Death Call (4 page)

‘Naw. I reckon she would’ve probably stayed in the area, though. She used to live around here – down City Road, I think....’

Grant thanked Tracy and got up to leave. Carroll followed suit, wondering who might have ordered a girl for 14 Horseferry Road on a Monday morning. It was hardly the time or day for calling an escort agency.

Chapter 4

The clouds had lifted for the afternoon, and Grant seemed to be in a slightly better mood as a result. Carroll was grateful for this reprieve. They had only been together for a week or so he was growing quickly tired of Grant’s attitude and ‘by-the-book’ manner of working.

The short drive from the station to the morgue, where the post mortem examination was due to be carried out, saw a silence as yet unequalled between the two detectives.

‘I don’t know why we bother with these bloody post mortems. It seems like a bit of a waste when we already know that the woman was working as a hooker. I mean, she was bound to have had sex with at least one guy that day, if not a few more, and it was painfully obvious that she was strangled with her bra strap, you know?’ Carroll offered, breaking the almost religious silence.

Grant, as though disturbed in a peaceful world where all was cosy, responded sharply. ‘Any more gems of wisdom, Sherlock? I didn’t really think so. You could try going through the established CID procedures... You know – the ones you were taught in Hendon. It might’ve escaped your attention while you were there, but the majority of crimes are solved not by hunches or luck, but by hard work and hard evidence.’

‘Is that the lecture over for today? Because if it isn’t then I think I might do a little work on my own this afternoon.’

‘That’s the lecture for today. All over and done with. Happy now? I wish I was....’

‘What the fuck is it that’s eating you, Sam? Look, if we’re gonna be working together we’d best start making an attempt to get on with each other. And if that doesn’t work, we can at least start getting on with the job, okay?’

‘Okay. But just don’t think I’m gonna let you get away with sloppy procedures. I’ve got a promotion in my sights, and no one’s gonna stop me getting to detective sergeant in the next two years, understand?’

‘Give me a fuckin’ break, will you? You’ve got a better chance of winning forty million on the National Lottery than getting promoted past your present rank. How many black detective sergeants do you see around you? You were lucky to get to detective constable, pal. So stop your bloody day dreaming, and stop giving me a hard time.’

‘Fuck you, Paddy. You go take a flying fuckin’ jump with that racist fuckin’ attitude of yours....’

‘It’s not my attitude. It’s the attitude of the guys on top. The guys you’ll have to brown-nose to get a promotion in the first place. Keep dreaming, Jamaica Boy. Just you keep on dreaming.’

The unmarked squad car moved uneasily through the afternoon traffic, its two occupants retreating to their quiet and safe sanctuaries. Grant was seething again. It had always been his goal to get to DS in the first ten years of service, and here was this Irish alcoholic telling him that he didn’t have a chance because of the colour of his skin. Grant knew that his partner was probably right, but it didn’t make him feel any better. Grant couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something deeply annoying about Carroll’s general attitude and appearance. Apart from the constant smell of whiskey, the dishevelled look and his sloppy approach to the job, Grant couldn’t help sensing a sort of hidden white knight lurking somewhere beneath his shabby exterior. Whether the white knight wore a hood with the letters KKK emblazoned on it would soon be apparent. Those traits always had a habit of showing themselves before too long, he thought, turning the car into a large courtyard.

The two detectives arrived at the morgue at around three-thirty in the afternoon and went straight to Examination Room No.1, where the post mortem was about to take place. The Master of Ceremonies was Dr. Henry Young, acting pathologist in the area.

Young was a straight-laced sort of guy with a very odd sense of humour. His puns were well known in the district, as was his ability to pick out valuable clues from the remains of murder victims. For a straight-laced guy, he was fairly funny. Hell, maybe it was because he was so straight-laced that he was. Either way, Carroll and Grant made it just in time to see Young making his first incisions.

‘Ah, hello boys. What a beautiful day it is out there. I’m just about to start with your victim, here,’ Young said, flicking a switch on the microphone that hung down above the table.

Henry began his monologue into the microphone as he began examining the cadaver in front of him.

‘Number 343, female, blonde, 115 pounds. Obvious lacerations to the abdominal cavity, caused by a sharp implement – possibly a serrated knife. Victim also appears to have ligature marks on her neck. The neck appears to be badly bruised, as though the subject was strangled before being cut open. This would account for the lack of splattered blood on the cadaver. If victim had been alive when the incision was made, then it would have killed her almost instantly. The pericardium has been pierced and the aorta slashed straight through.’ Henry stopped, turned off the microphone and looked up at the two detectives. ‘Well, any questions?’

Carroll seemed more than a little nauseous as he looked over at the woman on the table. If the truth was to be known, she looked something like a disembowelled pig lying on the slab of a butcher, waiting to be cut up into saleable joints. There wasn’t really much difference. It was only now that Carroll had begun to regret having the last few drinks the night before. Their presence was still strongly felt in his head and stomach. Especially his stomach. It rumbled unhappily as his brain sent signals to it, telling it what his eyes were seeing. He was beginning to look a little green around the gills.

‘So you reckon that she was actually dead before being cut open?’ Grant asked.

‘That seems to be the case. You see, if the heart was still beating when the incision was made, then there would’ve been a hell of a lot more blood splattered around the place. Have you identified the woman yet?’

‘Yeah, she was a hooker. Used to work down by the Cross. Can you tell if she has had sex recently?’

‘Just a moment,’ Young said, examining the young woman’s sexual organs.

‘Anything?’ Carroll asked, trying to keep his lunch down.

‘Well, it is hardly surprising, given that she was a prostitute, but I’d say that whatever she had done to her before she died, was done without her consent. The bruising around the vagina and the redness indicate what you might call forced entry, or rape. This also seems to be the case with the anus.’

‘So you think the killer might’ve raped her before killing her?’

‘It certainly looks like she was recently raped. Whether the killer is your man, is another question entirely....’

‘Preliminary swabs were taken at the scene by our forensics people, but we haven’t been able to get any information out of them yet,’ Grant said.

‘Yeah,’ Carroll added, ‘they’re very slow.’

‘It’s very detailed work, Detective Carroll. You can’t expect results in a day or two. Besides, they’re understaffed. I’m sure they’ll come up with the goods in the next couple of days.’

‘You said the implement had a serrated edge, Henry....’

‘Yes, something like a steak knife, only much longer and thicker. You can see here,’ Young said, pointing at the kidneys and liver, ‘that there are puncture wounds to these organs. It’s the same up here to the left, see? The gall bladder is practically ripped open. Whoever opened her up like this surely wasn’t used to doing it. Very messy indeed,’ Young concluded, shaking his head. It was obvious that he took great pride in his work, and this, to him, was the work of an amateur.

‘So, we’re looking for a long knife with a serrated blade?’ Carroll asked.

‘A portion of the blade is serrated, but most of the blade is smooth. You can tell by the initial incision below the sternum. It’s a smooth entry wound, whereas the further you go down, the more jagged it becomes. So you’re looking for a fairly thick knife, around 30cm long, serrated at the top. Is that helpful?’

‘That’s all we’ll need for the moment, anyway. Can you have a copy of your initial report sent over when you’re done?’ Carroll asked.

Henry nodded, turning back to the cadaver on the bench. ‘You should have it sometime tomorrow afternoon. Good day, gentlemen.’

Carroll and Grant moved towards the door of the examination room. It was a ghastly place to work, Carroll thought, as they walked towards the exit. The whole place was tiled in white and green, and the stench of formaldehyde was overwhelming as they moved through each set of swing doors leading to the reception area. Grant stopped for a moment and looked through the reinforced glass window in one of the doors off the hallway. Inside stood five trolleys bearing corpses, and beyond them, a huge twenty-door refrigeration unit, each door with its own number and ID slot. Carroll wanted out.

‘Come on, man. For fucksake!’ Carroll pleaded, growing ever-green.

‘What’s the matter, man? Feeling precious?’

‘Fuck you, choirboy!’

‘Don’t start getting all religious on me now, Dan,’ Samuel laughed.

Carroll walked ahead and out through the main door into the courtyard. He was practically drowning in the freshness of the London air. Hell, anything was fresh in comparison to the stench that was to be found in a morgue.

Back in the squad car, Carroll felt at ease; as if he had just been placed in the womb of the force.

‘So, don’t you think it’s about time we found out where Joanne was working?’ Carroll asked.

‘Yeah, maybe make a few calls when we get back to the office.’

‘You can drop me off,’ Carroll said, rubbing his chin.

‘You going for a pint?’

‘It’s nearly five, sure, you know....’

‘I’m gonna go back inside and write this up. Just like you should be doing, Detective Carroll....’

‘Give me a fuckin’ break, will you? I’m gonna have a look around – see what I can find. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?’

‘I suppose so. When was the last time you wrote up a report, anyway?’

‘The week before we were put together,’ Carroll said, hopping out of the car at a set of traffic lights with a grin on his face. Grant looked after him, wondering how he had ever made it to Detective Sergeant. The guy was a shambles.

Carroll had his own plans for the evening. After a large whiskey in the King’s Head, he headed down Upper Street towards the Angel tube station. It was there, if anywhere, Carroll thought, that he would find out about Joanne McCrae. Poor Jo Mac, who was tired of giving hand-jobs in alleyways. Wanted to move indoors for the winter, or whatever Tracy had said. Carroll’s mind had just kicked in for the day – just as he had finished his tour of duty. Come tomorrow he would hopefully have an address, if not a contact name, for Jo Mac’s Madame.

The evening was falling and the light was failing, as Carroll began to look for familiar faces on the streets. There were plenty of girls working in the area. It was just a matter of knowing what to look for. Carroll was beginning to get the buzz he felt whenever he could smell a break in a case. Somewhere out there, he thought, is a woman who can tell me where Jo Mac was based. Someone who’ll want to give me all the help she can in finding her killer.

He had a lot of phone calls to make, and a lot of hookers to talk to. London was a busy town after nightfall.