Tick Tick Tick (7 page)

Mack has let the rest of forensics in; already they’re swarming all over the place.

‘Where’s the entomologist?’

‘On his way,’ Mack replies, still looking like he’s going to puke any second.

The forensic team have already started spraying luminol on the carpet and the walls. If there’s blood elsewhere, this stuff is guaranteed to find it. I stand by the door and watch, trying to keep out of the way. The walls are clean – a quick glow which fades means no blood.

‘Move back,’ one of them barks. I do as I’m told for a change.

They spray the entire carpet now, and the room has to be in utter darkness. Their torches go on and off while they work the rooms, as another member quickly videos it. He turns and shakes his head at me – nothing. I can feel the wrath building up inside of me, like mercury climbing a thermometer. I’m getting really pissed off now, the Superintendent is gonna be breathing down my neck for answers and evidence, and so far I have sod all.

Next they bring in the Luma-Lite, and don their protective glasses. I quickly grab the nearest spare pair and toss another set to Mack. The light is slowly scanned across the room and over the body looking for traces of saliva, semen, urine and prints – anything. Again, nothing. I slam out of the room and Mack follows me but says nothing. He knows better. I try to regain my composure, but it isn’t easy.

‘Not a single print?’ I ask a crime tech.

‘No sir.’ I wander around the chaos of what was once the man’s lounge, my brain going into overdrive. I need to talk out loud; it always helps me make sense of things, it’s as if trying to unravel a maze.

‘No forced entry, no murder weapon, jack shit on the forensics.’ Another infernal blind alley. My hands ball into fists, frustration grasping hold of me again.

‘Could it be the same guy?’ I ask Mack.

‘No chance,’ he replies. ‘The last one was a raped woman with a cut, this is a bloody mutilation.’

I don’t say one single word to him, instead I just scowl.

‘Get the MO fed into the computers. I want this whole place searched for prints, blood, hair, semen, saliva and fibres. Search the bathroom sinks, baths, sink traps, under the floor, tiles, mouldings – everywhere.’ I bark at the entire damn room, my head pounding. Frustrated, I punch the nearest wall. I shouldn’t have done it – it hurts like hell.

‘Goddamn it. Check his mail, mobile phone, pagers, clothing, laundry – just find me something!’

Faces stare at me as if I’m losing it. I probably am. I cannot believe that this killer did not leave a single shred of evidence. I want, no, I
need
something found and I need it now. They all know this face of mine, it ain’t pretty, so everyone actually starts jumping into action. Soon the flat’s bursting with a mass of activity – it’s great what yelling can get you.

Everyone wants to be the first to find something of use; I feel nothing but complete and utter desperation. How could one individual do this? The fury, the venom in the murder astounds even me. Sure I’m used to murders, but nothing like this. This is nothing but a total perversion, a sick and twisted mind – and I swear I’m gonna find out who it belongs to.

After an exhaustive search, and finally leaving the teams to it we both exit the flat, totally drained. I can still see the maggots crawling all over his body, taste the rancid smell in my nostrils, the stench caught at the back of my throat; I feel slightly nauseous but ignore it. The sound of flies still rings in my ears like a small light aircraft buzzing around in my head, a continual humming. I force it to the back of my mind and try to concentrate on the few facts that we have. One or two killers? Both bodies mutilated, both had a trophy taken, no obvious signs of a forced entry, but one a fast killing, the other a drawn-out, almost sadistic ritual.

Mack stops and gasps for breath. Bent over, he tries to inhale the fresh air rapidly, trying to cleanse his lungs. His face is puce, his breathing badly distorted. Jesus, I hope he isn’t going to have a heart attack on me, that’s all I need right now. Four patrol officers now guard the outer area – aren’t they the lucky ones. They’re staring at Mack, and just then he turns quickly and breaks stride running around the corner. I hear him vomit violently, again and again, until the heaving finally stops. Walking slowly back he wipes his pale face with his sleeve; the coppers stand and snigger at him with undisguised glee. Mack’s furious, furious at them and furious that he puked.

‘Any of you twats been up there yet?’ he snarls.

They shake their heads, nonplussed.

‘Then don’t mess with me you fat arsed tossers, until you been up there and inhaled that putrid smell, seen that half-eaten body and had about a million flies crawling all over you, up your nose, in your ears and all over your damn face!’

Dead silence. We began walking on, but Mack swings his heavy body back round.

‘By the way, if anyone finds his missing arms – let me know.’

The coppers’ faces freeze as I suppress a smile.

It was to be the only smile of the day.

I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting with Grimes. The Superintendent was a hard-arsed son of a bitch known for his bad temper and a mouth like dirt. He didn’t like unsolved murders, he detested any kind of media on his patch, and after this latest murder we all knew those media scum were gonna be like bees round a honey pot. I rap on his door and we get hollered in – a bad sign. He’s sitting at his desk, files and photographs scattered everywhere, his fat face flushed, sweat stains on his shirt and his tie straining at his collar, just like a Doberman ready to pounce at us. I’m prepared for the worst. He flips his dark, heavy-lidded eyes at us, and juts out his double chin.

‘Well Downey? You got any ideas?’

I think about bullshitting him, and then change my mind – what’s the point?

‘Sir, it could be the same MO, but probably not – completely different forms of mutilation. Reasons for picking the victims – none. I can’t find any connection at present.’

I can tell he isn’t convinced. Neither am I, but I thought I’d better play it safe. Mack keeps fidgeting in his chair. He hates coming in here, takes you right back to school and facing your head teacher, only this is slightly more on the serious side. I usually do my best to say little and keep my head down. Always figured solving a case was a better answer than talking about it.

Mack chips in. ‘You ask me they’re both just a couple of weird nutters, crazies let back out on the streets ’cos their do-good but dumb doctors thought they weren’t really insane.’

Grimes ignores Mack’s outburst and focuses his attention on me again.

Silence. Hell, I decide to wind it up anyway.

‘They could kill again. Perhaps they already have.’ I add, just for the fun of it.

From the purple tinge under Grimes’ collar I’ve just gone and unleashed the Doberman. His fingers actually scrape the table as he pushes his chair back and bends over the desk trying to get to me.

‘Shit! I don’t want to hear that kind of crap, you got that? The damn press would have a field day, apart from the fact that you would have the whole city going into a state of panic.’

He’s panting now, saliva forming at the side of his mouth like a rabid dog. Perhaps the similarities don’t end there.

‘Maybe they should be scared,’ I mutter under my breath.

Grimes grips the edge of his desk, his knuckles turning white, his fury almost uncontrollable.

‘Say again.’ He almost dares me.

‘Maybe we should call a profiler in?’ I toss it in for good measure; let’s see if that makes him explode.

He almost hyperventilates. The face puffing up, pure beetroot red, the veins bulging at the side of his neck, he charges round the desk and is eyeball to eyeball with me.

‘What the hell for? We got two dead bodies, you said yourself there was no connection.’

Taking my life in my hands I interrupted him.

‘No, what I actually said was I couldn’t
find
a connection … sir.’

I can feel his foul-tasting breath on my face; the tension in the room is palpable, like layers of hatred and rancour lying on top of each other. He growls at me from way down at the back of his throat.

‘No profiler! You got it?’

‘Yes sir.’

I can hear Mack mutter, ‘Gormless twat.’ I pray he hasn’t been heard.

‘Get the MOs fed through the computers, see what it turns up, then keep checking to see if you can find a link.’

He paces, glaring at me, glaring at Mack, glaring even at the goddamn walls.

‘I want this son of a bitch – or bitches – found. They must have left a trace somewhere – find it!’

We’re tossed out of the room. Nothing like a cosy chat with your boss when you need it.

‘Good motivational speech,’ says Mack, sarcasm slicing through his every word as he sticks a wad of chewing gum in his oversized mouth.

‘Inspirational, in fact probably the best so far – don’t you think?’

He nods in agreement. Bosses are always a complete pain in the arse, but this time we’d sure felt the old Doberman’s bite. We both knew he meant what he said, so unless we wanted to sit behind a desk until pension day, we’d better get a move on.

We spend the rest of the day trawling through computer records. I sit down at my computer and punch into the police national database. I thump in what little I have, behavioural aspects of both cases; timing, mutilation, strangulation and the hyoid bone. The machine whirrs into life, checking offenders that had any similarities and their last known whereabouts. I get about three hundred and eighty hits – great. Trawling through them I get nothing that smacks me in the face – that would’ve been far too easy, right? I pull up the recently released offenders and it whittles down to forty. Isn’t it nice to know that so many of Manchester’s finest are back out on the streets? I print them off and decide what the hell, leave it to the morning. I’m still waiting for the autopsy results, forensics and the local canvas statements. Perhaps when they come back it will help to narrow down the search. I have a hunch nothing is going to help us out on this one; we’re flying solo.

It’s got late, most of the office is empty now and finally the telephones are quiet, but the fax machine just keeps churning out more possible offenders from Mack’s search, and perhaps he’s having better luck than me so I think I’ll take a look. I pick up a pile of records and shove them on his already overflowing desk – that’ll teach him to leave early. He’d said he had some errand to do on the way home. Somehow I didn’t think it was for his wife Betty, so I didn’t ask, but I had a feeling that a pub was probably involved somewhere. I flip my files shut, close down the computer and push the thought of the cases to the back of my mind. Time to go home. Damn, I just remembered I was supposed to be meeting Connie for dinner! What time is it? After seven – shit, I was going to be late, and she detests anyone that’s not punctual. It’s not going to be a great start to the evening, and frankly I’m not much in the mood for company, let alone food. I have a sense that this is not going to be the romantic evening I’d originally planned.

Mack slowed down his old Volvo and spun it into a darkened alleyway. He blacked the lights. Getting out he heard the sounds of tins and trash being overturned, cats yelping and litter scattering as he walked. Drunks and old bag ladies lie on either side, oblivious to the world, high on booze or some illegal substance. He pulls out his torch, flicking the bulb into their faces, one by one. Finally he stops, yanking a guy bodily to his feet. The drunk is slow to respond, his tattered raincoat covering a bony skeleton frame, ravished by booze and a lack of good food.

‘What the…?’

‘Long time, Campo,’ said Mack.

‘I ain’t done nuthin’ – I’m telling you.’

‘I never said you did.’ said Mack pressing him up against a wall.

Campo tries to sober up and backs off.

‘Then what d’ya want?’

‘Information, what else?’

Campo’s eyes flick open, interest beginning to show.

‘Yeah?’

‘You know anything about the latest killings? We got any new guys on the patch?’

‘I ain’t heard nuthin’.’

‘Nuthin’ don’t buy you money now, does it?’ Mack yanked out his wallet.

‘I can nose around.’

‘You do that,’ said Mack.

Campo holds out a filthy hand.

‘Information first, then you’ll get your money,’ laughs Mack, snapping the wallet shut and sliding it into his back pocket.

Mack starts walking back to the car; he kicks a few drunks just for the hell of it.

‘Bloody coppers,’ mumbles Campo.

I’m now running really late for Connie. I’ve given her a quick call to tell her that I’ll meet her straight at the restaurant. She doesn’t sound too amused if you know what I mean; what is it about women and punctuality? I take a quick shower and grab some clean clothes from my locker. Nothing too fancy mind; I can’t abide men who have the need to wear designer gear, and primp and preen.

Driving along, the cases keep churning over and over in my mind. What’s the connection? Is there a connection? No matter how hard I tried I just can’t come up with one, but I know one has to be there somewhere. Is it two different killers? Probably, but I have to keep my options open, what if it
is
just the one? What bothers me is how the killers are getting in. Both victims lived in a flat, which meant coming in through an open window at height – unlikely, and someone would’ve spotted them. Neither of the doors had been broken, so the victims must have let their killer in. Was it someone that they both knew? But then, neither of them had any links to the other. Still, it was worth considering. Could it have been a fake ID, the electricity guy, the phone company? But the canvasses showed up that no one else had been pestered at any of the other doors – so it wasn’t random. So why pick these two? Perhaps Mack was right, just some nutters drugged up and looking for easy money. And yet…why pick on the poorer parts of town, why not try a nice suburban house? Unless… they lived on the same side of town also? I’d checked the bus routes and the tram routes, they didn’t connect, though that didn’t mean a damn thing and I knew it.