“Well nice to…” Pierre paused. Why not try making some friends. He saw in her eyes that she knew so… “Do you want to sit and have a chat while we eat?”
“Yes please,” she said a little too quickly for Pierre, but he rode it out anyway.
The curry was served along a line of tables divided into several sections with staff at each. First a vast metal bowl full of rice disgorged two or three servings depending on the size of the person in the queue, then a similar bowl contained the sauce itself, the sort of random mix the chef produced worthy of the tag ‘curry’ with no other description, and then several plates kept being refilled as they were piled with poppadum’s the size of the plates Pierre and Karen had. Then the pair went and sat on a sofa.
Karen looked round and saw some envious eyes turned on Pierre from the men who ran the group and looked at him and his haunted face. For a moment, she wondered if this was really a healthy place for her to be, and whether she was sinking into something dangerous for her, but that quickly was subsumed by the sense of family and acceptance that she didn’t get from her sister, or the NHS.
“I’m glad this is getting under control and in no way escalating,” Wick said to the four detectives who were sat in the Bunker. Susan was at the back, but she felt only mental notes should be taken, as she wasn’t sure how this meeting was going to go all things considered.
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you,” Sharma shot back, although with warmth rather than acid.
“This is true. So, let me summarise. Grayling and Maruma found the person running the conversion therapy, found the material which you’d always believed had been stolen from the scene of suicide; you then tracked him down back to the house the evidence was in, and in that time he’d returned home and someone had murdered him?”
“Now, when you say it out loud it doesn’t come across as very good, I admit that,” Grayling said.
“Oh, I’m not complaining. These church people have so many groups they’re all over the place, but someone found him quickly so perhaps we need to work out who knew his schedule…”
Grayling spoke again. “We also know this is directly connected to the murder of Cribb because the new one is trying to mimic Cribb’s killer. So, someone linked to the church sounds our best bet.”
“On which note,” Wick said, “we have the DNA tests back, and I can confirm we have zero matches on New Hope staff and Cribb’s killer.”
“Just a friendly word of advice,” Sharma began, “when reading out a failure, don’t start with ‘I can confirm’ as my rollercoaster of emotions thought we’d got a hit, and we haven’t.”
“A fair point. It’s disappointing, but it’s progress. We do have all their DNA now, so any further testing can be done quickly, and you never know what we’ll find on this new body. Uniform are out there looking for the knife now, so hopefully… every step forward and all that. Any ideas on motive?” Wick asked.
“Yes,” they all replied, and they all began completing.
“Someone knew…”
“…that we were going after Webb…”
“…that Webb had taken evidence…”
“…that we were going to turn screws on Webb and get the rest of them…”
“…Webb was silenced…”
“…someone powerful had him killed…”
“…by someone low and easy to use…”
“Any evidence of this yet or just what you’re deducing?” Wick checked.
“Nowt.”
“Well, it’s a good line of thought. Keep that energy going. Oh, do I sound like a hippy?”
“Well I could do with some Californian waves,” Lindleman said.
“You don’t surf. You can barely walk, you can’t balance.”
“Where’d that come from?” Rob asked Sharma.
“You can’t ride a bike, remember.”
“Oh, yeah,” he turned to Susan, “it’s more a disability than being useless.”
“Oh, here we go, no nobbling the journalist. He’s just an idiot who can’t stay upright.”
Four
“Does anyone know where DC Atkins is?” Wick asked as he walked into the custody unit. People who’d been arrested were brought in here for either their government allowed twenty-four hours or until enough evidence had been gathered to charge or release them, and it was one of the parts of the building he’d not searched already.
“Not seen him mate,” said a constable behind the counter, “although I think he has a fag in his car quite a bit.”
Ah, thought Wick, I haven’t been outside! He went out and looked at the sun in the sky, which made him want to get some holiday in, maybe travel to the Peaks, and then he walked up and down the car park because he didn’t remember what car Atkins drove. Terrible he thought, he really should know, he was a detective, but there’s a difference between the details of a case and knowing what wheels were under your staff.
As Wick came down the side of one vehicle, he heard someone shout “goal” very loudly, so he knocked on the window without looking. It wound down quickly and a head shot out. “Sir?”
“Hi Atkins.”
“Sorry sir, I was just…”
“Smoking, yes I know.”
Smoking? thought Atkins. Yes, let’s go with that if he doesn’t know. “Yes, a cheeky couple.” Did that sound like smoker speak? He didn’t know…
“I was going to do this inside, in my office…”
“Sorry sir, I’ll get out, whatever I’ve done,” his mild panic made the door open and Wick had to leap back.
“It’s nothing bad constable!” he said in surprise, “In fact I think you’re going to be very pleased.”
“Okay, with what?”
“The MCU are being pushed for man and woman hours with the murder cases we have on. As such, I am moving you into a support role.”
“I think I know what you mean but…” please, please may this not just mean I’m manning phones.
“You will be on the MCU team dealing with New Hope. You will take orders from DI Sharma. This is a temporary measure, you are still normal CID, but until this is finished, you’ll be helping.”
“I could hug you,” Atkins said getting out.
“Well, let’s see how you do.”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Okay, just a quick one.”
“Thank you, sir,” said the hugger.
“And a word of advice Atkins.”
“Yes sir?”
“Stop smoking. Even that vape stuff. Don’t do it, it’ll kill you.”
“Oh, yes, okay, of course sir.”
That should be easy enough to give up, the DC thought, seeing as I don’t do it. Still, it’s an excuse to get out here for a break. They legally have to let me have a toot if I want, don’t they? Hmm, maybe I should know that being in the police and all. I shall google it as soon as Wick has gone and then I can see if my fifty quid has come in, and then, he said taking no mental breaths, I can go deputise in the MCU.
“Hello all!”
Everyone in the MCU looked up to see someone coming in through the Bunker door; it was a little boy happy at seeing Santa Claus. No, actually, it was Atkins and he looked very pleased.
“That,” Lindleman began, “was a strutting entrance worthy of Drag Race. We’ll make a queen of you yet.”
“Hi Atkins, come over here,” Sharma said standing in front of a wall full of white board.
“Hello Mam.”
“Yeah, right, firstly, call me Sharma, not Mam, I say that out of love, I don’t want to feel like the queen.”
“I do,” said Lindleman.”
“Also, second rule,” Sharma continued, “no encouraging Lindleman.”
“Got it.”
“Thirdly, I assume you’ve been following what’s been happening, so some detail. On this board is a list of everyone we’ve discovered had a grievance with Cribb.”
“That is a long list.”
“Yes, and you’ll note every single one
of them has an alibi.”
“That is another long list.”
“Yes. But now we have another murder, and let’s be honest, we don’t let people off the hook lightly. I want you to revisit every one of these and see if they have alibis for the Webb murder or make a slip-up while you do it. Put the pressure on.”
“Okay…”
“You sound unsure?” Sharma asked. “Not a criticism, if you’re unsure, ask, we will explain the thinking. We only get better if we sharpen each other.”
“Yeah, I don’t see…”
“Alright, how about this. New Hope Church is a hotbed of control. There is a clique at the top and they have a vast pool of people who obey them. The current working theory is, someone who is angry at Cribb, or Webb, might be using an instrument, or two, or something. We’re not ruling anyone out. So, go and speak to them and see if two murders will make them crack. You won’t be on your own, we’ve got a DC from the MCU to go with you. Teams of two remember, teams of two.”
“Yep, understood.” Atkins grinned. He was going to ask some difficult questions all right, if he could crack someone he would. “Any favourite suspects?”
Sharma turned to Lindleman as he coughed, “shut up. What Rob is trying to say is… no current suspects. But we don’t let our backs slump here, we get out there and look.”
“I didn’t say we did!” Lindleman protested.
“I sensed humour coming out of you,” Sharma shot back.
“What’s wrong with humour?”
“Nothing unless it’s yours you nutjob.”
“Crazy,” Atkins said, bringing perplexed looks from both the DI and her DC. Atkins nodded to himself and took a step back. It was going to take a while to fit in with the in-jokes in here, that was for sure. That bit of ‘banter’ had gone wrong. He guessed you had to earn your place before you could start teasing someone. Which, he said to himself, he would do.
Edward Quince had spent the last few hours refreshing news websites until Webb’s murder was picked up, and then monitoring to see if anyone was named as a suspect, or even arrested. When it was clear no one had been he’d finished off the bottle of wine he’d been drinking and was now dancing round his office. To his mind, given his age, he felt like the A-Team having just pulled off a cunning plan. Not only had Quince felt under threat, he thought he was doomed, and he had reached out in what he considered a statesman like manner, reached out and made sure the gay therapy route into his secrets had been shut off and an actual fucking assassination achieved. What a victory he felt. To be honest he wondered whether, if he knew having someone killed would be this much of a buzz, he’d have done it a lot sooner. But done it he had, and Webb was dead, the police would end their investigation into the gays, and he would be free. Worth a dance surely, an embarrassing dad dance but what did it matter, no one was ever going to know, why shouldn’t he just cut loose and have fun. Victory! Victory!
A moment of minor clarity appeared. Only a few days ago he had been tormented by the threat of a threefold attack, and this was surely only one avenue that had been closed off. Which, even many glasses down, he recognised meant there were still two other problems. Time to sit down, sober up and deal with the rest.
So, he sat. He couldn’t be bothered to make coffee, but he had a can of coke in his bag and caffeine was basically just coffee wasn’t it? So, he drank that and pondered. What were the other problems?
Oh.
Yes.
How could he forget.
Forget the police for a moment. Someone was killing the elders, and he was an elder, so there was probably someone out there planning to kill him. Normally that would send a shiver of fear down him, but today he felt fine and didn’t realise it was because of his blood alcohol level. Even so, something would have to be done. But what?
Protection. He would have to get someone to look after him, and he would have to find the killer first, and guess what, he was a man who had people killed now, he had assassins, he had the smiting of the Lord at his fingertips, so all he had to do was work out who killed Cribb and then he could get on with living his life.
The question was, how did he find out who killed Cribb? Maybe he should adopt the police approach and go through the data. But how?
Oh yes. He had Cribb’s laptop.
Grayling looked up. Susan was packing her rucksack with her notepad, pen, the water bottle that was always with her, and something plastic.
“What’s that?” the DC asked.
“A sick bag.”
“A… sick… bag?”
“Yes.”
“I mean are those even real?”
“They come in packs of twenty, but I thought I’d get some, and this one is ready to use.”
“Oh, right…”
“You sound sceptical.”
“You need a sick bag?”
“Yes, you said we were going for the forensics report on the new body.”
“Yes, yes we are, thanks for the reminder,” Grayling stood up, picked up her notebook and walked out of the Bunker. Susan was surprised she was travelling light and even more surprised when Grayling just went into the meeting room and sat down.
“What?” the journalist asked.
“Oh! Oh! You thought we were going to the mortuary to stand in front of the body and have things prodded like on television!”
“Yes! Sick bag for the naked corpse.”
“Oh. Well no we’re having the meeting in here, everything’s been uploaded to our system, and the pathologist is Skyping in.”
“Sounds futuristic.”
“No, Skype is free, and this saves petrol. Enviro-mental.”
Soon the whole team was sat round, and a face appeared on the big screen. “Hello there.” Everyone waved back. “I have performed a detailed analysis of the body, a Harry Webb. Cause of death was blood loss. Victim was stabbed once, a hard thrust which went between the ribs and penetrated the heart. Curious blade though; curved, I have attached a drawing of what I believe it looks like.” The expert’s face was replaced by said drawing and everyone copied it down. “It’s nothing you can buy in Tesco, that’s for sure. Secondly, the cut was substantial, and the victim would have lost consciousness quickly and died soon after. As I believe you have concluded, there was then an attempt to wrap a rope around the corpses neck. This didn’t impact the death in any way. What I conclude has happened is someone has wrapped the rope round tightly and tried to pull it back and forth. This was done until friction marks occurred, burns if you will, but on already dead flesh. The rope and knife were then removed, taken, and the corpse left on the floor. Given the clothing, which was undamaged and covered the deep knife wound, I can only conclude that the man was murdered while naked in the shower, had the cord practice performed, and was then dressed and dumped on the floor and you bet I can see you high fiving because you think you’ve got this right and wonder why there’s any point in calling me in and I remind you this stuff has to stand up in a court.”
Wick turned to see who’d been celebrating their successful deduction and found a set of straight faces and no one moving. “Thank you very much,” he said to the expert. We shall set out to find that knife.”
“Hello there, I’m DC Grayling, this is DC Maruma and if you’re happy we’ll have a journalist called Susan watching because we’re being watched for a report.”
“Oh yes, yes,” she said, running a hand through dyed blonde hair, the sort that wasn’t even pretending to be non-bottle. “Tell her to say I’m lovely.”
“Yes, well, I’m sure she will. You called us up to say you’d seen someone running past your garden at a time we’re very interested in.”
“Glad you came so fast,” the witness winked at Susan “I rang as soon as I realised, a murder, nearby, and I saw a man running!”
“Please tell us what you saw.”
“I was in my lounge right, watching the television, and I got up to make a drink, because I get thirsty, and I like my tea,” she turned to Susa
n, “put down I only drink Twinings, maybe they’ll sponsor me. I stood up and I saw movement, in the corner of my eye right, and I turned and saw a man in a grey hoodie. It might have been white, but I think it was grey, and he was running, and he had one hand moving, like a runner, cos he was running, but he had the other hand hidden, in his hoodie, tucked in, like he was hiding something, and he had his hood up, so I couldn’t see his face but it was nasty looking and I knew he was a wrong ‘un as soon as I saw him, and he ran past, and who runs past here unless it was a bad thing? Right, I saw him, the killer, had the weapon hidden in his hoodie, bad face. Really nasty guy.”
“Would you recognise him in a police line-up?”
“No, didn’t see him.”
Grayling nodded politely. The interview went on for a while, and when the three investigators were all sat in a car Grayling punched the steering wheel and said, “people are weird!”
“Why did you see her?” Susan asked.
“How do you mean?” Grayling asked.
“She was useless.”
“Well, yes, but you don’t know what an eyewitness will say until you get there. Sometimes they’re possibly helpful.”
“Possibly?” Susan asked.
“Tell her,” Grayling ordered.
Maruma cleared his throat. “The public have this impression that eyewitnesses are good. That people see things, and tell us, and it helps. What they don’t realise is that people are rubbish from an evidence perspective. Even if someone saw it, watched it happen, there’s a dozen ways the interaction of their memory, mind, recall, chemicals, the whole head can screw it up. Witnesses are sometimes completely negative and damage our investigation as well as help. My general view…”
“And mine,” Grayling confirmed.
“… is that you have to treat everyone as if they’re lying and work up to the truth. That woman didn’t see the face, but thinks she did, and if she did see it, she’s the sort of person whose mind would construct a memory of what she thinks a knifeman ought to look like.”
Power and Control Page 18