Greed: A DI Scott Baker Novel (7 page)

“That’s certainly a possibility.”

“Sian, I want you to get onto the high tech unit and see if they’ve got everything off his phone. Also get onto his phone provider for phone records. Any problems with a lack of co-operation then let me know.”

“Will do, Guv.”

“Abby, tomorrow I want you to start checking around your drug contacts. Tug the collars of the dealers and the users to see if anyone knows about the drugs scene at the Phoenix and Urban.”

Abby nodded in agreement.

“Anything else worth raising?” asked Scott looking around those gathered.

A knock on the door interrupted the meeting. Seeing the desk sergeant through the glass panels, Scott waved him in.

“Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I thought you should know that a body’s just been found by uniformed officers in suspicious circumstances. The victim’s been stabbed through the neck.”

“Shit.”

Chapter 8

The target had just parked in the residents’ parking bays after one of his many clandestine meetings. The area was poorly lit with just one solitary street light casting dim shadows. It was 2.30 a.m., the law-abiding residents of this council estate would be in bed. No one would be around to disturb this moment of avengement.

He was evil--he needed to be dealt with
.

The killer had been watching from his carefully chosen spot in the shadows on this chilly spring night. The only clue giving him away was his breath. It was quiet, unnaturally quiet. Not many chose to walk these streets at night as they feared for their safety from marauding groups of teenagers hell bent on terrorising their neighbourhood.

Even though the area was known to the police for its vandalism, drug dealing and the permanent smell of marijuana in the air, a policeman walking the beat was unheard of.

Drugs dens were discreetly tucked away from prying eyes, children on bikes were employed by dealers to peddle their valuable merchandise. Using children as their drugs mules lessened their risks—and their overhead. It was business to them. They weren’t worried or concerned about the misery it caused, or the suffering it brought to the vulnerable, the dependencies it created nor the crime it created to fuel insatiable habits.

The target was just opening the boot to his Mercedes E220 when his fate was sealed.

The killer came from behind; he was braver and more assured of his stealth approach this time, the bravado swelling inside him. He wasn’t scared on this occasion; he was more determined to stay on the path he’d chosen and do the right thing.

He held the gleaming blade of the dagger high above his head as he closed in on his target. The target had little time to react before he reached an arm around his head to trap him, and plunged the tip of the blade deep into his neck.

The victims’ body reacted to the vile intrusion by rearing up defensively, the victim’s strength draining away as he thrust the blade in deeper. The victim started to fall into the open boot of his car, his left hand coming up to the site of the wound. The killer retracted the blade before plunging it in again impaling the victim’s hand in the process and pinning it to his neck.

The victim didn’t move after that. He lay there head first slumped in the boot. The only sound to break the silence was the gurgling of blood as it escaped through the victim’s mouth through his final breaths.

The killer, still hell-bent on meting out his own justice, twisted the blade left and right, the victim’s mutilated hand twisting and turning with the knife, the sound of wet flesh tearing from beneath the hand as the serrated edge tore and mangled the flesh.

He withdrew the blade and wiped it on the victim’s back knowing his job was done. Globules and sinews of flesh and veins clung to the blade, a testament to the ferocity of the assault.

With one hand the killer pulled back the victim’s head by his hair whilst forcing something into the gaping, blood-filled mouth that expressed the silent horror that had taken place just moments ago.

As he stood there breathing rapidly, sweat beading on his forehead and creeping down the centre of his spine, he felt cold and numb. It wasn’t the cold night air that made him feel that way; it was the lack of feeling and emotion left by the dark void inside him.

He turned and walked away, his trousers damp once again from where he’d pissed himself.

Chapter 9

By the time Scott and Abby arrived, the circus was in full swing. There was a hive of activity behind the blue tape cordon that been set up around the residents’ car parking in Warbleton Close on the White Hawk estate.

It was an estate well known to the police. Due to a lack of investment in local services, broken promises from successive governments and high unemployment amongst the locals, the estate had its fair share of bad press.

If you asked most of the residents they’d have plenty to say about how good it was living in close-knit community. However, anti-social behaviour, criminal damage and its share of violent and sexual crimes often tarnished the image of the area in the eyes of external observers, and gave the local tabloids plenty to write about.

Scott had parked on the corner of Whitehawk Crescent behind a police panda car. A growing crowd of locals hovered, perversely curious to see what had happened during the night. After being let through the cordon by a police constable they walked towards the area where the body had been found.

The residents’ parking was set off the street on the right-hand side about twenty yards up the street. It was a small car park that allowed residents to park up to eight cars. It was surrounded on three sides by houses and garden walls. A white tent had already been erected over the crime scene, to preserve the area and to stop the curtain twitchers from getting a good eyeful.

Scott and Abby donned their protective suits, shower caps, gloves and masks before going any further. The crime scene officers were already meticulously examining the area, taking various photographs and documenting the evidence. There were only two other cars in the car park, which were also being examined.

To the left of the car park and on the road Scott could see Matt Allen, the crime scene manager, sitting in his car with the door open engrossed in a conversation on his mobile. As Scott and Abby approach the white tent, they were just about to open the flap, when a SOCO stepped out.

“I hope you weren’t expecting to go inside. We haven’t finished yet,” she said in a dismissive voice that implied they were in the way.

If Scott wasn’t pissed off, he was now, and did his hardest to bite his bottom lip. Abby could tell just by Scott’s expression that he was trying to keep a lid on the expletives that were threatening to explode from his mouth.

“Of course we don’t want to get in your way, wouldn’t want to disturb you doing your job,” Scott said. A hint of sarcasm in his tone.

It was hard to gauge the true reaction of the SOCO, all he could see from behind her paper suit and mask were her eyes flitting left and right between him and Abby. Her eyes finally bore down on Scott, and he could tell she was riled a bit.

“I haven’t got all day to stand around waiting, I just want to peak in through the flap so I at least know what we’re dealing with,” Scott continued.

The SOCO didn’t reply, but gave a cursory flick of her head to confirm that she’d given them permission to peak around the tent.

Scott exhaled deeply.
Cheeky fucker.
As they peaked in through the flap, they were confronted with the lower half of a man slumped inside the boot space of a Mercedes. Within the tent, SOCO had set up arc lights to illuminate the scene more clearly. Even with it being daylight in early spring, natural light was still dull and flat.

At this angle it was hard to see the victim’s upper torso and the injuries. With Captain Von SOCO barking orders about what they could and couldn’t do, both officers retreated for the time being.

“Abby, can you run the plates through the system to see if we can get an ID, and I’ll have a word with Matt.”

“Will do, Guv.”

***

Scott hung by Matt’s car door as he finished up his call.

“Morning, Matt. Have you got anything for us yet?”

“No chance, buddy. We’ve only been on the scene for under an hour, so we’re just mid-way through the analysis.”

Scott nodded but said nothing, resting one elbow on the roof of the white van as he glanced around and took in the neighbourhood. He noticed a distinct lack of character. All the houses bore an identical resemblance, constructed in a methodical and economical way with small gardens surrounded by tall brick walls.

Matt continued, “We’ll be finishing up with the victim shortly. We just need to go over the surrounding area first. However, initial inspections suggest a forceful impact to the side of the neck. That’s all for the moment, mate.”

“Ok. Keep me informed.”

As Scott was about to walk away, Matt added, “It seems like a similar attack to the one we’ve just had. Lone male, trauma to the neck, attacked at night. Hard to believe it’s a coincidence,” his voice drifted, as he focussed off through his windscreen into the distance.

“That’s what concerns me,” Scott replied. The gravity of the situation started to dawn on him.

As Scott headed back to Abby, pathologist Cara Hall arrived and was making a beeline for the tent.

“Dr Hall,” Scott called out.

Cara turned to greet him with a smile. She held a hand out to indicate a mock stop. “Before you start, don’t crowd me, don’t press me, don’t annoy me and don’t on any account mess up my crime scene. Now, how can I help?”

“Straight to the point, Dr Hall.” Scott smiled. “I’ll leave you in peace to do what you need to do. If you’re able, can you give me a cause of death, so I have something to go on until you’ve done your PM?” Scott asked pleadingly.

“I’ll try my best,” she said as she continued to the tent.

***

Abby started to fill in Scott as Mike and Raj arrived.

As the four of them congregated a safe distance from the tent near the cordon, Abby continued with what she’d gleaned through the police databases.

“Guv, the car is registered to a Dave Fraser, thirty-nine, and he’s known to us.” Mike and Scott shot each other a glance.

“We’ve crossed paths with him in the past,” said Mike. We’ve nicked him a few times.

Abby continued, “He’s got a charge sheet as long as your arm, a major known supplier around town.”

Scott didn’t like the sounds of this but just nodded, lost in his thoughts. The first murder was proving a bit of a challenge, but to now be faced with two similar attacks in just three days began to concern him. He knew DCI Harvey would be banging on his door for answers, and as it stood, he didn’t have much to go on except two dead men with previous convictions, both killed in a similar manner in under a week.

“Ok, well let’s get him formally ID’d, hopefully SOCO can get us his personal possessions shortly, and then we can go from there.”

Scott instructed Mike and Raj to start following up on the door-to-door enquiries that uniform had already started. “It’s a built-up area, but well-shielded with the high garden walls. The car park’s got a bit of light with that street lamp, so someone might have seen something suspicious or out of the ordinary in the last twenty four hours.”

Scott knew he was clutching at straws; relations between the police and locals were strained at the best of times. Residents would rather turn a blind eye than to be seen helping the police.

***

Scott headed over to a house across the road from the scene. A Mr Albert Norris had made the initial call.

It was the end house of a terrace of three identical properties. They were all brown brick built, with low-rising roofs and exposed brick porches.

Scott found it odd that this particular property had a front door and a small window to the right and a further first floor window directly above the door, but the property seemed to be missing a large ground floor lounge window, and a first-floor bedroom window. It appeared as if the builders had forgotten to leave spaces for the windows and just carried on building the rest of the house.
How odd
, he thought.

Scott rang on the doorbell and a uniformed officer answered moments later clutching a mug of tea.

Scott presented his warrant card to the officer who acknowledged it with a “Morning sir, Mr Norris is in the kitchen.”

The house appeared darker inside probably as a result of the anaglypta wallpaper that was in dire need of a fresh coat of paint and the tobacco stains that tainted the walls and ceilings a golden honey shade. He walked along the hallway that split the property in half.

To his right was the downstairs cloakroom by the front door and some stairs leading to the first floor. To the left Scott saw a lounge that he noticed had a blue velour sofa suite that had seen better days judging by how the velour had worn away in places, and a small TV sitting on a stand. The kitchen was directly in front of him at the end of the hallway.

The kitchen was small and cramped with most of the work surfaces covered in a mixture of unopened post and flyers and a few empty plates with remnants of dried food on them. It was generally tidy but needed a good de-clutter and clean in Scott’s opinion.

Mr Norris was sitting at a small square dining table that had two wooden chairs opposite each other. He was a small gentleman, thinly built, his face framed with metal rimmed glasses, and grey hair oiled down with a left-hand parting the way you’d expect your granddad to have. He wore the grey classic polyester trousers that so many of his generation wore, with a white shirt, tie and black tank top jumper.