Nameless Kill (3 page)

“Just down there, then?” Brian asked.

“Knowing you like I do, I’d say turn around and walk the fuck away from this crime scene,” Marlow said, his voice raising. “Turn around, go home to your nice little life, then forget you ever saw this. Because if you see it, you’re going to want this. I know it.”

Brian shook his head. “I’m going on holiday next Saturday.” He started to wade through the water, which soaked through his shoes and his socks, freezing his toes. “Like I said. Just one look, and that’s‌—‌”

“You don’t just get one look at this, Brian. None of us do. You’ll see.”

Marlow turned away from Brian and started climbing back up the side of the grassy ridge. He didn’t look back down, not once.

Brian looked at Brad. Looked at him, staring intently down the stream towards the small crowd of officers gathering around to take samples, photos, the like.

“Where the hell have you brought me to, mate?” Brian asked, as he took a few more steps through the freezing cold stream.

“Hell, apparently,” Brad said, and followed Brian down the stream towards the crime scene.

Chapter Three

The crime scene wasn’t Hell, but it was as close as it was going to get.

The first thing Brian noticed as he approached the three wellington-donning, clear coat-wearing officers gathered down the stream was the smell.

It hit him like a punch in the gut. That bitter, rotting-milk-times-a-million smell that could only mean one thing: a dead body.

He covered his mouth. Held his hand over it and tried to avoid the stench as Brad and he waded through the water further towards where the other officers were standing, clear hoods zipped up over their faces. When they saw Brian and Brad approaching, they stepped aside.

And that’s when Brian saw what was making such a stench.

It was the antlers he saw first. Antlers, resting on top of a pink fluffy hat. Underneath the pink fluffy hat, there was a white fluffy hood, like sheep’s wool. Whatever this was, was face down in the water.

For a moment, Brian thought that maybe whoever this was had simply tripped, and that the police had been too quick to file homicide.

Until he saw the white bandages wrapped tightly around the pale wrists and ankles, poking out of the water.

“Fuck,” Brian muttered. He gulped down a vomity taste in his mouth. Held his breath as he paddled further through the cold water of the stream.

“Definite homicide,” one of the officers standing beside Brian said, his voice shaky. “Her‌—‌her wrists all bound up like that, they show that. And‌—‌and her ankles, too. They were bound, but they‌—‌they look like they’ve come apart a bit. Definitely been bound. But her‌—‌her neck. That’s what you…‌what you wanna see.”

Brian’s stomach sank when the officer said the word “her.” It rammed home the reality that in front of him was a dead person. A dead person that had met a very peculiar and grim end.

The sheep’s wool. The pink hat. The antlers. What did they mean?

Brian crouched down beside the girl. Flies flew up into his face as he descended, maggots swimming around his soaked black trousers. “Any witnesses?” he asked. He snatched a glove off Brad and reached towards the blood-stained sheep’s wool.

“Just a little kid,” another of the officers said, backing away as Brian reached to touch the girl. “Few people were playing around on Avenham. Little boy comes down here to collect their football for them. Finds the girl just like this.”

A little blue football with a number “7” atop it caught Brian’s eye by the side of the stream.

“Poor kid,” Brian said, holding his head and detaching himself from the idea that this was a real girl, her heavy head under his hands. It always got to him when kids had to find scenes like this. Seeing scenes like this at his age was enough to give him nightmares. But seeing it as a young kid…‌it must be traumatising.

“Any ID on the girl?” Brad asked.

The three officers with protective hoods looked at one another then back at Brad. “It’s…‌it’s hard. The girl. She ain’t in any clothes of her own. And…‌oh fuck. Man, let go of her. You’re fucking with the crime scene.”

Brian did let go of her. He’d lifted her face out of the water to see if he could get a good look. Wasn’t by the book, but it’d accelerated a shitload of cases in his time as a cop. But those terrified eyes he saw beneath the sheep’s wool hood. The wide, red wound on her neck. Fuck.

He stumbled back. “When are forensics getting down here?”

The officer on the left, who was shaking, shrugged. “An hour. Two hours. We’re still getting shit organised though. Marlow’s still dilly-dallying on who should be SIO on this case. If you ask me, it should be him. See how he likes standing here next to a load of fucking flies for hours.”

Brian stared down at the girl’s body, lying belly-down in the water. A million possibilities ran through his mind. Had she been raped? Raped and tied up like that? Had she died of drowning or by the wound on her neck? Who had killed her? Why had they killed her? Why was she here, in a relatively public place? When had she died?

But most of all, the question Brian had running through his mind was related to the sheep’s wool hood covering her face. The pink hat atop her head. And the antlers, sitting proudly on top of everything else.

What were they? Why would somebody dress her like that?

“I’ll give forensics a ring and tell them to hurry the hell up. I think they’re still down at Briscutt’s. Big weed raid we did today. Seems to pale a little next to this, though.” Brian pointed at the two nameless, faceless officers. “Get working on securing evidence. We need a full list of everyone at the scene. Where the fuck is everyone from the park, anyway?”

“They’re down at the cafe. Pennison’s chatting to them all already. Drawing up a few character profiles.”

Brian nodded. “Good. Then what we need is questions for the people from the houses at the other side of the stream. Any CCTV footage for the last…‌I dunno, the last week. We need descriptions of vehicles seen around this area. Just anything suspicious. Speak to everyone within a mile radius. Everyone who lives here, works here. Y’know as well as I do that what they say might hold the key to everything. Where’s the kid who found the girl, anyway?”

One of the officers scratched at his arm, doing all he could to keep his eyes off the dead, bound girl. “Um, he’s‌—‌Jimmy Cox. He’s‌—‌he’s back home. Back home on‌—‌on Garstang Road with his mum. They said they’d be fine for a chat when the time’s right, though.”

Brian nodded. He turned away again and made his way towards the hill at the side of the crime scene. He could still smell the stench from the girl as he walked away. Or maybe he couldn’t. Maybe it was just the memory of her smell, lingering in his nostrils, refusing to budge.

“And where are we going?” Brad asked, as Brian and he climbed their way back up the muddy ridge towards the chatter of the concrete path.

Brian considered Brad’s question. Where was he going? He was supposed to have finished work for the week. Fuck‌—‌he was supposed to be going on holiday next weekend. Was now really the time to be delving into the details of a new investigation, let alone the weirdest frigging murder he’d seen in donkey’s years?

He looked at Marlow as he reached the top of the hill. Marlow peered back at him, lips clenched together, eyelids shaking.

“I…‌I’m gonna have a chat with Marlow about the Senior Investigating Officer post for this case.”

Brad sniggered. He brushed his hand through his curly hair. The smell of the alcohol on his breath as the pair of them returned from the shelter of the trees into the glaring sun was a welcome replacement to the stench of the dead girl down by the stream. “Told you you’d be interested. Pushing your holiday back, then?”

Brian nodded at Marlow as he approached. Marlow nodded back at him.

“No. I’ll only need a week. And as my Deputy SIO, you’ll be able to pick up the reins and do all the dirty, shitty work while I’m on holiday.”

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Brian felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he put his key in his front door and entered his house.

He’d taken the role of Senior Investigating Officer on the case of the Avenham Park homicide. He’d managed to get DS Brad Richards the position of his deputy, which would ease the load for Brian somewhat. And it’d help when Brian went on holiday next Saturday. Brian could just pass the torch over to Brad, if it even took that long to decipher. Most murders, contrary to what TV shows and films had you believe, were wrapped up pretty quickly.

A good ninety-percent, anyway. Hopefully this wouldn’t be one of the ten percent because he really fancied seeing this one out.

The first thing he noticed when he opened the door into the porch way of his home was the lack of smell of Sunday roast. Instead, he just smelled that familiar vanilla potpourri upon entry. Hannah must’ve been home though. Her car was in the drive. And she had actually taken to cooking Sunday dinner, much to her protestations and declarations of the “stereotypical woman” Brian wanted her to be.

“Hannah?” Brian called, as he took off his damp work shoes and walked down the plush, spongy carpet. He could hear pottering about in the kitchen. So she was definitely home. He looked at his watch. 5.30 p.m. He was supposed to finish at two. Fuck. He should probably have called her. Let her know he’d be late after all.

But the girl. The sheep’s wool covered over her face. The antlers. Her wrists bound together. His mind had been elsewhere.

“You don’t just get one look at this, Brian. None of us do. You’ll see.”

Maybe Marlow had a point after all.

Brian opened up the kitchen door and forced the best smile he could as he entered.

Hannah was sitting at the table. She was tapping away on her new iPad. Her dark hair was tied up in a bun, and she was wearing a white shirt that really complimented her breasts, and tight, blue jeans.

She didn’t look up at Brian as he entered.

“Sorry I’m late, hun,” Brian said, placing down his keys and phone on the side.

“Mmhm,” Hannah said.

Brian gritted his teeth. Kept his smile. “No roasties today, then?”

Hannah kept her eyes on her iPad screen and shook her head. “Nope. I’ve had my tea. Yours is in the fridge.”

Again, Brian gritted his teeth. A part of him wanted to tell Hannah what a shitty day he’d ended up having, another knew it was the wrong thing to do. Or at least, he had to be careful how he went about telling her. He didn’t want her thinking this would affect their holiday in any way.

Brian opened the fridge and got a strong whiff of sour milk. The fridge was relatively empty but for an ASDA Smart Price ready-meal lasagne sitting in the middle shelf. Brian’s stomach turned as he saw the picture of the over-thick pasta, imagined the bitter taste of the fatty mince in his mouth.

“This…‌this lasagne?” he asked Hannah.

Hannah’s fingers continued to tap away on her iPad. “Mmhm,” she said.

Brian gulped away the nasty taste that had formed in his mouth and lifted the lasagne from the fridge. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel very hungry at all.

He placed the lasagne on the black marble kitchen worktop and pulled a wooden chair out. It scraped across the floor, but it didn’t go through him, not like usual. What did go through him was the stench, still ripe in his nostrils.

The images of the girl’s raw neck as she lay face down in that stream.

The curiosity about who had done it. About why she was dressed like that. About who she was.

“So how’s your day been?” Brian asked, making sure his voice was light and as if he were unaffected by Hannah’s blatantly obvious snubbery.

Hannah raised her shoulders, her eyes still on her iPad screen. “Alright. Yours?”

Brian gulped. Felt a knotting in his stomach. Was now the time to tell her? How much did he tell her?

He leaned down and scratched at his damp sock, which reeked of sewerage. “I got made SIO of a case at work.”

Brian peeked at Hannah to judge the reaction, especially as she hadn’t spoken. He caught her looking right at him, not smiling, just curious. Finally, he’d said something that had caught her attention. Pity about the subject matter.

“Okay,” she said. “Go on.”

Brian wiped his forehead, which was still warm from the boiling first day of May. “It’s…‌it’s a murder.” The tone of his voice was still light. A little too light. “A girl down at‌—‌at Avenham Park. Found her with her wrists tied down by the stream, broken ties around her ankles. And…‌and she’s got this weird mask-hood thing on. Wool. Antlers. A pink‌—‌”

“Will it affect our holiday in any way?”

Hannah’s words were sharp. She wasn’t tapping on her iPad screen anymore. She was looking at Brian with those stern eyes that he could never, ever hold eye contact with. Not so bloody good for a police officer, that was for sure.

Brian cleared his throat. Looked back down at the table. “No. It…‌I’m confident we can wrap it up within a week to be honest. Such a public place for it to happen. I’d be surprised if the police don’t already have some info waiting for me tomorrow. So many potential witnesses. So much potential evidence on the clothing she was dressed in. And failing that, a missing person report
has
to show up a girl of her age‌—‌”

“As long as it doesn’t interfere with the holiday, then you do what you have to do.” She smiled. Fluttered her eyelashes together. Then, she turned back to her iPad and tapped at the screen.

Brian smiled. He felt a weight lift off his shoulders, his cheeks and head cooling down. Perhaps this would be alright after all. He’d do what he could on the case this week, then when it was time to go away, he’d just hand it over to Brad.

“Just make sure it’s done with before we go,” Hannah said, as Brian started to raise to his feet, the taste of cheap, tacky lasagne growing slightly more appealing.

Brian pierced the film lid of the lasagne packet with a sharp knife. It echoed loudly. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

“Good,” Hannah said, as Brian opened the microwave and placed the lasagne inside. “Because I know what you’re like when you’re obsessed with something, and I am
not
spending a week in Malaga with Dead Eye Bri.”