‘You reckon?’
‘Almost certainly. I’m sure Abimbola and his partner will have kept the files too, recordings of the operations. We need to find them.’
‘Well, we’re still looking, Doc. Forensics are digging up the gardens today, looking for any bodies or sign of other human remains.’
‘They’re wasting their time. They went up in smoke.’
Doc recalled the note he had received stating that the other victim’s bodies were gone forever, then his mind made the leap, confirming to him his suspicions about who was responsible for the deaths.
And it was not Harry Butler.
‘You reckon, Doc? They burnt the bodies?’
‘Double deckers, Sam…’
‘What have buses got to do with it?’
‘Not buses… Abimbola worked in a crematorium for years. I suspect he still has contacts, possibly some access. You would be better off focussing on that angle.’
‘Why?’ Sam’s puzzled expression once again reminded Doc of a dog, a puppy confused by a simple ball throwing trick. ‘Sorry, you’ve lost me —’
‘On occasion, the security services need to dispose of an unwanted body. Unofficially. They have arrangements with certain crematoria… Two bodies are sent through the furnace together, both in the same coffin. A disappearing trick which leaves unsuspecting families with caskets of loved ones’ remains intermingled with the spooks’ victims.’
‘Oh, jeez! That’s terrible, Doc! Double deckers… Never heard of that before.’
‘It’s not common knowledge, but I suspect that’s why we won’t find any human remains buried in Mitcham or anywhere else for that matter.’
‘What about the muti angle? The body parts. Selena Scott’s hand was kept for some reason. Abimbola definitely sold that Atlas bone. He had paperwork from Africa confirming its provenance.’
‘I’m not sure that that means much. People have bought their own death certificates in Nairobi and tried to claim on their life insurance. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll find more evidence if we keep looking. Did Abimbola have a cloud server? Storing files remotely?’
‘I didn’t find anything on the computer indicating that, but he was a cautious man. The property was wired to prevent any electronic intrusion — no Wi-Fi or mobile signals in or out of the place, only landline links to the outside world. I’ve requested his browsing history from his internet service provider, so maybe that’ll throw up something.’
‘Let’s keep looking.’ Doc wanted to talk through his ideas about who was behind the crimes with Jack, but his old pal was only recently out of surgery. Perhaps Doc could get the sergeant onside with his theory. A gentle nudge in the right direction might help. ‘Do me a favour, Sam. Check out who Abimbola’s references were when he got the job at Streatham Crematorium. And see if he was recommended by anyone.’
‘That’s a bit of a stretch, Doc. He started there well over twenty years ago, and they may not have kept the records.’ The determined look on Doc’s face must have convinced the detective. ‘Okay… Anyone in particular?’
‘Well. I suspect a police pathologist working in the local hospitals at the time might have pulled some strings —’
‘Professor Koch! You really think the Met’s senior ME knew our killer?’
‘I do… But more than that. I think Harry Butler is innocent too.’
***
‘So, Harry. They tell me you wanted to speak to me. Well, here I am.’
DS Tim Pierce had accompanied Doc to the interview room and now both of them sat across the desk from Harry Butler and his lawyer. Before they entered, Doc had made it very clear to the sergeant that his role during this interview was to stay silent, assist as required and ensure the formalities were observed.
‘They’ve charged me with murder! You know me. I couldn’t… I wouldn’t… Help me Doctor Powers, please.’
‘I’m doing my best to understand everything about this case, Harry. I need you to take a look at this.’ At a signal from Doc, Pierce plucked a photograph from the file in front of him then slid it across the desk for their suspect to peruse. ‘Do you know this man?’
‘Arthur!’ A ripple of confusion and then horror slipped across Harry’s face, his eyes wide, a hand to his mouth. ‘Please tell me he’s not dead! What is he — another victim? Someone else I’m supposed to have murdered..? I liked him!’
If Doc was surprised by Harry’s reaction, he made no show of it, keen to press on with his line of questioning, but was taken aback when the sergeant sighed a barely audible, yet clearly triumphant Yes! under his breath. Doc glanced at him, instructing him to Shut up! with an impatient eyebrow lift before turning back to Harry.
‘Okay Harry. You knew him. He was also known by an English nickname and had an African forename too. Did he ever share those with you?’
‘No… I knew him only as Arthur. Arthur Abimbola, a trader in African fine arts.’
‘How did you meet?’
‘Is he dead?’
‘I’m afraid so. Suicide, apparently.’ Doc chose the words to reassure Harry he was not implicated in the man’s death.
‘Suicide? Poor Arthur.’
So, tell me, how did you meet and what was your relationship with this man?’
‘He came to the shop — the tattoo parlour — not long after we opened. Had been recommended, by a mutual friend.’
‘A friend?’
‘Arthur never admitted it, but I think he was one of Diana’s clients. She was one of only a few friends who knew I was involved in the shop, but I hadn’t seen her in a couple of months. That was when we lost touch. I’d also met Shazza by then.’
‘So Arthur came to the shop, as a customer?’
‘We became friends… I can’t believe he’s dead. I… I…’
The words stopped coming, and Harry started to close down, but Doc did not want to lose him, so reached a hand across the desk and laid it on his forearm — a reassuring gesture that drew a glare from the lawyer and an uncomfortable buttock shuffle from Pierce. Physical contact in this situation can be construed by the defence as assault or coercion, but Doc didn’t care, saw Harry’s tear rimmed eyes peer up at him from his lowered head, a tiny nod of thanks for the compassion.
‘Did he come to you for a tattoo?’ Despite his doubts about Abimbola’s motives, Doc kept his voice level, encouraging Harry to answer.
‘He was looking for something special. He had an interest in tribal markings, not just tattoos, but scarification.’
‘Scarification? Do you mean patterned cuts to the skin, to leave decorative scarring?’
‘Yeah. It used to be common in Africa, though plenty of westerners like the effect, often have it as well as tattoos these days. Shazza was keen — she’s got several.’
‘And Arthur talked to you about the techniques?’
‘More than that. When he realised we weren’t able to help him — he wanted one on his back — he taught us how to do it properly, helped out in the shop when we first started, gave me loads of designs to use, patterns from different parts of Africa. We’re now well known for it… He was a lovely man… I can’t believe he’s dead! What’s Arthur got to do with all this?’
There was plenty, but Doc was not about to share the details, just offered a sympathetic smile.
‘How often did you see him?’
‘I haven’t seen him for years. Arthur was always too busy in the end. Seems his business really took off, though we did spend a lot of time together before that… He was a regular at the shop. We were friendly and would meet for a drink sometimes.’
‘What did you talk about?’
‘Why do you need to know all this stuff?’
‘Please just answer, Harry. I wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t important. Did he ever mention his childhood, his time in Kenya?’
‘Sure, he did. We compared notes about all sorts of things, that included.’
‘What did he say about that period?’
‘
He was well angry. There’d been a big case in the news about the Mau Mau uprising, survivors of torture and all that, suing the British government. Told me his old man died in one of our concentration camps. That’s what he called them.’
‘This was in Kenya. In the fifties.’
‘Yeah. Our empire days. We did some terrible things, Doctor. They don’t teach this stuff in schools, but our government abused people, treated Johnny Foreigner like shit!’
‘You talked about this with Arthur Abimbola? About the abuse of power? The maltreatment of colonial subjects?’
‘Yeah. It really wound him up. Me too. The current government isn’t much better, when you see what’s happening in Iraq, Afghanistan and so on. The way they treat ex-servicemen is pretty shitty, too. We’re nothing — civilians, soldiers. All of us disposable to the people in power. It’s a crappy world, Doctor.’
‘And Abimbola talked about these concentration camps? What did he say?’
‘Said he was born in one.’
‘Did he ever ask you about your grandfather?’
‘Well, of course, we talked about him — my grandad brought me up. I dunno if Arthur ever asked about the old man specifically, but yeah, we talked.’
As Harry sat back and folded his arms, his head to one side as if trying to fathom where these questions were leading, Doc could tell this aspect of the interview was making him very uncomfortable.
‘We know about your grandfather’s hidden collection of memorabilia, Harry. Diana knew too, didn’t she? Your childhood friend, you confided in her when you found them.’
The startled look on Harry’s face, the head shake in denial, the open mouth ready to refute Doc’s suggestion that he would’ve betrayed his grandfather’s secret, told Doc all he needed to know. Before Harry could deny it, Doc drove the point home.
‘It was a terrible family secret. One you still feel guilty about divulging. It’s okay, Harry. I understand.’
Harry had not responded, his gaze directed downwards, his shoulders slumped as Doc continued probing.
‘And she told Arthur, didn’t she?’
‘No!’
Despite the vehement denial, Doc was convinced this little ‘secret’ had been dragged from Diana during her abduction and torture, that Abimbola befriended Harry as a result.
‘Perhaps Arthur asked about it over a few beers, you became loose lipped, shared the truth with your African friend when he told you how he’d also suffered as a child… In a concentration camp in Kenya, at the hands of soldiers. Military men. Men like your grandfather.’ As Doc probed, his mind was working on other questions, likely links and motivations.
Was it possible that Gerald Butler had been a guard at the very same camp where Arthur ‘Akachi’ Abimbola had been born? A boy, named by his mother as God’s Hand in the hope he might one day act accordingly… A powerful shaman, who on discovering the Butler family secret, befriended the guard’s grandson, determined to wreak revenge for the injustices visited on his flesh and blood?
‘You empathized with Arthur, a fellow sufferer. You told him about your supposed carer, your grandfather. The man who tortured you as a boy, locked you in a cupboard, beat you and disciplined you in an abusive fashion.’
Doc’s hand reached across again as Harry, head still bowed, elbows on the table, slowly nodded, the tears now dripping on to Abimbola’s photograph. Another squeeze of his arm encouraged Harry to whisper, his voice regretful as he replied.
‘Yes.’
‘You told him how you discovered your grandfather’s collection of images. How it made you feel.’ Another nod from Harry, head down, his shame palpable. ‘And the ears? You told him about those.’
Nod.
‘I didn’t mean to tell him. I’ve never told anyone else — even Diana only knew about his dreadful photos. I was pretty drunk that night, though. Beer doesn’t mix well with my medication.’
Medication?
Drugs, certainly.
‘When was this?’
‘It was maybe four years ago… I didn’t see Arthur after that. I think it offended him. I think I sort of over shared…’
Or else Abimbola had everything he needed from Harry, had squeezed all the information he needed from the damaged soul, after years of draining the young man of everything he knew. Doc asked the question, but was certain he knew how Harry would respond.
‘Did Arthur ever suggest hurting your grandfather?’
‘No!’
‘Not at any time? Not that night, when you were drunk? When he was offended, disgusted by your confession about your grandfather’s hoard?’
‘Never! Why?’ Horror spread across Harry’s face as he began to understand where Doc was going with this. ‘You think he… You think Arthur had something to do with the body on the common. The one my grandad found suspended in a tree?’
Once again, Doc ignored the question, but Harry was clearly agitated, his fingers twirling as he clasped his hands on the desk, his head frantically shaking in disbelief.
‘Did Arthur ever participate in suspension? Or just observe the process when you had clients?’ Harry was silent, his head wobbling frantically as Doc pressed him. ‘Tell me, Harry! Did he know you undertook suspensions in your cellar — yes or no?’
‘Of course he did. You really think he’s involved in these horrible murders?’
‘We’ve found evidence that does rather more than suggest that. Much of it ties in with the evidence against you, Harry.’
‘What? No… This is so wrong! I don’t want to talk any more… Sorry, Doctor. No comment!’ He turned to his lawyer, voice raised. ‘Tell them to stop. I’ve had enough. I need my meds. I’m overdue and I’m not feeling well!’ The back of Harry’s chair hit the wall as he jumped up with a fierce gaze aimed firmly at DS Pierce. ‘Take me to my cell! Now, please...’
***
‘Well you just missed some fireworks, Doc!’
DS Sam Sharpe was in gossip mode, but Doc had little time for that.
‘Have we heard from the hospital about how Jack’s doing? And Fiona?’
‘Er, yeah. They’re both awake apparently, though dosed up with painkillers.’
‘Well, that’s great news. I’ll head over to see Jack now. Did you get anywhere with the two USB sticks we found in Harding’s bag?’
‘Not yet. I’ll try to get to ’em this afternoon. But two things. The Super wants to see you. And she’s on the warpath!’
‘Why? I would’ve thought she’d be crowing to the press about this latest success, with Harding back in custody and Abimbola —’
‘Yeah, she did her Soundbite bit earlier, but she’s well pissed off about the girl, Sharon Tait.’
‘Harry’s girlfriend, Shazza?’
‘That’s right, her. Turns out her old man’s some bigshot barrister. Very wealthy and very well connected. Appearances can be deceptive, eh? Makes you wonder why a girl from a nice family would make herself look such a mess. Anyway, we’ve had to release both her and her mate with the Spiderman tattoo plastered all over his chops.’
Doc did not feel inclined to argue with Sam’s assessment of Shazza, was sure she had her reasons, that maybe her family home life was not as nice as the detective assumed. He did want an explanation about her release though.
‘Really? Weren’t the girl’s prints on the bag — the one with the planning officer’s hand in it?’
‘Yeah, but the CPS have said we don’t have enough to charge her, just Harry. Her high priced brief argued that the fingerprint — there was just the one of hers — could’ve accidentally got on the bag while she was grabbing other items out of the freezer. You know, getting her lunch out, digging around, touched it without noticing the contents.’
‘Hang on. Surely Harry could argue the same.’
‘Not really. There were loads of his dabs on it, and anyway, when you take into account the notebook we found, the evidence on it, he’s our guy.’
‘That device could equally belong to the gi
rl though, surely?’
‘No, Doc. I’ve just been reading a sort of diary with Butler’s thoughts, clearly written by him. Apparently he was documenting the victim’s innermost secrets, and some of it makes amazing reading. It’s really shocking what some people get up to. All the vics were right dodgy bastards… But Butler’s the real sicko — tortured the poor buggers to compile his Book of Secrets. So bleeding proud of it he even created a title page with his name on it — not that anyone would ever publish it.’
‘Secrets. Of course!’
Doc remembered the comment from the very first letter he received, though he found it impossible to believe Harry had written any of those missives to him, and was now wondering if Akachi was the author.
‘There’s loads of other stuff with commentary and other identifiers on there that point to Harry. Just him, nothing on the girl, Sharon Tait. Soundbite was well miffed that we didn’t have enough to hold her without a confession from Harry implicating her… I think that’s why Dawson wants to see you. She’s already watched the tape of your interview, and was disappointed you didn’t get him to hold his hands up to it all this morning, given your reputation for wheedling confessions, and also the fact that Butler would only speak to you… She’s really not happy, though she should be — they confirmed her new rank today.’
Doc was getting the message about Sadie’s current mood — Sam had alluded to it often enough.
‘I’ll pop up to her office before I head to the hospital.’ Doc turned to go, but then remembered. ‘Harding’s satnav. Did you get anything off that?’
‘We found two other locations programmed into it besides Abimbola’s gaff. One of them was your home address, the other was a mansion in St George’s Hill. It’s where Maddox lives.’
‘And the other entry codes? His too?’
‘Yeah. One for his main gate and one for the house alarm system.’
The hypothesis Doc had been forming now made complete sense, but he was a little late. The former Acting Superintendent had already announced that the Met’s investigation into Patrick Rawlings’ murder was being wrapped up in record time, along with nine cold case killings, as well as the body they had discovered in Doc’s garage the day before, claims which no doubt secured her promotion.
Mutilated: A British Crime Thriller (Doc Powers & D.I. Carver Investigate Book 2) Page 36