by Conrad Jones
“They’re empty.” He smiled. He looked at the shelf above and noticed a thick plastic bag. “Ball bearings,” he said pointing to the bag. “And four new ‘All Ride’ twelve volt water heaters, still in their boxes.”
“Like the incendiary device?”
“The same.”
A rush of adrenalin coursed through Annie’s veins. Her heart rate increased. More evidence to bury Tod Harris with. She scanned the shelves to the right. Peg boards held an assortment of power tools. Hammer drill, sander, grinder, jigsaw, circular saw, blow torch. To her left, a full set of two headed spanners were laid out symmetrically in a line. Thirty of them at least. Plastic tubs filled with screws, tacks and washers of various sizes were stored neatly next to a comprehensive set of screwdrivers and pliers. Everything was equidistant from the next, the product of a tidy mind or even a sufferer of OCD. It was a DIY fan’s heaven on earth yet the tools were pristine and unused.
“Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust.” Annie said wiping her finger across the handle of a wrench. A clean stripe appeared. “Nothing on this side has been touched for a long time.”
“Tod Harris doesn’t strike me as the, ‘do it yourself’ type,” Stirling agreed. “But look here.” He added. A pick and shovel stood against the back wall. The blade was coated with soil and sand and a dark substance. “We had better get these tested.” He peered along the shelves on the rear wall. His height enabled him to see without craning his neck. “There’s nothing here, Guv but I want to know where he’s been digging.”
“Me too,” Annie said. “Get the team to check the gardens.”
“Guv.”
Stirling left Annie in the garage. She walked along each wall, studying every inch from floor to ceiling. Everything was old except for the petrol containers, ball bearings and water heaters. They were nails in Harris’s coffin. She wasn’t sure why but she felt deflated. Annie sighed and walked outside. She took a Maglight from her jacket and joined the others. They were walking in crisscross patterns, searching the borders, lawn and hedges. Annie took her torch and shone it at the base of the garage. There was a narrow gap between the concrete base and the lawn. She walked slowly, scanning the area carefully. Looking for any breaks in the soil. At the end of the garage, she squeezed into a gap between the wall and the garden fence. The ground space had been covered in shingle to discourage weeds. Digging there would have been impossible. The space was too narrow and the floor too hard for a spade. She shimmied along, her back against the fence panels until she reached the other side. The fence continued for another few metres before it formed a right angle where it joined the fence that bordered the street. She shone the torch along the fence and under the hedges but she couldn’t see anything untoward. Crouching, she searched the corner where the fences met. The ground was untouched. She sighed and walked back to the garage wall, sweeping her torch across the ground.
Nothing.
She looked to her right and aimed the torch at the fence. The hedges had been replaced by rose bushes and she swept the beam along them. They had been planted using a tape measure, exactly the same distance between them. The tools in the garage belonged to the same person that planted those roses. Nothing looked out of place. Frustrated, she walked on until she had reached the end of the garage wall.
“Anything?” Stirling called.
“Nothing.”
Annie looked back where she had walked and folded her arms against the cold. The line of roses caught her eye again. She thought about the tools inside the garage. “Look for anything that doesn’t look symmetrical,” Annie said. “This garden has been planted by someone with OCD.”
“Guv!” a voice called from the side of the house.
“What is it?”
“There’s a shed here, guv.”
Annie shrugged and they walked over to it. Overhanging tree branches had hidden it from view. It was a wooden construction topped with green roofing felt. The roof slanted left to right so that the rain could run off. “What do you think?” Annie asked.
“The ball bearings and heater coils we found are for making motion triggered devices,” the lieutenant said matter of factly. “Once they’re set, you can’t disarm them from outside. We’re safe but we’ll take the hinges off the door to be on the safe side,” he smiled and gestured to his men. They removed the screws from the hinges in seconds and lifted the door off. It remained attached to the shed only by the shiny silver padlock and clasp beneath the handle. They swept torches around the frame and checked the floor inside. “You’re clear, Inspector.”
“Thanks,” Annie said. Stepping through the door, her senses began to bristle. Tod Harris used this space to hide his perversions from his mother. She could sense it immediately. The presence of evil lurked in the darkness. The shed was long and narrow. Three metres wide by six metres long. In the shadows, she could make out an armchair, a coffee table and a television. A row of three metal filing cabinets stood against the back wall. Lights flickered on and she blinked to avoid the glare. Three lanterns hung from the ceiling and a bright table lamp glowed on the coffee table.
“LED, lights. Battery powered,” Stirling grunted. He pointed to a switch just inside the door. “This is a proper little man cave.” He said gesturing to a glass fronted beer fridge that stood next to the armchair. It was half filled with bottles of Carlsberg. An X-Box sat next to the television, the controller on the arm of the chair. At first glance, it appeared innocent enough.
Annie walked to the television and looked at it. It was a flat screen Samsung portable with a built in DVD player. The cabling behind it looked complicated and she involuntarily stepped back. “He’s wired the television and the fridge to a truck battery and then he has a camping inverter to convert the twelve volts to two hundred and forty for his X-Box,” the lieutenant sensed her fear. “It’s geeky but it won’t explode.”
“Must be a man thing,” Annie shrugged. Three empty beer bottles stood next to the television. She picked up a DVD storage wallet and slid out one of the disks. It was marked with only the manufacturers’ brand. “Can we bag these please.” She switched on the television and pressed play on the DVD player. “Let’s see what he was watching last.” Jackie Webb’s image appeared on the screen. Mascara had run down her face in blackened streaks. Her eyelids were glued open, giving her a mad staring look. Her eyes were glassy like a dead fish. The lower half of her face was missing and the exposed muscle, cartilage and bone glistened. The wounds were fresh. “Jesus Christ!” Annie hissed. “He sat here drinking beer and watched this. The sick bastard.” She turned it off quickly but the images were emblazoned on her brain. Taking the disk from the player, she looked at Stirling and held it up. “Get this to the team,” she said quietly. “This is the smoking gun. We’ll nail this bastard now.”
“He’s going down, Guv. Scumbag,” Stirling nodded still staring at the blank screen. He was rattled too. Not so much by the images but by their situ. It took a special kind of disturbed psyche to relax and drink beer while watching that; someone ice cold and detached from any human empathy.
Annie felt sick inside. The evidence was rock solid yet she still felt unsettled. Breathing deeply, she turned and walked to the chair. On the floor was a waste paper basket, half full of used tissues. She grimaced and shook her head. An empty box of Kleenex sat next to the bin, ‘Man Size Tissues’ screamed from the logo. “When he wasn’t playing on his X-Box, he was playing with himself,” she said with a sigh. “Sometimes I have to wonder what planet some people are from.”
“Guv,” Stirling said. He was holding a thick lever-arch file open. Inside, Annie could see clear plastic sleeves and coloured material. “Underwear, Guv,” he raised his eyebrows. Annie walked next to him so that she could see the contents. “Jayne Windsor,” Stirling said pointing to a Polaroid, which had been inserted into the sleeve with a pair of black cotton panties. The picture showed the woman’s face. She looked peacefully asleep on a pillow. Stirling turned the page and l
ooked at Annie. “Jackie Webb. The bastard keeps their underwear.” He scowled. His face was purple with anger. A Polaroid image of Jackie showed a similar pose. “He hasn’t got a leg to stand on, Guv,” Stirling growled. He turned the page and the image of another sleeping woman was inserted next to her underwear. The next page was the same, different face, different panties but the same. As was the next. And the next. And the next.
Stirling turned the sleeves sixteen times until he stopped. “For God’s sake!” he whispered. Annie put her hand to her mouth. “This bastard needs hanging,” he hissed. Instead of panties, the sleeve held a small pair of y-fronts. He turned the page to find the Polaroid but there wasn’t one. Behind it was another pair of underwear. SpongeBob Square pants boxer shorts. Next to them was the image of a young boy sleeping. “How old is he?”
“Nine maybe ten?”
“I don’t recognise any of their faces,” Stirling said. His fingers were trembling as he flicked back through the file.
“Nor me,” Annie said quietly. “We need to cross reference their faces against sexual assault complaints.” She paused. “You have to wonder how many of them know that they were assaulted. Get this to the team ASAP. I want to know who each and every one of these people are.”
“I’ll get on it now.” He turned to the other detectives. “Bag everything and move it out of here. Are the CSI unit here?”
“Yes, Sarge.”
“Tell them that the stuff we found in the garage, the DVD and the file need to be transported now,” he spoke slowly to keep anger from his voice. “Anything else we find is a bonus. They can send the van back for the rest later.”
Annie walked deeper into the shed and tried to shift the images from her mind. Jackie Webb, her face wet and glistening like fresh meat. Jayne Windsor sleeping peacefully, completely unaware of what was to come. Her decapitated head on the dressing table, money shoved into her mouth. The images flashed by like a carousel of the damned. She faced the filing cabinets and took a deep breath. The contents could be totally unrelated to their case. They knew that he worked online. It could be his records but somehow, Annie didn’t think that it was.
“I’ll take the left hand side,” Stirling’s gruff voice made her jump. She was lost in her thoughts. She looked confused. “Are you okay, Guv?”
“I’m fine.”
“If it helps, it knocks me sick too.” Stirling smiled thinly.
“It just makes me feel sad,” she said walking to the filing cabinet on the right. “Sad and incredibly angry.” She breathed deeply and opened the top drawer. It clattered against its rollers and dropped at an angle.
Empty.
Stirling opened the left hand side. He looked at her and shook his head. Annie opened the remaining two drawers quickly.
Empty.
Stirling followed suit with the same result. “They’ve been cleared out.”
“What about the middle cabinet?”
Annie bit her lip and opened the top drawer.
Empty.
She bent slightly to open the middle drawer.
Empty.
“We’re not going to find anything more damming than we have already,” Annie muttered as she opened the final drawer. It clattered to a stop and something rattled loudly against the metal. She frowned and stared inside. “Bloody hell!” she gasped. “I’ll take that back,” she said as she stared at an evil looking hunting knife. One side of the blade was razor sharp and caked in dried blood; the serrated edge on the other side had pieces of flesh wedged between the teeth. The smell of decomposition drifted up to her like a familiar but unwanted guest.
CHAPTER 28
36 Hours Later
“Interview with Tod Harris,” Annie began, “present DI Annie Jones, your names for the record please,” she prompted.
“DS Stirling.”
“Kate Bartlet, defence lawyer for Tod Harris.” She paused and nudged him. “Say your name for the tape, Tod.”
Tod Harris coughed nervously, “Tod, Tod Harris,” he stuttered. The cramped interview room made him feel claustrophobic. He looked decidedly pale for a man who had been in the sun. The pain from his stab wound had become a dull ache, gnawing at him. The painkillers took the edge off but little more. “Can I just say for the record that I’m in severe pain following a mugging. I have nine stitches in my back and I’m not happy about being dragged from Spain in handcuffs without any explanation.” He glared at Annie. “They refused to talk to me all the way back.”
“We charged you before we left,” Annie interrupted him. “That was explanation enough until you had legal representation with you.”
“I cannot remember anything. I was under anaesthetic,” he protested. “I didn’t have a Scooby Doo what was going on.” He had decided that he was going to aggressively deny everything. He had made his mind up before the Guardia officers had even arrived at his hospital bed. Attack was the best form of defence. It had worked with his previous rape charge so he didn’t see why it wouldn’t work this time. “I’ll be claiming for a flight back to Spain when this farce is over and seeking compensation too.” He snapped arrogantly. Inside, he didn’t feel anywhere near as confident as the man he was trying to portray. “This is bullshit.” Kate Bartlet nudged him again and threw him a scolding glance. “What is your problem?” he snapped at his brief. “You’re supposed to be on my side. This is bullshit and you know, it is!”
“Let’s just listen to what the detectives have to say, Tod.”
“It will be bollocks!”
“Have you finished?” Stirling growled. Tod nodded and sat back in his chair. He winked at Stirling and smiled sarcastically. The bolts that fastened his chair to the floor denied it any lateral movement making it uncomfortable to sit on even for short periods of time. He shifted his weight but couldn’t find any relief from the pain in his back. “Are you ready to begin?”
“As ready as I can be,” Tod grinned. “I can’t smile wide enough I’m so happy to be here.” He stopped smiling and frowned. “Get on with it and get me out of this dump.”
“I would get used to your surroundings, Tod,” Stirling glanced at Annie and a silent communication past between them. “You could be here a while.” They shared an understanding that their suspect had no idea how much evidence they had against him.
“Can you tell us what you do for a living,” Annie asked casually.
Tod seemed to relax a little. “I’m self employed as a copy writer,” he smiled. “I write content for company websites. Mostly in the gaming industry.”
“And you live with your mother at 42 Princess Drive, Liverpool, right?”
“At the moment. I travel a lot so my flat was always left empty,” he shrugged and blushed a little. “She’s not been well so I moved back to help out.”
“Admirable,” Annie smiled thinly. “I’m sure she’s very grateful.”
“She is actually.” Tod’s face turned dark with anger.
“I don’t doubt it,” Annie replied flatly. “I’m sure she’s ever so proud that her son is on the sex offender’s register.” His eyes narrowed and he had to restrain himself from responding aggressively. Annie gauged his reaction. He was highly strung and that would work in her favour. “Do you recognise this woman?” Annie asked pushing a photograph of Jayne Windsor across the table.
Tod glanced at it and shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Lie, she thought. She noticed that he twitched slightly when he lied. It was subtle but it was there. A movement of the shoulders, only slight but perceptible to the experienced eye. “You don’t remember meeting her at a nightclub?” Annie pushed an image from the nightclub to him. “This is you with her in Flatfoot Sam’s isn’t it?”
“I don’t think so.” Tod flushed. “The image isn’t very clear. It might be.”
“It is you, Tod isn’t it?” Annie pressed. He shrugged nonchalantly but didn’t answer. She pointed to the image and looked him in the eye. “That is you with Jayne Windsor, isn’t it, Tod.”
“It could be I suppose.”
“Do you remember talking to her there?”
“No.”
Annie saw the twitch again. “Are you sure?” she pushed another picture towards him. “This is an hour later. Same club, same girl. This is you with her.”
“I don’t remember her.” Twitch.
“Funnily enough, there are quite a few photos of you with her. You don’t leave her side except to go to the bar.” Stirling added nudging the picture closer again. “She was a Special Constable. A serving police officer. Did you know that?”
“Interesting,” Tod shrugged. “And I should be bothered why?” he asked sarcastically.
“Oh, you should be very bothered,” Stirling smiled coldly. The urge to break his jaw was intense. “She must have told you that she was a police officer?”
“Like I said, I don’t remember talking to her.”
“Look again.”
He looked at the picture and shook his head. “I talk to a lot of women in nightclubs,” Tod sneered but the way his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down told Annie that he was worried. His throat was dry, a classic symptom of lying and he couldn’t meet her gaze. Annie knew that he was lying through his teeth. “I meet women online and I meet women in town.” He smiled at Annie. “Lots and lots of women.” He shrugged. “I can’t be expected to remember them all, can I?”
“Must be a nightmare for you but I’m surprised you can’t remember her.” She lifted the photo in front of his face. “Are you sure that you don’t, really?” Annie frowned. She pushed another photo to him. “Well let me help you to remember.” Annie lifted her index finger and feigned helpfulness. “You may have a lot of girlfriends but you gave this one,” she pointed the photograph, “her name is Jayne Windsor, a lift home in her own car the same night as these pictures were taken.” She paused for effect. “Remember her now?” Tod glanced at the photograph. He flushed red and swallowed hard. “This is you leaving the club with her, you see?” Annie looked him in the eye. He couldn’t look back at her. She placed another photograph in front of him. “And this is you bundling her into the front seat of her car, see?” Annie stared into his eyes. “Do you remember her now?”