Concrete Evidence (22 page)

Annie climbed the stairs and looked around. The house had four bedrooms and was furnished well. The carpets were thick and the wallpaper expensive and tastefully matched. Her ornaments were dated and tacky but there wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen. Annie could hear most of the activity coming from the room at the end of the landing. She glanced into each bedroom as she past. Every bed was made up with pastel coloured bedding and satin valance sheets. She reached Tod’s room and paused. From the doorway, the bedroom looked like it belonged to a teenage boy. Posters covered the walls; some pop divas and others super models. The constant theme was their state of undress and the suggestive poise. Tod Harris had an eye for beautiful women. Stirling turned as she stepped inside the room.

“We’ve got a laptop and a couple of butterfly knives,” Stirling said gruffly. “And four 100 mil bottles of a clear odourless liquid in his bedside cabinet.”

“Rohypnol?”

“That’s my guess,” he nodded. “They’re bagged and on the way to the lab. The rest of the room seems pretty bland so far.” He walked to the bedroom window and looked outside. “Mrs Harris keeps the house in good shape. I don’t think that he would keep anything incriminating in his room.”

“The garage?” Annie said standing next to him at the window. They could see bomb squad officers inspecting the garage door. “Let’s go and see if they’re ready.”

They walked down the stairs and along the hallway. All the pictures that Annie saw were of Mr Harris and Tod when he was a child. A few were of all three together. It was as if nothing worth capturing had happened since he was young. Tod looked sullen but normal. He only smiled in a few of them. It was hard to imagine that kid growing up to be a rapist. A murderer. A beast that could remove the lower half of a woman’s face and carve intricate text into her flesh with a metal hook while she screamed for mercy. A monster.

The kitchen was a bright open plan space with a sloping glass roof and windows on three sides. A hybrid of kitchen and conservatory. There was a centre island with a deep porcelain sink built into wooden worktops. Black marble tiles glistened like mirrors on the floor. It was a blend of vintage and modern styles. Annie glanced around and shook her head. “Tod Harris had a good start in life.” She commented. “I feel for his mother.”

“I’m sick of hearing that a ‘difficult childhood’ was to blame,” Stirling took her point. “My dad kicked the crap out of my mother; therefore I can’t be responsible for anything that I do as an adult.” He snorted. “Psycho babble bullshit!”            

“Bullshit indeed,” Annie agreed. The back doors were open and a cold breeze flowed in. Annie shivered as she walked outside. Icy fingers touched her scalp and face looking for a way inside. The wind seemed to claw at her clothes. “It’s getting cold at night now.”

“It is,” Stirling agreed. “We could do with a quick trip to Benidorm, Guv. Warm up for a few days.”

“Few days?” Annie scoffed. “We’ll be lucky if Alec pays for a taxi from the airport let alone accommodation.”

“I won’t pack my swimmers then.”

Annie grimaced. “You in swimmers?” she shook her head. “Twilight zone material.” Annie followed the path, which led to the driveway. Low hedges lined the drive and the garage was set back 20 metres at the rear of the house. Stirling trudged behind her. Three officers were struggling to lift the door.

“There was a new padlock fastening the door to an anchor bolt,” the lieutenant said as they approached. “We’ve cut the power supply to the garage and we can’t see any evidence of a device on the door.” He gestured to his men and as they lifted the up-and-over, the metal groaned in protest.

Annie looked at Stirling disappointedly. She had hoped that Jackie Webb’s Mercedes would be parked inside. There was no vehicle inside at all. The concrete floor was spotted with oil stains and the left hand wall was lined with shelves. Four plastic fuel containers stood in a line against the right hand wall. They exchanged concerned glances as they stepped inside. The lieutenant walked over to them and studied the wall and the space around them.

“They’re empty.” He smiled. He looked at the shelf above and noticed a thick plastic bag. “Ball bearings,” he said pointing to the bag. “And four new ‘All Ride’ twelve volt water heaters, still in their boxes.”

“Like the incendiary device?”

“The same.”

A rush of adrenalin coursed through Annie’s veins. Her heart rate increased. More evidence to bury Tod Harris with. She scanned the shelves to the right. Peg boards held an assortment of power tools. Hammer drill, sander, grinder, jigsaw, circular saw, blow torch. To her left, a full set of two headed spanners were laid out symmetrically in a line. Thirty of them at least. Plastic tubs filled with screws, tacks and washers of various sizes were stored neatly next to a comprehensive set of screwdrivers and pliers. Everything was equidistant from the next, the product of a tidy mind or even a sufferer of OCD. It was a DIY fan’s heaven on earth yet the tools were pristine and unused.

“Everything is covered in a thin layer of dust.” Annie said wiping her finger across the handle of a wrench. A clean stripe appeared. “Nothing on this side has been touched for a long time.”

“Tod Harris doesn’t strike me as the, ‘do it yourself’ type,” Stirling agreed. “But look here.” He added. A pick and shovel stood against the back wall. The blade was coated with soil and sand and a dark substance. “We had better get these tested.” He peered along the shelves on the rear wall. His height enabled him to see without craning his neck. “There’s nothing here, Guv but I want to know where he’s been digging.”

“Me too,” Annie said. “Get the team to check the gardens.”

“Guv.”

Stirling left Annie in the garage. She walked along each wall, studying every inch from floor to ceiling. Everything was old except for the petrol containers, ball bearings and water heaters. They were nails in Harris’s coffin. She wasn’t sure why but she felt deflated. Annie sighed and walked outside. She took a Maglight from her jacket and joined the others. They were walking in crisscross patterns, searching the borders, lawn and hedges. Annie took her torch and shone it at the base of the garage. There was a narrow gap between the concrete base and the lawn. She walked slowly, scanning the area carefully. Looking for any breaks in the soil. At the end of the garage, she squeezed into a gap between the wall and the garden fence. The ground space had been covered in shingle to discourage weeds. Digging there would have been impossible. The space was too narrow and the floor too hard for a spade. She shimmied along, her back against the fence panels until she reached the other side. The fence continued for another few metres before it formed a right angle where it joined the fence that bordered the street. She shone the torch along the fence and under the hedges but she couldn’t see anything untoward. Crouching, she searched the corner where the fences met. The ground was untouched. She sighed and walked back to the garage wall, sweeping her torch across the ground.

Nothing.

She looked to her right and aimed the torch at the fence. The hedges had been replaced by rose bushes and she swept the beam along them. They had been planted using a tape measure, exactly the same distance between them. The tools in the garage belonged to the same person that planted those roses. Nothing looked out of place. Frustrated, she walked on until she had reached the end of the garage wall.

“Anything?” Stirling called.

“Nothing.”

Annie looked back where she had walked and folded her arms against the cold. The line of roses caught her eye again. She thought about the tools inside the garage. “Look for anything that doesn’t look symmetrical,” Annie said. “This garden has been planted by someone with OCD.”

“Guv!” a voice called from the side of the house.

“What is it?”

“There’s a shed here, guv.”

Annie shrugged and they walked over to it. Overhanging tree branches had hidden it from view. It was a wooden construction topped with green roofing felt. The roof slanted left to right so that the rain could run off. “What do you think?” Annie asked.

“The ball bearings and heater coils we found are for making motion triggered devices,” the lieutenant said matter of factly. “Once they’re set, you can’t disarm them from outside. We’re safe but we’ll take the hinges off the door to be on the safe side,” he smiled and gestured to his men. They removed the screws from the hinges in seconds and lifted the door off. It remained attached to the shed only by the shiny silver padlock and clasp beneath the handle. They swept torches around the frame and checked the floor inside. “You’re clear, Inspector.”

“Thanks,” Annie said. Stepping through the door, her senses began to bristle. Tod Harris used this space to hide his perversions from his mother. She could sense it immediately. The presence of evil lurked in the darkness.  The shed was long and narrow. Three metres wide by six metres long. In the shadows, she could make out an armchair, a coffee table and a television. A row of three metal filing cabinets stood against the back wall. Lights flickered on and she blinked to avoid the glare. Three lanterns hung from the ceiling and a bright table lamp glowed on the coffee table.

“LED, lights. Battery powered,” Stirling grunted. He pointed to a switch just inside the door. “This is a proper little man cave.” He said gesturing to a glass fronted beer fridge that stood next to the armchair. It was half filled with bottles of Carlsberg. An X-Box sat next to the television, the controller on the arm of the chair. At first glance, it appeared innocent enough.

Annie walked to the television and looked at it. It was a flat screen Samsung portable with a built in DVD player. The cabling behind it looked complicated and she involuntarily stepped back. “He’s wired the television and the fridge to a truck battery and then he has a camping inverter to convert the twelve volts to two hundred and forty for his X-Box,” the lieutenant sensed her fear. “It’s geeky but it won’t explode.”

“Must be a man thing,” Annie shrugged. Three empty beer bottles stood next to the television. She picked up a DVD storage wallet and slid out one of the disks. It was marked with only the manufacturers’ brand. “Can we bag these please.” She switched on the television and pressed play on the DVD player. “Let’s see what he was watching last.” Jackie Webb’s image appeared on the screen. Mascara had run down her face in blackened streaks. Her eyelids were glued open, giving her a mad staring look. Her eyes were glassy like a dead fish. The lower half of her face was missing and the exposed muscle, cartilage and bone glistened. The wounds were fresh. “Jesus Christ!” Annie hissed. “He sat here drinking beer and watched this. The sick bastard.” She turned it off quickly but the images were emblazoned on her brain. Taking the disk from the player, she looked at Stirling and held it up. “Get this to the team,” she said quietly. “This is the smoking gun. We’ll nail this bastard now.”

“He’s going down, Guv. Scumbag,” Stirling nodded still staring at the blank screen. He was rattled too. Not so much by the images but by their situ. It took a special kind of disturbed psyche to relax and drink beer while watching that; someone ice cold and detached from any human empathy.                 

Annie felt sick inside. The evidence was rock solid yet she still felt unsettled. Breathing deeply, she turned and walked to the chair. On the floor was a waste paper basket, half full of used tissues. She grimaced and shook her head. An empty box of Kleenex sat next to the bin, ‘Man Size Tissues’ screamed from the logo. “When he wasn’t playing on his X-Box, he was playing with himself,” she said with a sigh. “Sometimes I have to wonder what planet some people are from.”

“Guv,” Stirling said. He was holding a thick lever-arch file open. Inside, Annie could see clear plastic sleeves and coloured material. “Underwear, Guv,” he raised his eyebrows. Annie walked next to him so that she could see the contents. “Jayne Windsor,” Stirling said pointing to a Polaroid, which had been inserted into the sleeve with a pair of black cotton panties. The picture showed the woman’s face. She looked peacefully asleep on a pillow. Stirling turned the page and looked at Annie. “Jackie Webb. The bastard keeps their underwear.” He scowled. His face was purple with anger. A Polaroid image of Jackie showed a similar pose. “He hasn’t got a leg to stand on, Guv,” Stirling growled. He turned the page and the image of another sleeping woman was inserted next to her underwear. The next page was the same, different face, different panties but the same. As was the next. And the next. And the next.

Stirling turned the sleeves sixteen times until he stopped. “For God’s sake!” he whispered. Annie put her hand to her mouth. “This bastard needs hanging,” he hissed. Instead of panties, the sleeve held a small pair of y-fronts. He turned the page to find the Polaroid but there wasn’t one. Behind it was another pair of underwear. SpongeBob Square pants boxer shorts. Next to them was the image of a young boy sleeping. “How old is he?”

“Nine maybe ten?”

“I don’t recognise any of their faces,” Stirling said. His fingers were trembling as he flicked back through the file.

“Nor me,” Annie said quietly. “We need to cross reference their faces against sexual assault complaints.” She paused. “You have to wonder how many of them know that they were assaulted. Get this to the team ASAP. I want to know who each and every one of these people are.”

“I’ll get on it now.” He turned to the other detectives. “Bag everything and move it out of here. Are the CSI unit here?”

“Yes, Sarge.”