He didn’t finish the sentence.
The motorcycle rider was up close and turning Waters to him. A slender blade found an entry point between the photographer’s ribs, slicing directly into the chambers of his heart. Waters tried to finish his warning but hot coppery blood filled his throat and he was frightened of spitting it on to her, so he dropped as quietly as he could to his knees, trying not to fall on his injured side. It was important to him that the girl didn’t see there was something wrong. She was safe; she had her back to him now.
The knife was smoothly extracted and reinserted. The searing heat appeared further up, then again to the right, and all he could think was She didn’t see, she got away, because he could hear the girl running back to her father, back into the sunlight where she belonged.
14
CONNECTIONS
THE MOCK-GOTHIC WINDOWS of the St Pancras Mortuary and Coroner’s Office peered out on to a Victorian graveyard gilded with scrolled gates. The Regent’s Canal wound around it, sparkling in the milky evening sunlight. Beyond was an Edwardian crescent of terraced houses, a third-century church, giant blue cement tanks preparing to create a new town square and several six-floor blocks of council flats, crammed into a messy collage so typical of the capital city that Londoners never noticed its strangeness.
Inside the coroner’s office, Giles Kershaw was thinking about knife wounds. ‘There’s a mandatory minimum four-month prison sentence for sixteen- and seventeen-year-olds found guilty of aggravated knife offences now,’ he said, checking over his new arrival. ‘Every Tory government returns to the old “lock ’em up” policy eventually, just as every Labour one tries to introduce a more liberal penal attitude to stabilize the prison population.’
‘Will either of them stop kids from tooling up?’ asked John May.
‘Unlikely. The anti-knife campaigns are endless and well meaning but they don’t make it any easier for a kid to walk down a street at night, staying out because his mum’s got a new boyfriend.’
On the steel tray before Kershaw was the stripped body of Jeffrey Martin Waters, a grey plastic mesh sheet arranged above his hips. He was lying face down, so his wounds were not visible from this side. It looked as if he was waiting to have a massage.
‘We were about to bring Waters back in,’ said May. ‘We interviewed him yesterday but didn’t get very far. He knew more than he was willing to tell us.’
‘So he knew his attacker?’
‘It looks that way.’
‘Before we get into the question of how you managed to pre-empt a murder victim, John, let me quickly outline what happened,’ said Kershaw. ‘I can turn him over – do you want to see?’
‘Not unless the killer signed his work,’ said May.
‘Good. He’s a big lad and I put my back out last week playing squash. There are five narrow but very deep puncture wounds over and around the heart, no serrations on the blade. At first I thought the weapon had penetrated so deeply because it had been incredibly well sharpened, but then I found traces of oil inside the wound. The blade had been sprayed with WD40 and all the cuts were pointing towards the heart itself. Waters was wearing a baggy T-shirt and a jacket with lots of pockets, so stabbing should have been a hit-and-miss affair. This was someone attacking with a decent knowledge of anatomy and an intent to kill, not wound. That’s pretty rare. Knives are kept to be brandished, to ward off, to mark territory. This one was … well, you remember that business with Mr Fox and his sharpened skewer? I don’t suppose he’s out on the streets again.’
‘He’s safely behind bars,’ said May.
‘OK, but it’s someone like that. I’d say he set out to remove your witness and did a very neat job. How did Waters get into Coram’s Fields? You’re not allowed inside the perimeter without a child.’
‘He had a little girl with him,’ said May. ‘Coram’s Fields has several CCTVs around the outer railing. Unfortunately, Mr Waters was standing behind a very large plane tree when he was stabbed.’
‘Then how did his attacker get in?’
‘He vaulted the fence covered by some bushes – the council had been due to cut them back – and made his way straight towards Waters. He knew his target.’
‘Waters was with – who, his daughter?’ Kershaw’s interest always extended beyond the bodies on his table.
‘We don’t know. We’ve got a muddy shot of a girl running away, maybe nine or ten years old, that’s all. We’ve only just started piecing together the witness reports. She ran off moments before he was attacked and carried on until she reached the far side of the park railing. It looks like Waters warned her away. We’ve got a brief shot of his arms outstretched, then we lose him.’
‘Did you get a description of the killer?’
‘It’s useless,’ May said. ‘Black motorcycle helmet, black leathers, boots, broad build, young and obviously fit. Thanks to the helmet we don’t even know if he was Caucasian. No branding on the jacket, which is unusual. Probably removed it to avoid identification, which also suggests intent.’
‘Well, I think our crime scene manager is probably going to disappoint you on particle evidence, assuming we can afford any proper tests. There isn’t much to go on. I get the feeling our man stuck his right arm out, gripped with the left, hauling Waters into close contact by keeping him off balance. You can’t see anything on the CCTV?’
‘Not a sausage. My guess is he knew where the cameras were positioned, and avoided walking on the grass, so there are no prints to speak of.’
‘About the intent to kill. I’d say Waters was targeted and dropped as neatly as a bull at a corrida. There’s a fresh abrasion on the left knee.’ Kershaw picked up his telescopic indicator – a bequest from his predecessor – and flicked it at the corpse’s leg. The Victorian device served no real purpose but was a trade accessory, like a journalist’s pencil. ‘It’s a textbook army hit.’
‘So you think it was a professional job?’
‘It seems the likeliest scenario. Do you want to tell me what this is all about? You interviewed a – what, suspect, witness? – who was then murdered. And you don’t have the case, because it came to me direct. So what on earth’s going on?’
‘You remember Oskar Kasavian?’
‘Of course. Is he still trying to close the unit down?’
‘He commissioned us to investigate his wife. She’s been suffering from behavioural problems and has turned into a security risk. She was being shadowed by Waters here, who was commissioned to take photos of her, but we think she told him something that got him killed. Oh, and his killer matches the description of the man who mugged Arthur’s biographer, Anna Marquand.’
‘Well, that’s as clear as creosote,’ said Giles, covering the body. ‘It’s a bit of a tenuous link, isn’t it?’
‘Not at all. There were two murders in London today, in a city of eight million people. One was the victim of a gang stabbing on a Tower Hamlets estate and the other was Waters, who appeared in my office just a day before he was killed. I’d say we have a link, wouldn’t you?’
‘Then where does the kid fit in?’
‘No idea yet. There’s no reason to assume there’s a connection between her and Mrs Kasavian, although I’m sure Arthur is looking hard. I’ve sent Dan Banbury over to Waters’s apartment to retrace his final day on earth. He enjoys jobs like that. I have to say, it feels like we’re pulling on threads that may unravel something big.’
‘Like what?’ asked Giles.
‘I don’t know,’ May admitted gloomily. ‘Something that’ll probably come down and crush us all.’
Dan Banbury was the only member of the unit who still knocked on the door of Bryant and May’s shared office, or at least he knocked on the lintel, as the door had been removed by the decorators because it was sticking and had yet to be put back because they had lost the screws between the floorboards. ‘I’ve got Waters’s movements for the full day,’ he said. ‘Do you want to come and see?’
‘Why can’t y
ou just print them out?’ asked Bryant, looking over the top of his spectacles. He was completely surrounded by loose pages with scrawled-in margins, Prospero marooned on his island of books.
‘Because nobody uses paper any more.’
‘Well, I do.’
‘You mean you want me to create a document and print it so that you can read it, screw it into a ball and then throw it away? That’s very old-fashioned and wasteful.’
‘So am I. Just do it.’
Banbury sighed and returned a minute later, setting the sheet on Bryant’s desk. ‘Waters wasn’t driving to assignments, because they’re usually all in the centre of town and he hates paying the congestion charge. He took the Tube, and touched in and out with his Oyster card. So we get eight fifty a.m. out of Belsize Park, then just after one p.m. back in at Belsize Park, touching out at Blackfriars. The cameras picked him up in Fleet Street, Salisbury Court, then St Bride’s Church—’
‘He went into St Bride’s?’
‘He was inside for about five minutes. Cameras show him waiting around but you can’t see much in the courtyard because of the trees. It’s a problem at this time of the year, most of them should have been trimmed back but the weather—’
‘Get on with it.’
‘OK, the next one is Piccadilly Circus, then back in at Oxford Circus, suggesting he walked up Regent Street, but I can’t get access to those cameras at the moment because the Met’s using the footage to find a gang of Ukrainian shoplifters, then out at Russell Square at four fifteen p.m., which points him in the direction of Coram’s Fields. I think he spent the day looking for the kid or waiting to get her alone, and it might not have been the first time he did that. His Tube card has similar times and destinations on other days.’
‘Hm. I imagine he was so busy watching out for the girl that he didn’t notice someone was following him. Amy O’Connor died in St Bride’s Church. This has to be connected.’
‘You don’t know that.’
‘O’Connor spoke to two small children before she entered the church. What if the little girl Waters met was one of the kids who were there that day? I want the O’Connor case.’ He picked up the phone and called Oskar Kasavian.
‘Are you absolutely sure this is relevant to my wife’s situation?’ Kasavian asked after Bryant had put forward his argument.
‘I think we’re going to find there’s a clear chain of events linking her to the earlier death,’ Bryant replied.
‘You mean you don’t have evidence yet.’
‘Not quite. Does your wife like children?’
‘Not especially. Why?’
‘I can’t see how she would get to know a little girl. One doesn’t tend to come across them in central London.’
‘I’m sorry, you’re losing me. What little girl?’
‘Amy O’Connor spoke to two children shortly before she died.’
‘What has that got to do with her death? Were they related to her? Did she tell them she wasn’t feeling well or something?’
‘No, I don’t think she knew them. But nobody else came near her, and something made her die. Healthy young women don’t just drop dead. That’s why I need the case. I want to look into O’Connor’s background, her medical records, her employment history, and I need Home Office sanction to do it.’
‘All right,’ said Kasavian finally. ‘I’ll do what I can. The City of London Police are bound to kick up a fuss, but I’ll see if we can get things moving from this end. If you honestly reckon it will help Sabira I’ll do whatever it takes, but you may have to leave it with me for a few days. Things don’t move as quickly here as they do in your world.’
Bryant ended the call. ‘It looks like he’s going to get us O’Connor,’ he said. ‘Dan, how soon can you tackle Waters’s apartment?’
‘I’ll go right after this.’
‘Good. I need to find out what else connects Waters to Sabira Kasavian. Check his computer and his cameras, look for the pictures he was taking on the night they met. I’d like to know if she sent him to St Bride’s Church.’
‘Wouldn’t it be easier just to ask her?’ said Dan.
‘I’d get clearer answers from the cat.’ Bryant tapped his false teeth with a chewed biro, thinking. ‘Speaking of which, ask Meera to see if Crippen has given birth yet. I don’t want to be treading on kittens. You know, it would be better if we can find a link, because it doesn’t sound as if Kasavian’s department is going to come up with anything overnight. The more we’re delayed, the more we risk.’
‘You say there’s risk,’ said Dan. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘I think Sabira Kasavian is right to believe that her life is in danger,’ said Bryant. ‘If we lose her, we’ll never get to the truth. And we have to act before she finds out that the only person she trusted is dead.’
15
GHOST IMPRINT
‘JOHN WANTED ME to see how you work,’ Jack Renfield explained as he watched Dan Banbury attempting to open the front door. ‘He thought it would help me understand your thinking. For God’s sake give me the bloody key.’
Jeff Waters lived in one of the bland new high-rises that surrounded Swiss Cottage. Clearly his photographic business paid well. The top floors had glass walls that faced south, overlooking the city.
‘We’re in the wrong bloody jobs,’ Renfield grunted. ‘Look at this place, a million plus, easy.’
‘I’m going to tell you this once,’ said Banbury. Now that they had entered the flat, they were on his turf. ‘I have my own way of working and I need you to follow my instructions. You remain behind me, don’t deviate to the left or right unless I clear an area first. I work to a grid, but I’ll create two cleared access paths through the site. After that—’
‘This is boring,’ said Renfield. ‘Just go in and stop pissing about.’
‘I need to explain this because Mr Bryant fails to understand the concept of site contamination. He’s been known to leave sweet wrappers by a body. He can’t resist touching things.’ Banbury grimaced. ‘And bits seem to fall off him. He sheds foreign material like a dog. I once picked up trace liquids at a murder site and followed them through three rooms before I realized that he’d made himself a cup of cocoa and dripped it through the flat.’
‘What are you expecting to find here?’
‘Waters said he never spoke to Sabira, never saw her anywhere except from behind the paparazzi barrier, but Mr Bryant thinks otherwise.’
‘Why would Waters have lied?’
‘Presumably because she confided something of importance to him, and instructed him not to mention their conversation to anyone.’
‘Pillow talk.’
Banbury held up his tweezers. ‘The woman Sabira had the fight with in Fortnum’s accused her of having an affair with Waters. A long blond hair would be a good start. The last thing her husband will want is to be confronted with proof of her infidelity. But Mr Bryant reckons it might shock her into giving some honest answers.’
‘Has it occurred to anyone that she might just be having a nervous breakdown?’ Renfield asked. ‘Birds do, you know. It’s not easy living in the public eye, as my sister can tell you after she got done for shoplifting at Ikea.’
‘What did she take?’
‘She put an occasional table up her kaftan. Now that she’s gained weight she could probably get away with a lawn chair.’
‘I hardly think Sabira’s change of lifestyle can be compared to your sister’s light-fingered habits.’ Banbury eased himself down on to his knees, opened his forensics box and began taping the floor. ‘Besides, her husband is clear about the date of her personality dysfunction. He says it started six weeks ago. If I can find something that approximates that date, we’ll be able to give him a reason for her behavioural change.’
‘It may not be something he wants to hear.’
‘I’m going to do the bathroom first.’ Banbury cleared a path to a bare, white-tiled corner shower room and began checking the toiletries cabinet. ‘T
here’s no woman residing here,’ he said. ‘Not recently, anyway.’
‘How do you know that?’ asked Renfield.
‘Single men hardly ever remember to clean the insides of their bathroom cabinets. It’s special territory, like your shed. How long has he been living here?’
Renfield checked his notes. ‘Three years.’
‘Cleaning lady?’
‘Janice spoke to the neighbour. She says no.’
‘Overnight guests?’
‘I can nip next door and ask her.’
‘Don’t bother, I’ll soon tell you. I’m only going to grid the seating area in the lounge. I can see where he’s been. Singles form more regimented patterns than couples. Let’s do the bedroom.’
The apartment had been recently painted in soothing shades of grey, offset with lime-washed light oak floors, thick cream rugs, white walls and hidden downlighters. The bedroom was elegant and minimalist.
Renfield noticed that the forensic pathologist had a habit of peering about himself like a cat venturing into a stranger’s flat. ‘No clutter to deal with, no knick-knacks, all very masculine.’ Banbury opened another of his cases and set aside a packet of brown paper bags.
‘What are they for?’ Renfield asked.
‘Best way to avoid evidence contamination. Should get some nice Cinderellas off those rugs. I can tell if there are only his shoes in the wardrobe from checking the angle of the footfall, rubbed spots, weight distribution, stuff like that. I can do that without going to Forensics.’
‘And by looking at the sizes,’ said Renfield sarcastically. ‘Unless she had massive plates of meat.’
‘What if there are two males living here with the same shoe size? He works strange hours, could be subletting without the neighbour even noticing. Hang on.’ Banbury lowered himself beneath the bed and emerged with a tiny fragment of broken glass in his tweezers.
‘Blimey, how did you spot that?’
‘Practice. Normally I’d send this off to the GRIM room at Lambeth FSS.’
Bryant & May and the Invisible Code (Bryant & May 10) Page 10