My Bloody Valentine (Alastair Gunn) (18 page)

Mike shrugged.

Hawkins was about to ask another question when someone knocked at the door. They both turned to see Steve Tanner enter. ‘Sorry to interrupt. There’s been a development.’

Hawkins eyed him. ‘Go on.’

‘Well’ – Tanner’s expression remained grave, but his eyes glinted – ‘I rang a few contacts earlier on, asking them to look out for anything connected to these murders.’

Hawkins raised her eyebrows. ‘And?’

‘I just got a call …’ He paused. ‘We have a third body. Same MO.’

Hawkins felt herself lean forwards. ‘What?’

Tanner repeated his statement, obviously unaware that she’d heard him perfectly the first time. Her query hadn’t related to the fact itself, merely that he’d known before her.

At that moment her mobile rang. The two men waited while she salvaged it from her bag. ‘Hello?’

Hawkins sat listening to the voice of Gerald Pritchard. She let the Home Office pathologist finish his sentence, trying not to let her frustration show as she stared at Steve Tanner before saying curtly:

‘I know.’

33

Mike stopped the car as they entered the narrow street, pointing at the police cordon blocking the road ahead. ‘Looks like the place.’

He parked up, slotting their VW pool car neatly between a Met-liveried Astra and a decaying Transit van that must have belonged to one of the locals. Hawkins watched Tanner climb eagerly out of the passenger side, reminding herself it would have been rude not to invite him. He was supposed to be shadowing her, after all, and he’d provided two breakthrough pieces of information in as many days.

They assembled on the narrow pavement, moisture-heavy winds blustering around them. Hawkins led off, with Mike and Tanner behind, matching her tentative pace. In the distance a large pair of black wooden gates stood ajar between grimy brick walls that ran the length of the street. Beyond that the road turned ninety degrees to skirt the worn buildings that towered above.

Their in-line formation made conversation hard, so for a moment nobody spoke, leaving Hawkins to her thoughts.

The journey from Hendon to Weybridge had taken just over forty minutes, London traffic failing to blunt
Maguire’s whole-hearted approach to speed. Their excursion was the result of two phone calls. One an hour ago to Hawkins’ mobile, made by Gerald Pritchard from a murder scene whose victim had been subjected to an increasingly familiar MO. The other call had been for Steve Tanner, informing him about the same homicide. Of greater concern, however, was the fact that Tanner’s phone had rung before hers.

Even if there
had
been only moments in it, and Tanner had come straight in and told her, he’d still known about a major development first. Which grated. But both calls had given the same message: body count in the case that had looked until yesterday like an isolated murder inquiry had just reached three.

Serial homicide.

Again.

The fact that she still bore the scars of her previous encounter with a repeat killer didn’t help. She just had to hope that, this time, the perpetrator didn’t originate from quite so close to home.

Travel time from Becke House had been filled with discussion between the three detectives. Ten minutes’ worth had involved potential fallout and courses of action should this latest corpse turn out to be connected with the others; something none of them was keen to bet against. The rest had been the Steve Tanner Show. Hawkins and Mike were already experts on how he’d cracked a multimillion-pound money-laundering ring operating through legal casinos in Birmingham.
Not to mention the three-year-old daughter he didn’t see enough of. Things hadn’t worked out with Kay’s mum.

They reached the cordon, a double strand of crime scene tape strung between various posts and makeshift anchor points to form an exclusion zone that stretched out into the road. Manned by a couple of uniformed officers, its purpose was to hide from public view whatever unpleasantness was about to confront Hawkins and her two DIs.

One of the officers held up a hand, indicating there would be a few minutes’ delay. Mike offered to find out what was going on and wandered across to the gates.

Hawkins watched him go before settling herself on a low wall to rest, also taking the opportunity to address Tanner. ‘Sorry to throw you straight in like this.’

‘Don’t worry. I’m keen to get properly involved.’

‘Great,’ she pretended, already stuck for conversation. ‘You’re young for a DI. You must have impressed a few influential souls along the way.’

‘It’s all down to hard work.’ He winked. ‘Imagine where I’d be if I had looks as well.’

She nodded industriously, not wishing to stoke his ego. ‘So what would you like to achieve while you’re here?’

‘I just want to learn. Tristan speaks highly of you, so when he suggested the chance to work together, I jumped. Plus, your team happens to be running the biggest case around.’ He grinned.

Hawkins turned away from its glare. He was probably just biding his time, waiting for the next opportunity to upstage her. He might have appeared genuine, but he would definitely need to be watched.

Mike interrupted by waving them over to join him at the cordon, where they showed ID to the slimmer of the two uniforms and were ushered inside, allowing Hawkins to make a first appraisal of the scene.

Inside the threshold was a small courtyard, hemmed on three sides by the same high stone walls and on the fourth by even taller thirties buildings of charred-looking brick garnished with black iron railings and stairs. The ground was uneven; not quite cobbled, but not far off. Sodden leaves stuck to the tiles here and there. The entrance itself wasn’t central; the area opened further out to one side than the other. In the resulting recess, Hawkins noted a dark-blue Toyota Aygo. And, beside it, a large male body with a deep-red halo, face down.

More crime scene tape sectioned off the area immediately around the body and the car, before stretching across to the far wall, while activity around the corpse confirmed its discovery as a recent event. Two scenes of crime officers in anti-contamination overalls squatted alongside, picking at various fibres, depositing them carefully in clear bags. Hawkins recognized Otis King buzzing around them. The wiry crime scene analyst kept lining his camera up, only to sag flamboyantly whenever one of the SOCOs shuffled in, ruining his shot.

Beside them, the driver’s door of the city car stood open, a pair of white overshoes poking out, denoting a third officer kneeling inside on the seat. Otherwise, the area was deserted, until the glaring whiteness of a fifth overall emerged from an alleyway in the rear-left corner. Gerald Pritchard marched over to the inner cordon, greeting Hawkins and Maguire by name as the three Met officers joined him from the other side.

‘This is all a bit exposed, isn’t it?’ Hawkins said once banalities had been exchanged, waving at the assorted windows above them. ‘Shouldn’t we tent up?’

‘That’s what I like about you, Detective,’ Pritchard said, ‘always procedure first.’ He checked his watch. ‘Normally, we’d be covered by now. Unfortunately, the forensics truck was being serviced this morning. Poor timing, of course, but they’re on their way now. We’ll have protection up soon enough.’

‘Good.’ Hawkins nodded at the corpse. ‘Do we know who this guy is yet?’

‘Matthew Hayes.’ Pritchard handed her a black leather wallet. ‘It doesn’t look like anything’s been taken; there’s still twenty pounds inside.’

She flipped it open, pulling out the driving licence, staring at the face. Despite the grainy photo, and assuming it wasn’t that old, Hayes looked good for the forty-two years of age his birthdate made him.

Hawkins checked the address. ‘Chertsey. What’s that from here – twenty minutes by car?’ She handed the licence to Mike. ‘See if you can get next of kin on the
phone. Don’t give them details, but make sure they’re around when family liaison arrive to break the news.’

‘Got it.’ Maguire moved off.

Hawkins searched the rest of the wallet, finding the usual mixture of bank and travel cards, plus two ten-pound notes. Nothing of immediate concern.

At that moment, shouting and a scuffle of shoes on wet ground made them all turn towards the gates, where a young photographer had managed to evade the coppers manning the cordon and broken through into the yard. He saw the body and raised his camera, but he didn’t get a shot off. Tanner had already blocked his view, and seconds later the two uniformed officers tackled him. He caught the camera just in time to stop it hitting the floor, before he was wrestled to his feet and marched back to the road.

Hawkins looked at the pathologist. ‘How imminent is that tent?’

‘Point taken.’ Pritchard frowned.

‘Well, that was worthwhile,’ Mike said, re-joining them. ‘Family aren’t there, but I got the cleaner. She ain’t exactly busting to talk about Matthew Hayes. Looks like he moved out of there a year back, but she gave me his forwarding address, right here in Weybridge. Anyone know where Mangrove Court is?’

None of them did, so Tanner looked it up on his phone. ‘Not far. A minute or two west of here.’

‘Good,’ Hawkins said. ‘We’ll take a look when we’re done.’

She turned back to Pritchard. ‘Same MO as the others?’

‘Almost,’ the pathologist replied. ‘There’s no evidence of scratching or bruises on the body to indicate a struggle, so, again, the murderer appears to have given his victim minimal warning. Similarly, the fatal blow to the temple was inflicted with a large, hammer-like implement. But there’s one crucial difference. You’ll be able to get in closer once we’ve finished sweeping for fibres, at which point you’ll notice that the initial strike mark is on the left side of the head, as opposed to the right. If we assume it’s the same killer, still using his right hand, this indicates Mr Hayes was facing his assailant at the time of the attack. Which poses one interesting question …’

Tanner spoke first. ‘Why didn’t he defend himself?’

‘Why, indeed?’ Pritchard raised a questioning finger. ‘Our murderer has already proven he can sneak up on a target, so why risk giving notice and opportunity for self-defence to somebody of Mr Hayes’ size?’ He stared at them, like a primary school teacher setting a riddle for his class.

Tanner just beat Hawkins to it. ‘Hayes was drunk?’

‘Correct.’ Pritchard nodded approvingly at the DI. ‘Toxicology will confirm it, but the odour becomes quite evident within a few yards of the body, thanks to the alcohol seeping out through the skin. Plus, there’s the empty vodka bottle, of course. It’s difficult to say
how much he’d had. I’ll know more precisely once we get him on a slab, but I’d say
steaming
just about covers it. If the killer had been following Mr Hayes prior to the attack, that level of inebriation would have been obvious enough in the victim’s behaviour to reassure him.’

Tanner looked around the small courtyard. ‘All he needed was somewhere quiet to strike.’

‘So how’d Hayes wind up in here?’ Mike asked. ‘Wander in through these gates looking for somewhere to pee?’

‘Half right, Detective,’ Pritchard replied. ‘The traces of ammonia-rich liquid on the floor in the far corner suggest our victim did indeed come in here to relieve himself. I suppose if nature makes an urgent call when you’re that drunk, even a three-minute walk home is too far. But the gates were closed, as they are every night, according to the tenant who owns the car. He unlocked them for us earlier, after reporting the body he found when he came down this morning to leave for work. He lives in the top flat.’

Hawkins glanced up at the building. ‘Is he still here?’

‘Of course.’ The pathologist smiled. ‘I told him you’d require a statement.’

‘Great, we’ll catch him afterwards. Did he see anything?’

‘Apparently not. Didn’t even wake up, as far as he recalls, although I can’t imagine there would have been
much noise. The killer wouldn’t have wanted to draw attention, and Mr Hayes probably missed his chance. I think they both came through there.’ He waved towards the rear corner. ‘The alleyway leads directly to the main road beyond these buildings.’

Hawkins nodded. ‘Time of death?’

‘Early indications are between midnight and 5 a.m.’

There were no further questions, so Pritchard promised to let them know when they could have access to the body and moved over to check on his colleagues. Tanner offered to collect anti-contamination overalls from the car and headed for the exit, leaving Hawkins and Maguire alone.

‘Helpful guy,’ Mike said when he’d gone. ‘Quick, too. He’ll be worth having around.’

‘I was just thinking the same thing.’

‘Really?’ He grinned at her. ‘Try telling your face.’

‘What?’

‘The disapproving pout. You don’t even know you’re doing it.’

Hawkins was about to deny his allegation when conscience clamped her mouth shut and forced her to think. On the surface, Steve Tanner’s arrival was a good thing, adding competent reinforcement to the team exactly when it was required. He’d been eager and insightful from minute one, and although she didn’t like the fact he’d already beaten her to a couple of key developments, Hawkins had to admit their relative conclusions each time were perfectly matched.

Maguire shrugged. ‘I’m just saying, don’t spend your life looking over your shoulder.’

‘Fine,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe he has earned the benefit of the doubt, but can we discuss my personal shortcomings another time?’

She took Mike’s muteness as accord and turned back to study their surroundings, silently working things through.

Rosa Calano, Sam Philips and now Matt Hayes; all murdered in public places by repeat hammer blows to the head. But Calano and Philips were convicted killers, too. If it turned out that Hayes had served time, a genuine pattern would emerge. Which changed things considerably. Three consecutive deaths would promote the case to major-investigation status, earning it a code name and higher profile inside the Met.

Thankfully, serial killers were rare, although that also made them big news when they appeared, which often led the public to panic and the media to stoke things up. If this case involved one, he’d be taking up where his murderous predecessor had left off, just a couple of months ago. The media would have a field day.