last long. ‘The fucker lied to me!’

  ‘And why would Professor Maddox say that? What possible help could you give him?’

  ‘He said he’s an old mate of yours, Powers.’ He chuckled at Doc, who just stayed silent. ‘Some mate. Haha! He fuckin hates you!’

  ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He gave me some photos. Told me who they were, an’ all. Said I could use ’em to have some fun with Powers. Told me he’d arrange for him to see me, that I’d have something that would fuck him up.’

  Jack knew this was a lie. Harding was unaware that his little charade was already blown, that his real accomplice had been rumbled.

  ‘Maddox gave you photos of what exactly?’

  ‘Crime scenes… Victims. Ten of ’em. Gave ’em to me weeks ago, during my therapy sessions. Said Powers would be here, sniffing around. He was right, weren’t he?’

  ‘These?’ Jack reached into his pocket and brought out the images Winston’s team had found in Sakthi’s room and spread them on the desk like a magician with a pack of cards.

  ‘You found them then? That fucking idiot Sakthi. Shoulda known better than to trust a schizo.’

  Jack was being played, and knew it. This was an elaborate ruse to frame the professor, and could have worked, especially given the links they had discovered between Maddox and Butler…

  If there was a mastermind, manipulating everyone behind the scenes as Doc believed, the evil genius had not foreseen Harding’s spontaneous actions in blackmailing Daniel Ngwene and his subsequent attack on the paedophile inmate. Underestimating the psychopath may well lead to The Surgeon’s undoing.

  Jack decided to play the game, preferring not to disabuse the convict.

  ‘So, did Maddox give you any details on these victims?’

  ‘What are you gonna do for me if I tell ya?’

  ‘If you help us now I might be able to help you.’

  ‘You’ve got fuck all to offer. They reckoned I was never getting out of here. Now you’re telling me I’m going to a Cat A prison. Or can you reverse that?’

  Despite the words, Harding seemed indifferent to his fate, as if he didn’t give a damn. Jack tried to shake him up.

  ‘No. You’re going to Belmarsh, come what may. But the Governor’s a personal friend. I can recommend a lengthy period in solitary confinement on arrival… Or not. It’s up to you.’

  ‘You cunt!’ It sounded playful, rather than aggressive to Jack’s ears.

  Doc kept quiet, just taking it all in, still sitting beside Jack.

  ‘He gave you names? Let’s hear them.’

  Jack’s bullshit antennae, now on high alert, screamed at him as Harding made a show of considering the offer.

  He drawled, reluctantly, ‘Yeah. I can’t remember ’em all… This one, his name’s Patrick Rawlings.’

  ‘Not good enough — that was all over the lunchtime news, you could’ve heard about him from anyone.’

  It was Jack’s turn for another misdirection, an untruth. Harding almost certainly wouldn’t have heard about Rawlings through the grapevine this quickly, nor would he have known which one of the corpses it was, just from the description on the news. Both he and the inmate knew the information had come in the form of letters, long since destroyed, but Jack pretended he was unaware of the truth.

  ‘This one. Selena Scott. Planning officer, bent as fuck. And this one’s Joseph Mitchell, fucking paedo.’

  Jack felt the scruff of his neck tighten.

  Result!

  They would have the names checked against missing persons, though it seemed certain Harding was offering the names as proof that the photos were genuine, that he had unique information, purportedly from Maddox, evidence that the professor was involved in serial killings.

  Jack, thoroughly delighted with the outcome, misunderstood the look of triumph on Harding’s angular face, the gleaming eyes, the tongue slithering over grinning lips. He assumed the inmate was congratulating himself on effectively framing the professor, the consultant who had just downgraded his status, but he was wrong.

  Jack pressed for more information, and immediately wished he had not.

  ‘Who else?’

  ‘Ain’t that enuff? I can’t remember all the others…’ Harding’s eyes said differently. A few beats passed. ‘Hang on!’ He stabbed a thumb on a photo. ‘Her name’s Amelia… Ooh. Last name escapes me… What is it? Canary. Nah, erm, Eagle? Sorry, that’s not right.’

  Jack started to see where this was going, but he was too late to stop it.

  ‘Okay, that’s enough —’

  ‘Wait a minute, Carver! Amelia’s her middle name. Silly me. I remember, now!’ He shifted his attention to Doc, teeth bared in an evil grin, and with a full throated cackle he spilled the words that Jack had dreaded were coming. ‘It’s your girlfriend, Powers. Judith Amelia Finch!’

  Jack already had a restraining hand on Doc’s arm, but his old friend was lithe and fit from yoga. Doc launched himself, his hands reaching for Harding’s neck, clamping round his tormentor’s throat, his torso slamming on the table top.

  Jack pulled at Doc’s shoulders as Winston leapt forward, his huge brown fingers prying at Doc’s death grip. After a moment’s struggle the reluctant rescuers finally released the puce faced and visibly shaken inmate.

  The fracas was over in a matter of seconds. Harding was dragged from the room by Winston before being entrusted to the guards who had been waiting outside to escort him back to his block.

  Jack still had hold of Doc’s shoulders, could feel them quivering. Doc’s rage, frustration and fear vibrated though his body as if a high voltage had been applied to his tenderest parts.

  Despite the bruising attack on Harding’s neck, the inmate still managed to bellow threats at them both as Jack restrained the incensed psychiatrist.

  ‘You cunt, Powers! I’ll fucking kill you for that! Just like I did your fucking thieving daddy! And you, Carver. You’ll be well CARVED by the time I’m finished with you!’

  ***

  Day Three - Wednesday

  Detective Inspector Jack Carver already felt decidedly overdressed in his Kevlar vest with the bulky sidearm strapped to his belt, so refused to be encumbered by the helmet proffered by the SCO 19 sergeant leading the six man team of weapons trained officers. The bright red BMW estate car was the workhorse for the Armed Response Unit, specially equipped with armaments and protective gear required for this sort of operation, but the sergeant’s team already had everything they needed so he tossed the unwanted helmet into the back before slamming the tailgate shut.

  The dawn sky was overcast and grey, though getting light at five thirty on this late summer’s day. The air was still, though humid, and the streets fairly quiet. Streatham High Road was yet to experience the beginning of rush hour with its accompanying hordes of commuters teeming into their city centre offices.

  Jack left the armed specialists making their final preparations and went to check in with the three detectives in his team waiting by his car. Although they had all been briefed back at HQ less than an hour before, he wanted to assess their state of mind before he gave the order.

  DS Fiona Fielding was visibly excited to be taking part, despite being unarmed herself. Her hands and feet were in constant motion while she waited with the small team some thirty metres from the Hope, Not Fear tattoo parlour located in a nearby side road. They were well out of sight of the premises and just waiting for their bo
ss to give them the nod.

  The two junior officers, DCs Ahmed and Jewell, had been markedly quieter than usual as Jack had driven them here, and he was a little concerned that their nerves may lead to a misstep during the raid. He tried to reassure them, with a final reminder along with his version of a pep talk.

  ‘Now listen up. The ARU boys will enter first, with me immediately behind them. According to the schematics there’s no back access to the shop, no way out other than the door or windows overlooking the street, so you guys follow in behind me once we’ve secured the building. DS Fielding is in charge, just follow her lead. I’ll be with the firearms team on the upper floors where the living quarters are, and we will detain anyone on the premises. You all have non-lethal weapons and you can use them as you deem fit in the unlikely event you find anyone we missed. We’ll assume any civilian inside is a potential threat, and remember, Harry Butler is ex-military, has a history of violence, and may be armed and extremely dangerous. Any questions?’

  He knew he wasn’t being overly reassuring, but this was a serious operation and the last thing he needed was a couple of jumpy constables getting themselves hurt, or worse, through carelessness.

  ‘Not a question, sir, just an observation.’ Carver listened as Fiona tried to boost the confidence of her nervous colleagues. ‘Chances are, there are just the three of them inside still, probably upstairs in bed. Even so, we’ll wait for the ARU to give the all clear before we enter the basement — we had no eyes on that yesterday so I’m looking forward to taking a gander down there… Look lively! It’s gonna be fun!’

  ‘Right, let’s go.’

  Carver signalled to the ARU sergeant to lead the way and the team of ten coppers, with the specialists wearing full paramilitary gear, marched up the main road before turning into the side street. A passing motorist slowed to gawk, but there were no pedestrians nearby so Carver ignored the spectator as they arrived at the premises.

  The solid wooden door shattered under the impact of the first blow from the steel Enforcer battering ram wielded by the sergeant, and they were inside, streaming to the staircase at the back of the deserted shop, now bellowing ‘Armed police!’ They disappeared from view and more shouts of ‘Stay down!’ reached Carver as he made one last check to see where Fiona and the others were. Satisfied, he bolted up the stairs two at a time.

  As he reached the landing he could a hear a commotion in one of the two bedrooms, and more shouts from the other. It was over in seconds.

  ‘Clear!’

  Carver entered the main bedroom where his target was already face down on the floor, hands cuffed behind his back, his arms partially covering the magnificent tattoo Fiona had described to him the night before. He could see the resemblance to the sculpture in Maddox’s clinic, then had a moment of doubt. No one could tattoo their own back with a design as elaborate as this, it would be physically impossible.

  Perhaps he designed it and had his mate do it for him.

  The girl sharing Harry’s bed was trying to cover her multi-coloured boobs and steel nipple rings with a sheet. Carver noted the stretched ear lobes and the marks on her body that looked like she had been branded, including white welts on her belly in the shape of a peace symbol.

  ‘Go on. Have a good look you fucking pervert!’ She dropped the sheet and flaunted her nakedness at Jack while two armed officers struggled to pull her arms into position to cuff her — an angry vixen who then started screaming abuse at the ARU sergeant as he cautioned Harry Butler. Jack closed his ears to her rant and went to the other bedroom.

  ‘What the hell is going on man? You’ve no right to do this. Stop pointing that fucking gun at me! I’ve done nothing wrong.’

  Jack assumed this was Glen Jackson, based on Fiona’s description of him. A flabby mountain of patterned flesh with a spider’s web tattooed across his ugly mug, struggling to pull on some shorts with cuffed hands. In those few seconds Jack decided he sounded genuinely stunned at the presence of armed officers in his bedroom.

  Not that that meant much.

  More significant was the information they had found out about him after Fiona’s visit yesterday, especially the fact he had been living in the US until four years ago. Jack was taking him in anyway, though would probably release him soon after — not that Jackson needed to know that.

  ‘Actually, we have every right to be here, Mister Jackson.’ Jack chuckled as he added, ‘In fact, according to my colleague, DS Fielding, it was you who invited us.’

  ‘Piss off! I never did!’

  Jack unfolded a sheet of paper and held it out for Jackson to see.

  ‘You told her to come back with a search warrant if she wanted a look around. So here we are, sunshine.’

  ***

  Jack left the ARU team to hustle the three residents into the waiting police van, then made his way to the basement, noting that DC Ahmed was standing by the shop entrance, looking a little lost.

  ‘Any problems, Constable?’

  ‘None sir. The DS is still in the cellar but it’s all clear.’

  ‘Okay. Give the SOCOs the nod to get in here. I’m going to have a sniff around downstairs. I take it you checked the back room and bog for any strays?’

  ‘DC Jewell’s out there now sir. The rooms at the back are tiny though, and there’s not a lot there to see, just some old clothes and stuff. I’ll call forensics now.’

  The stairway was cramped, narrower than normal, and the low ceiling brushed Jack’s head as he clambered down, but he knew this was deceptive. The floor plan indicated the cellar was wider than the rest of the property, and it also extended under the premises built on the back. Positioned in the middle of a row of back to back terraced houses, the basement area had been about a third of its current size, but some previous owners had arranged to take over the whole space during the conversion to commercial premises, and knocked through the adjoining walls to make an oversized storage area.

  A doorway at the bottom of the steps opened on to this unusual cellar, a vast room with a ceiling height Jack estimated at over four metres. Even with some tables and other equipment, including a pretty sizeable music system, there was a lot of unused floor space.

  ‘This is where they do the suspensions, Boss. You can see the fixings in the ceiling. It’s like a miniature church hall in here — reminds me of the place in Putney me and Lanny visited yesterday.’

  The room seemed less well lit than he expected, so Jack, being a man, had to double check that all the switches were flicked in the correct positions himself. They were so he nodded at Fiona, then said, ‘We’ll have the Scene of Crimes lads here shortly, but did you find anything out of the ordinary? You know, a small detail, like a fully equipped clinic for major surgical operations?’ A few shakes of Jack’s head betrayed his disappointment as he surveyed the empty room. ‘Because if you did, I can’t see it down here!’

  ‘Sorry, Boss, nothing like that, though there is this.’ Fiona used a gloved hand to open a bin and Jack took a few paces to join her, then peered inside. ‘Lots of bloody gauze and bandages in here. Thing is, by its very nature, suspension equals blood loss.’

  ‘Yeah, sticking fucking great hooks through your fleshy bits tends to have that effect, Fi! Anything else?’

  ‘There’s a small storage area partitioned off at the back, behind that curtain, but there’s just some shelves and drawers for their suspension gear and a chest freezer in the corner, probably because there’s no room in their tiny kitchen upstairs. I had a quick look inside it, but all I can see are microwave meals and the like.’

  ‘Okay Fi. I’m gonna get back to HQ. I want to give our man Butler-Hope and his two mates a proper grilling. Don’t look so crestfallen! I need you here.’

  ‘But, Boss. I found him. I want to be in on the interrogations, not kicking my heels here!’

  ‘You’ll get full credit for your part in finding him, identifying him and arresting him, but right now I want someone I trust one hundred percent to oversee the SOC
Os while they take this place apart. That’s your job this morning.’

  ‘Oh come on, please… The SOCOs don’t need babysitting and I can help with the interviews. I’ve met that girl Shazza already.’

  ‘From what I gathered from your oppo, DC Jewell, you didn’t exactly hit it off with that freak, so no, you will be staying here. It’s not babysitting. I want you here because I know I can rely on you to relay any relevant findings to me while I’m in with the suspect.’ With a frustrated swipe of his brow and then arms spread wide, Jack grumbled, ‘Just look at this place! It’s not what we expected, is it? Unless they moved the bleeding clinic overnight, we’ve struck out, Fi.’

  ‘Yeah, not great, sir… I’m good at interviewing —’

  ‘Doc Powers will be doing the interviews with me. I need you here, Sarge.’

  After firing off a few more instructions, Jack went to leave the premises, but his mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. He’d put it on silent, just as he always did when on an armed raid, ever cautious, even if there was only a minuscule chance of someone shooting at him thanks to an inopportune call inviting unwanted attention. He glanced at the screen, saw it was DS Tim Pierce calling from HQ and assumed the sergeant was checking up for Soundbite — she’d been in her office already when Jack arrived this morning, and had told him she wanted an update as soon as they were inside. He grinned as he jogged up the stairs and answered.

  ‘All under control here, Sergeant. All three toerags are on their way but unfort —’

  Pierce was not calling to see how their operation was going. He had some disturbing news of his own to relay, and interrupted his boss with a rapid fire update.

  Jack listened, his face draining of colour.

  ‘Jesus wept! Please tell me you’re kidding, Sarge.’

  This had to be a mistake, or maybe someone was yanking his chain, but DS Pierce’s tone was deadly serious. Jack went rigid as the sergeant gave more details, then he snapped his orders, startling Fiona as his voice filled the tattoo shop.