Concrete Evidence; Crime Book 6 (Detective Alec Ramsay Crime Mystery Suspense Series)

by Conrad Jones

  “Could be. It was planned out too well for it to be random.” Annie looked at the messages again. “My money is on a client.” She nodded.

  “If not, did the killer know she was on the game?”

  Annie tapped the desk with her index finger. “Have you spoken to Google yet?” She looked over her shoulder to where the teams were busy analysing the crime scene photographs.

  “Not yet,” Stirling said with his phone trapped between his left ear and his shoulder. He was marking the number of callers on a pad as he listened. “I thought I’d leave that to you,” he grinned. “I wanted to get this out of the way before I got distracted with riddles.” He shrugged. “I’ve never been good at riddles.”

  “So you said,” Annie frowned. “I’ll go and see where we are at.” She looked at her coat and decided that it could stay there. It had her purse and car keys in the pocket but it was also surrounded by thirty detectives. Her mobile was another matter and she picked it up as she headed to where Google and his team were working. As she approached, the officers stopped what they were doing. “How is it going?”

  “Well this is very exciting,” Google picked up several pieces of paper and held them up as if they were trophies. “We started by ruling out the more popular ancient scripts, Hebrew, Greek, Samerian,” Google began his thesis. “I knew it was a type of Cyrillic but not the most popular text used. It’s different.”

  Annie held up her hand and grimaced. “Stop, stop,” she said loudly. “Listen Google,” she joked. “Please don’t think that you have to detail exactly how you’ve arrived at every conclusion.” His three team members grinned widely. He didn’t look offended by the use of his nickname. He deemed it a compliment about his intellectual prowess. “All I need to know is why the killer used it and what it says.”

  “Sorry, Guv,” he took off his glasses and wiped them on his tie. “Firstly, it’s a script called Glagolitic. In the days when it was used, it was sometimes called the ‘witches language’.” He paused. Annie’s expression told him that she wasn’t in the mood to be spoon fed the findings crumb by crumb. Although he wanted to go into as much detail as he could muster, he thought that a summary would be better for his career. “It became popular in about eight hundred, along with other Old Church Slavic languages but Glagolitic was also used to record spells and ceremonies so that prying eyes couldn’t decipher them. Bearing in mind that for centuries before it became widely used, there was paranoia about witches, which led to the burning of hundreds of women, you can see why some would seek a text which couldn’t be translated if their writings were discovered. It was a method of hiding information.” He shrugged matter-of-factly as if what he was saying was obvious.

  “Slavic?” Annie raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes, it’s part of the old ‘Eastern Block’.”

  “I know where Slavic refers to, Google!” Annie sighed, slightly annoyed.

  “Of course you do, Guv. Sorry.” He blushed and carried on nervously. “It was used in parts of Russia, Ukraine, Serbia and even some of the Mongolian tribes used it.”

  “Okay,” Annie said slowly digesting his words. “Why carve that specific script into our victim?”

  “You’ll have to ask the killer that,” he said putting his spectacles on the end of his nose. “At first, I thought it was linked to a satanic ritual because of the pentangle daubed on the wall but the more we translate, the less likely that is.”

  “Go on.” Annie said intrigued.

  “Get this,” Google said excitedly. “‘We are each our own Devil, and we make this world our own hell, amen.’”

  “The bible?” Annie guessed.

  “Oscar Wilde.”

  “Oscar Wilde?”

  “Not what you were expecting, I know but when put it together with the other stuff, we have a theme and some numbers that don’t make any sense yet.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Yes, although I can’t see anything that they relate to yet.”

  “Do you know what he’s trying to say?”

  “On its own, it means nothing to me,” he held up his finger, “but listen to this, ‘As evil as the Devil and twice as pretty.’” He looked over his glasses. “He’s berating women.” He paused. “‘The Devil became a serpent and tempted Adam, his male descendents are still tempted by snakes this day. They will tempt you and then destroy your world.’” He shrugged. “He’s quoting text relating to women being the root of evil.”

  “Who said that?”

  “No idea but he’s got a point.” Google added. Annie raised her eyebrows in mock offence. Google was oblivious and continued. “Then we have the numbers 3-71-73.”

  “That means nothing to me.”

  “Nor me, Guv.”

  “I’m assuming he means ‘women’ when he refers to snakes?” Annie asked.

  “He seems to think of them as one and the same. I don’t think he’s paying homage to an evil entity. In fact, quite the opposite.” He picked up another sheet of paper. “On her chest it says, ‘The finest skill the Devil has, is to make us believe that he is male and there is only one of him. In truth there are millions of them everywhere we look.’ Followed by 4-76-77.” He shrugged. “Can you see where I’m going with this?”

  “It’s as clear as mud.”

  “Sorry,” Google reached for another pad. “‘If there is a God, he will spit in your face. He will take your deal with the Devil, the whore of Babylon and he will let you burn.’”

  “Oscar Wilde said that?” Annie frowned.

  “That wasn’t him,” Google shook his head. “Not as far as I know but he may have,” he added flatly. The others exchanged amused glances and raised their eyes to the ceiling. “That is followed by 37-68-75. The numbers don’t fit any obvious sequence so we’re leaving them to work on later. We’re trying to pinpoint where all the quotes are taken from but we haven’t found all the sources yet.”

  “I’m still not sure that I can see a message here,” Annie grimaced. “Is it just the ramblings of a lunatic?”

  He pointed to another line. “‘The world ceases to believe in God yet it still believes in evil. And so it should for ‘you’ are proof that the Devil acts through you. Then 6-71-72.’” He took his glasses off again and looked for her reaction. “Do you see?”

  “He’s obsessed with Devil worship?”

  “He is obsessed by evil, not the devil.” He shook his head. “He is not worshiping the Devil, he is denouncing him. But everything he is saying is written as if it is aimed at the victim personally. It’s accusing ‘her’ of being evil. In his mind, women are evil personified.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “The more I read, the more certain that I am,” he nodded, “‘The Devil pulls the strings that make you dance, you are entertained by loathsome things that they do.’ I think ‘they’ in this case, are females.” He shrugged. “I can’t see anything but accusations of collusion with evil rather than admiration of it.”

  “So you think it’s personal,” Annie asked thoughtfully. “I mean is it aimed at her specifically?”

  He shook his head and turned a page searching for something. “‘While men desire women, women will never be at a loss and the Devil will stand beside them for desire is his bait.’” He sighed. “Some of it is aimed at ‘women’ in general so I can’t be sure that it is aimed at your victim specifically. It is written by someone who has little respect for women. I would go so far as to say he hates them.”

  “The crime scenes would back that up,” Annie nodded. Her new found knowledge that Jackie Webb was a prostitute slotted right in with the evidence carved into her flesh but until forensics made a positive identification, she couldn’t share that. “What he did to them shows that he hated our two victims for sure.”

  “Hates them or blames them?” Gwen joined the conversation. She pushed her ginger hair from her forehead as she spoke. “I’m sensing blame in the text. Accusations and blame.” She picked up a piece of A4. “‘Bring food to
a dog and watch it wiggle and dance. Buy a gift for a woman and watch her do the same. When the food is eaten and the gift tarnished by time, both may bite your empty hand and then dance and wiggle for another. Such are the attributes of women and dogs and Satan himself.’” She paused and scoffed. “This is from a satanic website although it could have been written by my ex-husband.”

  “And a couple of my ex-boyfriends,” a sergeant called Sue Carrol agreed with a smile. “Can you round them all up as suspects and arrest them?”

  “No problem,” Gwen laughed. “Just the bitter and twisted ones?”

  “You had better take a bus then,” Google said clumsily. Annie and Gwen looked at each other open mouthed and almost offended. “No offence,” he looked from one to the other. “According to my missus, all ex-boyfriends are bitter and twisted.”

  “You rescued yourself there,” Gwen frowned. Google looked confused. “You were nearly in so much shit then.”

  “What did I say?” he said frowning.

  “Forget it,” Gwen sighed. He had no sense of social skills. She shook her head and turned back to Annie. “I agree with Google that the killer is accusing the victim. I think he daubed the pentangle on the wall to tell us that Jackie Webb was a demon to him.” She shrugged. “Maybe using the ‘witches’ script’ is his way of telling us that she was ‘evil’. This is not a satanic murder, Guv although it is ritual in my opinion. Our killer has a warped sense of good and evil.”

  “You said that the language was Slavic. Are we looking for someone from that region?”

  “Not necessarily,” Google shrugged. “This language is used by religious academics, historians and orthodox Catholics across the world. There’s no knowing.”

  Annie held her chin between finger and thumb and nodded. “Good work,” she said to the team. “I want everything you can translate and your theories as soon as possible okay.”

  “Guv.”

  She was about to turn and leave when the mirrors at the second scene sprang to mind. “Have you come across anything that says, ‘when you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’” the team had blank faces. “It was written in blood on the mirrors at the second scene.”

  “No, Guv but we’ll keep a look out for it.” Gwen said returning to her screen. “Despite the amount of text here, he hasn’t repeated himself once so it could be somewhere that we haven’t reached yet.”

  “Good work.” Annie felt pleased with the results so far. The translation of the script had opened a window into the mind of the killer. He was angry with a woman or women plural. She thought back to Tibbs, the man who had gouged out her eye with his solicitor’s pen. He had anger issues and when they spilled over, he took her face and her confidence forever. Her life would never be the same but she had lived to tell the tale. Jayne Windsor and Jackie Webb had not. Were they his first victims? She doubted it. Had he targeted them for something that they had done or just because they were female? Annie didn’t really care what the answer to the question was. Either way he was a violent killer. Working out his motive would simply help her to catch him.

  “Guv,” Stirling shouted her from his desk. “Traffic have found footage of the BMW in the city centre on Saturday night.”

  “Where?” Annie asked excitedly. The department went silent. All ears were listening to the breakthrough.

  “They have it pulling in and parking on the multi-storey on Mount Pleasant at nine o’clock.”

  “What about leaving?”

  “Nothing yet,” he shook his head. “They’re working on the footage from later on that night.”

  “We need that urgently,” Annie felt butterflies in her stomach. “We could have the killer returning to the BMW with them.” She bit her bottom lip and walked to the bank of screens to her right. She looked at a digital map of the city centre and found Mount Pleasant. “Alert uniform to concentrate their efforts on the nightclubs closest to the car park first. Have the pictures of the two women been sent out?”

  “Yes, Guv.”

  “Good,” she said trying to keep a calm exterior. “We need to know where they went and who they went back to that car park with.” She took a deep breath, “I’ve got a good feeling about this,” she said in almost a whisper. “Get yourself down there and make sure that uniform don’t mess this up,” she said to Stirling.

  “I’m on my way, Guv,” he said already rising. “I’ll ring as soon as I have the footage.”

  “Do you mind if I tag along?” Alec appeared from his office. “You can bring me up to speed on the way.”

  “No problem, Guv,” Stirling said looking to Annie for permission. Annie grimaced and shook her head.

  “Actually, I need a word, Guv.” She wagged her finger at Alec, “You go.” She said to Stirling. “I need to run something by you, Guv. Can we use your office?” Alec frowned. He liked taking the opportunity to accompany his detectives every now and again. Feeling a little deflated, he smiled and nodded. If Annie Jones had an issue that she wasn’t prepared to discuss in front of the team, then it was of vital importance.

  CHAPTER 14

  Stirling parked his vehicle on the fourth floor of Mount Pleasant multi-storey car park and walked down one floor to the security office. The stairwell smelled of urine masked with a hint of bleach. Black blobs of discarded chewing gum decorated the landings and graffiti covered the walls to head height. The office was situated at the rear corner of the structure, overlooking the grey Portland Stone built Adelphi Hotel, which was on the opposite side of the road. As he turned the corner, he saw what he was looking for. A pay station machine flanked one side of a reinforced plastic window and an overweight pensioner in a blue uniform sat behind the screen. There was an expression of sheer boredom on his face. He looked up as the big detective approached and spoke through the communication vents in the screen.

  “Bugger me, if it isn’t Big Jim Stirling!”

  “Hello, Harry,” Stirling smiled. He noticed how old and worn out the man looked. It had been five years since he had last seen him but he had aged fifteen at least. Whisky had changed the shape and colour of his dimpled nose. “Is this what happens to us coppers in retirement?”

  “Beats fishing or sitting at home with the wife and it keeps me in beer money,” he joked. “Your lads are in the back office looking through CCTV footage. Come around to the side door.”

  Stirling walked around the pay machine and waited for him to open the door. ‘Fascist Bastards’ had been scratched into the paint beneath a plaque which identified it as the ‘Security’ office. The fact that the door could be vandalised undetected was testament to how observant the security team was. He thought back to a time when Harry Thompson, or ‘Tomo’ as he was known, was a well respected sergeant. The lock rattled and the door opened. “Come in, Jim,” he said stepping back. “Through the door there.” His watery eyes smiled as he spoke. “Good to see you again.”

  Stirling nodded and squeezed through the door, shaking his outstretched hand. He could feel Harry’s bones near the surface of his skin. “You too.” The office smelled of booze and sweat. He walked into the back office where two uniformed officers were sitting in front of a screen. The images were whizzing along on fast forward. “How are we doing?” he asked making them jump in surprise.

  “Sarge,” one of them said standing up. “We’re putting anything relevant onto my tablet for now.”

  “Is it connected to their system?”

  “No, Sarge,” he shook his head and blushed. “The car park owners have said that you can take the disk when we’re done. I’m photographing the screen for now.”

  “Clever, well done. Sit down,” Stirling gestured to his chair. “How long have you been staring at that?”

  “Five hours.”

  “It’s not why you joined the force is it?”

  “Not really, Sarge,” he chuckled. “But if it helps us catch the bad guys, it’s all good.”

  “It is. Show me the image of them leaving the car.”


  The young officer flicked the screen and brought up a blurred image of the women exiting the vehicle. Although the picture wasn’t clear, he could identify the vehicle and Jayne and Jackie. “That is them. Have you got the women returning to the BMW?”

  The officers shook their heads in unison. Stirling reckoned their combined ages would still not add up to his own. “Not yet but we have got this.” He pulled up an image on his tablet. Stirling squinted and frowned. The image was from the interior of the car park focused on a row of parking bays. Only a few vehicles could be seen. He thought he was missing the point as there was nothing obvious to see. “Look there across the road.” The young officer pointed to two women, who were standing next to the Adelphi Hotel. “There’s a bar and a nightclub under the hotel,” he grinned, “Flatfoot Sam’s. The camera moves at that point so we don’t see them going in but I bet they did.”

  “Why?” Stirling frowned

  “Women get free entry on a Saturday night.”

  “Good man,” Stirling smiled. “Has anyone been over there to speak to them yet?”

  “No, Sarge. We’ve only just found it. One of us could go now.”

  “No need,” Stirling said turning for the door. “You’re doing a great job there. I’ll go there myself. Find me those women going back to the BMW!” He added as an afterthought. He stepped into the front office where Harry Thompson was tilting a slug of whisky into a mug of coffee. “I hope that’s not whisky.”

  “It is and I don’t care who you tell!”

  “If you make those two a brew without the alcohol, I’ll pretend that I never saw a thing.”

  “Deal. Are you going already?”

  “I’m going across the road,” Stirling said reaching for the door handle. “Do you know any of the doormen over there?”

  “Flatfoot Sam’s?” a wry smile crossed his lips. “Speak to Coco. Colin Cousins, he’s the head doorman there.”

  “Is it one of your haunts?”

  “No chance,” Harry scowled, “I can’t afford their prices. He chucks me a few quid every month to keep a parking bay reserved for him and his bouncers. Saves them from walking up to the top floors when they’ve finished work late at night.”