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

by Conrad Jones

  “And that is if they choose to leave the bodies for us to find,” Annie agreed. “But Tod Harris,” she paused and shook her head, “part of him wanted to create a sterile crime scene but the other side wanted us to connect the dots and work it out.”

  “I think that he simply unravelled, Guv.” Google pointed to the photographs. “As you said, he was unhinged anyway but something switched off in his mind and he lost control. Hence leaving the scenes compromised. Reading all this script, I genuinely think he has tipped over the edge.”

  “I agree,” Annie said. “Good work, Google,” she smiled. “I want you to share these pictures with Interpol. Let’s see if there are any similar cases out there.”

  “Will do, Guv.” Google smiled and stood up. He picked up the photographs and then stopped in the doorway. “There are more number sequences, Guv but we’re still working on them,” he paused. “Do you mind if I get some of the team to start working on the books and computers taken from Harris’s home, Guv?”

  “No,” she frowned. “Do you think that he’s kept the reference material for the script?”

  He nodded and smiled wryly.

  “Carry on with it,” she said with a grin. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. They had Tod Harris, hook, line and sinker. That was a definite but there were too many unanswered questions left to put the case in the hands of the Crown Prosecution Service yet. She had to investigate Harris’s claims that a man called Rob Derry existed and she had to look at the abductions of Simon Barton and James Goodwin. Her thoughts were disturbed by the phone ringing. “DI Jones,” she answered.

  “Annie,” the familiar voice of Kathy Brooks said. “We’ve got a problem with the Peter Barton autopsy.”

  “What kind of problem?” Annie asked confused.

  “The worst kind,” Kathy replied flatly. “The body in my lab is not Peter Barton and I don’t believe it was a suicide.”

  CHAPTER 31

  Emilia Harris sat on her son’s bed and touched the duvet with the fingers of her right hand. Her mind went back to a time when she would sit on the edge of his bed and watch her little boy sleeping. She would stroke his hair and listen to his breathing and wonder what life had in store for him. Would he be a lawyer or a doctor? He was intelligent enough for sure. There was a sparkle in his eyes that captivated people and his smile was angelic. He had all the gifts that a child could need. What went wrong? Another tear leaked from her reddened eyes onto the moist scrunched up tissue that she held tightly in her hand. She had changed the sheets just in case Tod came home although she knew deep down that he wouldn’t. Not this time. She’d felt angry at first, not with Tod, with the police. They were picking on him because of the other girls. Young girls nowadays asked for it, going out half dressed and falling over drunk. Was it any surprise that young men got the wrong signals? Tod had misread the moment. Well, he had unfortunately misread several moments. He’d made mistakes, sure, but he couldn’t have done what they were accusing him off. Murder? Rape? Since the police arrested him, she had been on an emotional elevator ride that only went down. She had been bouncing from one emotion to another and just when she thought that she couldn’t go any lower, the elevator went down to another level, and another, and another. She hadn’t stopped crying for days. She felt that nothing else could hurt her more than this. The police were so cold and callous. They had trawled through every inch of the house and garden as if she didn’t live there. It was as if she was invisible. Men and women in white paper suits walked past her as if she didn’t exist. When they did look at her, their eyes were full of disapproval and accusations. She’d been confined to her living room for most of the day. When she had asked a question they had spoken to her as if she was a nuisance. A nuisance in her own home. Her son was being accused of some terrible crimes.

  Rape?

  Murder?

  Little boys?

  When they had shown her the picture of the young boy she couldn’t understand what they were saying. Was the boy a relation or a neighbour’s child? And then they asked her if she recognised some underwear. Once she realised the implications, her stomach turned. She had not been able to answer their questions after that. Her head felt like it was filled with cotton wool. She had felt numb inside. They were convinced that Tod was a rapist, a murderer. That was bad enough but little boys? She could never live that down as long as she lived. She had given birth to a monster. That innocent little boy had grown up to be evil. She wondered if she should have seen it in him, could she have stopped it somehow. Her little boy that she cherished so much had gone and that’s what hurt so much. The child was gone, replaced by a sickening monster. Her flesh and blood.

  Emilia sobbed and lay down, her head on her son’s pillow. The smell of him was still there beneath the freshness of the fabric conditioner. She closed her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest as her tears trickled down her cheeks onto the cotton. For the first time since her husband, Ben had died, she was glad that he was dead. If he had been alive the shock would have killed him anyway. The shock and the shame of it all. The neighbours were avoiding her already, pretending that they hadn’t seen her. One of them had crossed the road when she saw her coming. What would it be like after a trial? Especially when it came out about the boys. It would be a hundred times worse, a thousand times worse, maybe even a million times worse. She didn’t think that she would be strong enough to cope with it all. Was any mother strong enough to sit in a courtroom and listen to the details of what their own flesh and blood had done with their hands? Hands that were once so tiny, sticky hands that helped him to crawl and then pull himself up when he began to walk. Hands that were covered in paint and glue and jelly and blancmange. Hands that were once tender and loving. The same hands that he had used to butcher other human beings, women, children. She felt as if her heart was being ripped out of her chest and crushed by the hands of an invisible giant. She closed her eyes tightly and her chest heaved as she tried to breathe through the tears. She felt like she wanted to die.

  The doorbell rang and was followed immediately by a loud knock. Emilia sat upright and wiped her eyes. She straightened her blouse and blew her nose before walking out of the room closing the door behind her. The caller knocked again, louder this time. “Coming!” she shouted. She could see the shadow of the person at the door. They rang the doorbell again. “I’m coming!” she shouted. “I haven’t got a jetpack strapped to my backside,” she muttered beneath her breath. From the stairs, she could see that the silhouette behind the door belonged to a male. She reached the door and checked her appearance in the mirror on the wall. Her eyes were puffy and it was obvious that she’d been crying. She took a deep breath and slid the chain into the lock before twisting the handle and opening it.

  “Mrs Harris?” the man asked. His thick curly hair and stubble were greying.

  “Yes.”

  “Police, Mrs Harris,” the man said. He flashed his identity card. “I’ve got a few questions that I need to ask you.”

  “More questions?” Emilia mumbled. She took the chain from the lock and opened the door fully. “How can there be more questions? It’s Tod you need to be asking not me. I’m sick of the whole thing.”

  “I won’t keep you long, Mrs Harris,” he said smiling. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his long raincoat. “It is very important.”

  “You’d better come in then,” she said stepping back to allow him in. “You look like Columbo in that coat,” she said without thinking. “Might be a bit before your time but he wore a raincoat like that.” She smiled nervously. “Do you remember him?”

  “Yes I do,” he nodded but didn’t return her smile. “This is very important.”

  “Come into the living room. Sit down. Do you want a cup of tea?” she gestured to the settee.

  “No. I’m fine thanks,” he smiled thinly and sat down. “There are some very difficult questions that I need to ask you about Tod, Mrs Harris,” he gestured for her to sit in the chair. She stra
ightened her floral patterned skirt and sat down opposite him. She eyed a packet of cigarettes on her coffee table but resisted the urge to light one. Her twenty a day habit had ballooned into a forty a day habit. He sensed her discomfort. “Smoke if you like. I don’t mind,” he smiled thinly. Emilia shrugged and reached for the packet. She lit one up and inhaled deeply. “Did Tod ever mention a friend of his to you, a man by the name of Rob Derry?”

  “Rob Derry?” she inhaled again. Her eyes narrowed in thought. “I don’t think so. He never talked to me about his friends,” she sighed and took another drag, “in fact, he never really talked to me at all except when he needed something.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he tell you that he was going out at weekends and drugging women so that he could rape them?”

  “Of course not,” she inhaled and scowled. “What do you think I am?”

  “You tell me,” he said quietly.

  “If I had known,” she shook her head but didn’t finish her sentence.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry,” Emilia stuttered.

  “If you had known what he was doing, you would have done what?”

  “I don’t know,” she said in a whisper. “I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “Did he ever bring women back here?” he asked. “You know, girlfriends.”

  “No.”

  “Never”

  “No.”

  “What about when he was a younger man?”

  “No, never.” Her eyes glazed over as she thought back. Why had he never brought his girlfriends home?

  “What about young boys?”

  “What?”

  “Did he ever bring young boys back here?” he shrugged, “maybe to play on his computer games in the shed?”

  “I know what you’re implying,” she said angrily. “Don’t be disgusting,” Emilia shook her head. Her hands were shaking as she stubbed out her cigarette and lit another one immediately.

  “You have a very tidy house, Mrs Harris,” he sat forward and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Did you ever look through his personal stuff?”

  “No,” she said quietly. Her face changed colour.

  “Never,” he smiled. “I can’t believe that you were never tempted to take a little peek in his drawers, maybe?” She didn’t answer but her face reddened. “Did you look at his laptop to see what he’d been watching?”

  “I did no such thing!” she snapped.

  “Oh come on,” he sighed. “You knew that he was a little pervert and yet you didn’t ever look through his things?” he shrugged. “I don’t believe you.”

  “How dare you,” she said in a whisper.

  “How dare I what?” he snapped. His eyes were wide, angry and accusing. “Tod is a disgusting human being and you knew it, didn’t you?” a tear trickled from her eye. She was scared of him. “Didn’t you?” he whispered. “He’d been charged before. You knew what he was.”

  “I wasn’t sure,” she cried. “I didn’t want to believe it.” She blew her nose again. “You don’t when it’s your own. He was such a gentle child.”

  “I know this will be very painful for you, Mrs Harris,” he said calmly. “Now, answer me honestly this time,” he lifted one hand to calm her. “Did you ever go through his things?”

  “Yes,” she nodded and sniffled. “I wanted to know if he was misbehaving, that’s all.”

  “What did you find?”

  “Nothing,” she shook her head. “He kept his private things in the shed or the garage. There was never anything in his room. He hid his things from me.”

  “Okay,” he paused for a second, “I’ll ask you again. Did he ever mention, Rob Derry?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?” The policeman took a small hatchet from his raincoat and placed it on the table between them. Emilia’s eyes focused on the weapon. “What is that?” she asked confused, her voice a little shaky.

  “It’s an axe, Mrs Harris,” he said placing a roll of duct tape next to it. “This is very strong tape.” He stood up and walked to the window. He closed the curtains with one sweep and turned to face her. “And these are pliers.”

  As he approached her, Emilia wanted to scream. She opened her mouth but only cigarette smoke came out.

  CHAPTER 32

  Alec stood next to Annie and waited for Kathy to finish washing her hands. He felt like a naughty schoolboy waiting for the headmaster to acknowledge his presence outside his study. The anticipation was worse than the actual event. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and checked the time. Kathy finished washing her hands and dried them before snapping on a pair of surgical gloves.

  “Right, where do I start?” Kathy said without any pleasantries. She stood to the right of a stainless steel post-mortem slab and removed the sheet that was covering the body beneath it. She positioned a light above so that they could see the body in more detail. “The fingerprints taken from him do not belong to Peter Barton,” she looked at Annie, “and the blood type doesn’t match either. My initial thoughts were suicide for obvious reasons,” she explained pointing to the bloody remains of the head. “But I noticed ligature marks on the wrists here,” she pointed to deep red welts in the skin, “he’d been restrained for a period of time, I can’t be sure how long for but there is some atrophy of the muscles and dehydration of the skin. Days rather than weeks at a guess.” She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. “There is no gunshot residue on his hands,” she raised her eyebrows as she spoke. “I think that the gun was forced into his mouth and discharged while his hands were tied behind him. Then he was untied and positioned to look like he had taken his own life.” She shrugged. “Your detectives had no way of knowing this until the post mortem was performed.”

  “Bloody hell,” Annie sighed. “We need to go back to his house with fresh eyes.”

  “They had to break into the basement after they heard the gunshot?” Alec frowned. “That’s right isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Annie nodded. “There must be another way out of that cellar.”

  “Do we know who this is?” Alec turned back to Kathy.

  “We’re running his prints and DNA through the system.” Kathy said picking up a sheet of paper. “On the plus side, the epithelial cells from the underwear you gave me,” she raised her eyebrows. “Belong to Simon Barton.” She handed the sheet to Annie. “We got the match through from the lab a few minutes ago.”

  Annie and Alec exchanged glances. “The bastard took those boys, Guv.” She shook her head. “Tod Harris must be connected to Simon Barton. There’s no other explanation. I’ll take a team back to Barton’s house this morning.”

  “Make sure that Jim Stirling is with you,” Alec suggested. “He was the first officer at the scene after all. I’ll put an APB out on Barton but he could be anywhere by now. Do you think that Peter Barton is also Rob Derry?”

  “Harris denied that when we showed him his picture. I don’t know what to think,” Annie said pointing to the faceless corpse. “This could be Rob Derry for all we know.”

  “Kathy,” Alec said. “I don’t care how much it costs; I want these results rushed through.”

  “I’ll call as soon as I have something,” she nodded and walked to her desk. “I have three different forensic companies drafted in on this. We should have something later today.”

  CHAPTER 33

  Google and his team of three detectives were almost hidden by the stacks of books and piles of papers that they had accumulated during their research. Translating the script was slow and painstaking but it was doable. The sequences of numbers were virtually impossible to analyse. They were blindly running searches to try to identify them. The possibilities were infinite and it was a painfully slow process of elimination. Detective Constable Gwen Evans was working on two specific sequences that she had translated from Jackie Webb’s left thigh. “I think that we could have something here,” Gwen
said as she typed on her laptop. “One digit followed by three letters and then three more digits,” she looked over her screen as she spoke. Goggle frowned and ruffled his hair. “These two sequences match the format of Californian vehicle registration plates.”

  He hammered commands into his keyboard. “You’re right, they do,” Google said checking it online. “I want you to check number and letter formats for every state in the USA,” he said to the others, “in fact, check Europe too.”

  “What are the sequences that you have there, Gwen?”

  “6DZG271 and 6RVG290,” Gwen answered.

  “San Francisco area plates,” Google said. “You’re spot on.” He took his glasses off and sat back to clean them with his tie. “I think that you should make a few calls, Gwen,” he said pushing them back onto his nose. His eyes looked magnified and he blinked rapidly. “See if we can’t work with the San Francisco PD to identify whether these are actually registration plates in use and if they are, can we work out their significance to us.”

  *****************

  Annie and Stirling ducked underneath the yellow crime scene tape and walked up the path towards the Barton residence. The sun was a yellow glow behind thick white clouds that were tinged grey at the edges. A sharp breeze blew all the warmth away and made the tape flap about wildly. “Okay, what did we miss first time around?” Annie said as they climbed the step to the front door. The frame was still splintered. “You knocked on the door and then forced entry.”

  “Right, units entered front and rear and his heat signature disappeared beneath the staircase, which meant that he must have headed downstairs into the cellar. We heard the gunshot and we turned the power back on. Then we found the hatch.”

  They walked down the hallway to the staircase. The cupboard door was open and the hatch cover had been removed. “You forced the hatch and climbed down the stairs,” Annie said stepping inside. She headed down the creaky wooden stairs and then paused at the bottom. The cellar was oblong in shape and looked bigger now that the maps and press cuttings had been removed from the walls. Stirling stood behind her and looked around. “The body was in the middle of the room,” Annie said stepping to the middle. “He couldn’t go up, which means that he either went down or he went through the walls.”