The Ice Killer (The DI Barton Series)

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Probably the same timescale to bag this up. I don’t even want to think about what’s in the bins.’

  They all chuckled. It was the only way to handle events such as these.

  ‘We’ll question the neighbours now to see if anyone saw anything, or at least can give us a picture of the type of people who’ve been killed,’ said Barton. ‘I’d just like to know if there was definitely another person involved.’

  ‘My professional hunch would be yes,’ said Sirena. ‘It certainly doesn’t look like a hit though. The fingerprint guy’s having a field day. There are full prints over everything. He was on his game, though, and checked the handle of the door to leave the property before we rubbed anything off as we left.’

  ‘There’s a clear print on it?’ asked Zander.

  ‘You’d expect it to be covered in them. Everyone who leaves the house would have touched it, but there’s nothing on the inside handle at all.’

  Barton understood straight away. That meant someone had wiped it clean.

  21

  Acting DCI Barton

  Mortis and the CSI team went back inside. PC Rivendon had returned from the domestic, which had been resolved by taking both parties to the police station, separately. He took over the cordon. Barton smiled at the empty street in front of him. Small crowds gathered at the outer cordons, but the onlookers were too far away to bother him. He knew they’d soon get bored. Two traffic motorcyclists pulled up – the modern equivalent of the cavalry arriving.

  ‘Okay, Zander. What next?’

  ‘I thought you were taking over.’

  ‘It’s still your scene. Have I done anything you couldn’t?’

  ‘No, I realised that as you were talking. I panicked a bit when I didn’t have enough officers.’

  ‘It’s rare for that to happen, especially with potential murders, but, as I said before, you revert to the basics.’

  ‘I get it. The scene was secure. There was no need to put out an all stations call as they died days ago, and we had no suspects. I couldn’t have done much more until you guys arrived.’

  ‘Spot on. We’re often temporarily short-staffed, but back-up is always on the way. Now what?’

  ‘Strange can take charge here. Seeing as we’re light on bodies, you and I can take the statement from the 999 caller while the CSI team crack on.’

  ‘Any other thoughts?’

  Zander squinted as he concentrated. ‘While we wait for the PMs and the CSI report, we speak to the victims’ friends and their next of kin. If we can discover the deceaseds’ movements, we might learn who else they were with, or, better yet, who didn’t like them.’

  Barton nodded and was about to open his mouth.

  Zander continued. ‘The most important thing is the scene and evidence. We only get one chance at this. No mistakes and we take our time.’ He smiled. ‘I remember what you once said: Calm down. There were dramatic events here, but they’ve finished now. All that’s left are people with jobs to do.’

  Barton grinned appreciatively. ‘Lead on.’

  They strolled up next door’s path and marvelled at its tidiness compared to the crime scene. A small, tanned man with an enormous moustache opened the door before Zander knocked a second time.

  ‘Come in, come in.’ He ushered them into an immaculate room filled with what seemed a thousand pictures of his family. The place smelled heavenly in contrast to the hell next door.

  ‘Sal Fratelli? We’re here to take a statement.’

  ‘Yes, that’s me. Now, let me get you a coffee. I put fresh on. My wife makes beautiful cake, so take a seat.’

  Zander and Barton exchanged a glance and a grin. Zander sat while Barton perused the photos. The grey-haired man returned a few moments later with a tray containing biscuits and their drinks. A stooped lady shuffled in with two of the biggest slices of cake Barton had ever seen, and he considered himself an authority on the subject. Zander’s grin widened as she passed him a plate. He took a huge bite, and his eyes bulged.

  ‘Wow, so moist,’ he mumbled.

  Fratelli’s wife beamed and blushed as if she’d unexpectedly won The Great British Bake Off. Bowing, she left the room. Barton opened his mouth to speak, but Fratelli sternly gestured for them to finish eating. With their mouths full, the detectives listened.

  ‘So, something terrible next door, eh? Only a matter of time. They call themselves the three amigos. Three bastardos more like. Forty years I live here. Sure, it’s a little rough, but I come from the streets of Milan. I enjoy the edge.’ He leaned towards them and clicked his fingers. ‘But only if there is respect. These chooches don’t understand the meaning. They party all the time. I hear bloody drums all day and night. Which one is dead?’

  Barton’s and Zander’s mouths were incapable of speech.

  ‘It’s not surprising. The big one wants to fight everyone, and the other two are rude. I don’t wish anyone dead, but I wouldn’t shed a tear. Understand?’

  Barton observed Zander as he considered the Italian’s words. Fratelli might be a suspect, but the news would be out soon anyway, and it would give them a chance to see how he took the news.

  ‘All of them are dead,’ said Zander.

  Barton disguised his smile at his sergeant’s perception by eating more cake. He got his notepad out and listened. It clearly wasn’t devastating news to Fratelli.

  ‘Sad to hear, but they annoy everyone. They play music and shout at all hours. Incredible. It’s lucky my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be. Throw their rubbish in gardens. One of them is always drunk. He pisses against my car at least once a week. I tell him if he does it again, I cut his dick off. They just laugh. The big idiot shoved me a couple of times. What can I do?’

  ‘Did you call the police?’ asked Zander.

  ‘Pfff!’

  Only an Italian could disrespect an entire nationwide organisation so thoroughly with one expression, thought Barton.

  Zander put his plate down and sipped his coffee appreciatively. ‘We suspect it occurred last weekend. Did you see anything untoward then?’

  ‘No, they were quiet on Saturday night, which meant they were probably out. I heard them come back about midnight, and then there was the usual. TV too loud, terrible songs being played. I wake to breaking glass and cheering at two in the morning.’

  ‘Like a window breaking?’

  ‘No, like someone threw something at a wall.’

  ‘How do you know it was 2 a.m.?’

  Fratelli raised his shoulders at Barton and showed his hands. ‘I may be old, but I can still see a clock. Well, if the numbers are big enough.’

  Barton didn’t bother to hide his laugh. ‘So, you are a light sleeper? Did you hear anything else after two?’

  Fratelli paused to recall. ‘Maybe around five. Our family owned a café, and that’s when you get up. It’s my favourite time of the day, providing they aren’t partying next door. You know, very peaceful. I tend to look out the window first thing to make sure my car’s still in one piece and noticed someone at the door of the house.’

  ‘Can you describe them?’

  ‘Tall man, scruffy, loose clothes. Black baseball cap. Nothing more, sorry.’

  ‘Was he running from the scene?’

  ‘No, but he left quickly, so maybe he was up to no good.’

  ‘Anything else you want to tell us? I hear you rang the police because you could smell dead bodies. Not covering your tracks, eh?’

  Fratelli chuckled, but it tailed off into a grimace. They waited for him to continue.

  ‘I did national service for my country. There were occasional deaths. You only have to sniff one once, and you never forget it.’

  Fratelli agreed to attend the station for a full statement later. At the door, Barton shook the hands of the Italian couple and it dawned on him how small they were. He had a thought.

  ‘You said the man leaving was tall.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘How would you describe me?�
�

  ‘A giant.’

  22

  Acting DCI Barton

  Barton and Zander stepped back outside, sluggishly. The Italians waved them away as if they were emigrating as opposed to going ten metres. Strange stood in front of the door to the murders with Rivendon.

  ‘Any news?’ she asked Barton.

  He shook his head. ‘This case is only a few hours old and already it appears tricky and confusing. Anything obvious inside?’

  ‘Sirena said to knock when you returned.’

  Barton did so, and Sirena and Mortis appeared. They pulled the hoods back from their suits and took off their masks.

  ‘Afternoon, guys,’ Sirena said. ‘Anything from next door?’

  ‘He said he saw an unidentified man leaving the house around the time of the murders, but he gave us nothing concrete.’

  ‘Fleeing the scene?’

  ‘Maybe. He might have just knocked or posted something, or they were still alive. Whatever, all we have is that he’s tall and scruffy.’

  Sirena ran a hand through her hair. ‘Some of these wounds would have caused pools or at least bigger drops and sprays of blood, but there aren’t any, or they’re missing. This scene was trampled before we got here, and it looks like it’s been partially cleaned up. That person could be the key to your investigation. Here’s what I’m thinking. We’ll have a search in the streets and gardens until this evening, then you might as well bring the cordon in to the immediate area outside the house and open the road.’

  ‘Good. We’ll need to organise an enquiry team to complete the house-to-house, but there won’t be any point if they’re parked up elsewhere.’

  ‘The murder weapons appear to be inside,’ she continued. ‘We’ll need the remainder of today and at least all of tomorrow to get this done. This rubbish needs bagging, and the rest of the property is in some ways worse than the lounge. Mortis and I will meet you here tomorrow at 5 p.m. if that’s okay? We might have an idea of what’s occurred by then, but my initial thoughts are not encouraging.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Three dead bodies usually tell you a lot. I’ve been here hours and I have no idea who killed who. There could be someone else involved, or there may not. If that person did kill these people, I would guess it’s a strong male who knows them. However, if you don’t get a confession, we might never know what happened here that night.’

  ‘Music to my ears,’ muttered Barton.

  Mortis chuckled. ‘Do not fear, John. This will be an investigation that they’ll speak of when we’re long retired. So let’s not mess it up. These bodies are already talking. The battered zone on that head indicates a right-handed assailant, probably the big guy opposite him. He’s abnormally huge. Only the most dedicated and genetically gifted could hope for such musculature. He has a spotty body though, most likely from injecting steroids. Testosterone impacts the way that the sebaceous glands function, leading to acne – especially on the back and shoulders.

  ‘Also, the elasticity in the skin isn’t always equipped to accommodate for unnatural sudden gains, leaving this man with stretch marks on his biceps where the skin failed to adjust in time. I’ll need a good look at his balls. You obviously know they are responsible for testosterone production, but the human body is amazing. If you inject testosterone, it will cease its own production, which causes testicular shrinkage.’

  Barton’s mind scrambled as he struggled to process a large quantity of unusual information. ‘Steroids often lead to roid rage. There’s a possible explanation of how it may have begun.’ He braced himself for further complex conclusions.

  ‘That’s just the beginning,’ said Mortis. ‘The time the potentially fleeing person was seen leaving the scene fits as a time of death. Rigor mortis has finished and this aroma, scientifically known as putrescine and cadaverine, comes from decaying flesh. I said around three days, which means Saturday: a fine night for fighting. I’ll see you here tomorrow, or you can come to the mortuary earlier and we’ll examine his genitalia together.’

  Zander nudged Barton in the side. ‘Would you call that a date?’

  Sirena gave him a list with three names on it: the deceased. She smiled and then beckoned to two technicians. After a quick chat, they began peering in the neighbours’ front gardens and looking under the cars and along nearby kerbs. Barton took a deep breath, then realised something surprising. His role had changed. As acting DCI, knocking on doors was way below his paygrade. He needed to return to the station and set up the incident room, inform the chain of command and ensure Major Crimes was set up to deal with a triple murder.

  He watched Zander pointing at doors for people to knock on. Strange was briefing an officer on the new cordon. Barton relieved Strange of her car keys and made his way back to the car, confident in the ability of his team. He had to admit he enjoyed the beginning of a murder investigation. If they were lucky, they would catch the killer and solve the puzzle in the first few days to much adulation. But he also knew that if they didn’t, it could take years.

  The most important thing now was to contact the victims’ families. He looked at the list of names. They could then build up a picture of each person’s background. Victims were killed for many reasons, including revenge, power, the thrill to kill, rage and madness, but usually it came down to money or sex. Which one would this be?

  23

  Acting DCI Barton

  Two days later, Barton pushed open the door to the incident room and strolled inside. He stopped at the three boards where photos of each of the victims hung. Information spread out from each of them. None of it hinted in the direction of a killer. Barton’s boss, Detective Superintendent Troughton, was stricken with the norovirus, which was a great relief to Barton because they had made little progress.

  As with many such investigations, there was a sense of excitement and enthusiasm from those present. He shook hands with a lady from the new investigative support team. That team had been set up to help give the detectives time to focus on solving the cases instead of dealing with the masses of admin a murder enquiry created.

  Zander and Strange, both wearing black suits and white shirts, chuckled in a corner over a comment that Strange had made. Barton made a mental note to mention the film Men in Black to them. The rest of the room consisted of DCs. Barton was struck by how young and keen they looked, even though most were pushing thirty. They had all dressed professionally and quietened as they realised who had arrived. Many leaned forwards in their seats as he stood in front of them. Ewing and Zelensky, the EZ Crew as Zander had named them over a year ago, were now two of the more experienced staff. He thought of the terrible investigations of late and knew that nothing hardened and aged you like murder.

  ‘Thank you, everyone. This meeting is to summarise the progress we have made so far on The Millfield Murders. Zander and I attended the property last night and had a thorough look at the scene. The location is still secure, so I suggest you take a look now CSI have finished. Walking it helps. Zander will run the investigation under my oversight. Zander.’

  Zander strode to the front with purpose.

  ‘Right, team. The three deceased, Carl Quantrill, Trevor Ash and Graham Duncan, were a group of friends who lived together. Much of this information came from a neighbour three doors down who came forward and worked at Hotpoint in the same department as Quantrill. He described the three men as sad losers. PNC gave us the rest.

  ‘The house was in Quantrill’s name. His only living relative is his mother, who has dementia and lives in a care home. He is known to us after an allegation of sexual assault a few years back. The CPS dropped the case due to lack of evidence.

  ‘Ash used to work on the production line at Hotpoint and regularly had lunch there with Quantrill. Ash was adopted and has no family. He’s got a couple of public order convictions, one of which was affray. He was involved in another group fight two years before, leading to a conditional discharge.

  ‘Duncan was unemploye
d. His family live in Stanground. They have little to do with him as he is, according to them, a raging alcoholic. That’s confirmed by his criminal record, which lists a string of driving convictions, including ones for excess alcohol. He is currently disqualified, but the white van outside the property is apparently his although it’s in Quantrill’s name.

  ‘The details were released to the national news and feature heavily this morning. We’ve had some phone calls already around it, but nothing of interest. One person asked if it was Carl Quantrill of The Brazen Crew. Anyone heard of them?’

  Zelensky raised her hand. ‘They’re a local band. They had a bit of fame about ten years ago. I saw them once.’

  ‘Any good?’

  ‘It was in the Cherry Tree pub and was too shouty for my liking, but they had a few fans. I assumed they’d split up.’

  ‘Excellent. There’s an angle to investigate because we don’t have many lines of enquiry. The CSI information is being loaded onto the system. In summary, Quantrill was stabbed to death. The knife wound to the stomach helps to prove that.’ Zander glanced up to find only Strange and Barton were chuckling, while the rest took notes. He continued. ‘It looks like the tip missed the heart despite the trajectory but it would have been incapacitating and rapidly fatal.

  ‘Ash also died through loss of blood from various lacerations to his throat possibly by the bloody bottle opener found in the hand of Quantrill. Duncan died from complications from multiple traumas to his brain, we think from the wine bottle at the feet of Ash.’

  Zander waited for them to catch up. ‘Any thoughts? Yes, Ewing.’

  Ewing resembled a thin Elvis. He had the same half-smile and love of his hair. ‘Could they have had a fight with each other and died?’

  Zander smiled as his trap was sprung. ‘That was our initial guess. Ash beats Duncan to death. Quantrill stabs his neck with the corkscrew and as he dies, Ash sticks the knife in Quantrill’s belly, who makes it to the stairs and expires. The plot thickens, though. Fingerprints, most full, some partial, from all the victims were found on all the weapons. Other than that, they were fairly clean, as if they’d been wiped clear beforehand. If you’ve seen inside the house, you’d know that was unlikely. What does that imply, Zelensky?’