Concrete Evidence (11 page)

              “And a couple of my ex-boyfriends,” a sergeant called Sue Carrol agreed with a smile. “Can you round them all up as suspects and arrest them?”

              “No problem,” Gwen laughed. “Just the bitter and twisted ones?”

              “You had better take a bus then,” Google said clumsily. Annie and Gwen looked at each other open mouthed and almost offended. “No offence,” he looked from one to the other. “According to my missus, all ex-boyfriends are bitter and twisted.”

              “You rescued yourself there,” Gwen frowned. Google looked confused. “You were nearly in so much shit then.”

“What did I say?” he said frowning.

“Forget it,” Gwen sighed. He had no sense of social skills. She shook her head and turned back to Annie. “I agree with Google that the killer is accusing the victim. I think he daubed the pentangle on the wall to tell us that Jackie Webb was a demon to him.” She shrugged. “Maybe using the ‘witches’ script’ is his way of telling us that she was ‘evil’. This is not a satanic murder, Guv although it is ritual in my opinion. Our killer has a warped sense of good and evil.”

“You said that the language was Slavic. Are we looking for someone from that region?”

“Not necessarily,” Google shrugged. “This language is used by religious academics, historians and orthodox Catholics across the world. There’s no knowing.”

Annie held her chin between finger and thumb and nodded. “Good work,” she said to the team. “I want everything you can translate and your theories as soon as possible okay.”

“Guv.”

She was about to turn and leave when the mirrors at the second scene sprang to mind. “Have you come across anything that says, ‘when you look in the mirror, what looks back at you?’” the team had blank faces. “It was written in blood on the mirrors at the second scene.”

“No, Guv but we’ll keep a look out for it.” Gwen said returning to her screen. “Despite the amount of text here, he hasn’t repeated himself once so it could be somewhere that we haven’t reached yet.” 

“Good work.” Annie felt pleased with the results so far. The translation of the script had opened a window into the mind of the killer. He was angry with a woman or women plural. She thought back to Tibbs, the man who had gouged out her eye with his solicitor’s pen. He had anger issues and when they spilled over, he took her face and her confidence forever. Her life would never be the same but she had lived to tell the tale. Jayne Windsor and Jackie Webb had not. Were they his first victims? She doubted it. Had he targeted them for something that they had done or just because they were female? Annie didn’t really care what the answer to the question was. Either way he was a violent killer. Working out his motive would simply help her to catch him.

“Guv,” Stirling shouted her from his desk. “Traffic have found footage of the BMW in the city centre on Saturday night.”

“Where?” Annie asked excitedly. The department went silent. All ears were listening to the breakthrough. 

“They have it pulling in and parking on the multi-storey on Mount Pleasant at nine o’clock.”

“What about leaving?”

“Nothing yet,” he shook his head. “They’re working on the footage from later on that night.”

“We need that urgently,” Annie felt butterflies in her stomach. “We could have the killer returning to the BMW with them.” She bit her bottom lip and walked to the bank of screens to her right. She looked at a digital map of the city centre and found Mount Pleasant. “Alert uniform to concentrate their efforts on the nightclubs closest to the car park first. Have the pictures of the two women been sent out?”

“Yes, Guv.”

“Good,” she said trying to keep a calm exterior. “We need to know where they went and who they went back to that car park with.” She took a deep breath, “I’ve got a good feeling about this,” she said in almost a whisper. “Get yourself down there and make sure that uniform don’t mess this up,” she said to Stirling.

“I’m on my way, Guv,” he said already rising. “I’ll ring as soon as I have the footage.”

  “Do you mind if I tag along?” Alec appeared from his office. “You can bring me up to speed on the way.”

“No problem, Guv,” Stirling said looking to Annie for permission. Annie grimaced and shook her head.

“Actually, I need a word, Guv.” She wagged her finger at Alec, “You go.” She said to Stirling. “I need to run something by you, Guv. Can we use your office?” Alec frowned. He liked taking the opportunity to accompany his detectives every now and again. Feeling a little deflated, he smiled and nodded. If Annie Jones had an issue that she wasn’t prepared to discuss in front of the team, then it was of vital importance.                     

                              CHAPTER 14

    Stirling parked his vehicle on the fourth floor of Mount Pleasant multi-storey car park and walked down one floor to the security office. The stairwell smelled of urine masked with a hint of bleach. Black blobs of discarded chewing gum decorated the landings and graffiti covered the walls to head height. The office was situated at the rear corner of the structure, overlooking the grey Portland Stone built Adelphi Hotel, which was on the opposite side of the road. As he turned the corner, he saw what he was looking for. A pay station machine flanked one side of a reinforced plastic window and an overweight pensioner in a blue uniform sat behind the screen. There was an expression of sheer boredom on his face. He looked up as the big detective approached and spoke through the communication vents in the screen.

              “Bugger me, if it isn’t Big Jim Stirling!”

              “Hello, Harry,” Stirling smiled. He noticed how old and worn out the man looked. It had been five years since he had last seen him but he had aged fifteen at least. Whisky had changed the shape and colour of his dimpled nose. “Is this what happens to us coppers in retirement?”

              “Beats fishing or sitting at home with the wife and it keeps me in beer money,” he joked. “Your lads are in the back office looking through CCTV footage. Come around to the side door.”

              Stirling walked around the pay machine and waited for him to open the door. ‘Fascist Bastards’ had been scratched into the paint beneath a plaque which identified it as the ‘Security’ office. The fact that the door could be vandalised undetected was testament to how observant the security team was. He thought back to a time when Harry Thompson, or ‘Tomo’ as he was known, was a well respected sergeant. The lock rattled and the door opened. “Come in, Jim,” he said stepping back. “Through the door there.” His watery eyes smiled as he spoke. “Good to see you again.”

              Stirling nodded and squeezed through the door, shaking his outstretched hand. He could feel Harry’s bones near the surface of his skin. “You too.” The office smelled of booze and sweat. He walked into the back office where two uniformed officers were sitting in front of a screen. The images were whizzing along on fast forward. “How are we doing?” he asked making them jump in surprise.

              “Sarge,” one of them said standing up. “We’re putting anything relevant onto my tablet for now.”

              “Is it connected to their system?”

              “No, Sarge,” he shook his head and blushed. “The car park owners have said that you can take the disk when we’re done. I’m photographing the screen for now.”  

              “Clever, well done. Sit down,” Stirling gestured to his chair. “How long have you been staring at that?”

              “Five hours.”

              “It’s not why you joined the force is it?”

              “Not really, Sarge,” he chuckled. “But if it helps us catch the bad guys, it’s all good.”

              “It is. Show me the image of them leaving the car.”

              The young officer flicked the screen and brought up a blurred image of the women exiting the vehicle. Although the picture wasn’t clear, he could identify the vehicle and Jayne and Jackie. “That is them. Have you got the women returning to the BMW?”

              The officers shook their heads in unison. Stirling reckoned their combined ages would still not add up to his own. “Not yet but we have got this.” He pulled up an image on his tablet. Stirling squinted and frowned. The image was from the interior of the car park focused on a row of parking bays. Only a few vehicles could be seen. He thought he was missing the point as there was nothing obvious to see. “Look there across the road.” The young officer pointed to two women, who were standing next to the Adelphi Hotel. “There’s a bar and a nightclub under the hotel,” he grinned, “Flatfoot Sam’s. The camera moves at that point so we don’t see them going in but I bet they did.”

              “Why?” Stirling frowned

“Women get free entry on a Saturday night.”

“Good man,” Stirling smiled. “Has anyone been over there to speak to them yet?”

“No, Sarge. We’ve only just found it. One of us could go now.”

“No need,” Stirling said turning for the door. “You’re doing a great job there. I’ll go there myself. Find me those women going back to the BMW!” He added as an afterthought. He stepped into the front office where Harry Thompson was tilting a slug of whisky into a mug of coffee. “I hope that’s not whisky.”

“It is and I don’t care who you tell!”

“If you make those two a brew without the alcohol, I’ll pretend that I never saw a thing.”

“Deal. Are you going already?”

“I’m going across the road,” Stirling said reaching for the door handle. “Do you know any of the doormen over there?”

“Flatfoot Sam’s?” a wry smile crossed his lips. “Speak to Coco. Colin Cousins, he’s the head doorman there.”

“Is it one of your haunts?”

“No chance,” Harry scowled, “I can’t afford their prices. He chucks me a few quid every month to keep a parking bay reserved for him and his bouncers. Saves them from walking up to the top floors when they’ve finished work late at night.”

Stirling smiled and opened the door. Harry had always been open to persuasion. There were rumours towards the end of his career but Stirling didn’t judge him one way or the other. The man had given thirty five years of his life to the force. If he had applied a little pressure here and there, so what. He headed for the stairwell, which led him out onto Brownlow Hill. From the pavement, The Adelphi Hotel was a grey monolith, recessed balconies and Roman columns gave it a look of grandeur. The traffic was light as he crossed the road and walked towards a flashing neon sign, which pointed to steps that went down beneath the hotel. He looked around. The nightclub was well hidden from the main road, almost anonymous beneath the grandiose building. It was the perfect spot to acquire a victim. The clubs further into the centre were mostly on pedestrian areas where thousands of revellers packed the streets every weekend.

At the bottom of the steps, he looked up at the car park but the view of the lower floors was blocked by the slope. The car park cameras couldn’t pick up the front door of the club. As he reached the entrance, the smell of stale beer hit him. A wall mounted ashtray overflowed with cigarette stumps and a single patio umbrella was the only shelter offered to smokers. The sound of a 60’s band drifted to him but he couldn’t think of their name. When he opened the door, the volume of the music became ear splitting. He winced and stepped into the gloomy venue. To his left, a group of elderly men stopped talking, turning to look at the stranger as he entered. Stirling scowled and they turned back to their chatter. He wondered why hardened drinkers of their age would choose such a noisy venue to frequent, until he noticed a Day-Glo banner advertising a happy hour. It ran from 10am until 5pm. “Happy seven hours?” he shook his head in disbelief and headed to the bar.

“Hi, what can I get you?” the barman appeared from behind a large pillar. Stirling looked along the mirror backed bar, which ran in an L shape for at least thirty metres. He guessed that there were more than a hundred optics above the mirrors. The bar itself was interspersed by thick support pillars every ten metres or so. The club was built in the building’s foundations. A dance floor the size of a tennis court spread into the gloom at the far end of the club. He counted six CCTV cameras at a glance. Whether they were all working or not was another matter. The place looked run down and rough around the edges. “All draught beer is a pound until five o’clock.”

“I want to speak to the manager please,” Stirling said flashing his ID. The elderly barman nodded silently and picked up a telephone, which was fixed to the pillar. He ran his fingers through his white hair and tutted in annoyance. His manner was nonchalant and he eyed Stirling with suspicion.

“A bloke claiming to be Old Bill wants to talk to the manager,” he rolled his eyes at the reply. “How the hell would I know what he wants?” he snapped and hung up. “She’ll be on her way down if she can get off her fat arse for five minutes,” he bitched. “I was due my break four hours ago.” He rolled his eyes. “Four hours! She takes the piss. The lazy cow.” One of the elderly drinkers approached the bar and stood within earshot. “Oh, here we go. What do you want, nosey old goat,” he grumbled to Stirling as if he was an old friend.